A Scandalous Countess: A Novel of the Malloren World

by Jo Beverley

  “No, ma’am. We all drink small beer.”

  In her house Georgia had paid for barrels of both small beer and good drinking water, which had been brought from the chalk downs. She was about to say she’d pay for a supply to Danae House when she remembered how little money she had access to.

  Dracy was tapping the incoming pipe. “It’s possible the turncock neglected to turn on your water when he should, but I suspect something’s flowed in to block your pipe, Mistress Ossington. I was told fish and eels sometimes make their way through.”

  “Lord save us all!” Mistress Ossington exclaimed, seeming more bothered by that than by the sludge.

  Georgia remembered she was supposed to be in charge of this crisis. She descended the stairs. “I’ll make sure the company comes to check the pipe, Mistress Ossington. How are you managing for now?”

  “The girls are going to the open pump in Black Bull Lane and bringing water in buckets, ma’am.”

  “I’ll arrange for pump water to be delivered in barrels for now. I can authorize that expense.”

  She led the way upstairs, feeling she’d executed her duty, and relieved to return to clear light and fresh air. As she passed through the kitchen, she paused, then went to where a plump girl of about seventeen was slicing quince for preserving. “It must be thinner,” she said gently, “or it won’t preserve well. Watch,” she said, and took the knife. She cut a very thin slice.

  She gave the girl the knife back and observed. “That’s it exactly.”

  She left the kitchen suspecting that the girl would return to cutting thick slices as soon as she could. It was a sad fact that some didn’t want to be diligent and hardworking, no matter how kindly they were treated. One girl had run away from Danae House, taking a pile of shifts from the laundry room with her. Diana Rothgar had refused to pursue and prosecute, but she’d had locks installed on most storage rooms.

  Georgia promised to send a report to Lady Rothgar and to order the water, and then left the house, Dracy at her side. “Fish in the water pipes?” she asked.

  “So I’m told.”

  She paused by the chair. “How do you know about such things?”

  “I’ve become interested in the way this great city works. London is riddled beneath with sewers, streams, and conduits for water.”

  She looked down. “You make me feel that this pavement is only a thin crust.”

  “Over the foulness that washes down from the streets.”

  “And a country farmyard is sweet?” she challenged. “Or the air, when the muck’s being spread in the fields? At least there’s amusement here and a variety of company, which you admit to have enjoyed.”

  “I confess it. Now tell me the purpose of Danae House.”

  “It’s a charity specifically for younger servants who become pregnant. In many cases it’s through seduction or even rape by the men of the house. That tank should be cleaned out regularly. I believe I can authorize that too.”

  “How very brisk you are. And surprisingly knowledgeable about domestic management.”

  Georgia took her seat in the chair, tucking in her skirts. “A lady should understand her servants’ work, even as a captain, I assume, should understand the meanest tasks on board his ship. That doesn’t mean that the captain has any desire to scrub the decks.”

  He smiled. “You won’t be making quince preserves?”

  “I sincerely hope not.”

  “Thank you for a tour of an unexpected part of London. May I reciprocate and take you to a place you do not know?”

  She looked up at him. “I doubt there are many of those that are decent.”

  “My naval friends introduced me to an excellent place where we can dine on pie and ale.”

  “Dine on pie and ale?”

  “My poor Lady May, you have not lived.” He gave the chairmen the direction.

  Three hours later, Georgia left Dolly Pott’s Pie House arm in arm with Dracy, in high spirits, which might have had something to do with the strong porter served there. One way or another, she felt spun around. She hadn’t always stayed within the confines of aristocratic London, but she’d never before dined on steak pie and strong ale at a long plain table in the company of a dozen or so naval officers.

  The men had been startled by her arrival, and indeed, there’d been few ladies eating at Dolly Pott’s. They’d been even more startled when Dracy had introduced her. Her being a countess would explain the surprise, but she could see some also knew she was Lady May, and perhaps the layers of her scandalous reputation.

  No one had been discourteous, however, or even cool, perhaps from good manners, or perhaps from consideration for Dracy. It had rapidly become clear that he was liked and admired.

  She’d delighted in that, as if she could take credit for it, which she certainly could not. She’d also delighted to see him at ease in his own milieu, even though it was far, far from hers.

  She’d soon come to feel at ease, which could well have been the ale. It had been dark and strong, an odd taste at first, but she’d quickly become accustomed. The men had flirted with her a little, but none had crossed the line. She felt they’d have behaved the same with any young woman out of good manners, for no woman likes to be ignored, but that overall they’d treated her as if she were a male friend Dracy had brought along. An outsider, a landlubber, but welcome.

  She’d been fascinated by stories of naval life and foreign lands, though aware that they were selecting those suitable for a schoolroom. The pie was delicious, as was the ale, and the atmosphere cheerfully uncomplicated. Heaven.

  She’d sent her chair home from the pie house, so now they strolled down Pall Mall toward Hernescroft House.

  “I enjoyed that as much as anything I can remember,” she said.

  “Then reward me with a hint about your costume.”

  “Certainly not!”

  “As we’ll travel together, there can be no secrecy.”

  “Which is why I intend to make my own way.”

  “Cunning, but I’d lay a thousand I’ll know you.”

  “Do you have a thousand?” she challenged, smiling at him.

  “Not that I can afford. What fair terms should we put on our wager, then?”

  “Wager?”

  “That I recognize you before the unmasking.”

  “To be fair, it would need to be a wager over who recognizes whom first.”

  “True, but hard to pin the prize.”

  “We’re so unequal,” she agreed. “Male, female. Poor, rich…”

  “We each have an equal amount of time,” he said.

  “Time?” Georgia became aware that this conversation might be drifting into danger, but she was too ale addled to be sure how.

  “The winner gains fifteen minutes alone with the loser, to do with as they wish.”

  That sobered her. “Definitely not.”

  Instead of argument or persuasion, he said, “Wise lady. We should put a limit on it. The loser must not be distressed.”

  “Then what’s the point?”

  “You want to be distressed?”

  “I might hope to be excited.”

  He smiled. “Indeed, what other point in a wager? You could hope to be excited as winner too. What might you demand of me for fifteen minutes?”

  It was a challenge, a dare, so she spoke the most outrageous thing imaginable. “Would you strip naked for me?”

  “Here, if you wish.”

  She looked around the Mall with its scattering of people of all ages. “You wouldn’t!”

  “You mean you wouldn’t.”

  “Of course not. I’d be ruined.”

  “I wouldn’t. And nor, I think, would you for seeing it if you screeched loudly enough.”

  “I’m very tempted to call your bluff, sir.”

  “It’s not a bluff. Men strip all the time among themselves—after battle if all bloody, or to swim, or in some sorts of bagnios. It means nothing to me.”

  Georgia knew she shou
ld be screeching at this conversation, and running away too, but it was irresistible, as was the wager. Only a quarter hour, after all, and she was not to be distressed.

  Good sense fought with her ale-loosened mind and lost.

  “Let’s have the stakes clear. If I detect you before you detect me, I will have fifteen minutes alone with you during which you’ll do all I command.”

  “As long as I’m not distressed,” he reminded her, but with a wicked glint in his eyes.

  Stripping for her would not distress him, which had her heating from her own thoughts, perhaps even sweating. She’d never seen a naked man in the flesh.…

  “And if I win,” he said, “I will gain the same from you.”

  Strip? No, he couldn’t mean that. After all, it would distress her a great deal. All the same…

  She’d held a bird once whose heart had raced like this.

  Fear of the unknown.

  Fear of a new, unforgivable scandal.

  But above all, fear of the very excitement burning through her.

  Good sense won. She walked on. “I can’t afford more scandal.”

  “We live in the same house,” he said, “and your parents sleep some distance away. No one will know, and even if I win I won’t distress you. I would never do that, Georgia.”

  She glanced at him and saw truth. In fact, she’d always known it. She could trust Dracy in every respect, which made the adventure possible.

  “Very well,” she said. “After all, I’m sure of victory. You are quite distinctive, and I defy my mother to detect me.”

  “You do realize you’ve just narrowed the field.”

  “Perdition, but I’m still sure I’ll win. And thus, if I wish, I can dictate the fifteen minutes be spent reading sermons.”

  “You could,” he agreed, “but you won’t.”

  She tossed her head at that, though the damnable man was right, and the outrageous wager lent the night ahead a lot more spice.

  But then she remembered. The masquerade. Her costume.

  “What time is it?” she asked.

  He took out his watch. “Half past four.”

  “Gemini! Only four hours before I must leave for the masquerade. Hurry,” she said, switching directions. “I must go to my mantua maker for a final fitting. You’ll leave me at the door, Dracy,” she said severely. “I won’t risk you learning the smallest detail.”

  As they hurried in their new direction, Dracy asked, “What’s the cleverest masquerade costume you’ve ever seen?”

  “Apart from my own?” she said. “A river maiden, complete with the illusion of sitting on a rock.”

  “An achievement, but difficult to manage, I suspect. Like the one I saw in Naples where a man attended as a galley.”

  “However did he manage to dance?”

  “He didn’t. Nor did the two who dressed themselves as a camel.”

  “Poorly thought out.”

  “Will your costume allow you to dance?”

  She shot him a frown. “You won’t catch me that way, sir.”

  He laughed. “Nevertheless, I’ll know you, Georgia, even in a suit of armor.”

  “Joan of Arc? Most inappropriate for the theme, but here we are, and you are dismissed.”

  They were outside the mantua maker’s house.

  He kissed her hand. “Thank you for an enchanting day.”

  “Thank you for a novel and delightful dinner. I will see you at the masquerade. Before,” she added, “you see me.”

  He smiled as she went in and then walked away, adrift, simply because she wasn’t by his side.

  Today had given him hope, however. As she’d once said, people had many facets, and she was a diamond. The peacock Lady May was also a patroness of a charity, and willing to attempt to fix a lowly water problem dressed appropriately for the task. She was a woman knowledgeable of housewifery, even if she denied any application of it, and she’d been kind in correcting a clumsy girl’s work.

  She’d been only momentarily dismayed by the low-beamed, straw-floored pie house set with long tables, where all types mingled. She certainly hadn’t been deterred by the company of men, and in no time she’d charmed his friends, but perhaps had been a little charmed herself. She’d been interested in their stories and asked intelligent questions, enjoying learning about different ways and foreign lands. Would a country manor house not interest her too, and the society around it?

  He reined in his optimism. A country estate was not a ship of the line or a spice island. It wouldn’t even be new to her. She’d lived in the country to the age of eighteen, and if she’d been trained in all levels of household management, she’d have experienced dairies, brew houses, laundries, and kitchen gardens. And learned to dislike them, it would seem.

  Dracy was a great deal smaller than Herne. Cozier, he could say, if he were optimistic, but he needed a wife who knew not only how to slice quince, get rid of moths and beetles, and repair curtains and hangings, but who was also willing to actually do it.

  He’d never been a dreamer, so perhaps he had been ensorcelled by sirens after all. That didn’t prevent him from anticipating the masquerade, and the result of their wicked wager, win or lose.

  Chapter 22

  It was nearly nine when Georgia checked her appearance one last time, assessing its ability to conceal her identity. Surely Dracy wouldn’t know her with almost every inch concealed.

  It hadn’t been easy to design a costume portraying the dove of peace that was comfortable, flattering, and could be made rapidly, but they’d achieved it, and at very little cost.

  The headdress had been the most work, but it perfectly resembled a dove’s head, with the beak projecting above her nose. The feathers fed down the back of her head to blend with her hair, which fell loose to her waist and was powdered white.

  It had been Jane’s genius to point out that real doves’ feathers would be too small to be in scale, as well as being too hard to find in quantity. The solution had been white goose feathers, which continued down the flowing back of the gown to end as the fan of a dove’s tail.

  At the front Georgia had wanted to wear a classical robe, but Jane had argued in favor of decent convention, so she wore stays under a high-necked gown of white silk. She wore no hoops and only a roll at her hips to spread the skirt a little. The skirt had an overlay of gauze cut into feather shapes and a trimming of down.

  Intent on challenging Dracy, she’d applied a bold red rouge to her lips and purchased a different perfume. It was delicate because she disliked heavy scent, but distinctly of rose.

  She smiled at the book that had arrived an hour ago, a gift from him. According to Jane it was a book about the language of flowers, but it was also perfumed, so Georgia hadn’t touched it. She’d rebuke him later for trying to trap her with a distinctive, spicy smell. She’d had Jane wash her hands thoroughly before adjusting the costume.

  That trick made her all the more determined to win the wager, so she’d practiced speaking in a high, whispery voice. It would work, and thus tonight would be a wicked revelation—if she were brave enough to demand that prize, that he strip naked for her.

  Before that, she had to face the beau monde en masse.

  Lady May had never lacked courage, and she would ignore the slight churning in her belly, but she was grateful that for the first hour she would be disguised.

  She nodded at her reflection in the mirror. “Ready for the fray.”

  “It’s not a battle, milady.”

  “Oh, yes it is,” Georgia said.

  Her strategy was simple. She was presenting herself as the very image of purity and would behave to match. When she removed the dove’s head to reveal herself, the impression should linger. It wouldn’t wipe all away—that was the work of time—but it should help.

  The flurry of scandal about the letter had died down simply because no letter had been produced or published. That had been the promise at the ball, so now, according to Babs and others, most people dismissed
the rumor as spite. Some were even ashamed to have believed it so quickly, and thus more well disposed through guilt. Eloisa had done her a kindness, which would doubtless choke her if she knew. Dracy had done her a greater one by taking that letter. She might not have thought of that on her own.

  Georgia put on a voluminous black hooded cloak that hid all of her except her face. If Dracy was cheating by spying on her, he’d not learn much. Jane was carrying the head in a red cloth bag. Red to further mislead. Her parents had agreed to let her go separately. They’d already left and would send the coach back for her, and it already awaited.