An Elegant Façade (Hawthorne House Book #2) (6 page)

He finished perusing the papers while he ate the biscuits and drank a second cup of tea. He could probably force himself to retire now, but the stack of letters remaining was small. Fifteen minutes now would give him the luxury of starting with a clean desk tomorrow morning.

At the top of the stack of letters was one that made him grin. William Colgate was the perfect blend of business and pleasure. Colin had been a mere boy of eleven when William’s family had left England on one of Celestial Shipping’s ships. At the time, Colin had been sailing with his father more often than not—it was never too early to learn the business, after all—and a solid friendship had formed on that crossing and continued through regular letters. William’s fledgling soap business in New York had been one of Colin’s first investments. It was paying off nicely, though he had to keep his involvement quiet. Even Ryland didn’t know Colin had such close ties to an American company. France wasn’t the only country England was at war with, after all.

William wouldn’t be expecting a reply for a few months. It wasn’t easy to get mail to America. Still, responding to the letter gave Colin something to do, so he pulled a clean sheet of paper from his desk drawer and selected a new steel-tipped writing pen from another. He dipped the tip in the inkwell, marveling as he always did at how much nicer the pen felt in his hand than a quill did. There was a future in such pens, and he was on the lookout for the man who was going to take initiative and spread them to the masses. The elite would probably frown at them, but shopkeepers everywhere would rejoice.

Fancy new pen notwithstanding, Colin struggled to respond to William’s letter. As the pen flowed over the page he found himself waxing poetic about the events of the evening and where he saw his life going. And it wasn’t even the good kind of poetic. It was more the dreary, depressing, confusing sort of poetic that had grown men scrambling for the door at poetry readings and salons. Like an ode to the mold on the underside of a boat.

He threw his response in the fireplace and set William’s letter aside. Answering it could wait for a day or two. Perhaps even a week.

The next letter in the stack was upside down, and the familiar three-star seal on the back didn’t induce a smile.

Obviously he should have left the correspondence for tomorrow.

He supposed he still could. He could leave the stack and retire, but curiosity was a difficult thing to turn off. What if something was wrong with Celestial Shipping? Colin had gotten an update from the manager just last week. Why would he be writing again? Colin flipped the letter over and nearly knocked his teacup to the floor.

It wasn’t the manager’s handwriting on the front.

It was his father’s.

Colin’s emotions bounced around like a skiff in a storm as he ran his finger over the script he hadn’t seen in so long he thought he’d forgotten it. He knew he was imagining things, but he swore he could smell the mix of salt water and cheroot smoke that always clung to his father at the end of the day.

The letter opener nearly sliced through his finger as he broke the seal with a bit too much aggression. Meticulous, even writing marched across the page in lines straight enough to make a Cambridge professor proud.

Colin’s confusion grew as he read the letter. There was nothing profound or earth shattering on the page. No news of immense proportions, no impending doom. Not even a significant setback with the shipping company. There were a few sentences about the business, a couple of lines on his sister’s ball, and then a paragraph on the new ship he was designing. That was it.

The news of the new ship design was exciting. Several of the men he managed investments for used Celestial Shipping to transport goods. There was no reason for Colin’s father to know who had arranged the clients, but it let Colin have a hand in the company that had given him a love for business. A newer, faster ship would certainly increase their market share.

Part of his brain raced ahead, drafting a series of questions about the boat design, suggestions for materials, and ideas for the layout of the cargo hold. Before he could set nib to paper though, suspicion raised its head.

Carefully, Colin refolded the letter and set it to the side of his desk. Why had his father written now? Was he dying and didn’t want to tell Colin? Despite the hard feelings between them, the idea that his father was ill made Colin’s chest ache.

His mind seethed as he groped for the Bible on the edge of his desk. Opening it eased the ache in his chest a bit, but his thoughts couldn’t settle enough to see where he’d opened it to. He stared blindly at the page in front of him, asking God what the letter meant, until his candle guttered out.

Then he sat in the dark.

His eyelids grew heavy, and it seemed easier to just lean his head against the back of the chair than stumble off to his room. He was sure to regret it in the morning, but he was suddenly too tired to care. In that hazy moment right before he fell asleep, he dreamed he was back at the ball, dancing through the night with an elegant creature in white. At least the dream version of Lady Georgina smiled at him.

Georgina’s eyes drifted shut, blocking out the morning sun as she inhaled the sweet steam rising from the large mug of tea. After a fortifying gulp, she squared her shoulders and nodded to Harriette. “I’m ready.”

The rattle of paper filled the room as Harriette spread the morning’s news sheets across the writing desk. “Everything appears to be following your plan.” The maid looked up with a wide grin. “I still can’t believe he was there.”

“I know.” Georgina returned the smile as she set the mug on her dressing table and began loosening the long braid she’d slept in. She loved mornings. Everyone else in the house thought her fast asleep, lazing the day away until noon, which meant in these early hours with Harriette she was completely free.

With hair swinging wildly about her shoulders, Georgina hauled Harriette to her feet and twirled the laughing maid around the room. “He was there, Harriette! All of my efforts to get proper mentions in the society columns last year have been worth it.”

Harriette stumbled out of Georgina’s impromptu waltz. She caught herself on the bedpost, barely stopping before she fell headfirst into the lacy coverlet.

Georgina twirled on her own once more before dropping into a
pink-and-white-striped chair, sending a flutter through the ruffles cascading from the seat to the floor. “Speaking of the papers. Is there anything else of importance in them today?”

Harriette flipped through the stack of news sheets. “Several lists of who has returned to Town and accounts of last night’s ball. All mentions of you are quite favorable.” She frowned and glanced up from the paper. “Who is Lord Canwell?”

Georgina paused, a comb halfway through her hair. “I don’t know. We should look him up.”

Their well-used copy of
Debrett’s Peerage
was already in Harriette’s hand. She flipped the pages while Georgina began pinning her hair to the top of her head. “Ah, he’s a baron.”

“Not very useful, then. We should add him to the book anyway if he’s being mentioned in the columns. I want to know whether or not to avoid him.” Georgina turned her head back and forth, examining her efforts in the mirror. This would be her first day receiving visitors at home. She needed to be perfect.

She frowned. That curl was certainly not perfect.

Harriette dipped a quill in the nearby inkwell and jotted a line in the leather-bound book that always rested on the edge of the writing desk. Keeping a log of the social actions of England’s finest was probably not what her mother had intended for Georgina to do, but that book was Georgina’s secret weapon and the key to making sure she never did anything to mar her carefully crafted reputation.

After setting the book aside, Harriette picked up a letter from amidst the many newspapers. “Lady Jane sent you a message about your Friday gatherings.”

Georgina’s eyes widened as she slid a final pin into place. “So soon? I only talked to her last evening about her ludicrous idea to turn our Friday salons into a book club. She promised to think of something else.”

“She did.” Harriette avoided Georgina’s eyes. “It was apparently an epiphany on her way home last night.”

The paper in the maid’s hand shook slightly, and Georgina
frowned at it as if it were a vile snake instead of mere parchment. “What did she choose?”

“I’m afraid it’s not much better.” Harriette started to extend the paper as if she didn’t want to say the words out loud. Her hand trembled for a moment before she dropped the note on the table.

Georgina couldn’t stop herself from crossing the room and picking up the folded paper herself. She didn’t open it though, knowing only one thing could make Harriette so nervous. “Does she want to form a group for a musicale performance? I admit pianoforte is not my best talent, but I can perform well enough if I practice.”

“She doesn’t want to do a musicale either.”

Georgina was afraid of that.

Harriette took a deep breath before tossing her words out in a rush. “She still wants to do a book club.”

The groan escaped before Georgina could stop it. It was bad enough when the conversation turned to popular books during an evening gathering. But to meet for the express purpose of discussing books? What she’d been looking forward to as a potential bright spot of each week was now a deep black gouge across her social calendar. “But we can’t have men at a book club. She expressly wanted men to attend.”

Harriette took the paper from Georgina’s numb fingers as she nodded. “A book club with occasional salons where you will exhibit for the guests with a selection of readings and plays.”

This new plan of Jane’s was going to require careful handling. Until Georgina was safely married to a wealthy and titled gentleman, socially secure enough to appear as eccentric as she wanted, she had to be careful which invitations she turned down. If she didn’t attend Jane’s gathering, people would wonder why she’d turned on one of her oldest friends.

“You know she values your opinion,” Harriette said quietly as she crossed the room to help Georgina into her dress.

Georgina frowned at the note before slipping the gown over her head and turning her back for Harriette to tighten the laces. Yes, Jane valued Georgina’s opinion, but Georgina had already
tried to talk her out of the book club idea. Should she continue to discourage her if it was what Jane truly wanted to do?

The Season, which had seemed so interminably long when she couldn’t participate in it, now felt incredibly short. It was a feeling that had gnawed at her on the way home last night, the clicking of the wheels over the cobblestones sounding like a clock, eating away at the time she had left. Every event and invitation mattered because things were going to become more difficult with every passing day.

A throb in her left temple threatened to bloom into a debilitating headache, and the day hadn’t even begun. She spun slowly on her heel. “How do I look?”

Harriette looked up and down with a critical eye before giving an approving nod. “Perfect, my lady.”

Georgina leaned over to inspect herself in the mirror once more. It was indeed as close to perfection as humanity could get. Not that she could take credit for the evenly spaced eyes, the delicate nose, or even the straight teeth. The clear skin, exposed to a precise amount of sun to appear healthy but not tan, was something she could claim. As was the flattering cut of the gown and the artfully arranged curls that hid her slightly uneven ears. Now she had only to maintain that pretense for a few hours while they entertained callers.

The clock on the mantel chimed eleven. Mother was probably coming in the door at that very moment, exhibiting the punctuality she insisted a lady required. It was strange for Georgina, living without her mother, but the happy smile affixed to her face since she married Lord Blackstone made it all worth it. That Mother believed in traveling between the houses each day meant the two were still enjoying their married life. Or it meant that Mother knew Georgina would hate to give up receiving callers in a duke’s house. Either way, Mother needed to chaperone her daughters’ callers, and she’d said she would arrive at eleven o’clock this morning.

Georgina glided to the drawing room, restraining herself from
a giddy skip as she took in the white-and-gold room. She’d decorated the room herself, a project her mother had given her to alleviate the utter boredom of remaining in London for a while after Miranda’s first Season. It was the fireplace that had started it all. After Georgina had emptied the room, the white marble shot through with gold veins had inspired her. So vibrant yet untouchable and beautifully impractical. She’d done the room in white and then started in on changing her wardrobe.

Fortunately, the room’s outrageous decor was well known around London. No one would know she’d coordinated her wardrobe and drawing room to create a formidable and lasting impression on anyone who came to call.

And Mother would never know that Georgina and Harriette had spent a great deal of time last year in the formal drawing room, adjusting the placement of the white-and-gold-striped settees and gilt armchairs to perfectly frame Georgina’s all-white wardrobe, golden blond hair, and creamy complexion. It was the height of vanity, but who would dare accuse her of creating the entire thing on purpose?

Georgina settled herself onto one of the sofas and waited for the first visitor to arrive. While Mother looked over every detail of Georgina’s appearance, Miranda walked past with nary a glance to settle on the other sofa and pull out her needlework.

Why hadn’t Georgina thought to bring down something to occupy herself between guests? No, she couldn’t think that way. There would be no time between guests. She would be in that much demand.

She had to be.

“The Duke of Marshington will be coming by today.” Georgina wasn’t sure why she’d blurted out that particular bit of information, but she had to bite her lip to keep from smirking when Miranda jabbed herself with a needle. Whether Georgina was attempting to bolster her own courage or impress Miranda with her social prowess, she’d clearly failed. She didn’t feel any less anxious, and Miranda looked more annoyed than impressed.

“Darling, it was a masquerade.” Mother gave a nod of approval after smoothing Georgina’s skirt. “There are always one or two gentlemen claiming to be the esoteric duke at these things.”

Georgina adjusted the skirts her mother had just smoothed. It probably looked spiteful, but it was simply that infernal urge to move. “He had the ring, Mother.”

“The ring? I suppose that does make a difference.” Mother sat in the adjacent gold brocade armchair and pulled out her own needlework.

Honestly, of all the unnecessary things her mother had taught her in the last eighteen years, she couldn’t have found two minutes to say,
“A lady always brings something to occupy
herself while she waits”
?

“Did you bring anything to occupy yourself between callers this morning?” Mother frowned at Georgina’s empty hands.

Confidence. Confidence was the most important accessory a woman could put on. It made everyone think she knew what she was doing. “I don’t think there will be any need. Several people mentioned calling on me today. We shall find ourselves quite busy. Especially when word goes around that the Duke of Marshington has come out of his self-imposed exile for me.”

Miranda snorted.

Mother glared at her oldest daughter.

“You think it otherwise, dear sister?” Georgina didn’t bother hiding her smirk this time. The truth was Georgina didn’t really believe it either, but there was no reason Miranda had to know that.

Miranda set aside her needlepoint. “Has it not occurred to you,
dear sister
, that maybe he wants to call on me today? You are not the only eligible lady in this house.”

And how well Georgina knew it. Miranda had had three years—
three years—
to get out of Georgina’s way, but no. Here Georgina was, having to share a drawing room with a sister approaching spinsterhood.

“Oh, I am sorry to hurt your feelings. That was never my intention,” Georgina simpered. Perhaps it had been, but she would
never admit it. “But don’t you think if you were the enticement he would have come back sometime in the last three years?”

If that didn’t help Miranda remember the situation they were in, nothing would.

Her mother’s voice cut through Georgina’s triumph. “Georgina, that is uncalled for. A lady does not mention another’s unwed status, particularly if they have been socializing for a while.”

Georgina schooled her features into proper chastisement as she met her mother’s glare. At least the admonishment should help remind Miranda that she was not the freshest flower in this particular bouquet.

She settled in to wait, biting her tongue to keep from saying anything else her mother might disapprove of.

It seemed an interminable length of time, but Gibson finally announced the first caller.

Georgina’s heart plummeted in disappointment as Mr. Sherbourne appeared in the doorway. Dark, wiry, and nothing more than a mere gentleman. Not even the oldest son. He would never do for Georgina’s plan.

But he was a nice enough man. Perhaps Miranda wanted an unremarkable man. Georgina looked at the carnations clutched in his hand, knowing her sister was about to be very upset with her and be entirely unable to do a thing about it. “The flowers are beautiful, Mr. Sherbourne. Were you aware that my sister, Lady Miranda, adores carnations?”

Actually, she didn’t. Miranda’s favorite flowers were tulips, but that was something she could set straight later if the two developed a
tendre
for each other.

Mr. Sherbourne’s eyes clouded with confusion as his brows drew together, but he recovered quickly, turning to extend the bouquet to Miranda. “A lady should always have a bouquet of her favorite flowers. Please accept these, Lady Miranda.”

Miranda looked much like she had the time Georgina decided to learn how to cook and she’d accidentally put too much salt in the
biscuits. Her smile looked a bit sickly. “Of course. I am honored that you thought of me.”

Georgina sat up a little straighter. Was it possible Miranda was actually intrigued by this man? If she was, it was Georgina’s sisterly duty to try to make it happen for her. That Georgina herself would benefit from Miranda forming an attachment was secondary. Almost.

If she was wrong, her sister would be irked, and there was a certain amount of pleasure in that as well. Frankly, there was no way to lose. She tried to look attentive for politeness’ sake but avoided any smiles that would encourage Mr. Sherbourne in her direction.

The man perched on the edge of a chair, looking unsure of which lady to direct his gaze to. He finally settled on Georgina. “The ball was splendid last evening. Lady Georgina, your angelic gown was divinely inspired.”

Thank goodness Mr. Sherbourne wasn’t an acceptable choice. She would listen to such insipidness for the rest of her life if she had to, but it wasn’t her first choice. “Lady Miranda was the one with true inspiration. Her costume changed on a whim.”