Читать книгу Impetuous Innocent - Stephanie Laurens, Stephanie Laurens - Страница 7

BELLA HEARD the door of her boudoir open and shut, but, absorbed in brushing the haresfoot delicately over her cheekbones, she did not turn around. In her mirror, she saw Hills obediently drop a curtsy and leave. Finally, satisfied with her appearance, she swung about. “Arthur—Oh! Dominic!”

She was out of her chair and across the room on the word.

Half laughing, half frowning, Dominic held her off. “No! Compose yourself, you hoyden. What will staid Arthur think? And I can’t have you ruining my cravat as you did the last time.”

So Bella had to make do with clasping his hands. “Oh, thank you, dearest Dominic, for sending Georgie to me! We’re having such a wonderful time!” She drew him down to plant a sisterly kiss on one lean cheek.

Dominic suffered the embrace, using the moment to cast a knowledgeable eye over his sister. “So you and Miss Hartley have hit it off?”

“Famously!” Bella sat with a swirl of her satin skirts. “But whoever would have thought you’d…?” She broke off, biting her lip.

Dominic’s black brows rose. There was a disconcerting glint in his eye, but his voice was gentle when he softly prompted, “I’d…?”

Bella flushed and turned back to her dressing-table, skirts rustling, and busied herself with a pot of rouge. She refused to meet his eye. “That you’d behave so uncommonly sensible, if you must know. From everything I’ve heard, it must be the first time in weeks!”

“Weeks?” The arrogant black brows rose again. Dominic considered the point for all of ten seconds. “Feels more like years.”

Bella, surprised by his weary tone, chanced a glance at him in the mirror. He raised his head at that moment, and she was caught in his chilly blue gaze. “That aside, dear sister mine, you would be well advised not to listen to gossip—about myself, or anyone else, for that matter.”

Eyes wide, Bella knew better than to remonstrate. Dominic was ten years her senior and had been the strictest of guardians in the years preceding her marriage. She half expected some more pointed rebuke, but he turned aside, a far-away look settling over his handsome face. To her, that pensive look was far more frightening than Amelia’s bluster. Surely he wasn’t serious about Elaine Changley?

She waited, but he made no further remark. Finally she asked, “Will you stay for dinner?”

He looked up.

Bella fidgeted with her hairbrush. “Georgie and I are going on to Almack’s later, so you needn’t fear you’ll have to kick your heels in my drawing-room.”

Her tone brought a smile to her brother’s face, dispelling the withdrawn look which had so concerned her. Still, she was sure he would refuse.

Instead, after a moment’s hesitation, she heard him murmur, “Why not?”

As it seemed a purely rhetorical question, Bella made no attempt to answer it.

Dominic shrugged, then turned his sweetest smile full on her. “Since you ask, dear sister, I’ll stay. It might be interesting to meet my…your protégée.”

As Bella reached for the bell-pull to summon Hills, Dominic surveyed a nearby chair through his quizzing-glass. Reassured, he carefully disposed his long limbs in the delicate piece.

“So how came you to get vouchers for the Marriage Mart so soon?”

“Well! It was the most fortunate thing!” Bella seized on the question to lead the conversation on to lighter ground, hoping her intrusion into her brother’s private life would be the quicker forgotten. Dominic had never allowed her any speculation on the possible candidates for the position of Viscountess Alton. And she had long ago learned that any mention of his mistresses, past, present or potential, was sure to invite one of his more painful set-downs. Still, after Amelia’s warning, and her own unfortunate gaffe, she had felt justified in at least trying to broach the subject.

While Hills informed Johnson of the necessity of setting an extra place and returned to twist her hair into an elegant knot, Bella described the recent history of Georgiana Hartley. As she prattled, she watched her brother’s face in the mirror. He sat quietly studying his nails, paying scant attention to her words. His lack of interest worried her. She had hardly expected him to be seriously concerned with Georgiana. After all, he had barely met her and she was certainly not the sort of woman to hold his attention. But his introspection was unusual and disquieting, suggesting as it did the existence of some weightier matter dragging on his mind. Like matrimony. But surely, surely, he wouldn’t choose Elaine Changley?

It was with relief that Bella finally rose from her dressing-table. What with the distraction of Dominic’s arrival, the hour was well advanced. He accompanied her down the wide staircase and entered the drawing-room by her side.

Georgiana was talking to Arthur. Warned by his face that someone unexpected had entered, she turned and was trapped, once again without warning, in the blue of Lord Alton’s eyes.

The same eyes that haunted her dreams.

For Georgiana, it was a definite case of déjà vu. Her breathing stopped; her heart contracted. Her gaze was oddly restricted, the rest of the room fading away, leaving one strong face to impress itself on her mind. Her stare widened to take in his immaculate evening clothes, and the way his dark hair sat in elegant waves about his head. A cornflowerblue sapphire winked in his cravat, its colour no more intense than his eyes.

Then, thankfully, Arthur moved forward to greet his guest.

The worst was past. Georgiana’s natural poise reasserted itself and she could function again. Then Lord Alton turned to take her hand. His clasp was cool and gentle. He smiled and bowed elegantly.

“Miss Hartley. So we meet again. I do hope Bella hasn’t been tiring you out with her gadding.”

To Georgiana’s intense chagrin, her tongue promptly tied itself in knots and her voice deserted her. She managed to force out a weak, “Of course not, my lord,” around the constriction in her throat. What on earth was the matter with her?

Luckily, Johnson entered to announce dinner. Inwardly, Georgiana heaved a sigh of relief. But relief died a sudden death when she discovered Lord Alton was dining at his sister’s board. Naturally, he sat opposite her. Throughout the meal, which could have been the meanest fare for all she noticed, Georgiana struggled to avoid looking directly at the gentleman opposite, with mixed success. Arthur unwittingly came to her rescue, turning the conversation into political waters. He engaged his brother-in-law in a detailed discussion of the Corn Laws, leaving the ladies to their own interests.

As Bella seemed abstracted, Georgiana confined her gaze, if not her attention, to her plate. As course followed course, and the gentlemen’s discourse continued unabated, she was conscious of a growing irritation. Admittedly her awkwardness in the drawing-room had hardly been encouraging, but Lord Alton could at least make the effort to address some remark to her. Perhaps, in England, it was not done to talk across the table, even at family meals.

When the sweets appeared before her, Bella shook herself and glanced about. Only then did she notice that her husband and brother had embarked on a most tedious discussion, leaving poor Georgie to herself. It was on the tip of her tongue to call attention to their lapse of manners, when she recalled that neither gentleman would feel the least inhibited about alluding to her own brown study of the past hour, nor in asking the subject of said study. As she had no intention of once again drawing her brother’s fire, she turned instead to Georgiana.

“You see what it is to dine en famille in Winsmere House? Pearls before swine, my dear. Here we sit, only too willing to be enthralled, and all they can think of is their political problems.” Her eyes twinkled at her husband, sitting opposite her at the head of the table.

Unperturbed by her attack, he smiled back. “In truth, I’m surprised to see you still here. I had thought you were off to Almack’s tonight.”

Bella’s eyes swung to the clock, peacefully ticking away on the sideboard. “Heavens! I’d no idea. Georgie, we’ll have to bustle. Come. We’ll leave our two fine gentlemen to their port.”

Both men stood as she rose.

Georgiana perforce rose too. She could not resist throwing one last glance at the tall figure opposite her. To her confusion, she found he was watching her. But his face bore nothing more than a remotely polite expression. He returned her nod with genial but distant civility.

As the ladies departed the room, Arthur turned to his brother-in-law. “If you have the time, I’d value your opinions on how best to go about this business.”

Dominic started slightly, as if his mind had wandered from the matter they had been discussing for the past hour. “Yes. Of course.” His usual, sleepily bored smile appeared. “I’d be only too delighted, naturally.”

Arthur, not deceived, laughed. “Which means you’d much rather be elsewhere, discussing more enthralling subjects, but you will, of course, humour your host. You, Dominic, are a complete hand. Why you must belittle your efforts in this I know not.”

By unspoken agreement, they moved to the door. Dominic waved one languid hand, and a priceless sapphire caught the light. “Perhaps because my—er—efforts, as you term them, are so undemanding as to be positively valueless.”

Arthur was surprised into a snort. “Valueless? Who else, pray tell, has succeeded in even introducing the subject in Prinny’s presence?”

They entered the library and made for the two large armchairs by the hearth.

“Introducing the subject’s hardly the same as gaining His Highness’s support.” Dominic sank into one chair, stretching his long legs before him and emitting a weary sigh.

Arthur glanced sharply at him. “You know that’s not necessary. Just as long as His Highness is aware of how things stand. That’ll be more than enough.” He handed Dominic a cut-crystal glass filled with his oldest port, then settled comfortably in the chair opposite.

Silence fell, broken only by the ticking of the long case clock in the corner and a sudden crackle as a log settled in the grate. Arthur, who had had plenty of opportunity to observe his brother-in-law over dinner, and to note the arrested expression in those startlingly blue eyes whenever they rested on Georgiana Hartley, continued to watch the younger man, waiting patiently for whatever came next, confident that something, indeed, would be forthcoming.

Finally, Dominic’s gaze sought his face. “This Miss Hartley I’ve foisted on you…I assume you approve?”

Arthur nodded. “Georgiana is exactly the sort of company Bella needs. You have my heartfelt thanks for sending her to us.”

The black brows rose. “Seemed the least I could do.” Dominic’s face showed evidence of distraction, as it frequently had that night. Arthur’s lips twitched. He sternly repressed the impulse to smile.

Eventually Dominic shook off his abstraction sufficiently to comment, “Bella was saying she’s becoming rather stubbornly taken with this idea of hiring out as a companion. She seemed to think that she, Miss Hartley, might take things into her own hands. That, I need hardly say, will simply not do.”

Arthur nodded gravely. “I entirely agree. Also, I have to concur with Bella on her reading of Georgiana’s character.” He paused to steeple his fingers, and stared into the fire over the top of the structure. “Georgiana is clearly unused to relying on the bounty of others. It irks her, I think, to be living, as it were, on our charity. She has some money of her own, but not, I suspect, the requisite fortune. She has spoken to me about the best way to go about hiring herself out. I returned an evasive and, I hope, restraining answer. Luckily, the fact that she has been out of England for so long makes it relatively easy to make excuses which on the face of it are reasonable, without going into over-many details. However—” he smiled at Dominic “—beneath that demure exterior lies a great deal of strength and not a little courage. From what I gather, she made her way to England virtually unaided—not an inconsiderable feat. I seriously doubt she’ll accept our vague answers for much longer.”

A black frown of quite dramatic proportions dominated the Viscount’s face.

Arthur suppressed a grin. Finally he asked, “Do you have any ideas?”

Still frowning, Dominic slowly shook his head. Then he glanced at Arthur. “Do you?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” Arthur straightened his shoulders and prepared to explain. His grey gaze rested thoughtfully on Dominic’s face. “Bella, of course, needs distraction. Essentially, that means a companion. But can you imagine how she would feel if I insisted she hire one?”

Dominic’s frown lightened.

“Bella has been most assiduous in helping Georgiana and, from what I’ve seen, Georgiana is truly grateful. I plan to suggest to Georgiana, in confidence, that she become Bella’s companion in truth. However, in order to spare Bella’s quite natural feelings, the arrangement will be a secret between the two of us. To all outward appearances, which of course must include the servants, she will continue as a guest in this house.” Arthur’s brows rose interrogatively. “Do you think that’ll pass?”

Dominic grinned. “I’m sure it will. How useful to be able to turn your talents to something other than politics.” His grin broadened into a smile. “And no wonder you’re so invaluable in your present capacity.”

Arthur smiled and inclined his head. “As you say.” For a moment he regarded the younger man intently. Then, almost imperceptibly, he shrugged. “I’ll speak to Georgiana in the morning. It would be wise, I suspect, to ensure she has no opportunity to take the bit between her teeth.”

“THANK YOU, MY LORD.” Georgiana curtsied and watched young Lord Mortlake mince away across the floor. Still, at least he had danced well.

She flicked open her fan and plied it ruthlessly. The large, sparsely furnished rooms which were Almack’s were crammed with bodies dressed in silks and satins of every conceivable hue. The day had been unseasonably warm, and the evening, initially balmy, had turned sultry. The air in the rooms hung oppressively. Ostrich feathers wilted. As a particularly limp pair, dyed puce, bobbed by, attached to the head-dress of an extremely conscious beauty, Georgiana hid her smirk behind her fan.

Her eyes scanned the company. Other than Bella, standing by her side, engaged in a low-voiced conversation with an elderly matron, Georgiana knew only those few people Bella had thus far introduced her to. And, she reflected, none of them needed a companion.

As her eyes feasted on the spectrum of colours mingling before her, she spared a smile for her sartorial elegance. By comparison with many about her, she was underdressed. The pattern of Fancon’s amethyst silk robe was simple and plain, with long, clean lines uncluttered by frills and furbelows. Her single strand of pearls, inherited from her mother, shone warmly about her neck. Originally uncertain, she now felt smugly satisfied with her appearance.

Thoughts of dresses brought her earlier discovery to mind, together with the subsequent argument with Bella. How on earth could she accept the sea-green gauze and topaz silk dresses from Bella, to whom she was already so deeply indebted? Yet it was undeniable that Bella could not wear them. Both dresses were presently hanging in the wardrobe in her chamber. She had been quite unable to persuade Bella to repack and return them. What was she to do about them?

The idea that, if she had been wearing the topaz silk gown that evening, Lord Alton would have paid more attention to her flitted through her mind. Ruthlessly, she stamped on the errant thought. She was here to find employment, not ogle lords. And what possible interest could Lord Alton have in her—an unremarkable country lass, not even at home in England?

Depressed, by that thought and the lowering fact she had not yet made any headway in finding a position, Georgiana determinedly looked over the sea of heads, pausing on the occasional powdered wig that belonged to a previous generation. Maybe, beneath one, she would find someone to hire her?

“Here, girl! Georgiana, ain’t it? Come and help me to that chair.”

Georgiana whirled to find Lady Winterspoon beside her. The old lady was leaning on a cane.

Seeing her glance, Amelia Winterspoon chuckled. “I only use it at night. Helps me get the best seats.”

Georgiana smiled and obediently took her ladyship’s arm. Once settled in a gilt chair by the wall, Lady Winterspoon waved Georgiana to its partner beside her.

“I can only take so much of this place. Too much mindless talk addles the brain.”

Georgiana felt the sharp grey eyes assessing her. She wondered whether she would pass muster.

A wry smile twisted Amelia Winterspoon’s thin lips. “Just as I thought. Not in the common style.”

The old lady paused. Georgiana had the impression she was reliving long-ago evenings spent under the candlelight of ballroom chandeliers. Then, abruptly, the grey gaze sharpened and swung to her face.

“If you’re old enough to heed advice, here’s one piece you should take to heart. You ain’t a beauty, but you’re no antidote either. You’re different—and not just because you’re fair when the current craze is for dark. The most successful women who’ve ever trod these boards were those who were brave enough to be themselves.”

“Themselves?”

“Themselves,” came the forceful answer. “Don’t put on airs, nor pretend to be what you ain’t. Thankfully, you seem in no danger of doing that. Don’t try to ape the English misses. Don’t try to lose your foreignness—use it instead. All you need to make a go of it is to smile and enjoy yourself. The rest’ll come easy.”

“But—” Georgiana wondered whether she should explain her situation to Arthur’s sister. Maybe she could help her find a position?

“No buts, girl! Just do it! There’s no point in wasting your life away being a wallflower. Get out and enjoy yourself.” Lady Winterspoon used her cane to gesture at the dance-floor. “Now go on—off you go!”

Despite the conviction that she should feel piqued at such forthright meddling, Georgiana found herself grinning, then laughing as Lady Winterspoon nodded encouragingly. Rising, Georgiana swept a curtsy to her ladyship, now comfortably ensconced, and, a smile lingering on her lips, returned to the throng. She made her way to where she had left Bella.

But Bella was no longer in sight.

Perturbed, Georgiana stood still and wondered what to do. She could go back and sit with Lady Winterspoon, only she would probably drive her off again. English social strictures were not Georgiana’s strong suit. Still, she rather suspected she should not wander about the rooms alone. Suddenly she realised she was frowning.

Lady Winterspoon’s strong voice still echoed in her mind. “Enjoy yourself!”

Georgiana lifted her head. She had been introduced to Italian society at the age of sixteen. Surely, at the ripe old age of eighteen, she could manage such a simple social occasion as this? Consciously drawing about herself the cloak of social calm her father’s female patrons had impressed on her was the hallmark of a lady, she stepped out more confidently to search for Bella—not hurriedly, in a frenzy, but in a calm and dignified way, smiling as she went.

As she moved slowly down the room, truly looking about her for the first time that evening, she heard snatches of conversation wafting from the groups she passed.

“Did you see that Emma Michinford? Making such sheep’s eyes at…”

“Well, we all know what he’s after!”

“She’s really rather pathetic, don’t you agree?”

“Not that it’ll come to anything, mark my words. The likes of him…”

Waspish, biting, cutting gibes…The comments blurred into a melody typical, Georgiana suspected, of the place. Her smile grew.

“Oh!” Her elbow jogged that of another stroller. “I’m so sorry. Pray excuse me.”

“Gladly, my dear, if you’ll tell me what could possibly be so amusing in Almack’s.”

The languid tones of the gentleman bowing before her were, Georgiana judged, devoid of menace. He was very neatly and correctly attired, soberly so. His blue coat was well cut, his satin breeches without a crease. Brown hair, stylishly but not rakishly cut, framed a pleasant face. There was nothing one could put a finger on to account for the air of elegance which clung to him.

As he continued to look at her with mild curiosity, Georgiana, Lady Winterspoon’s dictum still fresh in her mind, answered him truthfully. “It was merely the conversation, caught in snippets as I walked about. It’s—” she put her head on one side as she considered her words “—rather single-minded, if you know what I mean.”

A quirky grin twisted the gentleman’s lips. “I do indeed know what you mean, Miss…?”

Having embarked on her course, Georgiana dispensed with caution, “Hartley. Georgiana Hartley. I’m staying with Lady Winsmere. I seem to have lost her in the crush.”

“Ah, the lovely Bella. I think I saw her over by the door, in earnest conversation with Lady Duckworth. Permit me to escort you to her.”

With only a single blink, Georgiana laid her gloved hand on the proffered sleeve. If she was going to be escorted by any gentleman tonight, she was quite content that it should be this one. He hadn’t told her his name, but he seemed thoroughly at home.

“From your comment, you seem almost to laugh at the purpose of this great institution. Yet surely you propose to avail yourself of its services?”

This was the sort of conversation Georgiana had cut her social eye-teeth on. “I most certainly intend to avail myself of its services, but not, I think, as you might assume.”

Her companion digested this riposte, before countering, “If that means you are not here to snare a title, or a fortune, what possible other use for this place can you have found?”

“Why, that to which I was putting it when you met me.”

A pause developed, followed by a great sigh. “Very well. I confess myself stumped. What is it you’ve discovered within these faded grey walls?”

Georgiana smiled, eyes dancing. “Why, enjoyment, of course. I was enjoying myself.” To her surprise, she realised this was true. She turned to glance into her companion’s grey eyes. In them, she saw thunderstruck amazement.

“Enjoyment? In Almack’s?”

Georgiana laughed. “Of course. I’m enjoying myself now. Aren’t you?”

Her gentleman stopped stock-still, a ludicrous mixture of horror and humour in his face. “Dreadful! I’ll never live this down.” Then his face cleared and he smiled, quite genuinely, at Georgiana. “Come, Miss Hartley. Let me restore you to Lady Winsmere. You’re clearly too potent a force to be let loose for long.”

Perfectly content, Georgiana strolled by his side through the crowd, who, she now noticed, seemed to part before them. Even before she caught sight of Bella’s surprised face, she had started to question the identity of her escort. But she was determined not to worry. And, thankfully, whoever he was, her escort seemed to find nothing amiss.

Bella curtsied and chatted animatedly, but Georgiana still heard no name. With a final, sotto voce, “Enjoying oneself in Almack’s. Whatever next?” the very correct gentleman withdrew.

Georgiana turned to Bella, but, before she could utter her question, Bella was exclaiming, albeit in delighted whispers, “Georgie! However did you do it?”

“Do what? Who is he?” Instinctively, Georgiana whispered too.

“Who? But…don’t you know?” Bella stared in disbelief, first at her, then at the elegant retreating back.

“No. No one introduced us. I bumped into him and apologised.”

Bella fanned herself frantically. “Heavens! He might have cut you!”

“Cut…? But who on earth is he?”

“Brummel! George Brummel. He’s one of society’s most powerful arbiters of taste.” Bella turned to survey Georgiana appraisingly. “Well! Obviously he’s taken to you. What a relief! I didn’t know what to think when I saw you with him. He can be quite diabolical, you know.”

Georgiana, conscious now of the envious eyes upon her, smiled confidently. “You needn’t have worried. We were just enjoying ourselves.”

Bella looked incredulous.

Georgiana laughed.

“GOODNIGHT, Johnson.”

“Goodnight, my lord.”

The door of Winsmere House shut softly behind Dominic. The night continued mild, but the low rumble of distant thunder heralded the end of the unseasonal warmth. Still, Alton House in Grosvenor Square was only five minutes away. Dominic set off, swinging his slim ebony cane, his long strides unhurried as he headed for North Audley Street.

The evening had left him with a sense of dissatisfaction which he was hard put to explain. He had broken his journey to Brighton to check on Miss Hartley, although, to be precise, it was more to relieve his mind over whether Arthur and Bella had been put out over her descent on them. Thankfully, all had turned out for the best. Arthur’s scheme would undoubtedly pave the way for Georgiana Hartley to spend the upcoming Little Season with Bella, after which it would be wonderful if she had not received at least one acceptable proposal. The girl was not a brilliant match, but a perfectly suitable connection for any of the lesser nobility who made up the bulk of the ton. He had checked on her antecedents and knew them to be above reproach. Yes, Georgiana Hartley would very likely soon be betrothed. Which was far more appropriate than being a companion.

As he swung south into North Audley Street, Dominic grinned. How typical of Arthur to concoct such a perfect solution to the girl’s troubles. And Bella’s. Everything seemed set to fall smoothly into place. Which, all things considered, should leave him feeling smugly satisfied. Instead, he was feeling uncommonly irritated. The grin faded. A frown settled over his features.

A watchman passed by unobtrusively, unwilling to draw the attention of such a well set up and clearly out-of-sorts gentleman to his activities. Dominic heard him but gave no sign.

Why should he be feeling so disillusioned, so disheartened? He’d been living this life for the past twelve years. Why had it suddenly palled? The circumstances that had driven him to seek the peace of Candlewick drifted into his mind. All the glamour and glitter and laughter associated with the doings of the Carlton House set. And the underlying vice, the predictability, the sheer falsity of most of it—these were what had sent him scurrying for sanctuary. But even Candlewick had failed to lift his mood. While its serenity had been comforting, the huge house had seemed lonely, empty. He had never noticed it before; now its silence was oppressive.

The corner of Grosvenor Square loomed ahead. Dominic swung left and crossed the road to the railed garden. The gates were locked at sunset, but that had never stopped him strolling the well tended lawns by night. He vaulted the wrought-iron railings with accustomed ease, then turned his steps across the lawns in the direction of his town house on the south side of the Square. Tucking his cane under his arm, he thrust his hands into his coat pockets and sank his chin into the soft folds of his cravat. Doubtless, if he were still in the care of his old nurse, she would tell him to take one of Dr James’s Powders. The blue devils, that was what he had.

A vision of honey-gold eyes crystallised in his brain. Why on earth Georgiana Hartley’s eyes, together with the rest of her, should so plague him he could not understand. He was not a callow youth, to be so besotted with a female’s finer points. He had hardly exchanged two words with the chit, yet, throughout the evening, had been aware of her every movement, every inflexion, every expression.

Leaves from the beech trees had piled in drifts and softly scrunched underfoot. Dominic paused to regard his feet, lightly covered with golden leaves. Then he shook his head, trying to rid it of the memory of curls sheening guinea-gold under candlelight. God! What was this? The onset of senility?

Determined to force his mind to sanity, he removed his hands from his pockets and straightened his shoulders. Ten long strides brought him to the fence, and he vaulted over to the pavement beyond. A few days, not to mention nights, of Elaine Changley’s company would cure him of this idiotic fancy. As his feet crossed the cobbles, he commanded his memory to supply a vision of Lady Changley as he had last seen her, reclining amid the much rumpled sheets of the bed he had just vacated. Of course, Elaine’s ambitions were on a par with her charms. But as he was as well acquainted with the former as he was with the latter he felt justified in ignoring them. A smile played at the corners of his fine lips as he trod the steps to his front door.

In the instant he raised his cane to beat a tattoo on the solid oak door, an unnerving vision in which Georgiana Hartley was substituted for Elaine Changley flooded his brain. So breathtaking was the sight that Dominic froze. The gold top of his cane, yet to touch the door, remained suspended before him.

The door opened and Dominic found himself facing his butler, Timms.

“My lord?”

Feeling decidedly foolish, Dominic lowered his cane. He sauntered past Timms, one of Duckett’s protégés, as if it were perfectly normal for him to stand rooted to his own doorstep. He paused in the hallway to draw off his gloves, then handed the offending cane to Timms.

“I’ll be leaving for Brighton early tomorrow, Timms. Tell Maitland to be ready about nine.”

“Very good, m’lord.”

Frowning, Dominic slowly ascended the gently curving staircase, pausing, as was his habit, to check his fob watch against the long case clock on the landing. Restoring his watch to his pocket, he reflected that, if nothing else could cure him of his disturbing affliction, the decadent amusements to be found within the Prince Regent’s pavilion at Brighton would.

BY THE TIME the Winsmere House ladies were handed into their coach for the drive home from King Street, Georgiana had had proved to her, over and over again, the truth of Lady Winterspoon’s dictum. If she enjoyed herself, then her partners seemed to enjoy her company. If she laughed, then they laughed, too. And, while such overt behaviour did not sit well with one brought up to the self-effacing manners expected of young Italian girls, it was a great deal better, to Georgiana’s way of thinking, than simpering and giggling. Her upbringing clearly had not conditioned her for English social life. Nevertheless, the unrufflable calm she had been instructed was a lady’s greatest asset certainly helped, allowing her to cloak her instinctive responses to some of those she had met—like Lord Ormskirk and his leering glances, and Mr Morecombe, with his penchant for touching her bare arms.

“The Sotherbys are holding a ball next week. Lady Margaret said she’d send cards.” Bella’s voice came out of the gloom of the seat opposite. “After tonight, I’ve no doubts we’ll be kept busy. So fortunate, your meeting with Brummel.”

The unmistakable sound of a smothered yawn came to Georgiana’s ears. She smiled into the darkness. Despite her tiredness, Bella seemed even more excited by her success than she was. She had originally found her hostess’s claim of boredom difficult to believe. Now she could find it in her to understand that, without any special interest, the balls and parties could indeed turn flat. Still, to her, everything was too new for there to be any danger of her own interest flagging before Bella’s did. Hopefully Bella would not feel too let down when she found a position and moved away. Into obscurity. Georgiana frowned.

If she had been asked, five days previously, whether she had any ambition to enter the ton, she would unhesitatingly have disclaimed all such desire. However, having now had a small sample of the diverse entertainments to be found amid the social whirl, she rather thought she might enjoy being able to savour these, in moderation, by way of a change from the quieter lifestyle she considered her milieu. A saying of her father’s drifted past her mind’s ear. “Experience, girl! There’s nothing quite like it and no substitute known.’

As the clop of the horses’ hoofs echoed back from the tiered façades of the houses they passed, Georgiana puzzled over her change of heart. Still, nothing could alter the fact that she would need to earn her way, at least to some extent. That being so, perhaps she should take this opportunity of experiencing the ton, of enjoying herself amid the glittering throng? According to Bella, she needed to be known to find a position. So, until she secured one, she could, and perhaps should, follow her father’s and Lady Winterspoon’s advice.

Bella yawned. “Oh, dear. I’d forgotten what it was like.” Another yawn was stifled behind one slim white-gloved hand. Then, “I wonder if Dominic has managed to convince Charles to sell the Place yet?”

The question jolted Georgiana out of her reverie. “Lord Alton wishes to buy the Place?”

“Why, yes. Didn’t I mention it?”

Her friend’s voice was sleepy, but Georgiana’s curiosity was aroused. “No. Why does he want it? From what I saw, it’s terribly run down.”

“Oh, it is. Run down, I mean. Even when Charles’s father was alive…And now…”

Georgiana waited, but Bella’s mind had clearly drifted. “But why does he want it?” she prompted.

“The Place? Oh, I keep forgetting you don’t know all that much about it.” Bella’s skirts rustled as she sat up. “Well, you see, the Place didn’t exist a hundred years ago. It used to be part of Candlewick. But one of my ancestors was something of a loose screw. He gambled heavily. One of his creditors was one of your ancestors. He agreed to take part of the Candlewick lands in payment. So that was how the Place came about. My spendthrift ancestor didn’t live long, much to the family’s relief. Ever since then, the family has tried to buy back the Place and make Candlewick complete again. But your family have always refused. I don’t know how long it’s been going on, but, generally, both families have always dealt amicably despite all. That is…” Bella paused dramatically; Georgiana sat enthralled “—until my father’s death. Although he had always talked of rejoining the Place to Candlewick, my father hadn’t, as far as Dominic could discover, done much about it. So when he inherited, Dominic wrote to your uncle to discuss the matter. But your uncle never replied. He was, by that time, something of a recluse. Dominic could never get to see him. After a while, Dominic gave up. When he heard of your uncle’s death, he wrote to Charles. Charles didn’t reply either. Mind you,” Bella added on a reflective note, “as Charles dislikes Dominic as much as Dominic dislikes him, I can’t say I was surprised at that. Still, from what you’ve said, the Place is falling down about Charles’s ears. I really can’t see why he won’t sell. Dominic’s prepared to pay above the odds, and Charles must know that.”