‘No thanks necessary,’ he said with a languid wave of his hand. ‘I am sure you would have come up with some means of escaping that booby, eventually.’
She darted him a look of surprise.
‘You may be green,’ he acknowledged, ‘but you are by no means stupid.’
As the words left his mouth, he recalled Havelock’s conjecture, that when he married, his wife would have to be intelligent.
And Georgiana was intelligent. He took his spectacles case from his pocket. Substituted the word intelligent for quick-witted. Unhooked his spectacles from his ears, remembering that he’d never made a joke, no matter how obscure, that she hadn’t understood. Or at least, understood it was a joke. He put his spectacles in their case. Though she hadn’t had the benefit of much education as a very young girl, and had subsequently had little more than lessons in etiquette and deportment from what he could gather, she had an enquiring mind. She used to pepper him with questions, when she’d been a girl, as though she was hungry for information. About everything.
Just as he’d been.
She’d entered into the spirit of his investigations, too.
He shut his case with a snap, his mind flying back to her declaration last month that she would never interfere with his interests in London. At the time, he’d taken offence, assuming she meant exclusively amatory adventures.
But he now wondered if she’d meant something more. She’d always understood when he became fascinated by a new intellectual pursuit, whether it was mastering the moves of chess, or attempting to ascertain how many varieties of beetles he could discover within one square mile of Fontenay Court. She hadn’t been squeamish about his collection, either, unlike any of the female members of staff about the place. She’d stood, peering over his shoulder when he’d shown her each latest addition he’d made, even expressing interest in where he’d found the specimens.
Not that the collection existed any more. Mrs Bulstrode had thrown it away while he was in St Mary’s. ‘Cleaned out’ was the term the housekeeper had used to describe the pillage of his early scientific endeavours.
He opened his spectacles case again and reached for his pocket, to extract a handkerchief as he reflected that Georgiana would never have regarded his collection as rubbish that wanted removing. Because she had known how many hours he’d put into it and understood what it had meant to him.
Hadn’t she?
At one time, he had thought so, but...
He’d loaned his handkerchief to Major Gowan. So he couldn’t use polishing his spectacles as an excuse for not speaking while his mind was occupied with the past. Besides, he’d been in the middle of saying something to Georgiana. Who was sitting patiently, waiting for him to finish. Unlike many women, who would have been fidgeting and pouting by now.
‘Safety in numbers,’ he said, putting his spectacles away and, in so doing, jerking his shoulder in the direction of the sofa on which the blondes were sitting.
She pulled a face. ‘The general principle is sound. But I couldn’t sit with them for more than ten minutes without starting to wish I could tear out my hair by the roots. All they talk of is clothes and ribbons, and flounces and husbands.’
Now that sounded far more like the Georgie he used to know. The girl who cropped her hair short so she wouldn’t have to bother with it much. The girl who was more comfortable in breeches and only wore a skirt over the top, for appearance’s sake. Was she still there, then, the girl he’d adored? Hidden somewhere beneath the conventional surface, the way her breeches had been kept hidden under her skirts?
‘You would do better to mix with females whose interests you share,’ he observed.
‘How, exactly,’ she said acidly, ‘am I supposed to do that?’
He turned his spectacles case over, several times, since it was the only thing he had left to occupy his hands whilst going through the catalogue of the females with whom he was acquainted. Not that it helped. There were too many distractions about him. Giggling girls and braying men, and matrons slurping their tea and sprinkling crumbs on the carpet. And the scent of rosemary, which was for remembrance. Which actually did bring back memories of her compact, warm body pressing up against his as they lay side by side on their stomachs, poring over the pages of Hooke’s Micrographia.
‘I shall make sure you have introductions to some,’ he said, getting to his feet. And then taking her hand. ‘I shall take my leave,’ he said, raising it to his mouth. What the devil? He couldn’t kiss her hand. He couldn’t think why he’d begun the manoeuvre, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. ‘I will call again in...a day or so,’ he said, patting her hand, as though it was what he’d meant all along, before restoring it to her.
The moment he got outside, he drew a deep breath. And his head cleared. He knew exactly who to approach on Georgiana’s behalf. It was so obvious he couldn’t think why he hadn’t told her all about Miss Julia Durant straight away.
There must have been something in the atmosphere in that drawing room that had acted upon his intellect the way fog affected the ability to see. Something that had made him leap to Georgiana’s defence quite unnecessarily. Something that had made him forget he didn’t have a handkerchief with which to polish his spectacles until he was actually reaching for it. Something that had made him spend so much time dwelling on their shared past that when it was time to leave he’d taken her hand as though it was the most natural thing in the world to kiss it.
Instead of turning left and heading for the hackney stand on the corner of the next street, he turned right, since he’d decided to walk back to Grosvenor Square and give himself time to think. About their past. And his reaction to their separation. And most especially the irrational way he was acting round Georgiana nowadays.
It had to stop. He couldn’t respect himself when one moment he was despising her for drawing men into her orbit, the next dashing to her rescue. One moment seething at her for something she’d done when she’d been scarce more than a child, the next wanting to lift her hand to his mouth and kiss it.
Was it all because he kept catching glimpses of the girl she’d once been, peeping out at him through cracks in the veneer of her company manners? Was that why he kept responding in kind? Reverting back to the easy camaraderie they’d shared? It was certainly what had prompted him to think of introducing her to Miss Durant, Lord Havelock’s horse-mad and wilful half-sister, even though he had not named her just now. She would do Georgie the world of good, since she was never the slightest bit apologetic for being exactly who she was.
And nor should Georgie be. She’d been far more appealing as an impulsive, warm-hearted girl than she was now—all stiff and simmering with resentment and suppressed hurt.
If he achieved nothing else, this Season, he would coax that Georgie back to life. And he would start by ensuring she had female companionship of the sort that would nurture the side of her that was being systematically starved.
With a new determination in his bearing, he strode off in the direction of Durant House.
Chapter Eight
Stepmama waited until the last visitor had gone before commencing her interrogation. ‘What was he speaking to you about? Lord Ashenden, that is. I don’t need to ask what Major Gowan said to you. He has a clear voice. The voice of a man used to command.’
She meant, Georgiana thought, that he was used to bawling orders across a parade ground and hadn’t bothered to adapt his tone to what was suitable for a polite drawing room.
‘But Lord Ashenden can never be heard above a crowd,’ said Stepmama with just a hint of a sneer. ‘Besides which he turned his back to me, when he got you on that sofa, just as though he didn’t want me to so much as guess what he might be saying.’
He probably hadn’t.
‘Military tactics, Stepmama,’ said Georgiana without the slightest hesitat
ion and almost complete honesty. Because that was, on the surface, what Edmund had been talking about. Anyone overhearing them would not have guessed that he’d been attempting to give her a few pointers on how to handle herself with an unwelcome suitor. If the Major was a suitor for her hand.
She shuddered. He’d certainly been keen to tell her all about the estate from which he hailed, the horses his father kept in the stables and the hunting to be had in the area. Was that how a man showed he was interested in a girl as a prospective bride? By talking incessantly about himself?
‘I am not surprised to see you shudder. What a strange thing to talk about during an at-home,’ said Stepmama, completely misunderstanding Georgiana’s reaction. Thankfully. ‘Still, he always was a very odd young man by all accounts. Not surprising that he’s grown into an eccentric.’
‘Eccentric? He is not eccentric. He’s—’
‘I think he’s rather fascinating,’ put in Sukey hastily, before Georgiana could get herself into trouble by launching a defiant and heated defence.
Fascinating was a very good word to describe the adult Edmund, actually. Even when she was angry with him, he could make her laugh. Or want to laugh, anyway. She’d had to bite down quite hard to stop herself when he’d spouted all that nonsense about the delicacies of the female eye.
‘He was certainly fascinated by you, my dear,’ said Stepmama to Sukey, happily diverted from the subject. ‘I saw the way he was looking at you as he was drinking his tea. He stood there, just gazing down at you, as though he’d never seen anything so lovely.’ She leaned forward and gave Sukey’s cheeks a loving pat. ‘And little wonder. You are exactly to his taste. By all accounts.’ She leaned back, flushing. ‘Not that we should pay any attention to that sort of thing. All men have their little diversions before they are married. And some of them, particularly those of his rank, have them after, as well.’
Georgiana couldn’t think why that statement made her spirits sink. It wasn’t as if she had any matrimonial hopes in that direction. Edmund had rejected her proposal in no uncertain terms. He had only called upon them today, because... She frowned. Actually, she wasn’t sure why he’d called. To let her know that he disapproved of her gown and her behaviour? He’d done that, right enough. And then gone on to rescue her and to give her advice as to how to avoid getting backed into corners by idiots like Major Gowan, whilst admitting she didn’t need it because she had the sense to avoid such situations now she knew they were likely to occur. He’d also totally confused her last night by saying she looked magnificent, directly after expressing his disapproval of her low-cut bodice, and then, to crown it all, today he’d taken her hand and patted it.
She looked down at it, in bewilderment. It still tingled from his touch. In fact, her whole being had leapt when he’d taken it in his. Probably because it had been the first time he’d touched her in a natural, affectionate sort of way since...since they’d been children. And because, for the entire time they’d been talking, she’d been able to forget that he was an earl and she was a nobody. He’d made her feel like a person again, instead of an...an object of lust, simply by looking directly into her eyes while he’d been speaking to her, without once appearing tempted to let his gaze slide down to her bosom.
Except in disapproval that too much of it was on show.
Which meant he didn’t feel the slightest bit attracted to her, as a woman. Not that she wanted him to start acting like a lustful, drooling idiot. And yet...it was perplexingly depressing, all the same.
She’d given too much credit to his declaration she looked magnificent, that’s where she’d gone wrong. He’d probably only said it in an attempt to make her feel better about herself, once he’d remembered what she’d said about disliking being treated like a prize heifer.
She eyed her stepmother with resentment. Trust her to take all the pleasure out of the encounter with Edmund, with just a few choice phrases. For that was what she’d done. Before her remark about the way he’d been looking at Sukey, she’d been basking in what had felt almost like a return to old times. She’d loved the way he’d launched into that nonsense about optical orbs and sunlight from west-facing windows, to tease her for rolling her eyes at the Major. She loved the way he’d wielded his intellect, like a rapier, skewering an opponent who’d been too slow to even notice the attack. Or the defence, rather, because he’d befuddled the Major on her behalf.
Which had been most chivalrous of him. Until now, she’d thought he’d grown into an aloof, and cold, and cutting man. But she’d never heard of him using his intellect against anyone who didn’t deserve a set-down. And there was always talk about him. There was talk about all people of his rank. The doings of the ton filled columns of print every day. Even though the names were left out, the newspapermen gave sufficient clues to leave nobody in any doubt about who had been doing what with whom.
Perhaps that was what had made it much harder for her to put him out of her mind, than for him to forget about her. She was always hearing snatches of gossip that had reached Bartlesham from London, or Oxford. Not just the gossip about his love life, either. Locals had been vicariously proud of each paper he’d presented to various scientific societies, even though it confirmed the opinion that he was an odd sort of man, to sit up all night catching moths, let alone wasting hours of daylight cataloguing them.
But what was she ever likely to do that would make a newspaper wish to write about it? Nothing.
She might scoff at the Major for being a slowtop, but the truth was she had far more in common with him than with Edmund nowadays.
Though she hated to admit Stepmama could be right about anything, Major Gowan was just the sort of man she ought to consider marrying. He liked living in the country. When he was in London on duty, he was grateful that he could at least spend a great deal of it on horseback, he’d told her. And more to the point, he liked the look of her. Or her bosom, at any rate.
She shuddered again. Was that to be her future? Shackled to a brainless boor who would only ever be interested in her body?
‘Now that the visitors have gone, you may run up and get a shawl, Georgiana,’ said Stepmama, mistaking her shiver of revulsion at the prospect of having to marry a man like Major Gowan for one of cold.
‘Thank you, Stepmama,’ she said meekly, relieved to escape the room before the interrogation went any further. For if she had to give her opinion about the first suitor her stepmother had flung in her path, it would have been a struggle to say anything even remotely polite.
She would rather go to work as a...as a...
She came to a dead halt halfway up the stairs. Actually, what sort of work could she get? Not as a governess, Stepmama had been right about that. She had none of the accomplishments young ladies required. Her father hadn’t thought that sort of education necessary when she’d been little, and by the time he married Stepmama it had been considered too late to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear. Stepmama had therefore concentrated on drilling her in correct behaviour.
Her bottom winced at the memory of just how mercilessly she’d drilled that behaviour into her, which got her moving up the stairs again.
What other occupations did indigent females of her station go into? Milliner, seamstress? Out of the question. She couldn’t sew a straight seam to save her life and had no eye for fashion whatever. Companion to an elderly lady? She’d go mad.
She could, probably, go on the stage. The one thing Stepmama had succeeded in teaching her was how to pretend to be something she wasn’t. She didn’t think she’d have any difficulty learning her lines, either. The trouble was, actresses had to put up with lots of men drooling over them on a nightly basis, rather than just one.
A reflection that put paid to any thought of having a career on the stage. She slouched along the hall, went into her room and draped a shawl round her upper body in a purely defensive gesture.
Perhaps next time she met Major Gowan, she’d better try harder to look as though she didn’t find him altogether repulsive.
Because so far, he appeared to be her only honourable option.
And at least he’d let her have a horse.
* * *
The next day, Mrs Pargetter and her two daughters were, yet again, the first callers to arrive. To Stepmama’s delight, they arrived in a carriage with a crest on the door. Sukey spied it from the drawing-room window, where she’d been standing watching the traffic going round the square. Stepmama cast her embroidery aside and joined her at the window, where they both pressed their noses to the pane to see who might emerge.
‘It’s Dotty and Lotty,’ said Sukey, in amazement. ‘Oh, and Lady Havelock!’
‘Well, that explains the carriage, then,’ said Stepmama, hurrying back to her chair and flapping her hands to Sukey and Georgiana to adopt similarly domestic poses.
When the Pargetters tumbled into the room, flushed from climbing the stairs, Stepmama pressed her hands to her bosom in feigned surprise.
‘My dear Lady Havelock, how good of you to call. What an unexpected pleasure!’
‘I hope you don’t mind. I have also brought my husband’s half-sister, Miss Julia Durant,’ she said rather breathlessly, as a rather spotty girl who didn’t look old enough to have emerged from the schoolroom came in behind her.
As soon as everyone had dropped the necessary curtsies, Dotty and Lotty made straight for the sofa on which Sukey was sitting. They were soon busily discussing the gowns they planned to wear for the rout they were all attending that evening.
Mrs Pargetter and Lady Havelock sat on the sofa closest to the fire. Stepmama joined them and immediately launched a barrage of questions. Ever since they’d visited Durant House, all sorts of people had approached Stepmama, wanting to know how Lady Havelock had managed to transform the place from a dreary mausoleum into what they now declared was a showpiece. And now that she had the chance to find out, Stepmama was wasting no time furnishing herself with as much information as she could.
The Debutante's Daring Proposal Page 9
