A Damsel for the Mysterious Duke: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Bridget Barton

  “How very kind of you, My Lord,” she said and saw how he seemed almost to glow under the formality of her address. “And I am very pleased to finally meet you.”

  “And this is Miss Fleur Allencourt, Miss Jeffries’ cousin.”

  “How nice to meet you, Miss Allencourt, you are very welcome here at Wighton Hall.” He bowed again, and Georgina amused herself by imagining the stiff back he would suffer later in the day.

  “And Miss Allencourt’s brother, and my dear friend, Mr Jeremy Allencourt,” Emerson said, introducing the male in the party at the very end, as was customary.

  For a moment, Georgina found her mind wandering. The manners which he seemed to have taken on as second nature were things that the young Samuel White would not only have forgotten in an instant but would probably have laughed at.

  How much Emerson Lockhart had had to learn about the world he now inhabited, and what a strain it must have been for a boy of eleven to have to work so hard to transform himself entirely. Georgina could not help wondering if it was tiring even now. Did he have to think about everything he did and said for fear of reverting to the servant he had once been or had he simply worked so hard at it that he did not have to try anymore?

  Whichever was the case, Georgina thought his manner entirely natural.

  “Mr Allencourt,” the Earl said brightly and bowed once again. “Any friend of the Duke is, of course, a friend of mine and welcome anytime.”

  Georgina realized that she had bitten her tongue so many times throughout the simple introductions that it was likely going to be very sore later on. Worse still, she imagined she recognized something of that same humour in Jeremy’s eyes, and she fervently hoped that he was going to behave himself.

  She knew, of course, that he was bright enough to give nothing away. Whilst he had not asked a single question of the Duke or even his own sister, it was clear to them all that Jeremy was very aware that there were things to be known.

  In the end, Emerson had explained the whole thing out to him from beginning to finish. Georgina and Fleur sat in stunned silence, both of them expecting that the Duke would give as brief an explanation as possible.

  Georgina had imagined that Emerson would simply say that there was some suggestion that his mother was not quite who he thought she was, entirely missing out the deepest secret of all, that he had once been a servant in Georgina’s home.

  But he had not missed anything out at all, giving his full and complete trust to the young man he hardly knew at all. And yet she could not see it as foolhardy, for as she watched Jeremy’s face, he did not show any sign of surprise or disapproval or even the glee of gossip learned. He sat there nodding and smiling quite amiably.

  He did not probe or ask any further questions; he merely thanked the Duke for his honesty and assured him of his future discretion. It was clear that Fleur was inordinately proud of her brother, and Georgina had seen her surreptitiously dab at a little emotional tear that she thought nobody else had seen.

  When Jeremy had declared himself to be at the Duke’s disposal if there were anything he should need in his quest for the truth, Fleur had been forced to dab at a second tear.

  From that moment on, Emerson and Jeremy had seemed to get on famously. Emerson had given his account before the carriage had even crossed the county boundary from Devonshire, very likely because he wanted to ease any little tensions before they got going.

  Jeremy did not mention it again, and the two men fell to talking about this and that and seemed to be most at ease in one another’s company.

  Emerson seemed greatly brightened by his new allegiance, and Georgina realized that it was likely the first time he had spoken to a man of his own age without the need for constant concern that he might give himself away. Instead of perpetual vigilance, Emerson had been able to settle into conversation with his new acquaintance without fear.

  It warmed Georgina to see it, and she was suddenly glad that her cousin had been invited along, even when she had thought it a mistake in the beginning.

  And, as the journey continued, and the two men talked of fencing and riding, school and university, she realized just how much had been taken from Emerson on the night he had been spirited away from Ashdown Manor. He truly had been denied the right to a real friend.

  “Now then, tea is about to be served in the drawing room if that will suit you. I thought you might be in the mood for some refreshment after your long journey. In the meantime, I shall have my staff deliver your luggage to your rooms where you might care to retire for a while after we have taken tea. How does that sound?” Lord Wighton was smiling brightly, clearly relishing his role of host on that occasion.

  “I think that sounds like the very thing, my dear fellow,” Emerson said and clapped a hand on the Earl’s shoulder as the two of them turned to walk side-by-side into the great hall.

  The remainder of the Earl’s family was waiting in the drawing room, although Georgina instantly noted that Beatrice was certainly not there. The only woman in the room was in her middle forties and clearly the current Countess of Wighton.

  And there were two young men, the Earl’s sons. The eldest was also named Oscar, and he looked to Georgina to be around five-and-twenty years. The younger of the brothers had a very dissatisfied look, almost as if he was feeling the slight of being born second and missing out on his father’s title. His name was Branton, and he looked as if he could not have cared less that a Duke of the Realm was gracing his father’s drawing room.

  In truth, Georgina could not say for certain that she blamed him. At least, at any rate, he was not in any way sycophantic. No doubt he was permanently disgruntled, and it showed, but did she not prefer a person to be who they were on the inside? She was sure that Branton Montgomery was certainly that.

  Georgina was surprised to find that Emerson held up the lion’s share of the conversation that afternoon, easily putting his hosts at their ease. It was a far cry from the uncertain young man she had seen greeting his guests at the garden party so many weeks before.

  But she thought that it was perhaps not simply a matter that the idea of finding out his true origins had given him confidence. She could not help thinking that it was finally having people in his life with whom he could be entirely honest. And it was not just Georgina anymore, but Fleur and Jeremy.

  “Is your aunt not to join us today, My Lord?” Georgina said when she had the opportunity to insert herself into the conversation.

  “I am afraid that she keeps very much to her bed these days, Miss Jeffries,” Lord Wighton said solemnly. “Her health is certainly not what it was.”

  “I am very sorry to hear that,” Georgina said truthfully, although more for her own purposes.

  All she wanted was to have the truth from the old woman, if there was any to be had, and not allow the woman’s frailty and her own feelings of guilt stand in the way.

  “And like many people who have lived to such a great age, Miss Jeffries, I afraid that my aunt’s mind is not quite what it was,” he said with a sudden aspect of shame, almost as if he were admitting that his aunt had leprosy. “There is a tendency for her mind to wonder, I am sad to say, and she does spend much of her time dwelling in the past. Sometimes she is so intent upon the past that it is almost as if it is happening at the moment. But I am sure you will forgive her that particular frailty, will you not?”

  “There is nothing to forgive, My Lord,” Georgina said quietly. “It is a tremendous achievement to live to such a great age, and we must all make the allowances that we hope would be made for ourselves in years to come. I am still greatly looking forward to meeting her, My Lord.”

  “Then you should do just that, my dear,” he said in a much heartier fashion now that he realized his guests were not shocked by the idea of a wandering mind in an elderly lady. “Perhaps tomorrow morning? My aunt is always in a much more solid frame of mind in the mornings than she is in the evenings.”

  “Then I shall look forward to it, Lord Wighton
.”

  Chapter 24

  Once again, Georgina had slept fitfully. It was a mixture of causes, not least of them being that she never truly slept well in a strange place on the first night. Her room at Wighton Hall was large and very well appointed, but the ceilings were extraordinarily high and the windows so tall that it gave her the most peculiar feeling.

  The room did not feel at all cozy or welcoming, for all its fine furniture and tasteful draperies.

  And the moon was not at all bright that night, giving no extra glow to the darkness. At one point, she had felt so disquieted that she had almost decided to keep her oil lamp burning through until morning.

  But not only did she realize that was ridiculous, she also wondered if there was truly enough oil in the lamp to last so many hours. And yet, the moment she had turned down the lamp and plunged the room into darkness, Georgina had regretted it.

  She immediately began to run over Great Aunt Belle’s words, almost frightening herself with them.

  She had come to wish that Mirabelle Allencourt really was a fanciful and dramatic sort of woman, for at least she could safely dismiss not only what her aunt said, but the effect it seemed to be having on her.

  As she lay in the darkness, Georgina could not help wishing that the week was over, that they were already in the Duke’s carriage and making their pleasant and rambling journey back to Devonshire.

  In truth, if her first meeting with Beatrice Ellington the next day could at least be over, then that would be something.

  Feeling extraordinarily washed out the following morning, Georgina made a fine effort at breakfast. She chattered happily and forced down much more food than she had the stomach for. She did not yet know what time she was due to meet her grandmother’s old friend and knew that she would not settle until that meeting was finally done.

  In the end, it was almost eleven o’clock before the Countess of Wighton escorted her to the large bedroom on the first floor that had apparently been almost home to the dowager for many years.

  “Forgive me for saying so, Miss Jeffries, but you might not necessarily find my husband’s aunt the most pleasant of company,” Lady Wighton said when they were alone. “It is not simply age which sours her, I am afraid. I rather fear that her personality is just of that construction.”

  “You need not worry, My Lady, for my grandmother was very much the same. I daresay it was their dispositions which drew them together in the first place when they were girls in Devonshire.”

  “You are very understanding, Miss Jeffries, and I thank you for it. But might I advise you to spend only a few minutes with her? I tend to find that a few minutes can usually be managed without receiving any sort of insult or other comment which might offend.”

  “Oh yes, of course.”

  “That is not to say that you cannot visit her again, for you may visit her every day this week if you choose.”

  “Then I shall follow your advice, Lady Wighton.”

  “I shall take you in now and introduce you, and then I shall leave you alone. Do come out whenever you are ready, and I will see to it that there is tea ready and waiting for you in the drawing room.”

  Georgina nodded mutely, her palms suddenly perspiring and her heart beating in a way that she could feel. She knew that she was afraid to meet Beatrice Ellington finally, even though she was sure that so elderly a lady could do her no harm. And yet there was something about the idea of meeting a woman so cold that she cared nothing for the heartbreak of her own dear brother that unsettled her greatly. If she could treat her brother in that way, how much easier had she found it over the years to be so casually cruel to others around her?

  “Aunt Beatrice?” Lady Wighton called out tentatively as she slowly opened the door inward. “Aunt Beatrice, I have a visitor for you.”

  “Is it her? Is it Elizabeth’s girl?” came a surprisingly hearty voice.

  The voice was so hearty, in fact, that when Georgina finally laid eyes on the shrunken, wizened body in the enormous bed, she almost gasped.

  The voice and the frame did in no way match, and the old lady in the bed seemed to her so much older even than Great Aunt Belle. It was almost as if she might easily turn into dust at any moment and be carried away on the slightest breath of air as if she had never existed in the first place.

  Despite the fact that the woman had undoubtedly shrunken with age, as old ladies are want to do, it was clear that she had never been particularly substantial. Georgina could tell that Beatrice had been of short stature in life, with a birdlike frame and somewhat angular features.

  Her eyes were so dark in a face so grey that they looked almost black, and they darted this way and that constantly as if she was searching for something that she could not see.

  Perhaps it was the better chance. Was that not what she had said in her letters? Always take the better chance, my brother will survive it I am sure. Was she still, even now, searching for the better chance? Surely a woman who thought as she had done would never be satisfied.

  Georgina shivered inwardly and wished that she had not thought of that dreadful letter. She needed to keep a clear head and did not want either revulsion or fear to steer her off her course.

  “Yes, this is Miss Georgina Jeffries, granddaughter of the late Baroness Elizabeth Jeffries,” the Countess said, making an unnecessarily formal introduction in Georgina’s opinion. “Anyway, I shall leave the two of you for a while, for I am sure that you have much to talk about.” Lady Wighton smiled demurely and seemed to Georgina to almost back out of the room.

  “Come closer, girl,” the hearty voice demanded, and Georgina had to force herself to put one foot in front of the other and advance upon the enormous bed. “Let me have a look at you.”

  And look at her she did! The elderly lady seemed to lift her head just an inch or so from her pillow as she squinted those dark eyes and held them steady for several moments as she surveyed Georgina’s face without blinking once.

  She wondered if it was nothing more than her imagination running away with itself, but the steady stare unsettled her greatly, even made her a little afraid.

  “I can see a look of my Lizzie now, that is true,” she said and let her head fall heavily back onto her pillows.

  She breathed hard for a few moments as if the exertion had taken the very last ounce of energy she had left in that wasted old body. She remained silent for more than a minute leaving Georgina simply standing there wondering if she ought to speak or not.

  “You are not quite the beauty that she was, though.” When Beatrice spoke again, it startled Georgina. “You are passably pretty, but no real beauty.”

  Georgina kept as straight a countenance as she could manage. She was by no means offended, just amused that Lady Wighton’s words had come to pass. However, she had not imagined being insulted quite so early on in the conversation.

  “Quite so, Lady Wighton.” Georgina kept her tone light and her address as formal as could be. “I must say that I am very pleased to finally meet you. My grandmother often spoke of you.”

  “No, she did not,” the old lady said waspishly, and Georgina felt herself flush at being caught out in a lie.

  How on earth could Beatrice have known that Elizabeth Jeffries never spoke of her at all? Certainly, Georgina had never heard of her until she had come to Winton House in the spring. But it was clear from her own mother’s letter that she knew of her, for she had claimed that Beatrice Ellington was the only person Elizabeth spoke fondly of when she talked of her life in Devonshire.

  “Elizabeth Allencourt was not a girl who wasted her time in chitchat, child,” Beatrice said, and her use of her grandmother’s maiden name made Georgina shiver again. It made her think of the two foul-natured young women who had once been friends growing up in the little town of Rowley. “She knew better than that. How old were you when she died?”

  “I was ten.”

  “I hardly imagine that she spoke to you at all, about me or anybody else. Elizabeth did not l
ike children.”

  “I can quite believe that,” Georgina said with sudden harshness.

  She remembered how Mirabelle had told her not to show any weakness. She had forgotten it until that moment, but it was clear that that shrewd and unsettling creature in the bed could find and exploit a weakness in anybody.

  “That is more like it,” the old woman said, and her laugh sounded more like the cackle of a witch. “You have a little something of Elizabeth’s spirit in you, I perceive.”

  “Perhaps I do,” Georgina said and felt already that she was flailing. “But I am not entirely sure that that is a good thing.”