A Scandalous Countess: A Novel of the Malloren World (45 page)

“The marquess likely knows your connection to his wife, milady.”

“Certainly, and has always been kind, though I find him somewhat awe inspiring.”

“It’s to be glad something inspires you to awe, milady. There, done.” She wrapped a towel around Georgia’s head. “As well we didn’t use much grease, or the powder would have been much harder to remove.”

“Though the powder didn’t stick as well. I dusted my partners in the dance, and it’s all around this room.…”

And Dracy’s room!

And he hadn’t been powdered.

It was as if the water had turned icy cold.

Georgia surged out of the bath, grabbing the towel
from Jane. How could she have been so foolish? Even now, were servants whispering about the hair powder and coming to scandalous conclusions?

She sat at the desk.

“Milady! You need to get into dry clothes.”

“I remembered a note I must send.”

“Surely it’d wait—”

“It won’t.” Georgia dipped a pen and wrote quickly, struggling for innocent words.

She regretted those last words, conventional though they were, but every moment might count.

She scrawled her signature and folded the sheet. No candle lit for sealing wax, so she gave it to Jane. She trusted Jane.

“Take it directly to Lord Dracy, please. Yes, now.”

As the maid left, Georgia went behind the screen, peeling off her clammy shift, fighting a need to run across the corridor and check Dracy’s room.

Jane returned. “Lord Dracy’s gone out, milady, but I left the note with one of the footmen.”

Thank heaven she’d chosen her words so carefully. She realized that it was all pointless anyway. It was gone noon and a maid would have cleaned the room as soon as Dracy left. She hugged herself, feeling newly vulnerable, and this time she
was
guilty of a sin. She’d taken solace from the fact that she was innocent of any sin connected to Dickon’s death. In truth, it may have saved her sanity.…

“Milady?”

Georgia had to put on a dry shift and emerge, just as she had to face her life. There was no true escape short
of flight into exile, and even then a person had to go to a remote spot indeed not to be found. She wasn’t made for such misadventures.

Jane helped Georgia into her wrap. “Sit you down, milady, so I can comb out your hair. It’ll be such a job after you sleeping with it unplaited.”

Georgia obeyed, but she had to probe for any hint of scandal.

“Is there talk among the servants this morning, Jane?”

Jane began to gently tease out the knots. “Talk, milady? About what?”

Stupid to even raise the thought. “About Lord Sellerby’s behavior last night.”

“Nought’s been said that I’ve heard, milady. And that fracas was not to your discredit.”

“I’m sure some will make it so.”

Georgia couldn’t press for more, but surely if the servants were whispering about Lady Maybury’s hair powder on Lord Dracy’s carpet, Jane would have heard.

Perhaps there hadn’t been as much as she’d thought, or it had been trodden in. It seemed she’d escaped that disaster, but she couldn’t face the world yet.

“I’m going to enjoy a quiet day, Jane.”

“A good idea, milady. You’re looking a bit peaked.”

Georgia couldn’t even bear to be fussed over. “I set you at liberty. You have the day to do as you wish, though I recommend that you leave the house so you won’t be pulled into some other work.”

“Thank you, milady. I’d like to visit my friend Martha Hopgood. She was a maid with me at…”

Georgia listened with surprise to a story out of Jane’s earlier life, for her maid rarely chattered of such things. Her friend Martha had married the keeper of the Three Cups in Clerkenwell.

“Didn’t she find that a change from being maid in a nobleman’s house?”

“A
change for the better, milady, for she became mistress of her own house and now has five fine children.”

“Ah yes.” Georgia understood that. “Do you ever wish you’d married, Jane?”

“Never had an offer I liked, milady. No husband’s better than most, I reckon.”

“Perhaps that’s why God invented love. To overcome our good sense. You’ve never been in love?”

“Not that I’ve noticed, milady, and from what I’ve seen, there’s no mistaking it. Fit for Bedlam some are, when it hits them. Why, I remember one maid who could hardly walk straight she was in such a daze, and of course there’s many a one—man or woman—who’s tipped into a ruinous mismatch by it.”

Georgia kept a slight smile, as if her conscience was as clear as a nun’s.

“Can a mismatch never be happy? The lady who runs off with the footman? The gentleman who marries the dairy maid?”

“I doubt it, milady. I know of a young lady of high birth who ran off and wed a coach maker—can you believe it? A fine figure of a man, to be sure, and a sound business, but back she came to her father’s house, a babe in arms, weeping at the hard life she had, with no fine clothes or parties, and too few servants.”

“What happened?”

“Her husband came to claim her and the child, and the father released her to him, for he had the right of it. She’d chosen her path. A lady must live at her man’s level, and I doubt many like to live lower than they’re used to, no matter how lusty he is. It’s little better for the foolish gentlemen, even though they don’t sink in society. Caught by a pretty dairy wench and end up with a wife who doesn’t know how to make a fine home and who’s a figure of fun to his friends.”

Was Jane deliberately sending warnings? She’d seemed
to favor Dracy at one point, but perhaps she’d come to her senses.

Marry Dracy. That was the thought that bounced in her head like a ball in a
jeu de paume
court. Her sinking wouldn’t be as far, but she wouldn’t enjoy the lack of fine clothes and adequate servants.

Dracy would be as ill served. She knew how to make a fine home, but only with money. His friends wouldn’t laugh at her, but would they be comfortable around her?

She’d felt at ease with the naval officers, but Dracy’s Devon friends would be the gentry around Dracy Manor, which meant the sort of ladies who made a fuss about their one or two new gowns a year and were interested only in children and household nostrums, generally for revolting conditions like the bloody flux.

“There, milady, I’ve worked the knots out, but it’ll take a while to dry, thick as it is.”

Georgia stood, fingering her damp hair, thinking of Dracy’s thick hair beneath and around her fingers.…

“Do you want your letters, milady?”

“Letters?”

“I mentioned them before the bath, milady, but you didn’t seem interested.”

Lost in foolish thoughts. Georgia looked through the three. One was from Althea Maynard, one from Lizzie, and another from an H. True. She knew no one by that name.

She was about to the snap the seal when Jane said, “Which gown, milady?”

She’d promised Jane the day off, and she’d no need of anything fine for a day at home. But she’d be speaking with Dracy and would like to look her best.…

Enough of folly. “The same as yesterday,” she said.

“What if someone comes to call, milady? I sponged off the dirt as best I could, but there are stains near the hem.”

“I won’t be at home unless it’s Perry. Or Lord Dracy, of course.”
Georgia hesitated, for she truly wanted to look her best for him.
Enough of folly.
“Do find it, Jane, and then you can be off to see your friend.”

Jane produced the gown and jumps, and then Georgia shooed her away and dressed by herself.

It was oddly pleasant to fend for herself, to be alone. Except in the night, it so rarely happened.

What a strange mood she was in.

It didn’t take long to dress, and then she surveyed herself in dull blue, thinking she looked a little like a countrywoman—except that no decent countrywoman would go about with her hair hanging down her back.

Decent woman.

Hair powder.

She went to the door, opened it a little, and looked out. All seemed quiet. She could cross the corridor to Dracy’s room and see if the powder was still there. If it was, perhaps she could get rid of it, but she had no brush other than her hairbrush.…

She went back into her room and closed the door. This house was properly run, so the room would have been cleaned. The other reason for giving up the plan was that it seemed scandalously sinful. Yesterday she would have invaded his room without a qualm, secure in her innocence. Now it was as if it would brand her a whore.

A whore.

As bad as she’d been painted.

There’d be no more such frolics, and the sooner she told Dracy that, the better.

When he returned they must meet on safe, neutral ground. She took her correspondence to the small drawing room. The sun was shining in, and she raised a window and moved a chair so she could let it dry her hair as she read.

So delightfully warm on her back. She fingered her hair to let the warmth reach the lower layers and slid back into sensuous memories. Of Dracy’s fingers in her
hair, against her scalp. She circled her own fingers there, and it was almost as sweet. But only almost.

She remembered the wild storm he’d created for her, and the gentle sweetness that had rocked her as powerfully in the end. There’d been smiles and laughter, and warmth, such warmth, for body and for soul.

With such a man she need never be cold, or alone, or afraid.…

Knowing she shouldn’t, she allowed herself to relive the pleasures of the night.

Dracy had slept until gone ten, but once awake he’d quickly dressed and left Hernescroft House. He didn’t trust himself there when the need to return to Georgia burned so fiercely in him. Perhaps the greenery of the parks would sooth the heat and calm his need to possess her. By force if necessary.

What if she persisted and chose another?

He’d go mad for fear that she’d be miserable.

Many men were selfish. They didn’t understand the pleasure of pleasuring a woman. Their whores would pretend pleasure at even their crudest attentions, requiring no thought or effort from them. He’d heard some men claim that decent women had no interest in passion, and one that he’d whipped his wife for suggesting a lack and never trusted her since.

What if Georgia fell into marriage with a man like that? If he’d left her in ignorance she might have been content.

But she’d never been content, and her natural passion would explode one day, wreaking havoc. She could end up as a truly scandalous countess, the sort of highborn lady notorious for lying with any lusty man who could slake her hungers. Like the fine ladies who’d visited Vance’s “lair.”

Conscience warred with desire, and logic tormented him over both.

When he’d seen the hair powder on the carpet, he’d been tempted to leave it there, for he knew the scandal of it would force her to wed him.

He’d cleaned it away, however, and made sure no other evidence lingered. He wanted no wife against her will, and he saw all the ways his world would not suit Georgia Maybury. But he wanted her anyway, to the point of madness.

He could remove one obstacle by abandoning Dracy and living the frivolous Town life she adored. Perhaps applying himself to politics and doing his best for the navy would salve his conscience. Politics didn’t pay the bills, however, and he’d not take bribes. They’d have to live on Georgia’s money.