Читать книгу Regency Society - Хелен Диксон, Ann Lethbridge, Хелен Диксон - Страница 111
ОглавлениеGeorgie’s spurt of temper lasted for the first mile or so, by which time she had realised that it merely made her seem childish, for he was determined to be a charming companion. He had allowed his young groom to drive and sat with her in a more comfortable seat.
‘Well, I suppose it does no good to fall out with you,’ she announced as they passed a pretty village. ‘I have to thank you for making it possible for me to complete my journey. Had we not met, I might have suffered a worse fate than to be teased.’
‘Very nicely said,’ Richard observed with a faint smile. ‘I was wondering when you would remember your society manners, for I dare say you were brought up to behave with decorum.’
‘Certainly I was,’ Georgie replied. ‘Mama would have been shocked if she knew what I had done these past days—though I believe she would understand I had no choice. My father would have thrashed my uncle, but of course had either of them been still living it could not have happened.’
‘Have you thought about your future?’ Richard inquired for all the world as if he were an uncle and they out for an afternoon drive. ‘You spoke of setting up your own establishment if your aunt did not wish for your company, but you are a little young for that, are you not?’
‘Yes, perhaps,’ she agreed. ‘But I dare say I might hire a respectable companion to keep me company. If I had no relations, I must have done so anyway.’
Richard nodded. He was thoughtful as he watched her, wondering how he could ever for a moment have been deceived into thinking her a youth. She was extremely pretty even dressed as she was; indeed, there was something fascinating about a young woman in a boy’s clothing, and he had to castigate himself severely for thinking that had she not been so well born he might have made her his mistress.
What was he thinking! It was a rogue thought and one he hastily dismissed, even though she was wholly enticing, especially when she got on her high horse. There had been moments when he had been tempted to kiss her simply to see her reaction, but each time he had crushed the unworthy impulse. No matter what she had done, she was a young lady of good birth and fortune and as such deserved his protection. He had no right to be imagining what she might look like without those ridiculous clothes—or what her hair would smell like as it lay spread on the pillow beside him!
‘Do you think anyone would consent to be my companion?’ she asked a little naïvely, looking uncertain. ‘Perhaps my great-aunt will be pleased to have me and I shan’t need one.’
‘Yes, we must hope so,’ he replied. ‘I should imagine any number of ladies would be happy to come and live at your expense, Georgie—but you must be careful that you choose the right one.’
‘Yes…’ She looked doubtful. ‘Do you think—?’
Before she could continue a shot rang out. She ducked forward as she felt the air rush past her cheek and realised that it had almost hit her. The horses had taken fright and the young groom was having difficulty in holding them. She controlled her little squeal of fright as she saw Richard move swiftly to the driving box and grab the reins from the hands of his valiant groom.
It took only a few minutes before he had managed to slow their pace to something more manageable, though he did not immediately bring them to a halt. She realised that he was putting some distance between them and whoever had shot at them, and when she heard two more shots behind them she guessed that Henderson had arrived and was making sure that the assassin did not attempt to follow them.
It was perhaps fifteen minutes later that Richard slowed his horses to a walking pace, then gave the reins back to his groom and climbed back to sit beside her. He looked at her for a moment, his intent gaze registering that after her first fright she had taken the incident well.
‘Good girl,’ he said and picked up her cap, which had come off in their mad flight. ‘It is a pity to hide that glorious hair, but I think you should. It won’t do for you to be seen like this, you know.’
‘No,’ she agreed and blushed as he helped her to gather her long hair and tuck it back beneath the cap.
Richard smiled at her in a manner that suddenly took Georgie’s breath. Her heart was hammering so hard against her ribcage that she was relieved when Henderson rode up to them and he turned away. ‘Did you see him?’
‘He chose his spot well,’ Henderson replied. ‘He was sheltered by the trees, but his very vantage meant that he could get off only one shot, for the trees sheltered you too after you had passed. I shot at him twice as he fled and I think I may have winged him.’
‘Not dead?’ Richard asked, brows arched.
‘More’s the pity,’ Henderson growled, looking at Georgie. ‘He might have killed you, miss. A fraction either way and he would have shot you through the head.’
‘Don’t!’ Georgie shuddered. ‘Do you think he meant to hit me or Captain Hernshaw?’
‘I think it was you, miss,’ Henderson replied, his expression grim. ‘From what I saw, he couldn’t have been aiming for the captain.’
‘But why would he want to kill me?’ Georgie asked. She had imagined the shot was meant for her companion, and the idea that she had been the true target was frightening. ‘Who could want me dead? Monsieur Thierry wants to marry me. I should be of no use to him dead.’
‘No…’ Richard was thoughtful. ‘Who would inherit your fortune if you died unmarried? You have not made a will?’
‘No.’ Georgie screwed up her forehead. ‘My aunt did suggest it once, but I told her I had no intention of dying for years. I suppose my uncle is my nearest relative, though my great-aunt might also have a claim. There is no else.’ She held back a sob. ‘Surely my uncle would not try to have me killed for money?’ She had made just such a story up for Mrs Jensen, but the suggestion that it might be true was shocking.
‘He was willing to sell you into a marriage you disliked.’
‘Yes, but it was to clear a debt, and he was afraid of Raoul Thierry.’ Georgie looked at him, feeling slightly sick. ‘It might have been him—if Monsieur Thierry thinks that I can tell you something he doesn’t wish you to know.’
‘That would mean he knew who you were,’ Richard said. ‘You told me you saw him in the street in London. Could he have seen you—for long enough to know it was you?’
‘I don’t think so…though he might have seen me last night,’ Georgie said. ‘I saw him clearly in the inn yard, but the lights of the candles in the parlour were behind me. It is possible that he saw me. He might not have known it was me then, but he perhaps realised it later.’
Richard’s eyes went over her. ‘If I knew you before we met, I should not have been fooled for a moment,’ he told her. ‘To a stranger you might pass for a pretty youth, but to anyone who knows you…’
‘Then he must think I am with you for a purpose,’ Georgie said. ‘He may think that I can help you to recognise him…or something of the sort…’
‘Yes, perhaps,’ Richard said and looked thoughtful. ‘You are certain that no one else would benefit from your fortune other than your uncle?’
‘My father was an only child,’ Georgie said. ‘I have only my uncle and my great-aunt.’
‘Then we must assume it is either Thierry for reasons of his own or your uncle for money,’ Richard said. ‘When we reach the next posting inn I shall hire a closed carriage. If your life is in danger, I must protect you.’
‘But we cannot be sure the shot was meant for me,’ Georgie said, frowning. ‘Perhaps the rogue who fired at us thought you would be travelling alone and fired without being sure who he would hit.’
‘Yes, that is possible,’ Richard agreed. ‘But in future I do not intend to give anyone the chance to shoot at you again. We shall travel on by closed carriage.’
Georgie kept her silence. To drive with him in a closed carriage would do little for her reputation if it were discovered, but then she had already lost any claim to respectability and must hope it could be recovered when she reached her great-aunt’s home.
However, he winced as he moved and, glancing at him, she saw the blood spotting on his otherwise immaculate breeches. ‘Your wound,’ she said. ‘It must have opened when you moved so suddenly to grab the reins.’
‘Yes.’ He glanced down dispassionately. ‘It may be as well, for there was a little festering, which is why it was causing me pain. Sometimes it is better to open a wound and let the blood flow to cleanse it.’
Georgie felt doubtful, guessing that he was in far more pain than he would ever say. She made no comment; she knew that he would not thank her if she offered sympathy. He settled back into his seat, telling his groom to drive on, though she noticed a little pulse beating in his throat and sensed that he was having difficulty in holding back his pain as the carriage rattled over a particularly bumpy road.
At the inn, a bustling, busy place at a crossroads, Richard secured both a private parlour and a bedchamber. He left Georgie to herself in the parlour while he and Henderson went upstairs. They were gone for half an hour, during which time she amused herself by staring out of the window at the inn yard. Several private vehicles drew up during that time, their owners calling for refreshment while their horses were being rested or exchanged for fresh. She saw no one that gave her the least need for anxiety, her thoughts centred on what was happening upstairs, and she turned with pleasure as she heard the door open.
Richard had changed into fresh breeches, and there was evidence of a bandage beneath the clinging material. As he seemed to walk a little more easily she assumed that he was feeling better for his man’s attentions.
‘We may as well stay and eat,’ he told her. ‘I am sorry that this journey is taking longer than it ought, Georgie. Had we not been forced to break our journey again, we might have reached your home by this evening. As it is, I am afraid we may have to stay at an inn for one more night.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Georgie said. ‘It wasn’t your fault that we came so close to an accident. Besides, I shall be sorry when we part, sir.’
‘Shall you?’ Richard arched one eyebrow. ‘I thought you could not wait to get away from me when we were in London?’
‘Well, yes, I did think it would be better to leave, but…Jensen did not have a good opinion of me, you see. Mrs Jensen was kind, but she would not let me help her and I felt that I was in the way.’
‘I am sorry if you were made to feel uncomfortable.’
‘Oh, no, it wasn’t their fault, and Mrs Jensen was very kind, even though her husband obviously thought I was…no better than I should be.’ She bit her lip. ‘You must not blame him, for the circumstances were unusual to say the least.’
‘Yes, I suppose it was inevitable that he should have thought the worst,’ Richard said. ‘It might have been better if I had let them think you were my niece or something.’
‘They wouldn’t have believed you. No one would.’ Georgie pulled a rueful face. ‘I told Mrs Jensen I was in desperate trouble. I think she half-believed me, but I am very certain her husband did not.’
‘I have placed you in a difficult position,’ Richard said, eyes narrowed, thoughtful. ‘You stayed at my home without a chaperon and have had only my tiger and Henderson as our companions on this journey. I have, in fact, compromised you, Georgina.’
‘I did that for myself,’ she admitted, a blush in her cheeks. ‘Besides, you were only trying to help me when you took me to your home—and no one needs to know.’
‘Your great-aunt will know,’ Richard observed. ‘At least she will know that you have arrived at her house with a gentleman she does not know and no luggage.’
‘You are a friend of the family,’ Georgie said, ‘and my luggage was lost on the way. We were attacked by ruffians who stole our baggage and that is how you were wounded.’
‘You have a fine imagination,’ Richard said and he wasn’t smiling. ‘How much can I believe of what you say, I wonder?’
‘Everything!’ She sparked with indignation. ‘I did tell you a little white lie when we met, but I had to be wary, for you might have been anybody. Besides, it was not so far from the truth.’
‘But you have made up a string of lies to tell your great-aunt.’
‘Yes, well, I didn’t know what else to say. You talked of having compromised me and…and you must not feel obliged or anything.’ Her cheeks were deep rose with embarrassment. ‘I would not want you to feel that you had to marry me.’
‘Believe me, I don’t!’
‘Oh!’ Georgie glared. ‘Good, because I do not want to marry you. In fact you are the last man I would marry!’
‘Perhaps you would prefer to marry Thierry?’
‘No, of course I wouldn’t! You know I would rather die. I told you so…’ She understood that he was mocking her and threw him a fulminating stare. ‘I never know when you are funning! Of course you don’t want to marry me, and I shan’t expect it—even if my aunt says I am beyond the pale.’
‘Poor Georgie,’ Richard said and smiled. ‘You have got yourself into a pickle, haven’t you?’
‘Yes, I know it was a mad thing to do—but what else could I have done? My uncle meant to force me to marry that odious man and I did the first thing that came into my head. There was no one to help me.’
‘Impulsive,’ Richard murmured. ‘But brave too. I am not sure what else you could have done, but perhaps a little more planning would have had better results. You could perhaps have gathered enough money to hire a post-chaise to your great-aunt’s instead of taking the public stagecoach and getting robbed.’
‘Yes, it would have been better,’ she agreed. ‘I was afraid my uncle would lock me in my room, and then I was careless…’ She lifted her head, giving him a frank look. ‘I think I should have starved or ended up in prison if you hadn’t helped me. I am very grateful, you know—and sorry if I have caused you a deal of trouble.’
Richard looked into her eyes, which just now were soft brown, slightly moist and heart-wrenchingly appealing. He felt something stir inside him, an emotion he could not recall ever feeling before, something warm and tender, an urge to sweep her into his arms, carry her off and hold her for ever in his protection. In another instant he had quashed it. Love was foreign to his nature, an emotion he had long dismissed as being behind him, too dangerous to encourage. There had been women to share his bed, of course, but none of them serious and there had been no one at all for a long time. Perhaps that was why he had been experiencing these sudden swathes of hot desire as he looked at Georgie in her youth’s clothing. Something he felt disturbing and not to be indulged.
He did not want to face the notion that he might truly have feelings for this girl who had come into his life unasked. His work was too dangerous for him to think of marriage; he could be killed by an enemy at any time, and that would leave her a widow before she was a wife.
Besides, they hardly knew one another. It was ridiculous to even consider marriage. Neither of them truly wished for it! If he ever married it would be for an heir, as his sister never tired of telling him he ought to do, but never for love. His experience of these things was that they led only to pain. His mother had died in childbed, leaving his father distraught, a broken man. He had seen his uncle decline after Justin’s death, and the memory still haunted him. No, love was not something he wished to experience.
‘I am glad to have been of help,’ he murmured huskily and meant it. ‘Do not worry, Georgie. If your aunt should turn you away I shall think of something.’
‘I do not wish to be more of a burden than I have been already.’
‘You are not a burden,’ Richard said, his tone becoming harsh all of a sudden. ‘Excuse me, I must speak to Henderson. I trust you have no objection to his joining us in the parlour for our nuncheon as usual? He serves me, but I have been used to treating him as a friend rather than a servant.’
‘Of course not. Why should I?’ Georgie said, though she knew it was something that would not happen when their lives were back to normal. But when that happened she would not see Richard again, except perhaps as a casual acquaintance in town, if she should be fortunate enough to visit.
Georgie felt a hot burning behind her eyes when she realised that she had only a few hours left in his company. In the morning Richard would deliver her to her great-aunt’s home and go on his way, relieved to be rid of her no doubt.
When had she begun to think of him as Richard? And why did the thought of parting weigh heavily on her, making her breast feel as if it were being crushed? After all, he was merely someone who had come to her rescue when she needed him.
That was just it, of course. He had been there when she needed him, and insensibly she had come to think of him as her special friend, someone she could turn to in need. She must put that notion out of her mind. Richard had been considerate, kind and gentle towards her, but he must have found her a nuisance, especially at a time when he was wounded and in danger of his life.
She must not make him feel he owed her anything. He must be free to go on his way and forget her. Even as she made her silent vow, she knew that she would not forget him! Georgie sensed instinctively that this brief interlude would remain with her for a long time. Perhaps for the rest of her life. The thought made her want to weep.
What was she going to do with her life now? Georgie hardly knew what she wanted. Her great-aunt was elderly. It was not likely that she would entertain often, which meant that Georgie would be forced to spend long hours alone or with just her aunt for company. For a moment she sank beneath the weight of such a prospect, but then she put it behind her. If Great-Aunt Mary did not wish to take her to London or Bath she might know someone who would take it on for a consideration. There were bound to be widows of good family who did not have sufficient money for their needs.
And what then? Georgie wondered. It was usual for girls of good families to marry, settle down and provide an heir for their husbands. She did not know why the prospect of marrying an unknown gentleman did not appeal. When she was younger she had dreamed of falling in love, but as yet she had met no one who appealed to her…as much as Richard.
Oh, no! She was appalled at her thoughts. She must not even consider such a prospect. Richard had no desire to marry her, did not believe himself obliged to despite their circumstances these past few days. And she did not wish to be married simply to rescue her good name!
Georgie buried the renegade thoughts that told her she would not find it a hardship to marry Richard Hernshaw. She liked him despite his deplorable habit of mocking her—in fact, if she were truthful, she liked him a little too much for her own good.
Richard returned some twenty minutes later with his manservant, and the host followed almost immediately with their dinner. They were served cold beef, a dish of calves’liver in sweet sauce, chops and jugged hare with a remove of mashed potatoes and swede, carrots and baked onions. This was followed by a quince tart and an apple turnover with fresh cream.
She was pleased to notice that for the first time Richard did justice to his food, eating almost as much as Henderson and more than she could manage. He looked at her as she refused the apples and cream.
‘I ordered that especially for you. Did you not like it?’
‘I have eaten more than enough,’ she replied. For some reason she had lost her appetite. ‘I do not usually eat as much as I have recently. I think I was making up for having gone without for some days, but now I am back to normal.’
‘It is not because I teased you about getting fat?’
‘Oh, no, of course not,’ she said and smiled a little wanly. ‘I just do not feel hungry.’
‘Well, it is only a few hours since we broke our fast,’ Richard said. ‘I should not have stopped so soon had it not been necessary. However, we shall go on again shortly. If you are worried about getting to your aunt’s, we might see if we can get there. The carriage I have hired will make good time, I dare say.’
‘Oh, no, I am in no hurry,’ Georgie said. She frowned and looked down at herself. ‘I must try to find a dress before we get to my great-aunt’s house.’
‘I have thought of that,’ Richard said. ‘There are some things for you with my luggage and Henderson will bring them to you this evening before you retire. I shall order your breakfast in your room and we can leave immediately afterwards so that hardly anyone will see you.’
Georgie was silent. It would only need one person of quality to see her leaving the inn to ruin her reputation, but she would say nothing more on the subject. After all, it did not matter so very much since she had no real desire to marry. Perhaps she never would marry. If only she had some burning desire, something she truly wished to accomplish—like becoming an actress or a famous explorer, perhaps.
She wondered if she should do something of the sort once she had her inheritance. She could engage a companion and travel abroad. For a few minutes pleasant thoughts of all the countries she might visit filled her mind, but unfortunately she kept thinking that it would be much better to travel with a gentleman for company—and one particular gentleman would not stay out of her head.
It was most disobliging of him! She struggled to change her thoughts, becoming aware that his eyes were on her, mysterious and intent, the colour of wet slate.
‘What? Have I done something wrong?’
‘Nothing,’ he said and shook his head. ‘I shall pay the host and then we shall continue our journey—if you are ready?’
‘Yes, of course,’ Georgie replied, though her heart said something entirely different. ‘I dare say you will be glad to deliver me to my great-aunt so that you may go about your business in peace.’
‘It is true that I have business of my own in Yorkshire,’ Richard replied, his expression serious. ‘However, there is nothing urgent. I intend to make certain that you are settled and happy before I move on.’ He frowned. ‘It has occurred to me that I have no idea of our eventual destination. You have not told me the exact location of your aunt’s home or even her name.’
‘Did I not?’ Georgie pulled a face. ‘I am not certain of the location…I know it is near a village called Shrewsbury Morton and it is not far from York, for in her letters to me she talks of dining with friends at an inn in York. Her name…she is Mary, Countess of Shrewsbury and Morton. She is usually addressed as Countess Shrewsbury.’
‘Good lord!’ Richard stared at her, obviously shocked. ‘I know the lady well. She was a great friend of my late mother and my sister resided with her for a few years before she married.’
‘Oh…’ Georgie’s mouth made a little moue of surprise. ‘How strange that you should know Aunt Mary…’
‘Well, that makes things a little easier,’ Richard told her. ‘It is possible that she will accept the story of my being a family friend since she knows me and does not entirely disapprove of me.’
‘Yes…’ Georgie felt a sinking sensation inside. ‘I did not know that your family came from these parts.’
‘You know very little of me,’ Richard said, frowning. ‘I do not live in Yorkshire myself, but my sister does. She married a gentleman she met while living with the countess, and I visit her occasionally—though not as often as she would like. Jenny is a fond sister, though these days she has her hands full with her children.’
‘What are they—boys or girls?’ Georgie asked, because this was the first she had learned of his private life. ‘And how old?’
‘She has a boy and a girl, and hopes to have more,’ Richard replied, a little smile on his lips. ‘The girl is about the age of the girl you talked to at the inn we stayed at last night, and the boy is scarcely two.’
‘How lucky she is to have one of each,’ Georgie said. ‘I always wished that I might have had a sister or a brother, but Mama lost one baby and Papa would not risk her health again. He loved her too much…’ She sighed, her smile dimming. ‘It was terrible to lose them both as I did, but I do not think that either of them could have supported life without the other.’
‘But you were left alone,’ Richard said. ‘My parents also died when I was still young, but at least I still had my sister—and I have her family when I am in need of some of the comforts of home. You have no one who truly cares for you, I think?’
‘Aunt Agatha was not unkind at first,’ Georgie said. ‘But her life was difficult. My uncle was for ever gambling and there were times when money was short. I am sure it was he who wanted to settle his debts by selling me to Monsieur Thierry. My aunt was shocked, but could do nothing but obey her husband.’
‘Will the countess be prepared to stand against them for guardianship?’ Richard asked. ‘Have you considered that your uncle may have the right to force you to return to his house until you are older?’
‘Papa’s will states that I should be free to live as I please once I come into my fortune,’ Georgie said. ‘There are two lawyers applying the terms of the trust, and I think they might support me if I tell them what he tried to do.’
‘Yes, perhaps,’ Richard said. He hesitated, then, ‘My sister can always reach me if she needs me. I shall furnish you with her address and you may apply to me if you are in trouble.’
‘Oh…’ Georgie looked down because her heart had begun to thump madly in her breast, feeling as if it would burst free of her ribcage. ‘Surely you would not wish to have the trouble of such things?’
‘I would help you if need be,’ Richard said and his eyes held hers. ‘Can you doubt it?’
At that moment Georgie would have believed anything he told her. She felt as if she were drawn to him, bound to him by invisible threads and her mind sought for something to say that would make him understand how she felt, but at that moment someone came in to announce that their carriage was waiting.
Georgie turned, preceding the others as they all went outside. She hoped that Richard had not noticed her confusion, because she did not want him to see that he had set hope flaring inside her. His promise that he would help her made her feel that perhaps she might see him again after the morrow.
Their journey that afternoon was uneventful, perhaps because Richard had hired grooms to accompany them. His young tiger had stayed behind with his master’s horses and rig, and would wait at the posting inn until he was told what to do next. Richard sat opposite her.
He made conversation for a while and then leaned back, his eyes closed. She thought that he was sleeping and felt pleased, because she knew he had had little sleep the previous night. If he could relax now, it must mean that his wound was feeling a little easier.
At the next inn they were shown to their rooms, and shortly after Georgie had washed and made herself comfortable she heard a knock at the door. She opened it to find Henderson standing there with a valise, which he handed to her with a smile.
‘Can you manage, miss?’ he asked. ‘I could ask the innkeeper’s wife to send a girl up to help you.’
‘No, thank you. I am sure I can manage,’ Georgie said. ‘I shall not come down this evening. I think it best if no one sees me—and I am not hungry.’
‘I’ll ask for a light supper to be sent up, miss,’ Henderson promised as he left.
Georgie smiled and closed the door, locking it once more. She carried the valise to the bed and opened it, taking out a gown of primrose muslin. It was the fashion of two seasons previously with a high waist, puffed sleeves and a white sash, which she could tie at the front or the side. It was a little creased, but she shook it out, laying it over the back of a chair as she examined the rest of the clothes. There was a shawl of white silk, some dainty white leather half-boots, which were a little too large for her, but wearable once she had laced them, silk stockings and garters, a fine silk petticoat—which, considering the cold weather of the past few days, she thought it advisable to wear—and a heavy pelisse of dark blue for travelling. She pulled everything out of the valise to make sure, but there were no pantaloons. Of course some fashionable ladies did not wear them under their clinging gowns, but Georgie had been accustomed to such items of underwear and felt that it would be very daring of her not to do so. However, as there were none, she would simply have to brave it.
No one would know, of course, but she felt it a little shocking. However, it might have been even more shocking if they had been there for her bag must have been packed by Henderson, who was more used to serving a gentleman.
She considered dressing in her finery just to see how she looked, suddenly keen to be a young lady again. However, the hour was late because Richard had wanted to make up for time lost earlier in the day, and she decided that it could wait for the morning. When she undressed she placed the youth’s clothing into the bag, apart from the shirt that she had used as nightwear the previous night and would use again.
The Countess of Shewsbury and Morton would no doubt think it very odd when she arrived with no baggage, but they must hope that she was prepared to believe Georgie’s story of having lost it on the road. She would have to send for her things, or wait until she had her money and could buy more, though that would be awkward.
Her life would be less than comfortable even when she reached the safety of her aunt’s home, Georgie realised, and there was no guarantee that the countess would be willing to defy her uncle. As Richard had pointed out, her uncle was her legal guardian, of course, and could demand her return at least until she came into her inheritance.
Notwithstanding her troubled thoughts, Georgie slept soon after her head touched the pillow.
She woke as soon as the first rosy fingers of dawn began to creep through the partially drawn curtains, and was dressed and ready when the maid brought her a breakfast tray containing soft rolls, honey and a pot of dark chocolate.
Once she had eaten, Georgie gathered her things and went downstairs. She discovered that Richard and Henderson were already in the hall, and by the sound of it they had something important to discuss. However, they stopped speaking as one and turned to look at her as she reached the bottom stair, a picture of youthful beauty in her yellow gown and white shawl, the pelisse over her arm. She had no bonnet or even a ribbon to tie up her hair and so it fell on to her shoulders in a riotous tangle of shining curls and waves.
‘You are ready, then,’ Richard said, his eyes seeming to dwell rather too long on her slender form. ‘I was about to send the maid to see if you were. I trust you slept well?’
‘Very well,’ Georgie replied. She thought that some of the shadows had gone from beneath his eyes and assumed that he too had rested. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘Henderson says he thinks we were followed here yesterday evening. The grooms told him someone was inquiring for a gentleman travelling with a youth, but since I had warned them to be on their guard they told him nothing.’
‘Was he a Frenchman?’
‘Yes, they seem to think so—at least they said he had a queer accent, so it seems likely it was Thierry or one of his cronies.’
A little shiver ran down Georgie’s spine. She had hoped that Thierry would be left far behind, but if he had followed her here he might have ideas of snatching her from beneath her great-aunt’s nose. She would have to be careful not to go out alone.
‘Well, are you ready?’ Richard looked at her, a crease forming on his brow. ‘You need not be afraid of him, you know. I think it must be me he wants. He believes I know something about him—and perhaps I do, if I could but think what it is.’
‘You have never met him?’ Georgie asked. She tipped her head to one side, considering as he shook his head. ‘Some might think him very handsome, but I do not. He is a fine figure of a man, but there is something… greasy about him. And he has a horrid way of looking at one.’
‘Yes, I think I know what you mean,’ Richard said. He had met characters he would describe as oily in the past and understood what she was trying to say. It was a slyness, a smoothness of manner that was too ingratiating to be believed, and an unpleasant feeling of being laughed at secretly. ‘Well, are you prepared for what comes next?’
‘Yes…at least I must be,’ Georgie said. She moved towards him, laying her hand on his arm. ‘You did mean it when you said I might call on you if I needed you?’
‘I never say what I do not mean,’ he told her with an encouraging smile. ‘Come, be brave, Georgie. You faced a shot that might have killed you and bolting horses with courage—what can be so terrifying about one elderly lady?’
‘Nothing, of course,’ Georgie said and gave him her hand, allowing him to help her into the carriage. She was puzzled when he closed the door. ‘You are coming with me?’
‘Naturally. I shall ride. My wound has almost healed and it does not pain me now; I think the exercise will do it good. That rogue who fired at us did me a favour, for when the wound split open the poison seeped out, and since then I have felt much better.’
‘I am glad,’ Georgie said. She watched from the window as he mounted his horse and set off a little ahead of the carriage, Henderson following to ride at his side. ‘So very glad.’
Her eyes felt moist as she sat back, clasping her hands in front of her. Her heart was beating very fast, but she raised her head, a gleam of pride in her eyes. She was determined not to be anxious. If her great-aunt refused to take her in she would simply…well, she did not quite know what she would do, but perhaps Richard would be able to suggest somewhere she might go.
Georgie relaxed as best she could for the next half an hour; then, seeing a village sign which proclaimed itself as Shrewsbury Morton, she sat forward and looked out at the view. They were passing through a pretty village with a fine church. It seemed something was going on at the church, for several carriages had arrived and people were getting out of them. Georgie saw that they were all wearing black and, hearing the mournful toll of a church bell, realised they must be attending a funeral. It was clear that whoever had died must be a person of importance, for the carriages belonged to good families, and the service was well attended.
Her driver had been obliged to halt the horses because of the traffic and she saw that Richard had also reined in and was talking to someone. She could see his face clearly and it was obvious that something was wrong. She shivered as he looked back at her, sensing bad news. He dismounted, gave the reins to Henderson and walked back to her, opening the door and climbing inside. His manner was thoughtful, sympathetic, as he reached forward to touch her hand.
‘I am afraid I have some bad news for you, Georgie,’ he said, a serious expression on his face. ‘There is a funeral today and…they tell me it is for the Countess of Shrewsbury. Apparently, she died of an illness that has plagued her for some months. It was not unexpected, but sudden at the end.’
‘Oh…’ Georgie stared at him. Her eyes pricked with tears. ‘How very sad. I had no idea she was ill. She wrote to me only occasionally, usually on my birthday or at Christmas, but she always sent a gift and her letters were kind.’
‘I asked who was attending the funeral and it appears that she has no immediate relatives. Her great-niece has been informed, but has not replied…that is you, Georgie. The letter must have gone to your uncle’s home after you left.’
Georgie looked at the church. ‘Do you think I should attend? Would it look strange if I went in wearing these clothes?’
‘Do you wish to?’ he asked. ‘You hardly knew her after all.’
‘She was my great-aunt. I suppose I may explain my lack of proper dress if anyone asks.’ She looked at him shyly. ‘Will you accompany me?’
‘Of course. She was my sister’s friend for many years.’ He frowned. ‘I dare say that means Amelia may be here.’ He nodded and gave her his hand. ‘Wear your pelisse, for it will cover most of your gown—but your hair should be covered.’
‘I’ll wear my cap,’ Georgie said and undid her valise. She set the brown cloth cap on the back of her head. ‘It may look odd, but will be better than showing disrespect in church.’
‘It looks…different,’ Richard said, a gleam in his eyes, because there was something very appealing though slightly shocking in seeing that masculine cap set on her luxuriant dark hair when she was wearing feminine apparel.
They joined the last stragglers, taking up places right at the back of the church. One or two turned their heads to look, but as she was not known to anyone local few thought it odd—except for the rather strange attire she wore. However, since she was seated at the back only a few noticed.
Georgie sat staring straight ahead. She felt close to tears, though she was not certain whether her emotion was for the death of an elderly lady she had never met, at least since she was a very small child, or her own situation. The shock of realising that all her hopes had vanished in a puff of smoke was one of the reasons she had asked to attend the church service. It would give her a little time to consider what she ought to do now.
Clearly, she could not expect to live at the countess’s home in the circumstances. It would probably be shut up with just a few staff to care for it until the new owner took it over. She had no idea who that person was, but suspected it might be a distant cousin of the late countess’s husband. Since she knew nothing of him, whoever he might be, she could certainly not throw herself on his mercy.
It was very awkward, Georgie realised. She must either beg Richard to help her again or return to her uncle—and that she was determined not to do! Perhaps he knew of a respectable widow who might help her to set up an establishment of her own?
She could think of no alternative and thrust the worry from her mind as she listened to the vicar praising the goodness of her great-aunt. Tears trickled down her cheeks, because she felt very much alone. She had hoped that her great-aunt would be pleased to see her and the disappointment was hard to bear.
After the ceremony was over, the congregation followed the coffin out to the graveside. Richard and Georgie stood well back, feeling that neither of them was properly dressed for such an affair. Georgie was about to turn away when Richard took her arm and steered her towards a small party of mourners, one of whom was a very pretty young woman of perhaps seven and twenty. She turned her head as they approached, a look of astonishment in her eyes.
‘Richard! How came you here?’ Her bright eyes took in his dress, which was not at all suited to the occasion. ‘I wrote, but was not sure you had my letter in time to make the journey.’
‘I did not have your letter at all,’ Richard said and went to kiss her cheek. ‘You look very well, Jenny.’ He smiled at the tall gentleman standing beside her. ‘Maddison, good to see you. I had no idea the countess had died. It makes things rather awkward, for I had escorted her great-niece to stay with her…’ He turned to Georgie, bringing her forward. ‘Georgie, this is my sister, Lady Maddison, and her husband, Lord Edward. Miss Georgina Bridges.’
Jenny looked startled and then remembered her manners, offering her hand. ‘My dear girl,’ she said with a warm smile that gathered Georgie to her like an embrace. ‘What a terrible shock for you—to arrive for a funeral when you had expected to be received by your aunt. It is strange that the countess did not tell me. She did speak of you once or twice, but I did not know that she had sent for you, though I had not seen her for a week or so.’
‘Oh…’ Georgie felt her cheeks flush. ‘I dare say it was not important.’
‘Well, what are you to do now?’ Jenny said, her blue eyes curious as she looked at Georgie. ‘I see you had no hat, though that cap rather suits you. You might set a fashion, at least if it were made in a different colour to match your toilette.’
‘May we throw ourselves on your hospitality?’ Richard asked. ‘Georgie is in some difficulty, which I shall explain to you later.’
‘Naturally you will stay with us,’ Jenny said at once. ‘How could it be otherwise? Shrewsbury House is closed up, though there are servants there to take care of it, but the lawyers have taken a room at the inn to entertain the countess’s neighbours. We had no intention of attending, but if you wish to make yourself known…’
‘Oh, no,’ Georgie said, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. ‘I would rather not. I am hardly dressed for it.’
‘No…’ Jenny threw a very odd look at her brother. ‘Shall you follow us to the house, Richard? I am not perfectly sure of your travelling arrangements.’
‘Georgie is travelling in a closed carriage,’ he told her, a gleam in his eyes. ‘I am riding—but have been travelling with her for some of the time. I was injured, you see.’
‘Good grief!’ Jenny looked shocked. ‘I begin to see why…but no matter. You shall tell me it all when we are home and comfortable.’ She tucked her arm into Georgie’s, giving her an encouraging look. ‘You may accompany me, my dear girl, and tell me everything. Edward, ride with Richard if you will, my dear.’
‘It may have escaped your memory, my dearest, but I came in the carriage with you. However, I shall ride on top with the coachman if you wish to be private with your new friend.’
There was a glimmer of mockery in his dark eyes, which Jenny seemed to accept without a flicker, her mouth curving in a smile of content, as if she were accustomed to having her way.
‘Yes, Edward, whatever,’ she said, dismissing his gallant offer as expected. ‘Come along, Georgie. I sense a mystery here, and you are going to tell me everything.’
Georgie heard the note of determination in her voice, and guessed that beneath her sweet manners and pretty smiles was a lady who knew how to get what she wanted. She quailed inwardly, for she sensed it would do her no good to lie, and she could only hope that Richard’s sister would not think her lost beyond all hope when she learned the truth.
‘Well.’ Jenny Maddison’s deep blue eyes lit with admiration as she heard Georgie’s tale through to the end. ‘I think you were exceptionally brave and did exactly as you ought—though it was a pity you did not come straight to Mary. She was a lovely lady, Georgie. It is a shame you did not know her better. I always wondered why you did not accept her invitation to stay last Christmas.’
‘Her invitation?’ Georgie stared at her, bewildered. ‘I did not receive an invitation last year—or ever to my knowledge.’
‘How can that be? I know she wrote to your uncle asking if he would send you to her. I believe he said that you were unwell and could not manage it at that time.’
‘I wasn’t ill,’ Georgie said, feeling a surge of indignation. ‘Oh, how could he tell such lies? He must have done it to make certain that I did not leave his house. Had I known my aunt wished to see me, I should have come at once. She did say that I would always be welcome in her letter to me, but I did not know she had asked for me. When I spoke to my aunt about the possibility of a visit, she told me that the countess was elderly and did not wish for visitors. I was not sure if she would take me in.’
‘I am sure she would have done so despite her health,’ Jenny told her. ‘Just a few days sooner and you might have seen her…’ She sighed. ‘Well, there is no point in crying over something that cannot be helped. The thing is, what are we to do about you now?’
‘I shall never return to my uncle’s house.’
‘No, of course not,’ Jenny said decisively. ‘That would be to play into his hands and cannot be thought of.’ Her cheek dimpled as she studied Georgie. ‘You know, you are very pretty—even beautiful if you were dressed in something suitable.’
Georgie blushed, but made no mention of the compliment in her reply. ‘I thought I might pay a respectable widow to bear me company once I have my inheritance.’
‘Well, you might, of course,’ Jenny said and gurgled with soft laughter. ‘On the other hand, you could be my guest. I have been a little down these past months, you see. I do not care for the winter and it took me a little time to get over the birth of my son so I have stayed at home for an age. However, Edward has promised to take me to Bath if I will take the waters.’ She pulled her soft mouth into a grimace of distaste. ‘I do not enjoy the prospect, but I shall enjoy being in company again. We shall take a house big enough for nurse and her assistant, besides Jemmy’s tutor and my maid, and Edward’s man, of course—and you, Georgie, my love. Richard too if he should care for it, though I dare say he will be off on some horrid business of his own before we know it. I have been nagging him for an age, you know. It is time he gave up all this dangerous stuff and settled down. He should think of providing me with a sister-in-law and a nephew or two, but he is stubborn and will not listen.’
Georgie looked at her in dawning delight. ‘Would you really let me live with you—visit Bath with you?’
‘I should like it above all things,’ Jenny told her in her engaging way. She clapped her hands, pleased with her solution, which, since it suited her, she imagined would please her family. ‘If you would like to be my friend, of course?’
‘Oh, it is exactly what I should like,’ Georgie said impulsively. ‘And so very kind. You do not know me. I might be a terrible person. Your brother thinks I am not always truthful since I lied to him at the start.’
‘Oh, brothers,’ Jenny said in a dismissive manner. ‘They are for ever on at one, telling one how to behave, at least until one marries.’ She looked thoughtful. ‘And after if they can get away with it. My dearest Edward will not allow anyone to bully me.’ A smile of content settled over her face. ‘He always wishes to please me and I know he will say it is just the thing to lift my spirits. You will want lots of clothes, I am sure, for even if we sent for your own things they would not do for Bath, you know. I have some things that you may borrow. I see that Richard has given you an old gown of mine that I left somewhere once. He might have bought you something new! It was very stingy of him!’
‘Oh, no,’ Georgie said, instinctively protecting him. ‘He has been very kind to me, Lady Maddison. You must not think otherwise. He fed me when I was hungry and then brought me all this way when I am sure he has other more important things to do.’
‘What could be more important than showing gallantry to a lady in distress?’ Jenny said. ‘I dare say he thought that gown would do—and it does look well enough for travelling. However, I shall find you something much better when we are home, and in Bath we shall commission only the finest of everything.’
‘I am not certain how much I am to inherit from my father,’ Georgie said a little uncertainly.
‘What can that signify?’ Jenny said, taking her breath away with her next words. ‘The countess was wealthy in her own right you know. The estate may go to a distant cousin of her husband, I dare say, for she said as much—but everything else is to come to you.’ Her eyes went over Georgie in a satisfied way. ‘You will be very rich, my dear—and, dressed as befits your consequence, you will take society by storm.’ She tapped a finger against her velvet muff, which hung from a chain made of moonstones and gold. ‘I am not sure whether it would not be better to open the house in London… that is where Richard found my gown, no doubt. He must have sent to the housekeeper, Mrs Maunders, for something.’
‘You must not go to so much trouble for my sake,’ Georgie said. ‘Your husband wishes you to take the waters for your health—besides, I suppose I ought to be in mourning for my aunt.’
‘Nonsense,’ Jenny said, determined not to see her plans squashed by convention. ‘You hardly knew her and she would not have wanted it. Mary would not have been pleased to see everyone wearing black today and never wore it herself, even when she was in mourning for her husband. I shall change into colours once we are home, and you must not think of going into black.’ Her eyes went over Georgie again. ‘You might wear a pearl grey for evening, and I think lilac would suit your colouring—also some blues. We can brush through it if we wish, and no one needs to know anything.’
‘But if I am the countess’s heir…’ Georgie was doubtful. ‘I should not wish to show disrespect.’
‘And you shall not,’ her determined hostess said. ‘Yes, you may wear grey and lilac and white, I think. We shall not attend anything too large or noisy—but we shall contrive to enjoy ourselves just the same.’
‘Oh, yes,’ Georgie said, feeling relieved that she need not wear black again so soon after wearing it for her parents. ‘Are we stopping?’ She looked out of the window at what was a large, but not huge, country house with long windows, bricks that looked the colour of musk roses and an impressive front porch. ‘What a lovely house.’
‘It is not as big as Richard’s,’ Jenny said. ‘But I like it better. Our home was always a little cold. If I were Richard, I should set the builders on to improve it, but he has been so busy that I dare say he has not had the time.’
Georgie had been so busy talking with her hostess that she had not noticed the gardens, but as the carriage door was opened she took the hand of an obliging groom, looking about her as he helped her down. The gardens were formal with smooth paths of bricks interspersed with neat beds of roses and flowers. As it was only late spring some of them were still in bud and had not yet bloomed, but she thought it would be a pretty place to walk in summer. To the side of the house she saw shrubbery and guessed that the gardens at the back would be less formal.
‘Do you ride?’ Jenny was asking as she took Georgie’s arm once more. ‘It is a must in the country, I think, for otherwise we should be confined to the house unless someone took us driving.’
‘Yes, I can ride,’ Georgie told her. ‘My aunt did not encourage it, but my father taught me when I was a child. I can drive, too—a gig with one pony, though I should like to drive a proper rig.’
‘I have never driven myself,’ Jenny told her. ‘My father thought I was too delicate and my husband thinks a puff of wind might break me—but he takes me driving as often as I want so I do not complain.’
‘We must ride together,’ Georgie said. She felt that she had known her companion for ever and was quite content to let her plan her future. She saw Richard giving her a quizzical look as she walked towards him. He and Lord Maddison stood by the front door, waiting for the ladies to come up with them. ‘I shall enjoy living here with you, Jenny.’
‘I dare say you will marry and leave me too soon,’ her hostess told her with a naughty look. ‘But we shall remain friends and you will visit me sometimes—will you not?’
‘Yes, of course,’ Georgie assured her and wondered at the satisfied gleam in her eyes. ‘But I am not sure I shall marry very soon. I would not want to be married for any money I might inherit. I am determined it shall be for love and nothing else.’
‘Well, I dare say you may fall in love,’ Jenny said and her fond gaze travelled to her brother, dwelling on him for a moment. He might not be as handsome as her beloved Edward, but he was a fine strong man and kind. She thought he would do very well for her new friend, and determined then and there to bring about a match between them if it could be managed.
