A Regency Invitation to the House Party of the Season (22 page)

‘What the hell did he say to her?’ Fury surged through Anthony.

Timms gave him a disgusted look. ‘Sent me about my business double quick, he did. And his voice is that slip
pery soft, damned if I could hear aught through the keyhole. Just the mistress saying ’twas all a misunderstanding, but white as a sheet she was afterwards. Not too much I could say—she sent me out on an errand after he left.’

Anthony’s brain spun as the whole pattern crashed into place. ‘Timms?’

‘Aye, Major?’

‘Do you think this man that’s been seen could possibly be Grant?’

Timms frowned. ‘Could be. But why would he bother?’

Anthony bit his lip. Later he might have to tell Timms what he suspected, but not yet. ‘Trying to get a reference?’ he suggested.

A sceptical snort greeted this. ‘If Mr William was a-going to give him one, he’d of done it by now. And it ain’t as if Grant did anything that Mr William would likely refuse a reference over!’

Anthony forbore to comment on this scathing indictment of his cousin’s morals. If his suspicions were correct, William’s perfidy extended far beyond lifting Lady Margaret’s skirts on the backstairs.

‘Could ask a few quiet questions if you want, Major.’

Anthony nodded. ‘You do that.’

Anthony was still reeling from Timms’s advice and revelations when he found William just about to enter the breakfast parlour.

‘William—have you a moment?’ For the life of him, Anthony couldn’t prevent a chill creeping into his voice. He fought down his rage. After his mistakes with Marcus and Georgie, he daren’t accuse someone else, even without the risk William posed to Marcus.

His hand on the door handle, William turned and gestured gracefully. ‘As many moments as you like. Something I can do for you?’

You’ve done enough already!
Swallowing that, Anthony said, ‘Perhaps the library, William. You’ll understand that this must go no further…’

Make him feel that he is still trusted, that I don’t really believe it…God knows I don’t want to.
He caught himself up. What did he want to believe? That Georgie was lying? He
didn’t
believe that. She was a terrible liar. He remembered that once, before they were betrothed, she’d tried to convince him that she didn’t care a rush about her broken betrothal to Finch-Scott, would be perfectly content to take a post as a governess or some such thing. She’d been unable to meet his eyes.

He remembered something else she had told him, on the eve of Waterloo, her eyes, bright with tears, meeting his savage gaze unflinchingly, the words he had longed to hear on her lips. He shoved the memory away. Perhaps she
had
believed it. A girlish fancy, born of their lovemaking the night before. Whatever, it hadn’t lasted. Even if she hadn’t consciously lied.

And now? The knowledge that she hadn’t returned to him willingly, that she’d been tricked into coming, ground on him.

‘Anthony? Anthony?’

Blinking, he realised that William was staring at him, waiting patiently by the library door.

Clearing his throat, he muttered, ‘Sorry. Woolgathering. Did you enjoy your walk?’

William stared. ‘W…walk?
Me?
At this hour? What…whatever gave you that idea?’

Swearing mentally at his slip, Anthony flicked a
glance at William’s boots. And breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Mud on your boots,’ he said.

‘Oh.’ William gave a laugh. Rather shrill. ‘I just stepped outside for a breath of air. Bit of a head this morning, don’t you know?’

So he didn’t want anyone to know about his stroll in the woods. Why not?

Forcing a grin, Anthony murmured, ‘I trust that’s not a comment on my cellar, cousin.’

‘Lord, no!’ averred William. ‘Excellent cellar. Quite excellent. Just what I should like myself.’

Anthony raised his brows and William appeared to realise that his choice of phrase was infelicitous to say the least.

‘Er, that is to say—well, it’s excellent, quite excellent,’ he finished rather lamely.

They went into the library and Anthony shut the door behind them.

Choosing his words, he said, ‘I need you to cast your mind back—’

‘Consider it cast, coz—’

‘To the Duchess of Richmond’s ball four years ago.’

Was it imagination, or had William’s smile slipped a trifle?

‘Oh. Well, as to that—confusing night, wasn’t it? Lord! I wondered if I’d ever see you again! And—’

‘When you saw Georgiana,’ said Anthony, cutting across William’s reminiscences, ‘did she see you?’

William blinked. ‘Ah, well. Dare say I saw her at the start of the evening. Said good evening and all that. I suppose she saw me then, if that’s what you mean.’

‘Later,’ said Anthony ruthlessly. ‘After the call to arms. When you saw her with Finch-Scott. Did she know that you’d seen her? Did she say anything?’

‘Oh, er, did she say anything? Well, really, coz! Four years ago! How should I recall if she said anything in particular? Lord! Everyone was talking at the top of their lungs!’ He slid his finger under his over-high collar and tugged.

Anthony held on to his anger. ‘William—you implied that she and Finch-Scott had gone out to the garden in a havey-cavey sort of way.’

‘Well—you found them. Wasn’t she kissing him?’ He shook his head. ‘Don’t know when I’ve been more shocked. Except of course when she ran off, coz. Felt for you. I really did. All that gossip afterwards.’ He shook his head mournfully. ‘It was too bad of her. Really too bad! Very generous of you to take her back, under the circumstances…’

Abruptly Anthony turned on his heel and walked over to the window. ‘You called the next morning, I believe.’

‘Called?’

‘On my wife.’

‘Oh, did I?’ He appeared to consider. ‘Yes, now that you mention it. Just wanted to reassure her. After all, the temper you were in that night! Really!’

‘And you reassured her?’ He could scarcely keep his hands at his side.

‘Well, I tried, of course, but you know what females are. Mind you, I think she was more than a little miffed! Still, to run off like that, just because—’

Anthony cut him off. ‘I see. I think that clarifies things. Thank you, William.’

‘Oh, a pleasure. Glad to have cleared that up for you.’

Anthony gritted his teeth. ‘You won’t mention this to anyone, then?’

‘Certainly not! Wouldn’t dream of it! Er, if that’s all,
I’ll just toddle along to breakfast, old man. Are you coming?’

‘In a moment.’ When he regained his self-control, before he accused William outright and took him apart with his bare hands. An accusation could rip the family apart. What would it take for William to shop Marcus to the nearest magistrate? Better to let him think that he was in the clear on this, at least for the moment.

He shut his eyes as the door closed behind William. John had the right of it. He was a damn fool. William, knowing his temper, had trapped Georgie. Then he’d called the next day and no doubt encouraged her fears. Swearing, he paced around the room. He’d brought this on himself, never mind William’s efforts. His blasted pride, blinding him to the truth. One thing was certain—if he wanted to save his marriage, it might be best if he never mentioned the pearls. After all, bar Timms, no one else knew they were gone.

His task now was to convince Georgie that the best way forward for them was a marriage of convenience. Without all these
in
convenient emotions creeping in. And in between he had to ensure that Marcus didn’t get himself hanged.

Somehow he must find out if William was meeting Grant and if Grant was the man who had attacked Frobisher. He frowned. He’d gladly pay double the price Grant was demanding of William for information that would save Marcus’s neck.

A
nthony walked into the breakfast parlour, shaken to the core. Instinctively, he looked for Georgie. His breath caught. Discreet, buttoned to the neck and wrist—she had chosen the pink morning gown he had bought her in Brussels. It was perfect on her, bringing out the delicate colour in her cheeks, reminding him mercilessly of the beauties it concealed.

His entire body hardened to instant, aching arousal. Fortunately, Aunt Harriet’s comprehensive condemnation of Marcus’s manners, morals and intelligence had everyone’s attention. He helped himself to bacon and eggs and took the vacant seat next to Georgie, manoeuvring the chair as close to the table as possible. Anything to hide the fact that his breeches had suddenly ceased to fit.

Her tea cup rattled into its saucer.

He leaned over and murmured, ‘Believe it or not, seducing you at the breakfast table is not an option.’

Unfortunately.

Aunt Harriet switched targets. ‘Don’t mumble, Anthony! If you have something of a private nature to
say to your wife, it would be better said before you leave your bedchamber! Rubbishing generation!’

Pinning an unnatural smile in place, he said, ‘Good morning, Aunt Harriet. Did you sleep well?’

She glared. ‘Of course I slept well. Never do anything else. And don’t change the subject. When do you mean to take Georgiana up to town to buy her some decent clothes? Not but what
this
is better than what she had when she came to me, but a few modish gowns wouldn’t go astray.’

Beside him, Georgie stiffened. ‘No. Really, there is not the least need and—’

Cassie cut in. ‘Well, Anthony can hardly take her to town! After all—ouch!’ She glared at Marcus, who glared right back.

Anthony breathed a sigh of relief. Better if that didn’t come out over the breakfast cups. If at all. Could he ensure that Georgie never knew what had been said?

‘Rubbish!’ snapped Aunt Harriet. ‘When I want your opinion, miss, I’ll ask for it! No more than he ought to do.’ She swung back to Georgie and continued, ‘Should be showing you the family jewels as well! The pearls, for example.’

The clatter as William’s knife hit his plate expressed Anthony’s feelings perfectly. At times he wondered if Aunt Harriet had the least idea of what she was saying. This wasn’t one of them. He sat, speechless, as John went purple and Marcus disappeared under the table, with an unconvincing gasp about his napkin.

The rest of the ladies all looked rather blank.

‘The pearls,’ she continued, quite unperturbed, ‘would become her admirably.’

‘They would,’ said Anthony tightly. Trust Aunt Harriet to raise the subject in the worst possible way.
Well, Georgie was hardly going to take the subject up with him, so he’d just let it lie.

‘Such lovely weather we are having, are we not, Miss Devereaux?’ asked Peter Quinlan politely. ‘Should you care to stroll with me in the park after breakfast?’

Miss Devereaux looked relieved, if surprised. ‘That would—’

‘Why don’t you look after your own bride, Quinlan?’ suggested Marcus, reappearing with his napkin.

‘Well, naturally I would look after Cassie,’ returned Quinlan, grinning. ‘But you’re doing such a sterling job of kicking her under the table, that I thought Miss Devereaux and I should leave you to it!’

‘Marcus! You leave Peter alone,’ ordered Cassie.

Anthony’s shoulders shook at the sight of Cassie’s indignant face.

‘She’s all yours, Quinlan,’ said Marcus with aplomb. ‘And you wouldn’t believe the pleasure it gives us all to know it!’

‘So glad to have been of service,’ murmured the Viscount, with a wicked glance at his wife, who blushed scarlet.

Reminding himself that Cassie was no longer his concern and that he didn’t need to know just why she was blushing or how Quinlan had been of service, Anthony concentrated on his eggs.

‘Miss Devereaux and I thought we might go riding, Quinlan,’ said Marcus. ‘Perhaps you and Cassie would care to join us.’ He raised a brow at Cassie. ‘A chaperon is always useful.’

Cassie gave as good as she got. ‘Really, Marcus? It’s quite hard to imagine in what way you would find a chaperon useful.’

Anthony choked, avoiding John’s eye. Or Sarah’s.
Hell’s teeth…If the goings-on at this house party ever got out—he shuddered to think of the scandal.

Hoping to change the subject, he turned to Aunt Harriet. ‘What would you like to do this morning, Aunt? I could take you for a drive, if you would care for it.’ She was bound to refuse, but he might as well get the credit for offering.

Spearing him with a glare, she said, ‘If you think I’m getting up into a carriage behind any of your wild horses, you can think again! I have some letters to write. Take your wife instead!’

Beside him, Georgie appeared to have turned to stone, her tea cup frozen halfway to her lips. Forcibly reminding himself that strangling one’s great-aunt, no matter the provocation, would make his house party even more scandalous, Anthony said, ‘An excellent idea.’ Or it would be if Georgie didn’t look as though someone had offered to hand her into a tumbril.

Resolutely refusing to look at the pink gown, he said. ‘You’ll need something warmer. And a bonnet. Shall we say, in half an hour?’

With a pelisse over that gown he might, perhaps, stand a sporting chance of not driving straight over the edge of the escarpment.

‘Did you expect her to salute?’ asked Aunt Harriet blandly.

Belatedly, Anthony realised that he had issued not an invitation, but a command. Even Marcus was shaking his head. John simply looked pained.

Georgie’s eyes lifted from her plate and he read her answer at once. Obedience. Conformity. Everything he had demanded of her. Suddenly he knew he didn’t want it. Shaken, he thrust away the knowledge of what he
did
want. He had been rude—rudeness had no place in a marriage of convenience.

‘I beg your pardon, Georgie. That was clumsy. Would you care to drive with me?’ The hazel eyes widened and the soft lips parted in surprise. That stung. Was he such a boor that a simple apology could shock her? Swiftly passing his recent behaviour under review, he backed right away from that question.

‘You really wish me to come?’

William snorted. ‘Wouldn’t ask if he didn’t!’

Silencing William with a glare, he answered her. ‘Yes.’ He forced himself to add, ‘If it would please you.’

She smiled. The shy, beaming smile he remembered. Uncertain, hesitant, as if it hadn’t been used for a long time, it trembled on her lips, lighting her eyes and opening the floodgates on everything better left buried and forgotten.

Cassie’s voice broke in. ‘If that is settled, then I shall ride this morning. Sarah, are you coming?’

Sarah smiled. ‘No, dear. I shall bear Aunt Harriet company. I wish to write to the boys.’

Anthony smiled at the faint tone of longing. ‘Next time, bring them,’ he said. ‘We’ll find room. Timms will help with them.’

Sarah beamed. ‘Thank you, Anthony. I do miss them. Even though their governess is such a wonder. They would love it here.’

He nodded. ‘Then I’ll find a couple of ponies for them.’ It would be good to see a couple of boys romping around as he and Marcus had done so long ago. As he hoped to see his own children one day.

Cassie rose. ‘I’ll go up and change, then. And I had better take off this ring.’ She smiled at Quinlan. ‘Much
safer for it than going out on one of Anthony’s wild horses! Is it just the four of us?’

‘I’ll join you,’ said John. ‘William?’ He glanced at his brother, who shrugged.

‘Oh, I don’t know. Think I might stay here for the morning,’ muttered William. He looked, and sounded, thoroughly disgruntled.

Halfway to the door, Cassie glanced back. ‘Are we still to have some archery, this afternoon, cousin?’

About to answer, Anthony realised that she was speaking to Georgie.

Georgie nodded. ‘Of course, Lady Quinlan. Ufton assured me that the targets would be set out and that refreshments would be served under one of the trees in the park. I believe the gentlemen planned to shoot this afternoon?’

In response to her questioning glance, Anthony nodded.

Aunt Harriet sniffed. ‘Good gel. Going on just as you should be. I’ll look forward to that. Anthony! That dog of yours is lying on my feet. For God’s sake take her away!’

Stunned, Anthony looked under the table. Sure enough, Stella was asleep with her nose on Aunt Harriet’s feet. His lips twitched. By the look of it, Stella had been there for quite some time.

‘I beg your pardon, Aunt,’ he said. ‘She must have thought they were my feet.’

Beside him, Georgie smothered a very strange noise. His heart lurched. How long was it since she had laughed?

Aunt Harriet glared at him. ‘Dog’s senile as well as smelly, blind and deaf!’

Anthony shrugged. ‘That or she likes you, Aunt Harriet. Take your pick.’ He waited, breathless.

This time Georgie burst out laughing openly. A glorious ripple of sound that flooded him with joy and set the whole world to dancing. He could feel his answering smile, spreading right through him as their eyes met.

Cassie’s voice broke the moment. ‘Aunt Harriet’s right,’ she muttered. ‘It must be the water.’

Georgie remained silent as Anthony drove the curricle out of the stable yard. Unbidden, and unwanted, hope had come pouring back, in that moment when he had purposely made her laugh. And she could not forget the gentle look in his eyes when he had apologised. Nor the way he had held her last night. Just held her. Not waking her to demand that she fulfil her duty, but simply holding her. As if he wanted to.

The day seemed all the brighter as they drove through the park and out along the escarpment. And it made what she had to tell him much harder. It would be so easy not to tell him. So very easy. And then she would live with it for the rest of her life. Knowing that she had cheated him in the worst possible way.

The horses were fresh and she watched quietly as he settled them, driving them well up to their bits. She let her mind wander. A fragment of memory from breakfast, a question, teased her. She frowned.

‘Is something bothering you, Georgie?’

She nodded. ‘Yes. Why did Mr Sinclair kick Lady Quinlan? What was she about to say?’

As he had at breakfast, Anthony froze. ‘I’ve no idea,’ he said shortly.

‘But—’

‘Whatever it was, it is none of your concern!’

She could recognise a Keep Out sign when it hit her. Shivering slightly, she took a deep breath. Next subject. Something simple first. ‘About the pearls, Anthony—’

‘I beg your pardon?’
He sounded as though he couldn’t quite believe she would raise the subject. Perhaps he thought she was about to ask for them?

Hurriedly, she went on. ‘I…I quite understand how you must feel, Anthony. And I—’

‘Do you, Georgie? Do you?’

She bit her lip. Better to let him say it. The pearls had been his mother’s wedding gift from his father. Anthony had given them to her the day before their wedding, asking her to wear them. And now he felt, quite understandably, that she had forfeited the right to wear them. Given what she had to confess, she could hardly disagree.

‘It is not the monetary value,’ he continued, ‘although that was
considerable
, but the loss of something so dear to my mother. That I hoped would be passed down to my son’s bride.’

Confusion hit her. ‘I…I beg your pardon? What are you talking about?’

Anger flashed into his voice. ‘What did you do with them, Georgie? Not that it matters now. They are gone beyond recall! But I should like to know.’

‘Do with them?’

Something swirled at the edge of her understanding. Something she was sure she didn’t want to see. No! She had done enough running away. This truth she would face squarely, no matter how much it hurt. ‘What are you suggesting, Anthony?’ She knew what he was suggesting. It cut to her very soul that he could think of her like this.

He swore. ‘Dammit, Georgie! I accept that my behav
iour at the ball was atrocious, that I upset you and frightened you, but couldn’t you have found something else to sell to provide your passage back to England?’

For a moment she couldn’t speak, could barely breathe for the pain of hearing him say it. Knowing to the last twist of the knife how he thought of her. Not only a whore, but a thief.

‘Yes,’ she choked, ‘I did. My mother’s wedding ring.’

For a moment Anthony didn’t understand. Then…He pulled up the horses, set the brake and turned to look at her properly. Her face had blanched, all the delicate colour destroyed.

His gaze dropped to her hand. Her
right
hand, where she had always worn her mother’s ring. Her small fist was clenched. And bare. If she had sold the pearls, there would have been no need to sell her mother’s wedding ring…ergo, she hadn’t taken the pearls. Then…
who
?

Hurt fury blazed at him from the hazel eyes. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t come after me just to recover the necklace!’ she said bitterly.

Scorching anger obliterated the apology he’d been about to offer. ‘Come after you?’ he snarled. ‘I’d no idea where to find you! I thought you were
dead
! Couldn’t you at least have written to tell me you were safe?’

‘But…I said! In my note…that I was going to my godmother in Devon. I gave her name and…direction…’

Note?
What note?

‘I thought when you didn’t come, that you didn’t want me, so of course I never wrote! You told me you should never have married me! What did you think I’d do when you didn’t contact me?’

‘You left a note?’

‘Well, of
course
I left a note!’

He shook his head, words strangling in his throat. He
reached for her, needing to hold her, to banish the pain for both of them. Damn the necklace! What in Hades had happened to the note?

She jerked back. ‘Don’t touch me! You have made your feelings about me perfectly plain!’

‘The hell I have!’ he said furiously. The horses sidled, impatient in the breeze. With a muttered curse he untied the ribbons and released the brake. ‘For God’s sake! Listen to me—we have to sort this out! You say you left a note?’