Bexley-Smythe Quintet 01 - Flight of Fancy (3 page)

Numb.

It was a prickly sort of numbness, one that trailed up Georgie’s spine and crept up the back of her neck to settle at the base of her skull and torture her into madness.

The numbness must be why she hadn’t noticed it was raining when she left Patience’s house, walking blindly down the street and forgetting about the waiting carriage until Nettie took her forcefully by the arm and dragged her inside it.

She looked down at her sodden afternoon gown and tugged at a lace flounce. Scandal was something Georgie, as a Bexley-Smythe, was altogether too familiar with. She was more than prepared to face her fair share of it, as her elder sisters had both been dragged through the muck and mire over the last couple of years.

Two of her three dearest friends, however—Pippa and Moira—were absolutely and unequivocally
not
supposed to be veiled in scandal this Season. Yet both of them had somehow found herself the subject of a bet in the book at White’s.

Neither of them would receive vouchers for Almack’s. Not now. Not only that, but they’d be turned away, or at least passed over, by some of the haughtier, high-in-the-instep hostesses. It was sure to ruin their chances at making a successful match this Season. Pippa, at least, had the decency to be horrified over her circumstances. One would think they both should be, since they knew full well how difficult life had become for Georgie’s sisters.

All of that left her simply numb. Dumbfounded, even.

Her own problem of sorting out how to evade Monty seemed rather trivial, all things considered.

When the carriage pulled to a stop at Berkeley Square, Nettie dragged Georgie out and up the steps to her home. She tried pulling her all the way up the stairs, but Georgie was in such a daze that she stumbled and fell, and the clatter brought Mother out into the corridor from the parlor.

“
Lud, what have you done with yourself, Georgianna?” The censure was softened, somewhat, by the note of concern in her tone.

“
She got caught in the rain a bit is all, my lady,” Nettie replied when Georgie was unable to form a coherent response. “I should have been quicker with the parasol. We’ll have her sorted out in no time.”

Mother just pursed her lips and nodded. When Nettie and Georgie were once again on their way up the stairs, Mother added, “I’ll send Rose and Fanny up to help you, as well. There isn’t much time before we must leave for the Davenport Ball.”

Blast. The ball. Somehow, in all her concern over the predicament her friends had found themselves in, Georgie had let the thought of it slip her mind. All she wanted to do was sit in her chamber all night and sort out a solution to everything, from how she could help her friends to how she could help herself.

Would Lord Haworth be at the Davenport Ball tonight? She hoped he would. If so, one thing was certain: she would find a way to meet him, and she would find a way to talk to him…away from Monty’s prying eyes.

The rain, which had been falling at a sedate but steady rate since late afternoon, was now coming down in droves all of a sudden and showed no sign of slowing.

Cedric stared out the window of the Davenport ballroom, watching rather more anxiously than he had any right to be for the Stalbridge carriage to pull into the drive…and to be certain Haworth did
not
pull into the drive.

Deuced annoying, that. Yes, he felt responsible for the Bexley-Smythe women…but why was he so worked to tatters over their almost unnoticeable tardiness? They weren’t even fashionably late yet. Nothing to worry about, despite the unfortunate turn the weather had taken. And Davenport had assured Cedric that Haworth wasn’t on the guest list, so there was really nothing for him to concern himself with in that regard.

He had to get a firmer hold on his faculties.

A strong hand clapped him on the back as though to do just that, and he jumped slightly before recovering himself.

“
If you keep watching for it, it won’t come.”

Cedric turned to find James Throckmorton, an old friend from his school days—one he hadn’t seen in ages—grinning at him like a simpleton.

“
What in God’s name do you think I’m watching for?” he asked, with a far surlier tone than he realized himself capable of. That didn’t bode well.

“
Doesn’t matter what—or whom, I suppose I should add—you’re watching for. It’s still not going to come any time soon if you keep up your vigil.”

Throckmorton probably had the right of it, but that didn’t make Cedric feel any better about things. But then again, maybe he
should
keep up his vigil. If he kept watching for Haworth, the viscount wouldn’t come—at least according to his school chum’s logic.

In response, Cedric crossed his arms over his chest and faced the window again, just in time to see the Stalbridge carriage pull into the grand drive. “You’re wrong,” he said, just to provoke the man standing beside him. “It’s here now.”

Without awaiting a response, Cedric spun on his heel and dashed down the spiral staircase. He nearly ripped an umbrella from a footman at the bottom of the stairs and rushed out into the rain, ignoring the line of umbrella-toting footmen he passed along the way in his haste to get to the carriage.

When the driver opened the door and set down the steps, Lady Stalbridge caught Cedric’s eye from inside and smiled. “Why, Lord Montague, what a sight you are!” She took his hand and descended.

A parade of footmen had rushed forward with their appendages, and he passed the matriarch off to one of them before turning back for first Mattie and then Frankie, who each looked up at him adoringly and thanked him profusely for his chivalry in coming to their aid on such a frightful night as this. Finally, only Georgie remained inside the carriage.

When he reached out for her hand, she scowled at him, her sour expression akin to someone who’d just eaten an entire lemon.

“
Really, Monty, I’m quite capable of doing this myself you know.” Her words were more of a grumble than anything. Instead of giving him her hand, she placed one on the wall of the carriage and the other on the door, attempting to descend without assistance.

Her independence, in most instances, was something he found charming. Tonight was not one of those instances. “Give me your hand so we can get out of the rain.” Again, the note of surliness in his voice was somewhat surprising.

Georgie’s prior scowl was now an all-out glare. Her lips pressed together in a thin line—an expression he’d seen on countless occasions before, but normally when he and Bridge had told her she couldn’t accompany them to do something she wished to do.

The longer they stood there, with her half in and half out of the carriage and with him waiting with his stolen umbrella, the wetter his boots and the bottom of his trousers were becoming. Patience had never been one of his strengths, and the little bit of it he possessed was washing away down the gutters with the rain.

She leveled him with a withering glance and took a step…and would have fallen flat on her face, had he not tossed his umbrella to the nearest footman and caught her. Three footmen rushed forward with their umbrellas, hoisting them overhead to keep them as dry as possible.

“
Oof,” Georgie muttered, squirming against him to free herself.

Cedric would have none of it, however. She may very well be determined to attend this ball looking like a drowned rat, but he damned well wasn’t going to allow that to happen. Much like he wasn’t going to allow Haworth to ruin her, despite
both
of their best efforts to the contrary. He resituated her in his arms, nodded to the footmen who were protecting them from the rain, and took off towards Davenport House, ignoring Georgie’s outraged grumblings and her struggle to get free.

When they reached the awning, where Lady Stalbridge and the two eldest Bexley-Smythe sisters were waiting, Cedric planted Georgie on her feet and took a step back as the footmen rushed off to keep other ladies and gentlemen dry.

Georgie’s eyes were black with rage, and she planted her hands on her hips. Her chest rose as she filled her lungs, surely preparing to deliver him a diatribe he’d likely never forget.

Before she could get a word out, however, her mother took one of Cedric’s hands between both of her own. “You are such a dear man. I don’t know what we’d do without you, my lord.”

A flurry of air flew through Georgie’s lips in something that sounded like, “Aughmmphgrr.” She knew better than to say what she was really thinking in front of her mother, though, so that was where she left it.

He’d have to find her alone later. For some confounding reason, he was next to desperate to know what she was really thinking at that moment.

It would have to wait, though. Her sisters once again offered him their thanks, as well. Then Georgie glanced over her shoulder for a moment, grinning when she turned back. “You must all excuse me. I see Moira.”

With that, she scurried away into the ballroom.

Cedric watched her go, and still couldn’t pull his eyes away for long moments after she was gone. How perplexing.

“
Perhaps he attended another function,” Moira said.

Georgie reared back for a moment, startled that her friend could possibly know she was searching for Lord Haworth, before realizing Moira had been speaking to Pippa. Of course. Pippa was looking for her gentleman from the park—Lord Colebrooke, a title which did not quite strike any chords in Georgie’s memory. Rather odd, that. She shook the doubt from her mind and refocused on Pippa’s predicament.

Patience gave a wan smile. “This is hardly the event of the year.”

On cue, Georgie added, “Hopefully we’ll have better luck tomorrow.” And hopefully
she
would have the same. She wasn’t exactly limited in time to achieve her goal for the Season, but now that she had it in mind, she wasn’t terribly keen on the idea of putting it off any longer than necessary.

“
I wish you’d seen him,” Pippa went on wistfully. “Like a dashing Sir Galahad. The most handsome man I’ve ever seen.”

“
Who is?” Lord Harrison Casemore, one of Pippa’s elder brothers, interjected out of the blue. Gracious, where had he come from?
And how can I use him to assist me in meeting Lord Haworth?
He was a handsome devil of a man, even if he was more than just a trifle intimidating with his hulking frame. This was not a man one wanted to meet under the wrong circumstances. He had always been a bit roguish, yet cordial to the girls. She might just be able to convince him to aid her cause.

With that devious thought, all of Georgie’s attention turned once again to her own predicament, and she completely ignored her friends and Lord Harrison for a moment.

He
was
Pippa’s brother, after all. Surely he would be willing to do a tiny, little favor for one of her most especial friends. As long as Georgie didn’t let on
why
she needed to meet the man, surely he couldn’t have any objection to it.

She could just pretend that she’d seen Lord Haworth across the way at a ball (which, admittedly, she had) and was interested in gaining an introduction as she found him terribly handsome or some other silly, flippant sort of thing Lord Harrison would expect of a debutante like his sister.

Before she could finalize her plans in her mind, however, he was sighing and returning his attention to the other revelers, and Patience tugged Pippa back into their circle of four. “What
did
happen last night?”

Pippa shook her head, a woeful expression planted squarely on her face. “I don’t remember a thing. I don’t even remember arriving at the Heathfields’. I don’t remember encountering Mr. Potsdon. I don’t remember St. Austell.”

“
He is quite handsome,” Moira piped in with a wicked gleam in her eye. “Pity he’s not a Scot.”

“
So you said earlier,” Pippa said on a sigh, “but I can’t believe he would even hold a candle to Lord Colebrooke.”

All four of them then returned their attention to the entrance. Pippa was likely searching for her Colebrooke, and Moira was doubtless searching for a Scot. Georgie pretended to be aiding them in their search…but she was merely looking for Lord Haworth and racking her brain for a means by which to gain an introduction to him.

Several others came in and were announced, and then, “Lord Brody McTavish,” was called out.

Georgie looked up and fought to hold in a snicker. The man was shorter than any of her friends, but was as wide as he was tall. There was a decided lack of hair atop his head. He was far from the Scot of Moira’s dreams, but Georgie nudged her anyway. “There is your Scot.”