“Let’s see, Lady Jane will be in attendance, of course.” Harriette flipped to a page at the front of the book. “Last week you said she danced with Lord Howard twice and spent an unfortunate amount of time talking to him in the corner.”
Georgina grimaced. “Yes. He’s apparently very romantic. Ugh. Her mystery man would be a better choice. Did she have any significant connection to any other gentlemen?”
“No.” Harriette flipped a few pages. “Although she and several other ladies were trying to talk to you about Lord Trent.” The maid looked up, confusion on her face. “Not His Grace?”
Georgina shook her head. “No. Despite the fact that every lady in the realm would like to catch Griffith’s attention, he is quite famously unattainable. In order to be caught he would have to actually socialize.”
“Perhaps he’s waiting until he falls in love.”
“Bite your tongue!” Georgina couldn’t help but grin. She supposed, when it came down to it, she wanted her siblings to find love. It seemed to matter to them, particularly Miranda. Then again, they had the luxury of holding out for the mindless emotion. “Who else will be there?”
The sound of pages turning scraped through the room. What would the ton think if they knew about that book? No doubt some of them would go to great lengths to get a look at it. She and Harriette had been accumulating gossip and news for three years now.
There wasn’t much she didn’t know, socially speaking.
“What about Ashcombe? Has there been anyone serious since Miranda?” Georgina was almost certain there hadn’t been—one of the things that had led her to think his intentions of settling down had never been very serious. If Miranda was right, it was his attachment to Griffith that was strong enough to last the years.
“No.” Harriette’s voice faded, looking surprised that they didn’t know more about the man. “There’s very little about Ashcombe in here that would be of any use. Bits and pieces of information, but nothing of much importance.”
Is there anything about me in there?
The internalized voice of Mr. McCrae startled Georgina into a sitting position, sloshing water over the side of the tub.
“My lady?” Harriette set the notebook aside and started to rise.
Georgina waved her back down and reached for the cake of scented soap. How did that man keep getting in her head? True, she’d spent several hours in close proximity to him, but as he was nowhere nearby now, she should be able to ignore his existence.
She cast a glance at the reopened notebook in Harriette’s lap. Did she know anything about Mr. McCrae? The only way to know was to ask. Never before had she wanted to hide something from Harriette this badly.
“Harriette, do we have anything about Mr. McCrae in that book?” She slid the soap over her skin, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Mr. McCrae?” Harriette’s eyebrows drew together as she looked through the book. “I don’t recall anything about him. Is he on the list?”
“No!” Water sloshed over the side of the tub again as Georgina twisted to face Harriette. “He is most definitely not on the list.”
Harriette looked as if she was trying to decide how to ask her next question. Georgina didn’t know exactly what the maid was going to ask, but she was very certain she didn’t want to answer it. She began to rinse. “Why don’t we go over the poem again? I’ll have to leave soon.”
Georgina busied herself with the linen drying cloth as Harriette retrieved the slim volume of poetry. It was all Georgina could do not to dunk the thing in the cooling bathwater.
“I’ve changed my mind. We should do a play.” Lady Jane bounced on her toes, blessedly oblivious of the way her bouncing curls made Georgina feel ill.
She refused to admit it was Jane’s suggestion causing the discomfort.
“A play?” Georgina handed her coat to the waiting maid but kept a tight hold on her reticule. The extra weight of the small poetry book made the bag a constant drag on her arm that she couldn’t ignore.
“Yes, isn’t it genius?” Jane hooked her arm through Georgina’s. “I know I said poetry, but a play would be so much better, don’t you think?”
“No,” Georgina bit out. She tried to keep the panic from her voice. They couldn’t do a play when she’d prepared for a poem.
Jane’s smile fell away. “You don’t think it’s a good idea? Why not?”
“Because . . .” Why not? There had to be a good reason for not doing a play. Something that would appeal to a marriage-minded female, because Jane thought of very little else. “Because with a poem you will be the focus of the attention. If we do a play, someone might steal the attention away from you.”
“Oh.” Jane’s face cleared into a smile. “You’re right. I wouldn’t want to risk that.”
Georgina’s shoulders relaxed. Crisis averted.
“Good evening, Lady Georgina.”
Tension spiraled back up her spine. Was Mr. McCrae really in attendance or was she imagining his voice again? She turned to see him looking disgustingly fresh considering he’d taken the same wild carriage ride she had. She only hoped she looked as rested. “Good evening. Mr. McGrue, wasn’t it?”
He smiled as if her childish attempt to put distance between them were more amusing than annoying. Oh, how she despised that beautiful smile. “Close enough. Will you be reciting this evening?”
“Of course she is.” Jane squeezed Georgina’s arm. “She’s simply wonderful. I couldn’t convince her to do more than one though, so make sure you don’t miss it.”
“I’m sure yours will be equally as captivating, Lady Jane. I shall refrain from leaving the room for the entire evening so that I don’t miss a single performance.”
Jane giggled as Mr. McCrae bowed and headed for the refreshments laid out along one wall of the drawing room.
“What is he doing here?” Georgina whispered.
“Mr. McCrae?” Jane’s eyes widened. “Father insisted. Said it was the only way to get him to talk about some tin mine.”
Georgina relaxed again. If the man had been invited under the guise of business, he wouldn’t remain in the room long.
Chapter 16
Poetry recitations were normally dreadfully dull and the bane of any gentleman’s social existence. This one was no different. Yet Colin wouldn’t have missed it for anything. Nothing short of an explosion was going to pry him out of his seat in the back of the room. For one thing, if he left, Lord Prendwick would corner him to talk about that dreadful chemical investment he wanted to make. Colin wasn’t going to have anything to do with it but didn’t want to damage the connections he had with those who did. By his calculations, if he managed to avoid them for another week, they’d move on to something else.
Mostly, though, he wanted to see which poem Lady Georgina would choose to recite.
He winced as a young lady squinted at the book she was holding. She obviously needed spectacles but refused to be seen in public with them. Didn’t she realize her scrunched-up eyes and stumbling words were far more distracting than the frames and lenses would be?
Finally, Lady Georgina rose, to a very enthusiastic reception. After the stuttering young lady, anything would be an improvement.
“‘I wandered lonely as a cloud,’” she began, “‘that floats on high o’er vales and hills . . .’”
Colin sat a little straighter. The other young ladies had chosen frippery and romantic nonsense about doomed loves and handsome suitors. Though it was entirely possible this poem would end in the same place, the opening line shot through him like a dagger.
The girl was truly amazing. Her words were clear, she didn’t stuff her face in the book, and she even managed to inject some inflection and emotion into her words. Why would such a consummate reciter only perform once in an evening? Lady Jane, an accomplished but not astounding presenter, had already been up twice.
As she started the second verse, he realized it was a poem about flowers.
He also realized she wasn’t
reading it, despite having the book open in her hand. The woman had memorized her poem. No doubt it made for a flawless performance, but why would she take the time to do that?
“‘For oft when on my couch I lie in vacant or in pensive mood . . .’”
Colin grinned at the idea of Lady Georgina flopped on a couch, contemplating the mysteries of life. It didn’t fit with the composed, polished young lady he’d encountered so many times.
As she came to the last line, however, a suspicious wetness seemed to form in her eye, and he wasn’t sure it was all an affectation. “‘And then my heart with pleasure fills, and dances with the daffodils.’”
Applause filled the room as she closed the book and curtsied. It was a bit faster, a touch louder than the polite clapping for some of the other young ladies. No doubt Hawthorne House would be overrun with daffodils over the next few days, every gentleman believing he was being clever. William Wordsworth would probably sell a few more volumes of poetry as well.
When the exhibitions were finally complete, the mingling began. Though he knew he should slip out and leave the others to their courtship dance, he couldn’t leave without speaking to her. It was becoming a compulsion, to see if he could rattle her glamorous cage the slightest bit. “Well done.”
She started a bit at his voice in her ear before spinning to face him. “Thank you.”
He waited for the witty comment to form on his tongue, but none came. She had done genuinely well tonight. The glow of accomplishment made her even more beautiful than usual. With nothing to criticize, Colin could do nothing but stand in admiration. “I was hoping you’d grace us with an encore.”
“You’re very gracious, Mr. McCrae.”
He used a small cough to clear the sudden tightness in his throat. “Is that poem a favorite of yours? You seemed to know it well.”
Her smile was slight, but it looked softer, more real than any smile he’d seen on her face before. “I like the idea of dancing in a field of flowers.”
“By yourself?” Was he flirting with her?
A hint of color tinged the edges of her high cheekbones. “Sometimes.”
Was she flirting back? She looked as stunned as he felt. Their customary barbs and cutting remarks seemed to have disappeared. After seeing her with Lady Miranda at Marshington Abbey, Colin couldn’t quite keep her in the conniving, calculating box he’d originally placed her in. She was real. Human. Beautiful.
And leaving.
With a wide smile, she extended her arm to a man behind him, stepping around Colin to receive more accolades.
Colin sighed with relief as he heard her simpering behind him, giggling over the gushed compliments. The moment had been just that, a moment. The lady had no reason to use her wiles on him, and his admiration for her poetry recitation had been genuine. That was all there was to it.
He spent the rest of the evening doling out vague appreciation for the other young ladies and occasionally talking business with some of the fathers who had been dragged along to the event. If he purposely avoided a certain woman in white, no one knew it but him.
“That is a stunning amount of daffodils.”
Georgina glanced up from her canvas to find Miranda standing in the doorway, her mouth gaping at the scene in the upstairs parlor. Bouquets of bright yellow flowers had been arriving all morning. It had taken a while, but Georgina had arranged them across the table, sofa, and floor until the flowers had a waterfall appearance. Now she was painting them, and the effect was rather beautiful.
Miranda strolled into the room and ran her finger along the edge of one flower. “What are they for?”
“I’m painting them.” Georgina felt a bit ashamed as the wonder on Miranda’s face faded into annoyance. “I read a poem about daffodils at Jane’s last night.”
Miranda’s eyebrows rose. “You went out last night? I fell asleep and didn’t waken until ten this morning.”
Georgina shrugged. “I didn’t spend the previous evening running from a madman and getting engaged.” She waited for the sting at the reminder that the Duke of Marshington would not be her salvation. It didn’t come. In fact, she felt something suspiciously similar to happiness for her sister.
One glance at the dreamy smile on Miranda’s face proved that, yes, Georgina was pleased that Miranda had found the love she’d sought.
The association with another powerful duke couldn’t hurt Georgina’s standing either.
“When is the wedding?” Georgina turned back to her canvas. She had avoided having any meaningful conversation with Miranda for years in fear that her older sister would discover her shortcomings. Now that Miranda would be moving out, Georgina mourned the lost moments. Perhaps she could spend the next few weeks forging a stronger relationship.
“Saturday.”
Georgina dropped her paintbrush. “Saturday? But . . . that’s the day after tomorrow.”
Miranda nodded. “Ryland got a special license nearly a week ago. We’re going to get married and move out to the Abbey, start setting it to rights.”
“But . . . that’s so soon.” Georgina set aside her pallet before she dropped it as well. The paintbrush had managed to mar nothing but her easel on its trip to the floor. She wouldn’t be so lucky a second time.
“I know. But it’s for the best. You’ll have the drawing room all to yourself now. My few callers won’t bother you anymore.”
“I-I think I’ll miss you.” It was hard to say who was more stunned by the statement, Miranda or Georgina, but as soon as the words left her mouth, Georgina knew they were true. No matter what had happened between them in the past few years, Georgina knew Miranda would always be there for her.
Perhaps even if she knew the truth.
Could Georgina possibly tell her? Could she find the words? She’d never told anyone. Only Harriette knew.
Miranda eased onto the sofa nearest Georgina’s chair. She looked a little unsure. “Mother and I went to visit Lady Yensworth this afternoon.”
Georgina nodded. “She would be the one to spread the news of your coming nuptials the fastest.”
“That is what we figured.” Miranda glanced around the room and then sat forward excitedly. “Oh! We stopped for coffee on our way home, and you’ll never guess who we saw.”
“Who?” Georgina leaned forward as well.
“Miss Lavinia Clemens. Do you remember her?”
Georgina blinked. She’d actually forgotten that Lavinia was coming to Town. With everything going on, she and Harriette had never gotten around to answering the letter. Not that Lavinia would be surprised. Georgina often made a point of not answering letters. “She wrote me a while back, said she was coming to London to visit her aunt.”
Miranda’s eyebrows rose. “I didn’t know you actually read your correspondence. I always imagined you tossing it right in the fire.”
Georgina deserved that, she supposed. It did fit the image she’d worked so hard to cultivate. Again the urge to tell Miranda the truth made her tongue swell. She sacrificed Lavinia on the altar of awkwardness instead. “Lavinia’s gotten an offer from Mr. Dixon.”
“Truly? I suppose she could do worse.”
“She could also do better.” Georgina sat back, assuming the powerful role of the person holding the gossip. “She’s come to Town to see if she can make that happen. No one expects her to land a title, of course, but Lavinia’s quite pretty.”
Miranda’s eyes widened. “Does she still . . . ?” Her hand fluttered in front of her mouth.
“Does she still what?” What could Miranda possibly be trying to signal with her hand? It looked as if she was trying to play some strange imaginary violin. Lavinia had many good qualities, but musicality was not one of them.
“Does she still stutter?” Miranda’s voice lowered to a whisper. “When she speaks, does she still do that thing with the d’s and t’s?”
“I believe so.” Georgina began gathering her painting things. Yes, Lavinia stuttered, but she’d done a marvelous job
of working around it. It gave her the reputation of being exceptionally quiet, but surely her other assets would overshadow that. “Do you think it will matter? I mean, she manages to do everything. Clearly she’s not stupid. I’ve seen her do sums in her head faster than the dressmaker can.”
Miranda smiled. “She does have a strong head for maths. And did you see her at the hunt last year? Her horse cleared that fence and she never even bobbled. I didn’t dare try it.”
“I don’t remember that.” Georgina had been too busy trying not to appear too enthusiastic about the hunt to notice much else. Riding wasn’t her favorite activity, but she didn’t abhor it as much as she let everyone believe. It was exhausting to appear aloof sometimes. “I do remember Trent tripping into the hedges while playing blindman’s bluff with the children.”
They giggled over memories for the next ten minutes, but Georgina couldn’t quite forget Miranda’s face when she’d asked about Lavinia’s speech.
“Miranda, do you truly think the way Lavinia speaks will hurt her chances of getting a husband?”
Miranda considered Georgina. “Don’t you?”
“It shouldn’t.” Perhaps it was because they’d met as children, but Lavinia’s speech issue had never been much of a problem for Georgina. Lavinia could bring a great deal to a marriage, wouldn’t she? Shouldn’t that be what was considered? To be honest, Georgina had never thought much about other people’s marriage prospects unless they affected her own. What did that say about her? Yes, it was getting her closer to her goal, but the trait wasn’t attractive in the slightest.
Miranda sighed. “I know it shouldn’t, but the fact is most men in London are going to want a wife who can stand up with them in society.”
Georgina looked at Miranda, waiting, hoping, to see something that told her that her sister didn’t really believe that. That she didn’t think Lavinia’s inability to speak perfectly was going to make her less worthy.
It wasn’t there.
Georgina saw distaste over the truth of the observation. She saw grief over the death of Lavinia’s prospects. But she also saw acceptance of the fact of life that would limit Lavinia’s potential.
An Elegant Façade (Hawthorne House Book #2) Page 16
