Impetuous Innocent

by Stephanie Laurens

  “Who? But…don’t you know?” Bella stared in disbelief, first at her, then at the elegant retreating back.

  “No. No one introduced us. I bumped into him and apologised.”

  Bella fanned herself frantically. “Heavens! He might have cut you!”

  “Cut…? But who on earth is he?”

  “Brummel! George Brummel. He’s one of society’s most powerful arbiters of taste.” Bella turned to survey Georgiana appraisingly. “Well! Obviously he’s taken to you. What a relief! I didn’t know what to think when I saw you with him. He can be quite diabolical, you know.”

  Georgiana, conscious now of the envious eyes upon her, smiled confidently. “You needn’t have worried. We were just enjoying ourselves.”

  Bella looked incredulous.

  Georgiana laughed.

  “GOODNIGHT, Johnson.”

  “Goodnight, my lord.”

  The door of Winsmere House shut softly behind Dominic. The night continued mild, but the low rumble of distant thunder heralded the end of the unseasonal warmth. Still, Alton House in Grosvenor Square was only five minutes away. Dominic set off, swinging his slim ebony cane, his long strides unhurried as he headed for North Audley Street.

  The evening had left him with a sense of dissatisfaction which he was hard put to explain. He had broken his journey to Brighton to check on Miss Hartley, although, to be precise, it was more to relieve his mind over whether Arthur and Bella had been put out over her descent on them. Thankfully, all had turned out for the best. Arthur’s scheme would undoubtedly pave the way for Georgiana Hartley to spend the upcoming Little Season with Bella, after which it would be wonderful if she had not received at least one acceptable proposal. The girl was not a brilliant match, but a perfectly suitable connection for any of the lesser nobility who made up the bulk of the ton. He had checked on her antecedents and knew them to be above reproach. Yes, Georgiana Hartley would very likely soon be betrothed. Which was far more appropriate than being a companion.

  As he swung south into North Audley Street, Dominic grinned. How typical of Arthur to concoct such a perfect solution to the girl’s troubles. And Bella’s. Everything seemed set to fall smoothly into place. Which, all things considered, should leave him feeling smugly satisfied. Instead, he was feeling uncommonly irritated. The grin faded. A frown settled over his features.

  A watchman passed by unobtrusively, unwilling to draw the attention of such a well set up and clearly out-of-sorts gentleman to his activities. Dominic heard him but gave no sign.

  Why should he be feeling so disillusioned, so disheartened? He’d been living this life for the past twelve years. Why had it suddenly palled? The circumstances that had driven him to seek the peace of Candlewick drifted into his mind. All the glamour and glitter and laughter associated with the doings of the Carlton House set. And the underlying vice, the predictability, the sheer falsity of most of it—these were what had sent him scurrying for sanctuary. But even Candlewick had failed to lift his mood. While its serenity had been comforting, the huge house had seemed lonely, empty. He had never noticed it before; now its silence was oppressive.

  The corner of Grosvenor Square loomed ahead. Dominic swung left and crossed the road to the railed garden. The gates were locked at sunset, but that had never stopped him strolling the well tended lawns by night. He vaulted the wrought-iron railings with accustomed ease, then turned his steps across the lawns in the direction of his town house on the south side of the Square. Tucking his cane under his arm, he thrust his hands into his coat pockets and sank his chin into the soft folds of his cravat. Doubtless, if he were still in the care of his old nurse, she would tell him to take one of Dr James’s Powders. The blue devils, that was what he had.

  A vision of honey-gold eyes crystallised in his brain. Why on earth Georgiana Hartley’s eyes, together with the rest of her, should so plague him he could not understand. He was not a callow youth, to be so besotted with a female’s finer points. He had hardly exchanged two words with the chit, yet, throughout the evening, had been aware of her every movement, every inflexion, every expression.

  Leaves from the beech trees had piled in drifts and softly scrunched underfoot. Dominic paused to regard his feet, lightly covered with golden leaves. Then he shook his head, trying to rid it of the memory of curls sheening guinea-gold under candlelight. God! What was this? The onset of senility?

  Determined to force his mind to sanity, he removed his hands from his pockets and straightened his shoulders. Ten long strides brought him to the fence, and he vaulted over to the pavement beyond. A few days, not to mention nights, of Elaine Changley’s company would cure him of this idiotic fancy. As his feet crossed the cobbles, he commanded his memory to supply a vision of Lady Changley as he had last seen her, reclining amid the much rumpled sheets of the bed he had just vacated. Of course, Elaine’s ambitions were on a par with her charms. But as he was as well acquainted with the former as he was with the latter he felt justified in ignoring them. A smile played at the corners of his fine lips as he trod the steps to his front door.

  In the instant he raised his cane to beat a tattoo on the solid oak door, an unnerving vision in which Georgiana Hartley was substituted for Elaine Changley flooded his brain. So breathtaking was the sight that Dominic froze. The gold top of his cane, yet to touch the door, remained suspended before him.

  The door opened and Dominic found himself facing his butler, Timms.

  “My lord?”

  Feeling decidedly foolish, Dominic lowered his cane. He sauntered past Timms, one of Duckett’s protégés, as if it were perfectly normal for him to stand rooted to his own doorstep. He paused in the hallway to draw off his gloves, then handed the offending cane to Timms.

  “I’ll be leaving for Brighton early tomorrow, Timms. Tell Maitland to be ready about nine.”

  “Very good, m’lord.”

  Frowning, Dominic slowly ascended the gently curving staircase, pausing, as was his habit, to check his fob watch against the long case clock on the landing. Restoring his watch to his pocket, he reflected that, if nothing else could cure him of his disturbing affliction, the decadent amusements to be found within the Prince Regent’s pavilion at Brighton would.

  BY THE TIME the Winsmere House ladies were handed into their coach for the drive home from King Street, Georgiana had had proved to her, over and over again, the truth of Lady Winterspoon’s dictum. If she enjoyed herself, then her partners seemed to enjoy her company. If she laughed, then they laughed, too. And, while such overt behaviour did not sit well with one brought up to the self-effacing manners expected of young Italian girls, it was a great deal better, to Georgiana’s way of thinking, than simpering and giggling. Her upbringing clearly had not conditioned her for English social life. Nevertheless, the unrufflable calm she had been instructed was a lady’s greatest asset certainly helped, allowing her to cloak her instinctive responses to some of those she had met—like Lord Ormskirk and his leering glances, and Mr Morecombe, with his penchant for touching her bare arms.

  “The Sotherbys are holding a ball next week. Lady Margaret said she’d send cards.” Bella’s voice came out of the gloom of the seat opposite. “After tonight, I’ve no doubts we’ll be kept busy. So fortunate, your meeting with Brummel.”

  The unmistakable sound of a smothered yawn came to Georgiana’s ears. She smiled into the darkness. Despite her tiredness, Bella seemed even more excited by her success than she was. She had originally found her hostess’s claim of boredom difficult to believe. Now she could find it in her to understand that, without any special interest, the balls and parties could indeed turn flat. Still, to her, everything was too new for there to be any danger of her own interest flagging before Bella’s did. Hopefully Bella would not feel too let down when she found a position and moved away. Into obscurity. Georgiana frowned.

  If she had been asked, five days previously, whether she had any ambition to enter the ton, she would un-hesitatingly have disclaimed all such desire. Ho
wever, having now had a small sample of the diverse entertainments to be found amid the social whirl, she rather thought she might enjoy being able to savour these, in moderation, by way of a change from the quieter lifestyle she considered her milieu. A saying of her father’s drifted past her mind’s ear. “Experience, girl! There’s nothing quite like it and no substitute known.’

  As the clop of the horses’ hoofs echoed back from the tiered façades of the houses they passed, Georgiana puzzled over her change of heart. Still, nothing could alter the fact that she would need to earn her way, at least to some extent. That being so, perhaps she should take this opportunity of experiencing the ton, of enjoying herself amid the glittering throng? According to Bella, she needed to be known to find a position. So, until she secured one, she could, and perhaps should, follow her father’s and Lady Winterspoon’s advice.

  Bella yawned. “Oh, dear. I’d forgotten what it was like.” Another yawn was stifled behind one slim white-gloved hand. Then, “I wonder if Dominic has managed to convince Charles to sell the Place yet?”

  The question jolted Georgiana out of her reverie. “Lord Alton wishes to buy the Place?”

  “Why, yes. Didn’t I mention it?”

  Her friend’s voice was sleepy, but Georgiana’s curiosity was aroused. “No. Why does he want it? From what I saw, it’s terribly run down.”

  “Oh, it is. Run down, I mean. Even when Charles’s father was alive… And now…”

  Georgiana waited, but Bella’s mind had clearly drifted. “But why does he want it?” she prompted.

  “The Place? Oh, I keep forgetting you don’t know all that much about it.” Bella’s skirts rustled as she sat up. “Well, you see, the Place didn’t exist a hundred years ago. It used to be part of Candlewick. But one of my ancestors was something of a loose screw. He gambled heavily. One of his creditors was one of your ancestors. He agreed to take part of the Candlewick lands in payment. So that was how the Place came about. My spendthrift ancestor didn’t live long, much to the family’s relief. Ever since then, the family has tried to buy back the Place and make Candlewick complete again. But your family have always refused. I don’t know how long it’s been going on, but, generally, both families have always dealt amicably despite all. That is…” Bella paused dramatically; Georgiana sat enthralled “—until my father’s death. Although he had always talked of rejoining the Place to Candlewick, my father hadn’t, as far as Dominic could discover, done much about it. So when he inherited, Dominic wrote to your uncle to discuss the matter. But your uncle never replied. He was, by that time, something of a recluse. Dominic could never get to see him. After a while, Dominic gave up. When he heard of your uncle’s death, he wrote to Charles. Charles didn’t reply either. Mind you,” Bella added on a reflective note, “as Charles dislikes Dominic as much as Dominic dislikes him, I can’t say I was surprised at that. Still, from what you’ve said, the Place is falling down about Charles’s ears. I really can’t see why he won’t sell. Dominic’s prepared to pay above the odds, and Charles must know that.”

  “Perhaps it’s mere stubbornness?”

  “Maybe,” Bella conceded, tiring of her brother’s problems. She lapsed into silence, the better to consider the doors the evening had opened for her protégée.

  Georgiana puzzled over Charles’s behaviour. In the few days she’d had to observe him, her cousin had given the impression of being addicted to the good things in life, or rather, that he had a liking for the finer things but had little of the wherewithal required to pay for them. Which made his refusal to sell the Place, in which he demonstrably took no interest, stranger still.

  From consideration of Charles, it was a short step to thoughts of the man so inextricably linked in her mind with her escape from her cousin. The demands of her début at Almack’s had precluded her thinking of her earlier meeting with Lord Alton, beyond the wish that she had made a better impression. Undoubtedly she had appeared as a gawky, tongue-tied, awkward child. Where on earth had two years of experience gone? Certainly, nothing in her previous existence had prepared her for the odd effect he had on her. She had never reacted to a man in such a way before. It was both puzzling and unnerving. When it came to Bella’s brother, her carefully nurtured Italian calm deserted her. Hopefully, by the time they next met, the peculiar effect would have worn off. She did not wish to be forever appearing as a graceless schoolgirl to the gentleman before whom, more than all others, she wished to shine. Still, no doubt she was refining too much on their meeting. Lord Alton would have seen her merely as a child he had assisted in her time of trouble. She could be nothing more than that to him. The thought that she would like to be a great deal more than that to Lord Alton she ruthlessly decapitated at birth. He was a noted Corinthian and, from what she had heard at the dinner-table, one of the Carlton House set. She had nothing to recommend her to his notice—not beauty, nor fortune, nor birth. To him, she would be no more than a passing acquaintance, one he had perhaps already forgotten.

  Besides, it seemed he was on the verge of contracting an alliance, although Lady Winterspoon certainly seemed to think the lady in question was rather less than suitable. But she had heard more than enough in Italy to distrust the conclusions of society. Who knew? Maybe Lord Alton was genuinely fond of Lady Changley. She tried to imagine what the lady Lord Alton was in love with would look like, but soon gave up. She knew so little of him that it was impossible to guess his preferences.

  As she ruminated on the twist of fate that had caused them to meet, Georgiana reflected that it was perhaps as well she would get few chances to be in Viscount Alton’s company. He was the stuff schoolgirl dreams were made of. Unfortunately, she was no longer a schoolgirl. And she did not have the capital to indulge in dreams.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “MY LORD, I’m most truly sensible of the honour you do me, but, indeed, I cannot consent to becoming your wife.”

  Georgiana watched as Viscount Molesworth, an earnest young man more at home on his ancestral acres than in a London ballroom, rose awkwardly from his knees.

  Dusting off his satin breeches, he sighed. “Thought you might say that.”

  Georgiana swallowed a giggle and managed to look politely interested.

  Seeing this, the Viscount obligingly continued, “Told m’mother so. But you know what women are. Wouldn’t listen. Said you’d be bound to accept me. Said you were just the thing I needed. Must say, I agree with her there.” He glanced once more at Georgiana. “Sure you won’t change your mind?”

  Shaking her head, Georgiana rose and put her hand on the Viscount’s sleeve. “Truly, my lord, I don’t think we would suit.”

  “Ah, well. That’s it, then.” Lord Molesworth, heir to an earldom of generous proportions, lifted his head as music drifted from the ballroom down the hall. “Best get back to the dancing, then, what?”

  Unable to command her voice, Georgiana nodded. Strolling back into the ballroom on his lordship’s arm, she could not keep a happily satisfied smile from her face. She had known the Viscount was bordering on a declaration, had been teetering on the brink for the past week. And, as with her two previous proposals, Georgiana had dreaded having to hurt his feelings. But it had all passed off easily, even more easily than the others. Her first proposal had been from young Lord Danby, who had been truly smitten but so very young that she had felt she were dealing with a younger brother, not a potential lover. Her second offer had come from Mr Havelock, a quiet man of thirty-five summers. She was sincerely fond of him, but in a friendly way, and doubted she could ever think of him other than as a friend. He had accepted her refusal philosophically, and they continued friends, but he had impressed on her that, should she have need of support or even something more, he was forever at her disposal.

  Relieved at having weathered yet another proposal with no bones broken, Georgiana gave silent thanks that she had attracted only true gentlemen. Some of the more dangerous Corinthians had certainly looked her over—almost, she had felt, as if she were
a succulent morsel they were planning to gobble up. But when they learned she was staying with the Winsmeres they usually smiled and passed on.

  However, there were a few who had remained long enough to enjoy a light flirtation, a moment of dalliance. Such a one was Lord Edgcombe, who now approached to claim her for the waltz.

  Georgiana smiled and curtsied. “My lord.”

  His lordship, resplendent in a dark green coat which leant a deeper tinge to his golden locks, bowed easily over her hand. “My lovely.” His cool grey eyes flicked to the Viscount, still hovering by her elbow.

  Georgiana realised he must have seen them re-enter the room, and wondered how much he guessed. She was now too experienced to take umbrage at his outrageous but calculated greeting. Instead, she spoke confidently, succeeding in distracting his lordship from his contemplation of the hapless Viscount. “I take it that means you approve of my gown?”

  Lord Edgcombe’s grey gaze swung slowly to her face. His lips twitched. Then, to pay her back for her temerity, he raised his quizzing-glass and embarked on a minute inspection of her person. “Mmm,” he murmured. “The style, of course, is superb. Fancon, I trust?”

  Georgiana, far from blushing and dissolving into a twittering heap, the prescribed reaction to his behaviour, could not restrain her smile. She understood his lordship’s tactics only too well.

  Far from being put out by her refusal to succumb, Lord Edgcombe responded with a smile of genuine enjoyment and offered his arm. “Come, sweet torment, the dance-floor awaits and the musicians will soon grow weary.”

  As she twirled down the room in Lord Edgcombe’s arms, Georgiana wondered again at the success, for her part unexpected but none the less flattering, which had resulted in her receiving the attentions of one such as his lordship. He was well born, with a comfortable estate, and could be pleasant enough when it suited him. However, as it only suited him to behave so with a select circle of acquaintances, he was generally thought to be beyond the reach of the matchmaking mamas. Georgiana did not entirely understand his interest in her, but instinctively knew she was in no immediate danger of receiving a proposal from Lord Edgcombe. At least, she amended, as she looked into his smiling grey eyes and correctly divined the thoughts behind them, not a proposal of marriage.