Читать книгу Historical Romance June 2017 Books 1 - 4 - Энни Берроуз, Annie Burrows - Страница 16

Chapter Six

If this was what tonnish people called a ‘small, informal gathering’, then Georgiana shuddered to think what a large one would be like. Since she’d been here, more than fifty couples had wandered in, shaken hands with Lord Havelock, been presented to his wife, taken a glass of wine and ambled out again. They had included a baronet, a viscount and a marquis.

Stepmama had been disappointed in the viscount, since he’d brought a wife with him. But when she’d seen the marquis come in alone and learned he was as yet unmarried, she’d been so excited it was a wonder she hadn’t danced a jig on the spot.

Georgiana had cringed at Stepmama’s attempts to attract his notice and push him in Sukey’s direction, and then winced at Lord Lensborough’s distinctly frosty dismissal.

Her one consolation was that Sukey hadn’t flung herself at him. Far from it. She’d made a beeline for Mrs Pargetter’s daughters, Dotty and Lotty, and stayed glued to them, whether they strolled to the end of the room to select a plate of refreshments, or sat on a sofa to giggle and gossip. Georgiana had no interest in their sort of chatter, and anyway, the sofa on which they’d eventually settled could only just contain the three of them. So she’d made the excuse of needing to visit the retiring room and slipped away from them all.

She’d stayed there as long as she could. It had been so horrid, being in a room full of people who all knew each other, and who had all quickly pegged Stepmama for the kind of woman who would stop at nothing to see her daughters married off.

If only she wouldn’t be so...obvious.

Eventually, Georgiana knew she could not stay in the retiring room any longer, or Stepmama would be sending someone to find out if she’d fallen ill. She looked warily round the huge reception room before stepping fully back inside, looking for the safest place to go. In her absence, Stepmama had gone to the card tables, where she was currently frowning over what looked like a hand of whist with Mr Pargetter. The poor man had, earlier on, looked as out of place as Georgiana had felt, amidst all the titled, privileged guests. It was good to see he looked much more at ease, now he was playing cards. And being much more useful, to Georgiana’s way of thinking, by keeping Stepmama occupied.

She gave a sigh of relief, fixed a smile on her face and sauntered in the general direction of Sukey’s sofa. As soon as Stepmama had noticed her, nodded her approval and returned her attention to her hand, Georgiana veered off towards the furthest, quietest corner of the room. She had just turned and leaned back against the wall, when the footman stationed at the door announced the arrival of yet another guest.

‘Lord Ashenden!’

For a moment, a wave of such raw fury gripped her that she forgot to breathe. And it wasn’t just because of the way he’d rebuffed her proposal. It was all the years and years of rejection that had come before. Which brought on a wave of pain so intense it made her throat close up.

And then she went light-headed.

Then the fear of fainting away and humiliating herself in front of all these sophisticated people, just because Edmund had walked in, got her breathing again. And firming her knees and her spine. And schooling her features into an expression of what she hoped would pass for indifference.

She was only just in time, too. He’d been looking idly round the room, but his cool grey gaze snagged on her in recognition. And then, as if it wasn’t enough that he was actually here, his lip curled in distaste as he raked her from head to toe.

He couldn’t have hurt her worse if he’d slapped her. Come to think of it, he couldn’t have hurt her at all if he’d tried anything like that. She’d have had her guard up and deflected the blow.

A reflection that served to turn the knife in the wound. For he’d been the one to teach her how to defend herself, and, remembering how close they’d been once only made her more painfully aware of how far apart they were now.

Oh, Lord, why did he have to be here tonight, when she was wearing a gown that made her feel like a...a trollop?

Trollop. The accusation rang in her ears. It had been Edmund’s housekeeper who’d first used that word to condemn her behaviour, when she’d found her in his sickroom, that day she’d spent collecting all those butterflies to cheer him up. Which had been the last time she’d ever managed to sneak into his house. Nobody else had ever called her that name again, but whenever she’d heard anyone else called a trollop, in connection with some scandalous behaviour, it had felt as though they were raking their nails across her skin.

Now, the way he was looking at her made her wonder if he’d thought it all along.

She gasped.

Was that why he hadn’t written to her, even though he’d said he would? Had someone persuaded him, between their exchange of notes and his arrival in the Scilly Isles, that he’d do better to cut the connection? She’d always just thought he’d forgotten all about her once he’d left the country, that he had found more interesting companions, but...it might explain everything. It would certainly explain the way he’d behaved when he’d come home. Instead of going straight to their usual meeting place by the stream, or tucking a note between the loose stones by his gate post to explain why he wasn’t coming, he’d completely ignored her.

Stepmama had explained that she shouldn’t expect him to recognise her in public, once his father had died, and he’d become the Earl. Besides which, he wasn’t a boy any longer, but a man who’d travelled and gained all sorts of experience. She’d taken another, longer look at him then. And seen that this fashionably dressed, sophisticated man would have regarded the letters she’d written to him as the outpourings of a childish idiot.

She’d gone cold inside as she’d finally understood how pathetic she’d been about...so many things. And promptly vowed not to be so pitiful one moment longer. If he didn’t want to have anything to do with her, then she would not embarrass him, or herself, by letting anyone suspect she’d been pining for him.

So the next time she’d seen him, the night he’d strolled into the local assembly in Bartlesham, she’d fixed a smile on her face and stuck close to Sukey and her throng of admirers. And instead of ignoring the leftover ones that Sukey didn’t have time to dance with, she’d offered to stand up with them for once. Most of them were so bemused they couldn’t think of a polite way to refuse her, so, for that one night, Georgiana had never lacked for a partner.

But it hadn’t impressed Edmund. At least, not the way she’d hoped. He’d looked at her exactly the way he was looking at her now. As though she disgusted him.

So she did exactly what she’d done that night as well. She lifted her chin and turned her head away, as though there was something more interesting to look at elsewhere. Her gaze came to rest on the baronet, who was standing by the piano, piling his plate with food. And slipping every third sandwich into his pocket.

The sight of a guest stealing food was so shocking that it did actually distract her from Edmund. For a moment, anyway. By the time she glanced back at the place where he had been standing, he was no longer there.

Instead, he was striding across the room, looking as though he was thinking of strangling her.

Her heart started banging against her ribs. She didn’t know what she’d done to put such a look on his face, but at least he was coming over. Every other time they’d been at the same function he’d made a point of ignoring her. Spoken to just about every other person in the place, but accorded her only a chilly nod as he’d stalked past on his way out.

Not that he had any right to look at her like that. In fact, she had far more right to be angry and to be shooting dagger glances at him. If he’d only been more...reasonable, she might not have had to part with Whitesocks, or see Stepmama spend the money that had been left to her by her father on foolish extravagances, or been shoehorned into ridiculous outfits and obliged to put up with the unwelcome attention such gowns attracted from men who ought to have better manners. She might not have had to come to London at all.

By the time he reached her side, she’d curled her hands into fists, she was so angry with him. Every bit as angry as he looked. For a moment or two, neither of them spoke. Instead they just stood there glaring at each other.

‘I see you are set on taking London by storm,’ he said, giving the edge of her décolletage one scathing glance.

He might have said something vile, but at least he had been the one to weaken and speak first. So it felt as if she had scored the first point.

‘I see you have left your manners behind in Bartlesham,’ she riposted.

‘Touché,’ he said, raising his hand to acknowledge the hit. Which made it two to one. ‘But if you want me to make a complimentary remark about your appearance, I am afraid you will be waiting a long time.’

She supposed he’d meant to wound her, but since he couldn’t possibly hate the gown more than she did, the thrust had gone wide. What was more, now that he’d spoken to her so rudely, she felt perfectly justified in speaking her mind as well.

‘I have already learned that waiting for you is a waste of time.’

‘I attended you at the trout stream the very day I got your note,’ he said, looking a touch uncomfortable. ‘And I did call upon you a day or so later, to tell you that...’ He shook his head. ‘Never mind that now. It must be obvious that by the time I had calmed down, you had already left for London and what might have been said upon that occasion is now completely irrelevant.’

‘You called upon me? At Six Chimneys?’ That hadn’t been what she’d meant about waiting for him. It had been the years while he’d been abroad, during which she’d pined for his company, which she now regarded as so much wasted time. Because she’d always hoped that when he came back, things would have returned to the way they’d been...

Which just went to show how silly she’d been. They’d both been children when he’d gone away. Adults when he returned. Things could never have been the same between them, even if he’d kept his word about staying in touch.

‘Yes,’ he said looking grim. ‘I had the dubious pleasure of meeting your father’s cousin, Mr Wickford.’

‘Serves you right,’ she said, as if she was twelve again. ‘Did you also meet Mrs Wickford?’

‘No. She was upstairs, attempting to make herself presentable.’

‘You had a narrow escape. Though a meeting with Mrs Wickford is exactly what you deserve for—’ She pulled herself up short. For a moment, there, she’d started speaking to him as freely as she’d done when they’d been children. As if she hadn’t worked so hard to acquire the manners of a lady. As if all the slights and betrayals had never taken place.

But they had. Besides, he was the Earl of Ashenden now, not her playmate. And she was just a penniless country miss, who ought to know her place and respect her betters, and all the rest of the things Stepmama was constantly reminding her of.

‘For letting you down,’ he finished her sentence for her, the way he’d always done when her thoughts had become too tangled for her to get them out sensibly. ‘For which I apologise. I told you, once, that you might apply to me should you ever find yourself in need of my help—’

She gasped. She’d thought he’d resented making that promise. That he would do anything to wriggle out of it. And yet now that he’d had time to reflect, it seemed he regretted not being able to do the one thing she’d requested. As though keeping his word was still important to him.

Even if she wasn’t.

‘And the very first time you asked me for anything,’ he was continuing, ‘I let you down. Not,’ he went on hastily, ‘that I have any intention of acceding to your ridiculous proposal of marriage.’

‘Naturally not.’ It had always been a long shot. Her last, desperate attempt to salvage something from the wreckage left in the wake of her father’s demise.

But did he have to look so relieved she’d now said as much?

‘But there are other ways I could keep my promise to...to be your friend, I am sure. Other ways I can repay the debt I owe you.’

‘Debt? What debt?’

‘Perhaps you are right. Perhaps it is not that I owe you anything.’ He paused, frowning slightly, the way he always did when marshalling his arguments. ‘Perhaps it is more accurate to say that I am determined not to break my vow.’

She flinched. Just as she’d thought. It wasn’t she that mattered, but his own honour.

‘Yes, well,’ she said, ‘it is a little late now.’

‘Far from it. There is a great deal I can do, short of actually marrying you.’

Did he have to keep on reminding her that he had no intention of marrying her? He’d made it plain enough already. She wasn’t stupid!

‘There is nothing you can do now,’ she hissed like a kettle coming to the boil, ‘that will make anything right. You cannot get back Whitesocks.’ She poked him in the chest with her forefinger. ‘Or my dowry.’ She poked him again. ‘Or my home.’ He grabbed her hand before she managed to get a third dig into his chest, so that for a moment, anyone looking at them would have thought they were holding hands.

‘Your dowry is gone?’ Something flickered across his face. ‘That is how she could afford the court presentation, I suppose.’

Edmund always had been quick on the uptake. Her father might have despised him for not being keen on what he’d deemed manly pursuits, but even he’d conceded Edmund had a mind like a steel trap. So, because he was sure to work it all out for himself eventually, she didn’t see any point in trying to conceal anything from him now. ‘Stepmama is determined Sukey will marry a viscount, at the very least. Which means we need to be able to dance at ton events. Hence the court presentation.’

She wrenched her hand free. ‘This entire Season has been planned out with the efficiency of a military campaign.’

His eyes flicked once more across the immense expanse of bosom left on show by her scanty evening gown. ‘So,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘rather than don armour, you have decided to use what weapons you possess.’

‘I would say that it is more a case of setting out the wares,’ she countered through gritted teeth. ‘I feel like a...’ She sucked in a sharp breath. She could only think of one horrid, vulgar word to describe how she felt.

‘You look magnificent,’ he said.

‘What? That wasn’t what you said when you first came over here.’ She searched his face for signs of mockery, but could detect only what looked very much like sympathy.

‘I...’ He paused, his lips thinning in annoyance. ‘I forgot, when I first saw you tonight, that you have little choice in what you wear,’ he admitted. ‘This is one of the things you were dreading about the Season, wasn’t it? Being paraded about like a prize heifer at market.’

Bother him, now he’d made her want to cry. Because he’d remembered what she’d said to him, practically word for word. And believed her, unquestioningly.

But before she could do anything so weak as to break down or as foolish as to fling herself on to his chest, Stepmama rose from the card table and headed in their direction with a martial gleam in her eye. Which made Georgiana lift her chin and stiffen her spine, thank goodness.

Just in the nick of time.

‘Lord Ashenden? Why, what a surprise,’ Stepmama cooed. ‘I had no notion that you were a friend of Lord and Lady Havelock.’

‘Why should you?’

Georgiana almost shivered at the chill in his voice. It was as if the Edmund she’d started to become comfortable with again had vanished. In his place stood Lord Ashenden. And she could easily imagine him delivering the kind of remark that had fallen from the lips of Lord Lensborough, earlier. The kind of remark designed to cut down a vulgar interloper and remind her that though she might have wheedled her way inside a house belonging to a member of the Quality, she had absolutely none herself.

Instead, his frosty expression thawed, even though it was only by about half a degree.

‘I have a passing acquaintance with Lord and Lady Chepstow, too,’ he said. ‘Have you met them?’

‘Oh, yes, she is a most charming woman,’ Stepmama gushed.

‘Lady,’ he corrected her.

‘Yes, that is what I meant, of course.’

‘She is also extremely intelligent,’ he said, enigmatically. ‘She was working as a governess, you know, when Chepstow decided to marry her.’

‘Indeed?’ For a moment, Stepmama faltered, unsure of where the conversation was headed. Georgiana could barely prevent herself from kicking him. He was deliberately toying with Stepmama. At least Lord Lensborough’s derision had been obvious, though delivered with brutal swiftness.

‘I heard,’ Stepmama was saying, ‘that they had known each other almost all their lives, that she attended the same school as his sister.’

‘That may be correct,’ he acknowledged. ‘In any case, I find it admirable that she was using the talents God gave her to make her own way in the world.’

‘Oh, yes, most admirable,’ said Stepmama with enthusiasm, though she couldn’t possibly have any idea what she was being so enthusiastic about.

‘Are you hinting,’ said Georgiana, taking pity on her stepmother, ‘that I would be better to go out and work for my living, than attempt to get a husband, my lord?’ Was that what he’d meant about keeping his promise to help her? Since he knew how reluctant she was to marry, was he going to use his influence, and his connections, to help her find paid employment instead?

‘Oh, merciful heavens, how can you say anything so absurd?’ cried Stepmama, rapping her over the wrist with her fan. Quite hard.

‘Is it so absurd?’ Edmund tipped his head to one side and stared at Stepmama as if he was giving the matter serious consideration.

‘Completely absurd,’ tittered Stepmama. ‘Why, who on earth would employ Georgiana? In any capacity? She has none of the feminine accomplishments. I suppose, if we could find a school where horse riding was considered important, she could teach the younger girls to ride, but other than that...’ She waved her hand dismissively.

Edmund’s eyes barely flickered, but they seemed to her to have turned to ice.

‘Did you never teach her any of the feminine accomplishments you consider so desirable, madam? I should have thought that was among your primary duties.’

‘Oh.’ Stepmama looked taken aback at this deliberate, open criticism. ‘Well, naturally, I tried,’ she said, putting on her most martyred expression. ‘Only Georgiana is not the slightest bit biddable, you know. Not like my own daughter.’

‘Who is the most accomplished female,’ he said with deceptive smoothness, ‘I am ever likely to meet, I shouldn’t wonder.’

There was an edge to his voice that made Georgiana almost urge Stepmama to beware. He clearly hadn’t liked the way Stepmama had belittled her, even though he must know she’d only spoken the truth.

‘Oh, heavens, yes. My Sukey—’

‘Embroiders and paints, and plays the pianoforte?’

‘Why, yes, naturally, and—’

‘Speaks Italian and French, and sings like a nightingale?’

‘Well, no...not the languages, though she does sing beautifully...’

Georgiana was suddenly torn between the equal urges to laugh and to slap him. He was being at his most cutting, and sarcastic in her defence, and Stepmama had no idea he was making fun of her and her pretensions.

‘Madam,’ he breathed, with complete insincerity, ‘I must certainly have an introduction to this paragon.’

‘But of course!’ Stepmama swelled with triumph. ‘Sukey is sitting just over there...’

‘I did not mean now,’ he said. ‘I was just about to leave.’

‘Oh, but—’ Stepmama began in desperation.

‘No, no, really, I have pressing commitments elsewhere. But perhaps...’

‘Yes?’

‘You will permit me to call upon you?’

‘We should be delighted!’ Stepmama beamed at him. ‘Should we not, Georgiana?’ she said pointedly, giving her another tap across her still-stinging wrist with a fan that felt as though its struts were made of oak.

‘Delighted,’ she said, with a smile. A big, false smile.

‘In that case, you must furnish me with your direction, you know.’

Stepmama rattled it off and urged him to repeat it to make sure he wouldn’t forget it.

He merely gave her a curt nod. ‘I shall not forget,’ he said. And stalked off.

‘Well,’ said Stepmama, using her fan for the purpose for which it was intended, for once. ‘What do you think of that?’

‘I’m not sure,’ said Georgiana, regarding his retreating back with a frown.

‘Oh, you are so dense sometimes, Georgiana, I despair of you. It is quite simple. We’ve been in Town only two weeks and already we can claim visiting rights with two viscounts and an earl. If I don’t see my Sukey married to a title before the Season is out then I’ll...’

‘Eat your fan?’

‘Eat my fan? Eat my fan? Why on earth should I do something so absurd? And really, where do you get such vulgar expressions from?’ Stepmama wrinkled her nose in distaste. ‘Well, never mind that for now. It is all of a piece with the rest of your behaviour. You are never going to get a husband if you will loiter in the retiring room, or the furthest corner of the salon from where the most eligible men are standing, or come out with vulgar expressions like that when someone does finally get into conversation with you.’

She rolled her lips inwards, a sure sign that she had plenty more to say, but was determined to save it for later.

‘Which is why I came over here in the first place. I noted a gentleman come in who may be just the thing for you. A cavalry officer, if I know anything about uniforms. Come along, Georgiana,’ she said, seizing her by the wrist. ‘We need to get him to notice you before either of those Pargetter girls get their talons into him.’