The Greatest Lover Ever (16 page)

No matter in what terms Lady Arden delicately couched it, everyone knew the root cause of this invitation to Beckenham’s country seat. The Earl of Beckenham wished to take a wife, and to choose her with the least inconvenience possible. The matchmaking mamas would parade their charges for Beckenham’s scrutiny like cattle at market.

Nothing could have been more unfortunate than Lady Black’s sudden illness. Georgie knew it was genuine. Nothing less than total incapacitation would have induced her stepmother to be left behind on this venture. The excitement of anticipating this house party was undoubtedly to blame for her recent hysterical episode. The doctor had diagnosed nervous exhaustion and sent her to take the waters in Bath.

Knowing how hopeless it would be to expect a quick recovery or any exercise of willpower on her stepmother’s part, Georgie offered to remain behind to nurse her. Violet, too, had argued that they ought not leave her mama if she was feeling so poorly.

But Lady Black insisted that with her brother’s wife to tend her and with dear Dr. Wilson at her beck and call, she had no need of them. Indeed, her poor nerves couldn’t stand the mere thought of Violet throwing away such a golden opportunity.

So, here Georgie was, preparing for day upon day of exquisite torture.

Beyond the massive wrought iron gates, the drive to the house was a long and winding one, lined by ancient oaks. One last turn and Winford burst into sight, a great monolith against the lowering sky.

Georgie leaned forward to peer out the window. She’d thought the house couldn’t be as grand as she remembered, but if anything, her memory had downplayed its magnificence.

If Beckenham had intended to signal what a great honor he would bestow upon his future countess, he couldn’t have gone a better way about it than to invite the candidates here. What woman wouldn’t wish to be mistress of such a house?

Georgie would wager the place ran like clockwork, too. No fear that his lordship had allowed the estate to sink into rack and ruin as his grandfather had before him. The grounds and exterior of the house were a testament to that. Neatly tended gardens and sloping lawns bordered by woods. The ivy that sprawled over the bricks of the great stone edifice was well tamed, the windows sparkling clean, the gravel drive raked just so.

“Goodness,” said Violet. “It seems larger than I remembered. Which is strange, for I was only a child when I saw it last.”

Six years ago, Violet had been twelve, or thereabouts. Did Beckenham remember her? Probably not. Young men didn’t tend to take much notice of little girls.

“You must call at Cloverleigh while you are here,” Georgie reminded Violet.

“But it is tenanted,” Violet objected. “I should not wish to intrude.”

“You must write to them and ask,” said Georgie. “In fact, you might request Lord Beckenham to accompany you. He has more than a passing interest in the place, and your prospects there will set you apart from the rest of them as nothing else can.”

Violet opened her eyes wide. “You mean he will not be instantly smitten with my beauty and charm? I must, instead, lure him with my inheritance. How disappointing.”

Georgie’s gaze sharpened, but the twinkle in her sister’s eye reassured her. Perhaps she’d imagined the dry, cynical note in Violet’s voice.

“Of course he will be smitten,” Georgie replied. “But men like Beckenham are never guided solely by their personal wishes, Violet. From a practical point of view, Cloverleigh is a singular and powerful inducement. He wishes to regain the lands his grandfather lost.”

Had it been vanity on her part to expect more from him than a practical marriage all those years ago? Probably. Well, if she had any vanity left, it would be effectively trampled out of her by the end of this delightful sojourn. Once again, she cursed her stepmother’s frailty. She felt like a caged bear on its way to a baiting.

The carriage crunched to a halt before she was ready. Thunder rolled overhead, as if to echo her foreboding.

“Hmm. No afternoon ride for me, I fear,” she said, glancing at the rapidly darkening sky. “What a pity. I’d looked forward to renewing my acquaintance with the estate.”

She’d looked forward to some form of escape from the trial by social intercourse that awaited her. In fact, she’d sent their horses ahead of them for this very purpose.

The humiliation of standing by while Beckenham weighed his marriage options was nothing to the pain of it, and every excruciating moment would be underscored by slighting comments and gossip from the other ladies present, particularly their mamas.

A footman, smart in hunter green livery, opened the carriage door and let down the steps. Another footman held an umbrella, waiting to hand them down.

Georgie gestured to Violet to precede her, gathering all her resolution to face what came next. What was the point in fighting the inevitable? She was here now and must make the best of it. If there was one thing Georgie abhorred, it was people who wrung their hands over what couldn’t be helped.

If she must assist in this farce, she would do everything in her power to see to it that Violet won Beckenham. As long as she decided marriage to Beckenham would be best for Violet, that was. She hadn’t quite made up her mind to that yet.

*   *   *

“No rest for the wicked,” quipped Violet sotto voce as they entered the hall to find Lady Arden awaiting them.

“And just what, may I ask, in the name of all creation are
you
doing here?” Lady Arden eyed Georgie up and down.

“Good afternoon to you, too, ma’am,” said Georgie, dipping a curtsy.

Lady Arden’s bright gaze flicked to Violet. “Where is your mother, child?”

“Did you not get her letter?” said Violet, removing her bonnet and shaking the water droplets from its brim. Rain pelted down outside now. A gust of wind blew into the hall before the footman heaved the heavy door shut.

“Farrago of nonsense,” said Lady Arden. “I could not make head nor tail of it for all the crossed lines and blotches—tearstains, one must suppose. If I had, you may be sure I’d have posted up to Bath and fetched Violet myself.” She blew an exasperated breath. “Well, come along. Now you’re here, Mrs. Paynter will take you up.”

Having seen Violet settled in her apartment next door, Lady Arden swept in to Georgie’s chamber.

Deducing from the spark in her eye that Lady Arden wouldn’t allow the presence of a servant to stop her speaking her mind, Georgie nodded a dismissal at Smith. “I’ll see you when it’s time to dress for dinner.”

“Now, you must tell me the meaning of this,” said Lady Arden as soon as the door shut behind the maid. “I suppose that stupid, indolent woman decided she was too ill to travel.”

Georgie thought it best to ignore the insult to her stepmother. “Lady Black would have given much to be here, ma’am. She truly is unwell.”

“Then why didn’t the silly woman send some other relative to chaperone Violet?” Lady Arden pressed her fingertips to her temple as she paced. “Good God, this is an awkward state of affairs.”

“Believe me, no one is more sensible of that fact than I,” said Georgie. “Do you think I wish to be here, at
such
a party? I feel like Banquo’s ghost. The specter of the bride who might have been.”

That made Lady Arden laugh. “I always liked you, my girl. Such a pity you and Beckenham didn’t stick.”

Georgie said nothing.

“But you are cold.” Lady Arden grasped Georgie’s hands in hers and chafed them. “Let us get you out of these damp things, shall we?”

“There’s no need,” protested Georgie. “I am merely a trifle damp.” She wished her relative would say her piece and leave her be.

“Nonsense. I never had a daughter, you know. Or a son, for that matter.” With brisk efficiency, she helped peel the gown from Georgie’s body, then set to work on her corset strings while Georgie shed her petticoats.

“There.” When Georgie stood only in her chemise and stockings, Lady Arden snatched up a light rug from the foot of the bed and put it about Georgie’s shoulders. The gesture had a faint whiff of maternal tenderness about it. Strangely, Georgie felt comforted. A sudden, sharp longing for own mother made her duck her head.

Collecting herself, Georgie perched on the edge of the bed to ease off her stockings. “I will do my best to stay out of the way. You needn’t fear I mean to create a scene or add fodder to gossip.”

Eyeing her with a judicious air, Lady Arden said, “It is not your nature to fade into the background, Georgie.”

Stung, she demanded, “Do you think I would try to overshadow my sister?”

“No, I merely think that any man with a pulse will not waste time with debutantes when you are in the room.”

Georgie flushed. She’d promised Violet moral support, but this sort of thing was precisely what she’d feared. “You may be sure that Lord Beckenham is far too high-minded to allow any woman’s charms to distract him from his duty.”

“Ha! I’d never have taken you for such an innocent, my dear.”

This sort of talk merely rubbed salt into the wound. Wasn’t it precisely because he was so good at resisting her supposed siren’s lure that she was here now playing gooseberry to her sister rather than mistress of this house?

Her looks, such as they were, had only ever brought her grief.

Without a great deal of hope, she said, “Do you want me to leave?”

Lady Arden tilted her head to the side, as if seriously considering the merits of sending Georgie back into the storm. That ruthless streak Georgie had always rather admired in her relative was now wielded against her.

“No,” she said at last. “Your sudden departure would cause gossip. Now that you are here, you must show all of the young ladies and their matchmaking mamas that you have no intention of picking up where you left off with Beckenham.”

“I shall do my best to avoid his company altogether,” said Georgie. That would serve her desires equally well. “Perhaps we could put it about that I caught a chill and cannot come downstairs.”

“Craven,” mocked Lady Arden.

Georgie sighed. Lady Arden was right. Besides, there was her promise to Violet. She could scarcely provide moral support from her supposed sickbed.

None knew better than she the nasty little claws some ladies hid beneath their gloves. Put them into a situation like this, all vying for a countess’s coronet, and it would be a bloodbath.

Her sister had no notion of how vicious her rivals could be, nor how adept they were at hiding their malice from gentlemen they sought to impress. As hostess, Lady Arden would be too occupied to watch over Violet all the time.

“Do we know anything of the competition?” inquired Georgie.

“But of course, dear. How could you doubt it?” Lady Arden glanced out the window. “All frightfully eligible, pretty-behaved girls. I believe Beckenham stipulated the young ladies must be quiet and docile.”

“Did he?” Georgie knew how to take that, she supposed.

“An amazingly bland parcel of ninnies,” continued Lady Arden idly. “But I suppose that’s what most men want, after all. A pretty young thing to warm their beds with enough sense in her head to run a household and sufficient meekness to obey their every dictate.”

Georgie’s lip curled. “How tedious of him.”

Lady Arden’s gaze sharpened. “Do you think he deserves better?”

He needed to be shaken out of his irritating complacency. The kind of female Lady Arden described would never do it.

Violet never would.
She banished the treacherous thought.

“If they are ninnies, he will find them dead bores,” Georgie observed. “Violet, on the other hand, is intelligent as well as sweet-natured. She is perfect for him.”

The words seemed to leave a lump in her throat.

Lady Arden came to her and placed a bracing hand on her shoulder. “Whatever lies between you two is in the past now. I want you to act like Beckenham’s future sister-in-law, not his former betrothed.”

Georgie met Lady Arden’s eyes. By sheer will, she allowed her gaze to reflect nothing save tranquil acceptance. “That is precisely my intention, my lady.”

*   *   *

The flash of flame red hair in the distance, quickly hidden by a large black umbrella, was the first sign that Georgie Black had come to Winford.

Beckenham had taken the gentlemen of the party on a tour of his stables, happily unaware of the rude shock in store for him upon his return.

By God, he ought to have known that prime piece of horseflesh, just arrived from the Black household ahead of their party, would be neither Violet’s nor Lady Black’s, but Georgie’s. Not many females were strong enough or skilled enough to control a mare like that.

“New arrivals, eh?” said Lydgate, gesturing with his whip to the carriage on the drive.

“Indeed,” said Beckenham, trying to ignore the rush in his blood, the soaring sensation in his chest, even as the rain sheeted down around them.

An oath from Lydgate cut through the downpour. “What the Devil is
she
doing here?”

Giving him no reply, Beckenham narrowed his eyes, staring after Georgie, but it was no good; the house had already swallowed her up. Too late, he realized he hadn’t even noticed her companions. One of them must surely have been the sister.

Damn the woman! Hadn’t these past months been spent getting her out of his system, once and for all?

Only he still hadn’t found the opportunity to ease certain … tensions of the body and spirit, and that made him susceptible to … Damn it to hell, why did she have to turn up on his doorstep unannounced?

He must have gone through the motions with his guests after that, for later, he couldn’t recall a word anyone had said to him. He skulked down in the drawing room for as long as he could before he realized she wasn’t going to join the rest of the company before dinner.

He didn’t even have the opportunity to cross-question Lady Arden, who had talked him into the entire charade. He’d thought it an excellent idea at the time. It suited his notions of effectiveness and efficiency. Besides, it meant he could curtail the tedious progression from one house party to the next in search of a bride.

Instead, the most likely contenders all came to him. He would choose a countess by the end of this house party or perish in the attempt.