The Debutante's Daring Proposal

by Annie Burrows

  ‘If I were a man,’ she continued, though she knew it was hopeless to say so, ‘I could learn a trade and earn my own living, and run my own household...’ In fact, that was what she’d hoped to be able to do with the money her father had left her. Buy a little cottage somewhere and live simply. Just the three of them. Without having any men at all complicating everything.

  But Stepmama wouldn’t hear of it. She had an ingrained belief that women needed men to take care of them, which nothing could shake. Not even the house in Bloomsbury.

  ‘Georgiana, really! If Mama were to hear you say that...’

  ‘I know. She’d say I wasn’t too old for the switch.’ Georgiana sighed.

  ‘No, she wouldn’t,’ said Sukey. ‘Because you are too sensible to say anything so silly within her hearing.’ She shot her stepsister a knowing look.

  Fortunately, Sukey wasn’t the kind of girl who told tales, either. Even so, Georgiana sighed heavily. ‘I am sorry, Sukey. I know you are very excited about getting an invitation to such an exclusive party and I have no wish to ruin your evening with my fit of the dismals.’

  ‘You’re just nervous, I expect,’ said Sukey charitably. ‘Heavens, I’m nervous myself. I cannot believe that Mrs Pargetter somehow managed to get our names on her niece’s guest list, when everyone knows it’s supposed to be just family and close friends. I hear there’s going to be at least two viscounts there and heaven alone knows who else besides.’ She gave the bunch of blue ribbon one last regretful look, then turned her gaze upon Georgiana.

  ‘I suppose at least if we are both all in white, we shall match.’

  ‘It’s very kind of you to say so, Sukey.’ It was her way of showing solidarity. ‘But nobody looking at us standing side by side could ever mistake us for sisters. Not that there will be much standing side by side. You will get swept away from me on a tide of chatter and giggles as soon as we arrive and will end up at the centre of the liveliest crowd in the room. While I will be looking about for the quietest, most secluded corner in which to hide. I hope the Durants go in for potted palms.’

  ‘Hide? You cannot possibly waste the opportunity Mama has worked so hard to procure for us, hiding away behind a potted palm.’

  ‘It’s all very well for you,’ Georgiana protested. ‘But you aren’t going to have every man in the place addressing every single remark to your breasts. Men actually remember what your face looks like—even what colour eyes you have, I shouldn’t wonder. But not one of them has ever looked at anything above my neck since I grew these.’ She gestured in despair to the front of her low-cut gown.

  Sukey clapped her hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle.

  ‘I am sure that is not true, but anyway, if they do attract a man’s notice, that is all to the good, surely?’

  ‘There is nothing good about them. They are too big and too heavy. And, and...downright uncomfortable when I go out riding.’

  ‘Well, only because you will go everywhere at full gallop. I’m sure if you rode in a more decorous manner...’

  ‘Why should I ride in a decorous manner, just because I sprouted these on my thirteenth birthday?’

  ‘Because it is the ladylike thing to do,’ said Sukey with a puzzled shake of her head before walking back to the mirror to admire her reflection.

  Leaving Georgiana convinced of only one thing. No matter how lovely and feminine and sweet Sukey was, deep down, she held the same convictions as Stepmama. Which was why, in spite of feeling a great deal of affection for her, she had never seen the point in confiding in her.

  Not the way she’d been able to confide in Edmund.

  But then he’d been the only person, apart from Papa, who’d accepted her as she was.

  Until he’d been sent away.

  Which had changed everything.

  Everything.

  Chapter Five

  Edmund pushed his way through the cluster of people gathered by the railings of Durant House and gave his name to the burly footman stationed there.

  He’d known tonight’s event would rouse interest in certain circles, but had not anticipated it creating quite such a stir. He had underestimated the amount of people who had nothing better to do than gossip, obviously. Though Lord and Lady Havelock, the owners of Durant House, had certainly done plenty to create it. Lady Havelock had been a complete unknown before their marriage, which had taken place just before Christmas, while most of the ton had been spending the Season on their country estates. And, according to the very few people who’d been on terms to visit since the couple had taken up residence, she had performed an almost miraculous transformation upon one of the gloomiest town houses known to the haut ton.

  What was more, before this mysterious woman could take up her place in society, her lord had proved equally efficient in his own endeavours at siring an heir. Her appearances in public therefore were few and far between and invitations to Durant House were scarcer than hen’s teeth. Which meant that everyone who hadn’t seen inside wanted to know how the young Lady Havelock had managed to effect the sort of improvement upon her new home—that those who had been privileged to see it were raving about—without bankrupting her husband in the process.

  ‘You are expected, Lord Ashenden,’ said the footman, before stepping aside to allow him to pass.

  A smile tugged at Edmund’s lips as he mounted the steps to the front door which swung open as if by magic. Georgiana’s stepmother must have been cock-a-hoop when she received her invitation to this ‘informal gathering of friends and family’, especially once she’d seen how many others were not being admitted to the select gathering. After tonight, the three Wickford ladies would be invited to all sorts of events hosted by ladies whose determination to discover the latest gossip about the interior of Durant House knew no bounds. They would not even be deterred by their humble origins, if anyone ever bothered delving into their antecedents.

  Edmund handed his hat and coat to the footman who’d opened the door to him, and made his way across the wainscoted hall to the staircase that swept up the left wall, via a series of half-landings, to the gallery spanning the next storey. The hall was massive. And could have been imposing, but somehow felt welcoming, in spite of Lord Havelock’s forebears scowling down at him from their heavily gilded frames.

  That was possibly because he didn’t care about the opinion of long-dead nobles. To be frank, he didn’t give much for the opinion of living ones either. The only person whose thoughts interested him in the slightest, at this moment, was Georgiana.

  She was bound to be angry with him after the way they’d parted. Though at least this time he knew why she was angry with him and had a perfectly sound explanation to offer. At least, he intended to explain why he hadn’t called upon her before she’d left Bartlesham. He was tolerably certain she would understand his need to think things through. And that she’d forgive his earlier offence once he demonstrated his willingness to be her friend once more, if not her husband.

  What he was not going to do, however, was offer any explanation as to why he hadn’t called upon her now that he was in Town as well.

  A flush crept up his neck as he mounted the stairs, brought on by the recollection of the impetuous way he’d stormed out of Six Chimneys before he’d gathered all the information he needed. And then the difficulty he’d had attempting to track her down. By the time he had done so, it was far too late to simply pay her a morning call, since she was bound to have known exactly how long he’d been in residence at Ashenden House. Various newspapers regularly reported his movements, for reasons that remained a mystery to him. It would have looked as though he’d been too busy, or too indifferent to call before.

  Besides, he’d reasoned, they wouldn’t have been able to converse privately anyway. He could just imagine the scene in her drawing room, with her shooting dagger glances at him, while he would have bee
n unable to explain anything to his satisfaction. Not with her stepmother in earshot. For he was certain the woman could not have known about their meeting by the trout stream. If she’d been brought into Georgiana’s life to teach her how to behave, then one of the first things she would have taught her was the impropriety of meeting single gentlemen without a chaperon.

  Once he’d come to that conclusion, he had then briefly wondered how Georgiana had managed to engineer the meeting at all. But only briefly. For she had been wearing a riding habit and there had been no sign of a horse. Somewhere close by there must have been a groom who had somehow been persuaded to let her out of his sight for a few minutes.

  He shook his head. The stepmother must be completely hen-witted if she thought she could trust Georgiana out of her sight with only a groom to guard her. Didn’t she know what a wild, free spirit dwelled in that shapely body?

  Which reflection made his heart speed up considerably.

  Or perhaps it was simply that he’d just climbed several flights of stairs and would soon be walking into the reception room in which Georgiana must surely be by this time of the evening. He’d deliberately arrived late, telling Lord Havelock that he would ‘pop in’ on his way back from another engagement. ‘It would be best to commence my association in London with Miss Wickford by meeting as if by chance,’ he had explained, ‘at some event where we have mutual friends.’

  ‘If that’s the way you want to play it,’ Lord Havelock had said, raising his brows and grinning, blast him.

  Edmund’s lips tightened. He’d provided Lord Havelock and his friends with a great deal of amusement when they’d discovered what he was about. But he hadn’t had much choice. Time had been ticking away and he’d been getting nowhere. Since Edmund hadn’t found a trace of Georgiana in the best circles, it made sense to assume her stepmother was making use of whatever connections she did have. Which, upon reflection, were bound to be from a less exalted sphere, into which he did not have the entrée.

  Fortunately, there were a few members of his club who did have those connections and, more importantly, upon whose discretion he could depend. Both Lord Chepstow and Lord Havelock had married women from the gentry, and Mr Morgan—though immensely wealthy—had even more humble origins. Besides which, the four of them had put their heads together once before, when Lord Havelock had confessed his need to find a bride in a hurry.

  Edmund had advised him to draw up a list of requirements, to help him focus his thoughts, and the other two had added both their own suggestions and practical help in locating Havelock’s perfect bride. Yet not a word of that night’s work had ever been revealed by any of them. Which said something about their integrity. Many men, having taken part in such an exercise, would have later made a joke of it.

  And so Edmund had felt fairly confident about approaching them and sharing something of his dilemma.

  ‘One good turn deserves another,’ Havelock had said, as soon as he had broached the fact that he was in need of assistance. ‘In what way can I help you?’

  ‘I am attempting to locate a...certain young lady of my acquaintance, who has come to London. But discreetly.’

  ‘I can be discreet,’ Havelock had said, affronted.

  Edmund had sighed. He had forgotten just how swiftly Havelock’s temper could be roused. And by the most innocuous of remarks.

  ‘I am sure you can be,’ he had said in a placating manner. ‘Now, to the nub of the matter. This young lady does not move in the circles we generally inhabit. Her stepmother is...’ He’d paused, briefly. He was loathe to speak ill of any lady, even though his opinion of Mrs Wickford had been getting worse by the day. But he had very nearly blurted out a most unflattering description of her character. ‘According to rumour, her father was a grocer in some nondescript town,’ he’d said, determined to stick to the facts of the matter, and only the facts. ‘Her first husband a mere tailor.’

  ‘The daughter ain’t trying to hide from you, is she?’ Havelock had leaned back in his chair and folded his arms.

  ‘Nothing of the sort! This...grocer’s daughter happened to marry the widowed master of the hunt, from Bartlesham, the village where I spent my boyhood, since my principal seat is located nearby. Now that he’s died, they have had to vacate their home, since it was entailed. She has brought her...daughters to London hoping to find wealthy husbands for them both. I simply wish to...to help them, if I can. And to do that, I need to know where they are living and with whom they are mixing.’

  ‘They sloped off without telling you their direction?’ Havelock was still frowning.

  Edmund had felt his cheeks heat. ‘I meant to call on them before they left Bartlesham. I was...distracted by...other matters and left it too late. By the time I went to enquire after them, they’d already left. And I feel it would be remiss of me not to do something for them, behind the scenes, in a...disinterested sort of way, since they are in the way of being neighbours.’

  ‘Sounds like a hum to me,’ Havelock had persisted. ‘Why don’t you just tell us the truth?’

  ‘You are interested in this girl from your village, aren’t you?’ Unlike Havelock, Morgan appeared pleased that Edmund had inadvertently made it sound as though he was in hot pursuit of some innocent country miss. But then everyone knew he had a sister to marry off this Season, a sister he wished to keep away from anyone with a title, for some reason known only to himself.

  Edmund had, he believed, shut his eyes at that point and swallowed convulsively at the choices he was going to have to take—either to let them go on believing they were abetting him in the pursuit of unwilling prey, or to confess that Georgiana’s proposal had rattled him so badly he hadn’t been able to think clearly for several days. Eventually, he’d come up with an answer that spared him the necessity of doing neither.

  ‘I am not...interested in her,’ he’d said, a little testily. ‘She is totally unsuitable. Apart from her background, she is a complete hoyden, besides being horse-mad and...fickle.’

  ‘Is she intelligent, though?’ Havelock had asked with a grin. ‘I seem to recall that was the only factor you insisted I should include on my own list of wifely qualities. So that you wouldn’t have to...what was it...forfeit your bachelor freedoms only to sire a brood of idiots?’

  Morgan had slapped the tabletop at this point and laughed. ‘That was exactly what he said. I remember now! Which is why so many people seem to think you might be about to make a match of it with Lady Susan Pettifer.’

  ‘Lady Susan? Good God, no! She has a tongue like a—’ He’d only just managed to pull himself up before saying something he would have regretted. ‘That is,’ he temporised, ‘I have no intention of marrying anyone. For some considerable time. I simply wish to ensure that Georgie has the chance to meet the kind of gentleman she might like to marry.’

  ‘Georgie? You call her by her given name?’

  ‘What does she look like?’

  The pair of them had been grinning like schoolboys at his discomfiture. But at least he could tell they were both considering helping him. So, instead of getting up and stalking out, he’d swallowed his pride and given them some pertinent details.

  ‘Her name is Georgiana Wickford,’ he’d therefore told them. ‘She is tall, and...robust, with black hair and brown eyes. Her stepmother is Mrs Wickford and her stepsister is Susan Mead, though she’s normally known as Sukey.’

  ‘No—what, Sukey and Georgiana?’ Havelock had sat up straight. ‘Mary came back from visiting her cousins the other day saying she’d met some girls just up from the country by those very names. I wonder if it could be them...’

  It had sounded too good to be true. And yet, after further investigation, Havelock had confirmed that Mrs Wickford had rented a house just off Bloomsbury Square and that her daughter and stepdaughter had already become friends with his wife’s cousins who lived nearby.

 
; ‘Doesn’t sound as though they need any help from you finding husbands, though,’ he’d said. ‘They’ve been presented at court.’

  ‘Already?’ He wondered how Mrs Wickford had managed it. He wondered what it had cost. And why Georgiana had made it sound as though she was about to live in penury for the rest of her life.

  ‘Tell you what,’ Havelock had said. ‘Why don’t I ask Mary if she’ll send them invitations to a little card party and supper she’s planning?’

  ‘You would really do that?’

  ‘Yes. For I cannot wait to see the woman who’s got you so hot under the collar.’

  ‘She does not have me hot under the collar, as you put it,’ he’d retorted.

  ‘Ashe, you went pink when we were discussing her. You very nearly raised your voice. That’s as near to getting hot under the collar as I’ve ever seen you.’ Havelock had laughed, slapping him on the back.

  He certainly felt a little hot under the collar now. Because, in a minute or two, he was going to see her. Would probably have to stick to a topic of conversation suitable for a polite drawing room, when what he really wanted to do was discuss the conclusions he’d reached since their last meeting. And all the questions that had arisen since, about her finances, her ambitions, her motives, her prospects...

  He paused in the open doorway of a large reception room, scanning its occupants for a sight of her face. And couldn’t help recalling that face as he’d last seen it, streaked with tears. Because he’d made her cry. Which was something else he needed to explain. That he hadn’t meant to. Hadn’t realised that a few words designed to cut her down to size would have cut her down completely. Had never dreamed anything he’d said could have had any effect upon her at all, come to that.