A Scandalous Countess: A Novel of the Malloren World (12 page)

Georgia folded the sheet in three and then three again and took out the black sealing wax and her gold seal. It wasn’t specific to the Countess of Maybury, as the design was a G surrounded by flowers, but Dickon had given it to her. When she married again, would it be appropriate for her to continue to use it?

She looked up at the portrait. “You wouldn’t care, would you, love?”

As if he’d spoken, she wrinkled her nose at the black. Enough of that. Though her mourning wouldn’t end for a few weeks, today felt like a new beginning. She searched her drawer and found red wax. She held it in the candle flame and dripped a blob over the join in the letter, then set the seal firmly upon it.

The seal would always be a sweet memory of Dickon, and she’d never marry a man who could object to
that.

She sent Jane off with the letter, and then, in the spirit of new beginnings, she took a clean sheet of paper and began to make a plan for her grand return to the heart of the world in twenty-four days.

To London.

To Town.

To Life.

“Not go to Town?” Georgia stared at her father.

He was sitting in a quite ordinary upholstered chair in the family drawing room but gave the impression of being enthroned. Her mother sat nearby, mirroring the style.

Georgia felt diminished by being on a settee.

Her parents had traveled to Herne from Town for this discussion, which should have warned her something was amiss. She’d planned to set off to join them tomorrow, when her mourning would officially be over.

“Too dangerous,” her father said. “By heaven, girl, you read the papers. The Spitalfields silk weavers smashed the
Duke of Bedford’s windows to protest French silks, and the mob’s gone wild about taxation, harassing anyone they take objection to.”

“I don’t wear French silk, Father, and I’m not connected to any discord.”

“No, daughter.”

That was the word of God, and though Georgia’s jaw clenched with rebellion, to do more would be as futile as the mob’s violence.

Choosing her words, she said, “I can’t stay here, Father. It might look as if I skulk.”

“Which would not surprise anyone, given your behavior.”

“Where else am I to go? Some of my friends are still in Town—the Harringays and Arbutts, and Perry of course.”

“Alas, no,” said her mother. “He has traveled to Yorkshire.”

“Yorkshire? Perry? He’d be as likely to head for darkest Africa!”

“Nevertheless, it’s true. Carried there by the obligations of friendship. You may have read that the Earl of Malzard dropped down dead a fortnight ago. He left no sons, so his heir is one of Perry’s friends, all unprepared for his duties.”

“Unfortunate,” Georgia said, meaning it in many ways. She’d been depending on Perry. “The Malzards seemed a pleasant couple. Who is the heir?”

“A brother, recently sold out of the army.”

A military man, like Dracy,
Georgia thought. She sometimes wondered how he was managing on his estate. He could know as little about that as he did about the beau monde.

She pulled her mind back to her predicament.

“Perry’s bound to return south soon, Mother, and I look forward to hearing about his adventures in the wilderness, but I don’t need him to be in Town in order to return myself.”

“
No, Georgia,” her father stated. “Your safety is my sacred duty. It will not do.”

“Then, where am I to go?”

She would not remain here—she would not—and this unexpected obstruction of her careful plans was intolerable. She’d disliked her year at Herne, but until now, she’d not felt incarcerated.

“Georgia does need to leave Herne, husband.”

Georgia looked at her mother with wary surprise.

“For her to remain here could give the wrong impression. As if she fears a return to society. As if she were burdened by guilt. Perhaps she should visit Winifred.…”

“Hammersmith!” Georgia exclaimed, as appalled by that as by the thought of visiting her disapproving older sister.

“You speak as if that was the far north, when it’s less than ten miles from that Sansouci you were so fond of. It’s June, child. Everyone who can is beginning to leave Town for more salubrious parts, including your friends.”

Georgia had no good argument to that. Even Perry visited friends in the country in the hottest months, and this was proving to be a hot year. Last year, when the duel had taken place, she and Dickon had been planning their move to Sansouci.

She’d envisioned her resurrection as a return to the Town life she’d enjoyed a year ago—to St. James and Mayfair, to court, parks, and theater. The best of that would be over now, however, for the king had already removed to Richmond.

But Hammersmith, haunt of scholars and Catholics? It seemed typical that her dull sister marry a man whose estate was on the fringes of Hammersmith.

Winifred, Lady Thretford, was two years older and had always resented Georgia’s looks. When the union with the Earl of Maybury had become an issue, Winnie had insisted that she, the older sister, should become Countess of Maybury. Dickon hadn’t wanted her, however. He’d
wanted Georgia, and he’d wanted her immediately. Her parents had attempted to delay the wedding while they married Winifred off, but Dickon wouldn’t hear of it.

And then, of course, when Winnie had married, it had been to a viscount, putting her eternally one step below Georgia. She’d compensated by assuming a moral superiority, even going so far as to send Georgia lectures on her behavior. They’d been at odds for years.

Winnie would want Georgia as a guest as little as Georgia wished to be there, but it seemed that Thretford Park was the only place she would be allowed to go. It was as least within traveling distance of Town, both by road and by water, so she put the best face possible on it.

“I shall enjoy a visit to Thretford, Mother, and delight to see Winifred’s baby.”

Her mother nodded. “I too wish to see little Charlotte. I shall accompany you there whilst Hernescroft returns directly to his duties in Town.”

What a delightful journey that would be.

Perhaps her mother misinterpreted her grimace.

“Hammersmith isn’t the wilderness, Georgia. Winifred shall entertain for you. A ball, I think.”

“Mother, it’s only six weeks since her lying in.”

“An easy birth, and she assures me she’s quite recovered. She will not mind doing her duty.”

“Of course not,” her father said. “A dutiful daughter, Winnie. An excellent idea, Lady Hernescroft. A ball will provide an opportunity for some people to meet out of Town, both allies and opponents. Within traveling distance, but not so much observed.”

So that was it. Georgia was not dismayed. Everything in her world had an ulterior purpose, and she could turn this ploy to her own advantage. Once in Hammersmith, she would get to Town, one way or another.

“I shall need new gowns,” she said. “I shall visit my mantua maker.”

“
You have chests of clothes,” her mother objected.

“Old and worn.”

“One year old, most of them, and many worn only once. Remember, you no longer have a husband’s wealth to fund your extravagances.”

“I have twelve thousand pounds,” Georgia said, trying not to sound abrasive. “I will need my usual pin money, Father.”

“What? That will drain your capital in no time. Two hundred a quarter should suffice.”

Georgia swallowed a protest, calculating furiously. “If you will be paying my bills, Father…”

“Certainly not!” His cheeks were puce with anger. “You must curtail your extravagant ways, girl.”

Georgia had spent two hundred on one gown, but arguing would be futile. “As you will, Father,” she said, and saw surprised relief. He’d expected a fight? His children had not been raised to oppose his will.

Again she had that feeling of currents beneath the choppy water.

“We leave tomorrow,” her mother said, “so go now and attend to your preparations.”

Dismissed. Like a schoolgirl.

But Georgia said, “Yes, Mother,” and rose, curtsied, and returned to her room like a good daughter.

“Politics,” she complained to Jane as soon as the door was closed. “I’m a pawn on the board, but at least they haven’t picked a husband for me. I feared that might be their plan.”

“They might pick well, milady. They chose Lord Maybury.”

“He chose me, but, yes, they might choose well. They’d have no more desire than I to see me wed to a man of lesser rank or fortune. But I mean to make this decision for myself. Thretford!” she said with disgust. “That’s where I’m to go.”

“It won’t be too bad, milady. It’s a pretty little estate.…”

“
And within reach of Town!” Georgia laughed and hugged her maid. “Winnie’s to entertain for me. A ball! At last, a ball!”

Jane hugged her back. “It gladdens my heart, milady, to see you in spirits. Will we have time to order new gowns?”

“It seems I can’t afford it. Until I marry, I’m to have only two hundred a quarter. For everything!”

Jane looked suitably horrified, but rallied. “Then we’ll plan the refurbishment of the old.”

Georgia wrinkled her nose at the thought of that but then said, “No. No refurbishment. My best gowns are all memorably unique. Any attempt to make them look new will seem shabby. I shall wear them as they are, Jane, as they were. That will declare that Lady May has returned, intact, unchanged, unbowed.”

Jane grinned. “Ah, milady, you’ve a fine, bold heart, and wisdom too. Wisdom beyond your years.”

“I hope so, Jane. I know the stories still lurk, but what choice do I have but to face everyone bravely? I won’t bury myself in the country, or even less, flee abroad. I will be myself. My conscience is clear.”

Chapter 7

G
eorgia survived the four-day journey to Hammersmith largely because she and her mother rarely spoke. Astonishing that her mother had not spent the time instructing her on the behavior necessary to restore herself in the eyes of the world, but so it was, and that was excellent.

It was even more astonishing that her mother didn’t attempt to discuss Georgia’s choice of husband. She began to think again that her parents had someone in mind, perhaps someone she’d meet at Thretford House. No matter. She couldn’t be forced. In fact, as a widow she was free to marry whom she pleased, even when not yet twenty-one.

Despite the lack of friction on the journey, Georgia was heartily glad to arrive at Lord Thretford’s estate near Hammersmith village, which lay on the River Thames. Thretford House was a stylish, modern building set in pleasant grounds, and Georgia determined to be easy to please.

After all, she could almost sense the city and had glimpsed the river, busy with boats. By boat on the tide it could take little more than an hour to be in the heart of the world, and that was a journey she intended to take as soon as possible on one excuse or another.

Winnie came out to greet them, looking both shabby
and improved. Her gown had an insert so it could meet at the front over fuller breasts, but the added roundness became her, for she’d always been thin and rather flat. There was something else, a glow.…

Her sister was finally content, presumably because of her baby.

“Mother, Georgia, how lovely to see you. I hope the journey was smooth?”

“As smooth as possible,” their mother declared, climbing stiffly out of the coach. “Which is to say, not very, given the state of the roads. I need my room, tea, and rest, daughter.”

“Of course, of course,” Winnie fretted, her glow diminishing as she fussed her mother into the house.

Georgia followed, thinking wryly that she and her sister might have more in common now than they’d had in the schoolroom. They both were married women with parents who still attempted to rule as gods.

Winnie took them upstairs and showed their mother into a generous, well-furnished room. Thretford House wasn’t large, and a few guests were to sleep here on the night of the ball. Georgia realized that the room given their mother was Winifred’s own bedchamber. For the duration of the visit, she would sleep with her husband. Would she consider that a treat or a trial?