A Scandalous Countess: A Novel of the Malloren World

by Jo Beverley

  “Georgia does need to leave Herne, husband.”

  Georgia looked at her mother with wary surprise.

  “For her to remain here could give the wrong impression. As if she fears a return to society. As if she were burdened by guilt. Perhaps she should visit Winifred.…”

  “Hammersmith!” Georgia exclaimed, as appalled by that as by the thought of visiting her disapproving older sister.

  “You speak as if that was the far north, when it’s less than ten miles from that Sansouci you were so fond of. It’s June, child. Everyone who can is beginning to leave Town for more salubrious parts, including your friends.”

  Georgia had no good argument to that. Even Perry visited friends in the country in the hottest months, and this was proving to be a hot year. Last year, when the duel had taken place, she and Dickon had been planning their move to Sansouci.

  She’d envisioned her resurrection as a return to the Town life she’d enjoyed a year ago—to St. James and Mayfair, to court, parks, and theater. The best of that would be over now, however, for the king had already removed to Richmond.

  But Hammersmith, haunt of scholars and Catholics? It seemed typical that her dull sister marry a man whose estate was on the fringes of Hammersmith.

  Winifred, Lady Thretford, was two years older and had always resented Georgia’s looks. When the union with the Earl of Maybury had become an issue, Winnie had insisted that she, the older sister, should become Countess of Maybury. Dickon hadn’t wanted her, however. He’d wanted Georgia, and he’d wanted her immediately. Her parents had attempted to delay the wedding while they married Winifred off, but Dickon wouldn’t hear of it.

  And then, of course, when Winnie had married, it had been to a viscount, putting her eternally one step below Georgia. She’d compensated by assuming a moral superiority, even going so far as to send Georgia lectures on her behavior. They’d been at odds for years.

  Winnie would want Georgia as a guest as little as Georgia wished to be there, but it seemed that Thretford Park was the only place she would be allowed to go. It was as least within traveling distance of Town, both by road and by water, so she put the best face possible on it.

  “I shall enjoy a visit to Thretford, Mother, and delight to see Winifred’s baby.”

  Her mother nodded. “I too wish to see little Charlotte. I shall accompany you there whilst Hernescroft returns directly to his duties in Town.”

  What a delightful journey that would be.

  Perhaps her mother misinterpreted her grimace.

  “Hammersmith isn’t the wilderness, Georgia. Winifred shall entertain for you. A ball, I think.”

  “Mother, it’s only six weeks since her lying in.”

  “An easy birth, and she assures me she’s quite recovered. She will not mind doing her duty.”

  “Of course not,” her father said. “A dutiful daughter, Winnie. An excellent idea, Lady Hernescroft. A ball will provide an opportunity for some people to meet out of Town, both allies and opponents. Within traveling distance, but not so much observed.”

  So that was it. Georgia was not dismayed. Everything in her world had an ulterior purpose, and she could turn this ploy to her own advantage. Once in Hammersmith, she would get to Town, one way or another.

  “I shall need new gowns,” she said. “I shall visit my mantua maker.”

  “You have chests of clothes,” her mother objected.

  “Old and worn.”

  “One year old, most of them, and many worn only once. Remember, you no longer have a husband’s wealth to fund your extravagances.”

  “I have twelve thousand pounds,” Georgia said, trying not to sound abrasive. “I will need my usual pin money, Father.”

  “What? That will drain your capital in no time. Two hundred a quarter should suffice.”

  Georgia swallowed a protest, calculating furiously. “If you will be paying my bills, Father…”

  “Certainly not!” His cheeks were puce with anger. “You must curtail your extravagant ways, girl.”

  Georgia had spent two hundred on one gown, but arguing would be futile. “As you will, Father,” she said, and saw surprised relief. He’d expected a fight? His children had not been raised to oppose his will.

  Again she had that feeling of currents beneath the choppy water.

  “We leave tomorrow,” her mother said, “so go now and attend to your preparations.”

  Dismissed. Like a schoolgirl.

  But Georgia said, “Yes, Mother,” and rose, curtsied, and returned to her room like a good daughter.

  “Politics,” she complained to Jane as soon as the door was closed. “I’m a pawn on the board, but at least they haven’t picked a husband for me. I feared that might be their plan.”

  “They might pick well, milady. They chose Lord Maybury.”

  “He chose me, but, yes, they might choose well. They’d have no more desire than I to see me wed to a man of lesser rank or fortune. But I mean to make this decision for myself. Thretford!” she said with disgust. “That’s where I’m to go.”

  “It won’t be too bad, milady. It’s a pretty little estate.…”

  “And within reach of Town!” Georgia laughed and hugged her maid. “Winnie’s to entertain for me. A ball! At last, a ball!”

  Jane hugged her back. “It gladdens my heart, milady, to see you in spirits. Will we have time to order new gowns?”

  “It seems I can’t afford it. Until I marry, I’m to have only two hundred a quarter. For everything!”

  Jane looked suitably horrified, but rallied. “Then we’ll plan the refurbishment of the old.”

  Georgia wrinkled her nose at the thought of that but then said, “No. No refurbishment. My best gowns are all memorably unique. Any attempt to make them look new will seem shabby. I shall wear them as they are, Jane, as they were. That will declare that Lady May has returned, intact, unchanged, unbowed.”

  Jane grinned. “Ah, milady, you’ve a fine, bold heart, and wisdom too. Wisdom beyond your years.”

  “I hope so, Jane. I know the stories still lurk, but what choice do I have but to face everyone bravely? I won’t bury myself in the country, or even less, flee abroad. I will be myself. My conscience is clear.”

  Chapter 7

  Georgia survived the four-day journey to Hammersmith largely because she and her mother rarely spoke. Astonishing that her mother had not spent the time instructing her on the behavior necessary to restore herself in the eyes of the world, but so it was, and that was excellent.

  It was even more astonishing that her mother didn’t attempt to discuss Georgia’s choice of husband. She began to think again that her parents had someone in mind, perhaps someone she’d meet at Thretford House. No matter. She couldn’t be forced. In fact, as a widow she was free to marry whom she pleased, even when not yet twenty-one.

  Despite the lack of friction on the journey, Georgia was heartily glad to arrive at Lord Thretford’s estate near Hammersmith village, which lay on the River Thames. Thretford House was a stylish, modern building set in pleasant grounds, and Georgia determined to be easy to please.

  After all, she could almost sense the city and had glimpsed the river, busy with boats. By boat on the tide it could take little more than an hour to be in the heart of the world, and that was a journey she intended to take as soon as possible on one excuse or another.

  Winnie came out to greet them, looking both shabby and improved. Her gown had an insert so it could meet at the front over fuller breasts, but the added roundness became her, for she’d always been thin and rather flat. There was something else, a glow.…

  Her sister was finally content, presumably because of her baby.

  “Mother, Georgia, how lovely to see you. I hope the journey was smooth?”

  “As smooth as possible,” their mother declared, climbing stiffly out of the coach. “Which is to say, not very, given the state of the roads. I need my room, tea, and rest, daughter.”

  “Of course, of course,” W
innie fretted, her glow diminishing as she fussed her mother into the house.

  Georgia followed, thinking wryly that she and her sister might have more in common now than they’d had in the schoolroom. They both were married women with parents who still attempted to rule as gods.

  Winnie took them upstairs and showed their mother into a generous, well-furnished room. Thretford House wasn’t large, and a few guests were to sleep here on the night of the ball. Georgia realized that the room given their mother was Winifred’s own bedchamber. For the duration of the visit, she would sleep with her husband. Would she consider that a treat or a trial?

  Dickon had slept in her bed only after coupling, and not always then. A warm body beside her had been pleasant, but he’d taken more than his share of the bed and was inclined to toss and turn in his sleep. She doubted she’d like it for many nights in a row.

  Winnie made sure their mother had all she needed, and then took Georgia to another room. “It’s rather small, I’m afraid, but we have only four good bedrooms in addition to our own, and with the house party…”

  For a moment they were reflected in a mirror, but Winnie immediately stepped out of view. Georgia knew why. They were too alike, and too different.

  Winnie’s hair was closer to brown than burnished, and her chin receded. When younger she’d been prey to pimples, and though that stage had passed, some had left marks. The scars were almost undetectable, but Georgia knew the comparison with her own flawless skin still hurt her sister.

  Georgia could take neither credit nor blame for nature, and it seemed unfair that it matter, but such was the way of things.

  “I like the room,” Georgia said, striving for harmony. “The view’s delightful and I can glimpse the river in the distance.”

  “To have the house closer would be unhealthy. Everyone knows the river is foul.”

  “Surely not this far upstream?”

  “Which is why Hammersmith is preferable to Chelsea.”

  So they were still scoring points, were they? Sanscouci had been—was still—in Chelsea.

  Georgia held her smile as she unpinned her hat. “It’s very kind of you to hold an entertainment for me so soon after your confinement.”

  “Father requested it,” Winnie said, twitching the brown bed hangings to eliminate an imaginary flaw. “But it serves Thretford’s purposes as well. He’s striving to be a peacemaker between those who are contributing most to the discord.”

  “You expect the king to attend?”

  “His Majesty? Of course not.” But then Winnie caught Georgia’s meaning. “Georgie!”

  “He’s the root of the problem and you know it. He can’t reconcile with those who didn’t want the queen listed as regent. What’s more, I hear that he’s a little…”

  She tapped her head.

  Winnie turned pale and clutched a bedpost. “Georgie! Do not even whisper such a thing, even here.”

  Georgia hurried to her side. “My wretched sense of humor. I’m sorry, Winnie. I promise I won’t. Maundering in the countryside for so long must have touched my wits.” Before her sister could shriek again, she added, “When will I be able to see your little darling?”

  The distraction worked.

  “As soon as you’ve refreshed yourself. Ah, here’s your water. I’ll return shortly and take you to the nursery.”

  Her sister escaped and the Thretford maid poured hot water into the china basin. When she’d left, Georgia washed her hands and face thinking this was going to be a very long visit, no matter how many days it lasted.

  Jane arrived, along with the two trunks that contained Georgia’s immediate necessities. The rest of her belongings were coming south more slowly by wagon.

  Her mother had protested that. “Where is it all to go?”

  “What point in leaving it at Herne?” Georgia had replied, not speaking the rest. That she would never return to Herne for more than short visits, and she truly wanted to shake the dust off her shoes. And off her gowns, her petticoats, her books, her small items of furniture…

  “Jane, when you can, discover whether there’s room here for all my belongings. I forgot how small this place is. I may have to arrange for them to be stored elsewhere until I marry again.”

  “Yes, milady.” Jane closed the door on the departing footmen. “Do you want to change your gown?”

  “Not yet. I dressed lightly today because of the heat.” But then Georgia changed her mind.

  She’d marked the end of her mourning four days ago by dispatching all her grays and lavenders to the vicar for the benefit of the poor. The blacks had gone that way six months earlier. She’d have liked to have traveled in pinks and yellows, but common sense had made her choose duller colors. Common sense need not rule now.

  “A bright-colored gown, Jane. And light. See which is the least creased.”

  Jane unlocked one chest. “As hot as it is, milady, it must be right nasty in London.”

  “Don’t talk nonsense.”

  “The sewers’ll be stinking and disease spreading,” Jane insisted, carefully unfolding layers of muslin. “Be grateful you’re away from it and that the world will come to you.”

  “So it will. Remind me, Jane—I must check the guest list for the ball to be sure the right people will attend.”

  “Very well, milady. Here we are. The yellow stripe.”

  “Excellent.” Georgia began to unfasten the blue and take it off.

  She was soon in the yellow stripe gown with the white petticoat. Much better, but plain. Jane had found the cap trimmed with ribbons of the same color, which helped a little.

  “The jewelry box, Jane. I’ll wear the coral beads.”

  The coral closely matched her hair and made an improvement. Georgia added matching earrings and ring.

  “There,” she said, standing. “In fine trim to admire my sister’s triumph.”

  “Now, don’t you be like that, milady. A baby’s a baby.”

  “Tell that to Anne Boleyn.”

  “Who, milady?”

  “Henry the Eighth’s second wife.”

  “Oh, her. But what…?”

  “She bore a healthy baby, but it was a girl. If Elizabeth had been a boy, Anne would never have gone to the headsman’s block.”

  “But wasn’t she up to things she shouldn’t be, milady?”

  “Perhaps, perhaps not. As mother to the king’s son and heir, there would have had to be more proof.”

  And if I’d had a son, I wouldn’t have lost my life.

  Winnie hadn’t given birth to a son, but she’d borne a babe within ten months, so a son would surely follow. No one would be watching her waistline or suggesting that she consult a doctor, as Lady Hernescroft had with her.

  She’d followed the suggestion, mortifying though it had been. Being told that she was a normal, healthy young woman had done no good. She’d suggested Dickon do the same thing, but he’d laughed it off.

  “Nothing wrong with me, love, as you know every time I come to your bed! Put it out of your mind. We’re young yet, and the infantry will come.”

  But the infantry hadn’t come, and here she was.

  Her sister returned and Georgia went to admire the proof of victory. In truth, there was little to see. The tiny creature slept in a gilded, lace-trimmed cradle, with the covers drawn up, and an embroidered cap covering her face to the brows. Georgia wondered if the child wasn’t dreadfully hot, but she dutifully cooed and admired, pushing away jealousy as best she could.

  She returned to her room with wounds newly raw. What if the lack of children had been her fault? What if she was barren? How could a doctor know?

  What if she married again and it was the same?

  Dickon had never reproached her, but men wanted heirs, especially men with titles and estates. She didn’t want to run the risk of being a childless widow a second time, vulnerable to being exiled in one cruel moment.

  During her marriage she had wondered whether Dickon came to her bed often enough,
but frequency didn’t seem to be the key. There’d been Maria the kitchen maid whose belly had swelled. She’d sworn it had been only the once when her Kentish swain had traveled up to London to see her. She certainly couldn’t have sinned regularly, as her Michael had made great effort to get leave from his farm laborer’s job that one time.

  “I just missed him so, your ladyship,” the girl had sobbed. “I missed him so.”