As his eyes scanned the room, he realized that more guests were arriving. And he realized with an inward groan that almost all of them had arrived with a very carefully turned out daughter or two in tow.
“And please allow me to introduce you all to my friend and companion, the Honourable Miss Georgina Jeffries,” he said and saw her eyes widen at his use of her own small title.
He had quickly realized that the Earl was going to treat Georgina as an afterthought, something of an inconvenience when there were so many hopeful parents in the room. And as far as Emerson was concerned, Georgina was anything but an afterthought. She was his first thought; his only thought.
The evening dragged on in what seemed to be an endless succession of just such introductions. The Earl was growing ever more pleased with himself with each minute that passed, with each introduction that was made, and his tone became ever more familiar as if the two of them were the oldest of friends.
Continuing her mischief, Georgina eyed him with amusement before absenting herself from the little party so that she might join Fleur and Jeremy for a while. Emerson looked at her often, wishing that it could be just the two of them again. And every time he looked at her, he noted that Georgina was looking at him.
Resigning himself to an evening where it would be necessary to conduct the same mundane conversation over and over again with every little party he was subjected to, he let his thoughts stray and remembered how Georgina’s hand had felt in his hair.
He knew that she had straightened it by instinct, almost like a sister might have done. But had her hand lingered just a little longer than was necessary? Or was that simply wishful thinking on his part?
When the musicians that the Earl had hired for the evening began to play, Emerson felt the familiar sensation of so many eyes upon him. With a practiced air of not having noticed any of them, he smiled broadly and strode across the room to where Georgina stood.
“Would you do me the honour, Miss Jeffries?” he said and raised his eyebrows as he held his hand out to her.
“Of course, Your Grace.”
As they made their way to the space which had been specifically cleared for dancing, he leaned over to whisper in her ear.
“Truly I do want to dance with you.”
“I know,” she whispered back and looked into his eyes.
At that moment, he thought he had never been more certain. Surely she looked back at him with the same excitement, the same notions of a wonderful romance?
“Good.” He smiled at her.
“I am past that jealousy now.”
“Jealousy?”
“Yes, I should have admitted myself envious of all the young ladies you attracted before, instead of treating you so coolly.”
“But you are not envious now?” he said, and his spirits began to plummet, thinking she must surely have no interest in him whatsoever after all.
“No, but only because I know you better. I know you are not so easily flattered.”
“But you have not lost your interest? I mean … I did not mean to suggest an interest in the first place … I … Forgive me, Georgie,” he said and realized he was stuttering badly. “Forgive me, I have turned you away. I ought not to have kissed you that day; I should not have been so forceful.”
To his almost eternal agony, he had to wait for her response until the end of the dance. They had been joined by several other couples, and it was not possible to continue the conversation.
“You have done nothing to turn me away,” she whispered into his ear the moment the dancing was over and he was escorting her back to Fleur. “And I do not regret that you kissed me, so you ought not to regret it either.”
“I did not offend you?”
“No, you could never offend me.” She paused for a moment, took a deep breath, and he realized that she had something important to say. “I want you to know that my feelings for you are constant. They will not wax nor wane, and they are not dependent upon the outcome of our inquiries. If we never discover who you are, or if we discover that you are truly the Duke, or even if we discover that you are not a part of the Lockhart family at all, my feelings for you shall be the same. I am not waiting for something, Sammy. I really am not waiting, although I cannot help thinking that you are.”
“I want to be the man you deserve.”
“You already are,” she said and blinked hard as her beautiful blue eyes shone with emotion.
“I must find out who I am, Georgie. I have to know if I am a Duke or a servant.”
“I understand,” she said, and he was sure that her shoulders sagged just a little.
As wonderful as it had been to hear that it did not matter to her, still it mattered to him. He wanted to be sure that his circumstances were absolutely secure before offering her anything more than his friendship.
Chapter 27
It was the last full day of their stay in Cornwall, and Georgina was determined to make the most of her final interview with Beatrice. She would not falter or flounder for a moment, for finding out Emerson Lockhart’s true origins had become even more important than before.
Georgina had understood him entirely on the first of two evenings of painfully amusing social events at which the Earl of Wighton had shown off his new acquaintance shamelessly. She had understood without a shadow of a doubt that Emerson was determined that he would not make her an offer of any kind unless he were certain that he was the son of the Duke of Calder.
Georgina, who had been convinced of that very thing from the first, could entirely understand Emerson’s lack of conviction. After all, Emerson was the one who had been lied to for so many years, the boy who had been dragged from pillar to post, from one life to another, without a proper explanation or even so much as a fleeting apology.
But Georgina knew that her own affirmative conviction was not going to be good enough. Emerson needed to know it for himself, even though she had finally opened up her heart and told him without ambiguity that she wanted him whether he truly was a Duke of the Realm or if he was simply a common man, a servant who had been elevated by the curious quirks of fate.
And yet it had made no difference. He was so determined about it all that Georgina began to fear that they might never progress beyond that point. They might only ever be the friends that they always had been if she could not prove to him conclusively that he was the rightful Duke of Calder.
It was the only way that he would see himself as good enough for her and, as much of that idea almost broke her heart in two, Georgina knew that she could not fight it.
Emerson Lockhart, the man, was as stubborn and determined as Sammy White, the boy had been. And she would find out who he was now at any cost. She did not want to lose him merely because she was afraid of an evil old lady, or even the smallest bit respectful of her long departed grandmother.
If she had to turn Beatrice Montgomery upside down out of her bed and shake her by the ankles to get the truth out of her, then that was what she intended to do. She would not be unnerved and belittled and laughed at by that spiteful old crow a moment longer.
She would take charge this time, and if Beatrice Montgomery had something to say about it, she would rue the day.
“You are here again, Miss Jeffries. I had thought that you would have returned to Hertfordshire by now,” Beatrice said with a smirk when the two were face-to-face and alone once more.
“No, you did not, Lady Wighton,” Georgina said as she confidently stood her ground. “You know fine well that I am not due to leave until tomorrow, and this is nothing more than another one of your little games.”
“Well, goodness me, you have come in here this morning with a very different air altogether.” The old lady eyed her with interest. “I wonder what has affected this transformation.”
“I have grown tired of your diversions, My Lady. You lay in this bed and do nothing more than amuse yourself by terrorizing your nephew’s wife, and now you are hoping to upend me with your unpredictable behaviour and
very firm insults.”
“Well, well, well.” Beatrice did not look offended, rather she looked pleased by the idea that Georgina Jeffries had suddenly become a worthy opponent instead of a pretty little ladybird whose wings she was about to pull off with her bare hands. “Perhaps you are not so weak and pathetic after all. Perhaps you really do have a little something of my dear Lizzie about you.”
“If you think I find that a compliment, think again.”
“Did you not get along with your grandmother?” Beatrice laughed so deeply that it seemed almost impossible that the sound could be coming from such a frail old chest, a woman of skin and bones.
“No, I did not. She was a loveless, hard-faced old woman who did not show a moment’s compassion to anybody. Not to her son, not to her husband, not to her granddaughter, not even to a tiny baby.”
“A tiny baby? And what tiny baby would this be?” Georgina knew that the old woman understood her perfectly.
She fixed her with such a stare, and her mouth twisted into that vile, garish smile once again. At that moment, Georgina realized that Beatrice had known all along. Before she had even arrived in Cornwall, Beatrice had known Georgina’s reason for coming. It had not been to spend some time with a dear friend of her beloved grandmother, but to find out exactly where it was that Samuel White had come from all those years ago.
Beatrice had been waiting for this moment, even looking forward to it so twisted was she, and it was all so clear now that Georgina felt like a fool.
She had been tiptoeing around an old woman who had known all along her exact purpose. Beatrice had known the questions she had truly wanted to ask and had seen her trying every method to politely get them instead of simply coming straight out with the thing.
“I am told that the Duke of Calder is here visiting with you, my dear,” Beatrice said when Georgina had been silent for some moments. “My dear nephew is in quite a spin about the whole thing. He is very impressed, at any rate, and can hardly believe his luck that he has found himself a connection to a Duke through his dear old aunt.”
“Yes, the Duke of Calder is here.”
“But I am told that he is a young man, so I can only assume that the Duke of Calder that I was once acquainted with no longer walks the earth. What a shame, he must have passed as a relatively young man. Relative to me, of course.”
“He was but eight and fifty I believe.”
“And when did he pass?”
“Eight months ago.”
“And tell me who has succeeded him. Is it a distant relative, a nephew or some such? I do not remember the Duke and his Duchess having any children.”
Georgina did not know how to proceed. She still did not know what part Beatrice had played in the whole thing. Elizabeth was the one who had brought the child into Ashdown so many years before, but it was clear that Beatrice knew every detail.
“Why did my grandmother bring a baby into our home one and twenty years ago?” Georgina clasped her hands behind her back, not keen for the old woman to see how they shook.
“A baby?” Beatrice said vaguely.
“No, no, no! You will not do this again. I do not know if your mind truly wanders, Beatrice Ellington, or if it is another of your cruel and twisted games. But you will answer me this time, and I shall not leave until you do.”
“So like Elizabeth,” she said and smiled almost warmly.
“I am nothing like my grandmother because I care. I care about right and wrong, and I care about the truth, and it strikes me that the two of you cared about nothing but yourselves. Whatever it is you and my grandmother did all those years ago, its repercussions, its evil effects, have spanned a generation. The cold blackness of your heart has trickled down the years and still affects good people. You will answer me; I will not leave until you do.”
Georgina stepped towards the bed and took hold of the bell rope which hung alongside. She gently pulled it out of the old woman’s reach and laced the end of it around a hard wooden chair before turning to look at Beatrice significantly.
“A trustee from the Hatfield orphanage approached your grandmother because there was no room for his latest foundling. So you see, your grandmother was not quite as cold as you would paint her.”
“This is a lie, a very obvious lie. You know why I am here, Beatrice.”
“Lady Wighton.”
“Not to me,” Georgina said and eyed the disarranged bell rope once again. “I shall say it again, you know why I am here.”
“I know of a child, yes.”
“His name was Samuel White.”
“I know.”
“He grew up as a servant in my home.”
“I know.”
“But was he truly a servant?”
“I had thought that he would remain a servant until this day, Miss Jeffries. But your arrival here has told me very clearly that the little waif who used to clear the horse muck from your stables has managed to claw his way into the aristocracy. I wonder what his friends and neighbours think of that.”
“I beg your pardon?” Georgina said, her mouth going dry, she played for time.
It was clear to her that Beatrice was issuing a threat. And if anybody would spit such venom and make it known that the Duke of Calder’s parentage was not as clear-cut as some might think, it was Beatrice Ellington. The Beatrice Ellington of old, the same Beatrice Ellington who had so easily looked upon her brother’s heartbreak and shrugged it off as if it were nothing.
Georgina felt suddenly afraid, suddenly concerned that she was about to make the worst mess possible of it all; would it finally be her fault? Would Georgina be the one who would unmask the Duke of Calder and reveal Samuel White there underneath?
“I know what you are trying to do, Miss Jeffries. I knew it before you had even climbed into your carriage to make your way here. As soon as my nephew told me that you were on your way to see me, I knew. So, Samuel White has made himself the Duke of Calder. My advice to you and to him is to say nothing and be glad of it. He could have spent the rest of his life as a servant in your father’s house, so his own best interests can only now be served by keeping his eye on the better chance. Why does he need to know where he came from? More to the point, why do you need to know it? If you are in love with him, you silly girl, just marry him. Does it really matter who he is?”
“It does not matter to me, Beatrice. But it matters to Samuel.”
“And does it matter so much to him that he would risk going back? Would he be happy to give up his fine clothes and his great estate in favour of returning himself to the peasant he once was?”
“Samuel was never a peasant.”
“If he continues in this, I can assure you he will be.” Beatrice tried to raise herself up on her elbows.
The effort was making her face grey, and her bones seemed to protrude sharply from the many folds of her crisp white nightgown. It was a hellish sight, and one that Georgina knew she would never forget.
“Why? What has he done to you to make you so hateful? And what did he ever do to my grandmother that she could treat him so carelessly? What evil scheme did the two of you hatch between you like some ugly, deformed baby bird?”
“I will not help you, Miss Jeffries.” She was still, unbelievably, managing to hold her stance, perched in mid-air with the effort of holding her head up so clear upon her face. “I will not help you a moment longer.”
“You have not helped me from the beginning.”
“No, and the idea that you have come all this way for nothing gives me a pleasure that a silly, romantic little girl like you could never understand.”
“I would never wish to understand it, you vile, hateful woman.”
“What a way for us to part.” Beatrice began to laugh, and the effort of it forced her to collapse back into her pillows. “Still, I would not have had it any other way. But you must tell the new Duke of Calder this from me,” she said and took a deep breath.
“Tell him what?”
“Tell hi
m to leave it alone. If he continues in his pitiful quest to discover his origins, I will squash him like a bug between my fingers,” she said and held out a bony finger and thumb which she mashed together gleefully by way of demonstration.
“And if he does leave things alone?” Georgina said, her voice trembling.
“Then I shall leave him alone.”
“What can you possibly have to hide at your age? What can you need to protect when all those who were closest to you are in the grave?”
“Pass on my message,” Beatrice said and glared at her. “And do not ever come back into this room again, or all of England will know the Duke of Calder for the servant that he is.”
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