The Betting Season (A Regency Season Book)

by Knight-Catania, Jerrica

  “I’ll look by Rotten Row,” Cedric decided. Perhaps Georgie would be with Moira and her gentleman. It was unlikely, but worth testing that line of thinking. “Why don’t you look in the main park, where people are afoot? We can cover more ground if we split up.”

  Bridge grunted, but took off in the proscribed direction.

  Cedric turned his attention to those on horseback and in carriages, searching for the face of Georgie or any of her young friends. He’d been at it for at least a half hour, coming across any number of friends and acquaintances but not one of Georgie’s friends, when everyone around him started saying “Ooh,” or “Aah,” and pointing up in the sky.

  He was determined to ignore their fascination with whatever might be taking place…until one young lady directly next to him almost squealed, “Why, it’s Lady Georgianna!”

  “You really can’t be running out of hydrogen gas right now,” Georgie grumbled. It was the worst timing in the world. The wind had been rather uncooperative, so they’d flown over Green Park, crossed over the Thames, and looked down at Vauxhall. But then the direction of the wind changed considerably, and they crossed the Thames again, saw Ranelagh Gardens from the sky, before taking the scenic path up to Hampstead Heath. Yet another change in the wind had them heading back towards Mayfair—which was good. At least on the surface.

  Lord Haworth’s plan, when he realized where the wind was taking them, was to land the balloon at Green Park, as close to the same spot where they’d launched from as he could manage.

  “I’m afraid so, my lady,” Haworth confirmed, as it became exceedingly clearer by the moment how they were traveling in quite the wrong direction for Green Park, and quite the right direction for Hyde Park. He looked up inside the envelope of the balloon again and pointed. “We have a hole, and the hydrogen is escaping into the atmosphere. Not only that, but the hole is growing.”

  The balloon had already descended enough that, yet again, she could almost make out the faces of the people looking up at them. Georgie wanted to shrink away, to find somewhere to hide, but there is nowhere to hide in the basket of a gas balloon.

  They drifted lower, and she could see people pointing up at them. Good heavens, this wasn’t what she’d intended. She had no desire for anyone to know that she’d been alone up in a balloon with Lord Haworth. She just wanted to fly.

  But however much she wanted anonymity in her pursuit, it seemed her desires were destined to be foiled. After a few more minutes, she could make out specific faces from below.

  “Isn’t there anything you can do?” she begged. “Your rudder? Can you guide us further away from the crowd?”

  Even as she asked, she knew there was not anything to be done. A rudder could neither create more hydrogen nor repair the hole in the silk. Haworth’s lack of response only confirmed what she already knew.

  They were coming down, whether she was prepared for that eventuality or not.

  A strong gust of wind from below buoyed them somewhat, and another from behind gave them more speed. Perhaps they’d make it past Hyde Park. The last thing she wanted was to land in the Serpentine, and it had been looking like that might very well happen. Her best hope was to rush past all of the onlookers out for a ride on Rotten Row and over the line of trees separating Hyde Park from Kensington Gardens. There shouldn’t be too much of a crowd gathered at Kensington. Perhaps she could escape with no one recognizing her.

  Granted, she’d still have to explain her disappearance to her mother. But that would not be such a daunting task if she hadn’t been seen.

  “We might make it past the trees,” Haworth said beside her.

  She started saying a silent prayer as they flew. Please let us get past the trees. Please let us get past the trees. Please let us get past the trees.

  With each passing moment, they came closer to the line of trees…so close, in fact, that she thought they might crash into one of them.

  “We won’t hit the trees, will we?” she asked tentatively.

  “I can’t promise that.”

  Oh, heavens. Suddenly, Georgie was no longer focused on the people below who might or might not recognize her.

  “What happens if we hit the trees?”

  Georgie turned to look at Haworth, and his normally light eyes were dark and intense. That didn’t bode well.

  Nor did the slight shake of his head.

  Her prayer changed almost instantaneously. Please let us not hit the trees. Please let us not hit the trees.

  Everything seemed to slow down and speed up before her at the same time. The balloon and basket started descending again, and the line of trees moved closer into view at a steady pace. She wanted to drop down on her knees so she couldn’t see, but that would only increase her anxiety. Instead, she watched obsessively as they drew closer, closer, closer still.

  The looming barrier never moved.

  “Brace yourself,” Haworth said behind her. He moved next to her and grasped the side of the basket with both hands.

  Georgie did the same, not knowing anything else to do.

  The tops of the trees were so close, she felt like she could lean over and touch them. She sucked in a breath and held it, waiting for the impact.

  The basket rocked as it brushed the top of a tree, but kept moving forwards at a snail’s pace. She blew out her breath and looked over at Haworth.

  He smiled at her and nodded. “I think we’ll clear it.”

  “Georgie!”

  It was Monty’s panicked voice coming from below.

  Cedric ran until his lungs burned and his legs ached and he thought he would die if he didn’t reach her in time.

  In time for what? Well, that was still up for debate.

  It was bad enough when he’d realized Georgie was in a balloon alone with Haworth, for all the ton to see. Bad enough quickly became much, much worse when he realized that very balloon was careening towards the line of trees growing between Rotten Row and Kensington Gardens.

  All sense of reason left him at that moment, and he took off, no longer caring who saw him or what they thought of him. They could cart him off to an asylum, if they liked—but he was going to get to Georgie and make sure she was safe.

  And then he was going to throttle her for giving him such a scare.

  But first she had to be safe.

  So he ran. He dashed before horses and carriages on Rotten Row, he tossed himself through tree branches, he flailed and fell and flailed some more until he reached the open expanse of Kensington Gardens, all with no regard for himself.

  At least when he came to the other side of the trees, he saw that the balloon had not crashed into them, but had merely grazed the top. A few small branches had been knocked to the ground, and a number more were sticking out of the basket as it soared ever closer to the earth.

  “Monty? What in God’s name are you doing?” Georgie called down to him.

  Answering her would take too much effort at the moment. Instead, he kept running.

  The trees provided a barrier against the wind, so their forwards progress slowed considerably. A few moments after bursting through, he was beneath them. He slowed at that point to keep pace with the craft, never letting the ropes hanging down from the basket out of his sight.

  Slowing his pace, regrettably, did nothing to slow the pace of his breathing or the rapid pounding of his heart. Each breath was a life-giving gasp, jagged and painful and necessary.

  “I think he just might kill himself in trying to rescue you,” Haworth said to Georgie. “There’s nothing you can do for her from down there, you know,” he called down over the edge of the basket. “She’s perfectly safe until we land.”

  He’d believe her perfectly safe when he could verify it on his own terms, by God.

  The basket kept creeping lower, closer to the ground. Cedric could almost reach one of the ropes.

  In fact, if he made a running jump…

  He stopped for a moment and took a few breaths.

  “Finally
, he’s being sensible,” Haworth said.

  Then Cedric filled his lungs, ran as fast as he could, and leapt for one of the ropes. His fingers grasped it, but it wasn’t enough. He fell with a thud and landed on his arse.

  The whole basket rocked from his brief encounter with the rope. “Oh, Monty!” Georgie cried. “Please don’t hurt yourself.”

  Too late for that, but he’d hurt far worse if anything happened to her.

  “It appears I spoke to soon,” Haworth responded dryly.

  Cedric picked himself up, wincing at the pain in his ankle, and took off again. This time, he got a good enough grip on the rope that he could maintain it. Moving hand over hand, he pulled himself up it a few inches at a time.

  He was almost to the point in which he could use his legs to assist the climb, but his lungs threatened to give out. Cedric looked down. The fall before had hurt. This was a much farther drop.

  “Lord Haworth, you have to help him.”

  Georgie’s voice gave him an added boost, and Cedric inched upwards again.

  “You do realize he’s a madman, don’t you?”

  But then, the rope began to rise as Haworth pulled it in a bit at a time, even as Cedric continued to climb. In a few minutes, Haworth reached down a hand and Cedric was able to clasp it with his own. The viscount pulled him the rest of the way into the basket, and Cedric crumpled in a heap at the bottom, desperate for air.

  Georgie dropped to her knees beside him. “Good heavens, what have you done to yourself?” She took his hands and turned them over to view his palms. “They’re burned. We’ll have to put a salve on it as soon as—”

  “Hush,” Cedric said. He pulled one hand free and pressed his finger to Georgie’s lips when she started to protest.

  “But you’re hurt.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  Physical pain couldn’t compare to what he’d been imagining. He looked into her eyes, so warm and rich and full of emotion. So full of the love he’d been hoping she had for him. His heart ached just a little more that she could love him, and yet go to Haworth for something she thought he couldn’t give her.

  Somehow, he couldn’t seem to take his hand away from her face, despite the fact that Haworth was standing by and watching them. With one abraded finger, he stroked the line of her jaw, watching it work as she fought back tears. “I would have arranged to take you in a balloon, you know.”

  “It wasn’t about the balloon.”

  That was his Georgie—always needing to have things her way. “If not the balloon, what was it about?”

  “I just—” she glanced sheepishly up at Haworth, who pretended he wasn’t paying them any mind, and then turned back to Cedric— “I wanted to experience something where I didn’t already know everything. I mean, I know how a balloon works, but I didn’t know what it was like to fly.”

  Ah. “I see. And you thought I couldn’t give you something like that?”

  She gave him a look he’d seen countless times on her mother’s face over the years—an of-course-you-can’t sort of look.

  “I see. So, I suppose that means you already know what it is like, from an experience standpoint, to be a married woman then.”

  That comment brought the desired blush to her cheeks and she swatted his hand away from her face.

  “Oh. So perhaps there are some experiences I can give you that you can’t learn in books, then. Is that right?”

  “Monty…” she said in an exasperated tone.

  “Cedric,” he corrected. “I want my wife to speak to me as a man, not as a title.”

  Georgie’s big, brown eyes filled with tears. “Your wife?”

  “If you’ll have me.” He took her hand in both of his, ignoring the pain from the abrasions. “I think I’ve loved you forever, but I didn’t understand it all until very recently. I might still not understand it all. Georgie, I love everything about you—even the fact that you likely know twice as much as I do on nearly every subject imaginable—and I want you to be my countess. Will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”

  A single tear spilled over her cheek. “Yes. Yes, Cedric, I’ll marry you.”

  “Excellent,” Haworth said, jarring Cedric back to the fact that they were in a balloon that was about to crash. “Now, I have three things to tell you, two. The first is congratulations.”

  “Thank you,” Cedric said warily.

  “You’re welcome. The second is that we’re about to hit the ground, so you should brace yourselves.” To emphasize his point, Haworth grabbed the side of the basket and held tight.

  Cedric pulled Georgie to him and wrapped himself around her, hoping to bear the brunt of the impact. Not a moment too soon, either. As soon as she landed upon his chest, the floor of the basket struck the ground. It barreled along for a moment, but remarkably did not topple over. When it finally came to a stop, Cedric helped Georgie to rights.

  At the same moment, Haworth looked down at them. “All right then? Yes, well, the third thing I need to tell you is that we have a rather large audience, including Lady Georgianna’s brother, who looks more than just a bit livid at the moment. I’ll leave you to settle matters with him, I expect.”

  Cedric laughed, then—a full laugh, from his belly to his toes. Bridge could be livid all he wanted. It didn’t matter.

  All that mattered was Georgie had agreed to marry him.

  This was an adventure they could both look forward to.

  When Georgie came down into the parlor Friday afternoon, Percy was waiting for her. He looked less like a madman now than he had when he’d first come to Town this Season, after a haircut and a shave, and donning some clean clothes. He still hadn’t explained any of it, and Georgie thought it was best not to press him. Someday, he would grow into the man he could be.

  He stood up when she came in, holding a sealed letter in his hands. “Monty sent this over for you.”

  Cedric sent her something? A thrill of excitement coursed through her at the thought. He’d promised, when he asked her to marry him, that they would experience adventures together…adventures in which she might know what they were, but wouldn’t know the whole of them until she’d experienced them for herself. Of course, there was the adventure of marriage itself, and that of the marriage bed—but Georgie was fairly certain he had some other adventures in mind, as well. She just didn’t know what they would be.

  She forced herself to walk gracefully and sedately across the room to take the envelope from her brother. Married ladies, after all, did not run like giddy schoolgirls, and she was soon to be a married lady. In just two more days’ time, the banns would be called for the first time.

  With shaking hands, Georgie broke Cedric’s seal. Inside the carefully folded parchment, there was a drawing of a lion with a note scrawled below it. For our honeymoon.

  Gracious! Where was he planning to take her? She couldn’t even begin to imagine, but one thing was certain—Georgie intended to read every book in her brother’s library that even so much as mentioned lions.

  In fact, she’d get started right this instant.

  Before she left the drawing room, though, she walked over to the escritoire beneath the front window and opened the drawer, carefully removing the sheets of parchment she’d hastily stashed there after coming home from tea at Patience’s house yesterday afternoon. She’d taken notes as her friend had told them of some delightfully wicked things a husband and wife could do, and she intended to study them just as closely as she would study about lions.

  After all—she wanted to be as knowledgeable about every aspect of her life as she could be, both before and after she’d experienced them.

  To my husband, who puts up with my crazy, busy life, and loves and supports me anyway.

  And for Ava, Jerrica and Catherine, for being great friends and such fun writing partners.

  ~ Jane

  Mr. Fiske bets Lord Alston three hundred pounds that Lord Lydell will allow encourage

  be compromised
by Lady Moira Kirkwood and be hauled off to Scotland

  before the end of the Season. ~ April 19, 1813

  Lady Moira Kirkwood stretched her arms above her head, opened her eyes, and immediately sat up. “Goodness, what time is it?”

  Beatrice, her maid, popped her head out of the dressing room. “It is close to noon, Lady Moira, but I am not surprised you slept so late, last night being your first ball and all.”

  If Moira hadn’t insisted Beatrice not wait up for her, the maid would have known she hadn’t been out until the wee morning hours, but that was not the case.

  In fact, she’d barely made an appearance at the Heathfields’ ball before her mother determined it was time to leave. The only friend she had seen was her dear friend, Pippa, Lady Philippa Casemore, and that was from across the vast ballroom. They’d shared a quick wave before her mother had pulled her away. Once the introductions were out of the way, Moira hoped to find Miss Patience Findley and join Pippa, who seemed to be having a grand time, but her mother insisted on leaving.

  “It adds mystery,” Mother had insisted.

  Mystery? “This is my first ball. May I at least stay long enough for one dance?”

  “No, you may not.”

  And that was it. An hour after they walked through the door, they were walking back out. Upon arriving home, her mother sent her to bed for a good night’s rest so that she wouldn’t develop wrinkles or bags or circles under her eyes, and to consider the gentlemen she had met that night.

  Instead of doing as she was told, which Moira rarely did, she made a list of the few eligible men that had made her acquaintance that evening. There had to be at least one Scotsman, with an estate close to Edinburgh, preferably. The Highlands would never do because they were far too remote. One must have access to a good modiste, a lending library, and a haberdashery if one was to survive so far away from friends and family.