The Virgin Who Humbled Lord Haslemere

by Anna Bradley

  “They were never in any danger, I assure you. They found it all great fun. Ask them yourself.” The smirking lips curved into a crooked grin that no doubt charmed most ladies out of their bodices and into his bed.

  But Georgiana wasn’t most ladies. “They found it great fun, did they? Perhaps you’d care to explain why I heard Sarah screaming from four blocks away, then.” It had only been a single block, but Lord Haslemere didn’t know that.

  “Certainly, miss…it’s Miss Harley, isn’t it?” He leaned toward her and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Sarah here was upset because I put an end to our footraces. Her shriek nearly melted the skin from my bones. I was just about to take her for a final spin when you appeared, screeching like a banshee, and accused me of being a scoundrel.”

  “Footraces.” Georgiana had heard rumors about these notorious footraces. Young, wild aristocratic gentlemen, tired of playing at hazard and whist, had taken to wagering on footraces, and the more dangerous they were, the better. There were tales of drunken wastrels charging about Covent Garden with ladies of dubious virtue in their arms, tripping over passersby and generally making a great nuisance of themselves.

  If she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes, she wouldn’t have believed it, but God knew there was no end to the stupidity of bored noblemen. Last month it had been wagering on the time it would take a drop of rain to reach the windowsill at White’s. The month before that all the rage was wagering on whether or not Lord-whoever-he-may-be could carry Mr. So-and-So around the Serpentine on his back.

  Nothing should surprise her anymore.

  For her part, Georgiana was happy enough to let every foolish lord in London split their thick skulls open on the pavement. She couldn’t care less if they broke their noses and sacrificed every tooth in their heads to their silly antics.

  That is, until one of them dared to involve her girls in his absurd games. Then she cared very much, indeed. “You smell like you’ve been bathing in port, Lord Haslemere. Do you really think you have any business balancing a child on your shoulders in such a state?”

  “Why, Miss Harley, I’m flattered you’d show an interest in my bathing habits.” He winked at her, his lips quirking. “It was either another ride, or a burst eardrum. Besides, I’m not one to leave a young lady in tears.”

  Georgiana was exerting a great of effort to hold onto her temper, but Lord Haslemere was edging her closer to the brink with his careless winks and sly flirtation. “This is all just a bit of fun to you, isn’t it, my lord? Just another game, an entertainment to while away an evening. What if one of these girls had fallen and broken a bone, or worse, cracked their head open? Would you have found it as amusing then?”

  Her vehemence took him aback. “Now see here, Miss Harley—”

  “We didn’t ride on his shoulders, Miss Harley.” Susannah and Sarah had been quiet until now, their curious gazes moving from Georgiana to Lord Haslemere and back again, but now Susannah spoke up. “Them other coves wanted us to, but this one here said as it wasn’t a good idea.”

  “The other ones?” That’s right. Georgiana had forgotten Abby had said there were three gentlemen.

  “Well, of course.” Lord Haslemere chuckled. “Did you suppose I was running races against myself? Really, Miss Harley, what fun would that be?”

  Georgiana clenched her hands into fists to keep from boxing his ears.

  “There was three of them.” Sarah’s tone was eager, as if she thought the addition of two more rakes could only help their cause. “One named Harry something—he was the other horse, ye see, and Susannah his jockey, and then the other lord, Perry something, who held the hat with the coins.”

  Ah yes, the infamous guineas. “Give Lord Haslemere back his money.”

  No girls of hers were going to be beholden to a scandalous earl.

  Susannah and Sarah both took a hasty step backward, and hid their hands—hands stuffed with guineas, no doubt—behind their backs.

  “I don’t want them back.” A hint of impatience had crept into Lord Haslemere’s voice. “The girls earned them, and should be allowed to keep them.”

  Georgiana ignored it, and him. “At once, girls.”

  Sarah and Susannah were reluctant to relinquish their riches, but they’d been at the Clifford School long enough to know better than to argue with Miss Harley. Susannah returned her guineas, but Georgiana was obliged to pry open Sarah’s fingers and take the coins away from her. “Here you are, my lord. I believe that concludes our business.”

  She held out the coins to him, but instead of taking them, he crossed his arms over his chest. “This is absurd, Miss Harley. Give the girls back their coins.”

  Georgiana’s eyes narrowed. “Are you arguing with me, Lord Haslemere?”

  “Cor,” Sarah breathed. “He’s done it now.”

  “I don’t see what harm there is in letting the girls keep their reward, that’s all.” Lord Haslemere gave a careless shrug.

  “That doesn’t surprise me. I imagine you’re not much in the habit of considering consequences.” Why should he be? There were no consequences for gentlemen like him. “Allow me to explain it to you. Sarah and Susannah are meant to be tucked into their beds. Instead they sneaked out to Covent Garden, at night, disobeying the rules and putting themselves at risk, and you’re proposing I reward them for it?”

  Lord Haslemere scratched his temple, grimacing. “Now you put it that way, it doesn’t seem quite the thing. I didn’t think—”

  “No, you didn’t. Not an unusual occurrence, I’d wager.” With a flick of her fingers, Georgiana dropped the guineas into the pocket of his cloak. “I daresay you’re not required to think much at all. Good night, my lord. I wish you a pleasant evening.”

  She didn’t wait for an answer, but took the girls’ hands in each of hers, and turned on her heel. She’d intended to stride off into the night without another word or a backward glance, but his low, amused voice stopped her.

  “What a liar you are, Miss Harley. We both know you wish me straight to the devil.”

  * * * *

  Good Lord, the woman had a viperish tongue. Benedict had thought Sarah’s shrieking was intolerable, but it was nothing compared to the blistering scold that had just rolled off Miss Harley’s lips. He couldn’t recall ever having been so thoroughly chastised in his life.

  It was strangely refreshing, even…dare he say titillating?

  Given how few ladies bothered to scold him these days, there was a certain novelty to it, and this Miss Harley was magnificent at scolding. He’d always had a bit of a weakness for a lady with a tart tongue, and she had a mouthful of rhubarb, without the sugar syrup.

  “Are you their governess?” She had a governess-ish air about her that put Benedict in mind of Miss Vexington, who’d been his sister Jane’s governess for years. It was an unfortunate name for a governess, really, but he’d always liked Miss Vexington. She’d been a decent lady, if a trifle starchy.

  Miss Harley turned to face him again, her lips pressed into a tight, forbidding line. “You would think that.”

  Benedict blinked, taken aback. He hadn’t meant the question as an insult, but her quills were quivering like an outraged porcupine. “I would? What does that mean?”

  “Never mind.” She turned away with a little shake of her head. “It doesn’t matter. Come along, girls.”

  “Wait, Miss Harley. What’s wrong with governesses?” Benedict didn’t give a bloody damn about governesses, but he didn’t want her to leave yet.

  She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Not a thing. The fault isn’t with the governesses.”

  Benedict did his best to look affronted. “You mean to say the fault lies with me? You can’t simply stroll off into the dark after so viciously maligning my character, madam. I demand to know your meaning.”

  “Very well, Lord Haslemere, since you
insist upon it.” Miss Harley turned back to him with a huff. “You seem to me to be the sort of gentlemen who sees every lady as either a potential mistress, or a governess—”

  “That’s absurd, Miss Harley. Sometimes they’re housemaids, or nursemaids.” Benedict waited for another lashing from that acid tongue, but the only sound that emerged from her lips was a peculiar click, rather like…

  Teeth snapping together.

  “Those ladies who don’t excite your amorous inclinations must be—”

  “My amorous inclinations?” Benedict choked back a laugh. “Is that the same thing as my—”

  “Those ladies who don’t excite your amorous inclinations,” she repeated stubbornly, “must inevitably be governesses.”

  He cocked his head to the side, studying her. She wasn’t fashionable, nor was she a conventional beauty, yet there was something tempting about her all the same. Perhaps it was only that she was so contained, so composed. The urge to rattle her—to pull out her pins and loosen her buttons—was maddening.

  So, as he did with most temptations, Benedict gave into it. “Why should you think I wouldn’t want to make you my mistress?”

  Her mouth fell open. “I…that’s not…I never…”

  Benedict couldn’t suppress his grin as she fumbled and stammered, bright red color rushing into her cheeks. Oh, she was a cross little thing, to be sure, but that blush was delicious.

  I do believe my amorous inclinations have been aroused.

  No one was more surprised at it than he. She wasn’t at all in his style. With her hair scraped back from her face and that ridiculous cloak buttoned all the way to her chin she looked like a shorn sheep, but the few tendrils of her hair that had come loose from her hat were a pretty, chestnut color, and she had a distracting pair of darkly lashed…brown eyes? Were they brown or green? He squinted at her, trying to decide.

  Yes, brown would do. They were closer to it than green, at any rate.

  She noticed his perusal, and her lips pinched into a scowl. “Do you take anything seriously, Lord Haslemere?”

  The grin on Benedict’s lips widened. “Not if I can help it. Do you take everything too seriously, Miss Harley?”

  Her chin rose into the air. “For pity’s sake, why should it matter to you whether I’m their governess or not?”

  “Well, of course it matters. What sort of gentleman would let these little girls wander off into the night with a stranger?”

  “Oh, Miss Harley isn’t a stranger, she’s one of our teachers at the Cliff—”

  “Never mind, Sarah.” Miss Harley snatched up the girls’ hands again, and without another glance at Benedict began marching back up the hill toward Henrietta Street.

  “Wait!” Benedict stepped after them. “It’s late. Won’t you allow me to see you home in my carriage?”

  “No, thank you. That won’t be necessary.”

  “Come now, Miss Harley. There’s no need to be so particular. It looks as if it’s going to rain again.” Benedict wasn’t sure why he didn’t just let her stride off into the fog with her charges and be done with her, but his dormant gentlemanly instincts seemed to be reasserting themselves. No doubt that blush of hers was responsible for all this tedious gallantry.

  “Can’t we please?” Sarah tugged at a fold of Miss Harley’s skirts. “He must have a handsome carriage, being a lord and all.”

  “I do, very handsome, and a splendid matched pair as well. If you’re truly concerned about the children’s well-being, Miss Harley, you won’t risk their safety on the dark, wicked streets of London.”

  But Miss Harley was having none of it. “I assure you, Lord Haslemere, these two girls aren’t strangers to the risks of the London streets. I daresay they’ve spent more time on them in their short lives than you have.”

  True enough. He’d only ever spent one night on the London streets, and that was only because his coachman had lost track of him, and Benedict had been too sotted to find his carriage on his own. He was, alas, every bit the rake Miss Harley thought he was, but a man should do what he excelled at, and Benedict excelled at amusing others and entertaining himself. Otherwise, he was quite useless. “Very well, but at least let the girls shake hands, Miss Harley.”

  Miss Harley looked as if she was going to refuse, but Benedict beckoned to the girls, and they wrenched their hands free of Miss Harley’s. He slipped his hand into his pocket and retrieved the coins as they darted toward him. He knelt on the cobbles, held out his gloved hand, and took each of theirs in turn. With a solemn nod he shook them, pressing the guineas back into their palms as he did. “Miss Sarah, you’re a capital jockey, and Miss Susannah, a fierce competitor.”

  The girls’ eyes widened when they felt the coins, but he gave them a subtle shake of his head, then released them with a wink.

  “Come, Sarah and Susannah. Your friends will be wondering where you are.”

  Miss Harley took the girls’ hands again. Benedict didn’t try to stop them leaving this time, but stood on the damp street and watched as the darkness closed around Miss Harley and her two charges, swallowing them into its depths.

  Chapter Three

  Berkeley Square, London

  Three months later

  Georgiana scraped her spoon across the bottom of her dish, unwilling to sacrifice even a drop of her pineapple ice.

  “I do believe you’ve gotten the last of it, Georgiana. You’ll wear through the bottom of the glass if you keep digging like that. Shall I ask Tristan to go to Gunter’s and fetch another ice for you?” Sophia was seated on the opposite side of the carriage, her feet resting on Cecilia’s lap.

  Georgiana peeked out the window where Sophia and Cecilia’s husbands lounged against the iron railing, watching the elegant carriages passing on Berkeley Street and enjoying the spring sunshine. The gentlemen had chosen to ride to Gunter’s so as not to crowd the ladies in the carriage, and they looked so elegant in their smart coats and trim breeches, they might have stepped off the pages of the Gentleman’s Magazine.

  “No, I’d better not.” Georgiana leaned back against the plush velvet seat with a sigh. “I’ll only want another after that, and then where will it end?”

  Cecilia laughed. “Such a sweet tooth, Georgiana!”

  “Not so sweet. I’ve just always been mad for ices, particularly pineapple.” Georgiana shamelessly licked her spoon, searching for more of the tart, cool flavor that still lingered on her tongue.

  “Ices, marzipans, sugared almonds, and peppermints.” Emma began counting sweets off on her fingers. “Candied fruit, cakes, ice cream—”

  Cecilia tapped her spoon against Emma’s dish. “Hush, you teasing thing.”

  Fondness swelled inside Georgiana as she took in the bright faces surrounding her. Cecilia’s recent marriage to the Marquess of Darlington hadn’t changed her, any more than Sophia’s marriage to the Earl of Gray had changed her.

  They were both very grand now, to be sure, but to Georgiana, her friends would always be simply Cecilia Gilchrist, Sophia Monmouth and Emma Downing, her closest companions at the Clifford School, and as dear to her as sisters. One of them might be a marchioness and the other a countess, but titles and fortunes couldn’t change their shared history, or erase so many years of friendship.

  Distance, though, and too much time spent apart…

  Georgiana glared down at the sticky remains of her treat congealing at the bottom of her glass and grit her teeth against the wave of melancholy washing over her. Goodness, how broody she’d become! Sulking was a dreadful habit, but despite her best efforts she’d been maudlin enough these past few months.

  Selfish too, considering how happy her friends were.

  “I’ve no idea where the sweets go after they’ve passed your lips, Georgiana.” Sophia waved a lazy hand at her, then let it flop back onto her stomach as if the effort had exhausted her. “
Do you know I can’t squeeze into any of my gowns anymore? My belly has swollen to such scandalous proportions these last few weeks, I’ve taken to wearing Tristan’s banyan everywhere.”

  Emma rolled her eyes. “Your belly is swollen with a child, not pineapple ices.”

  Sophia snorted. “It’s swollen with both, I assure you. This is the third time I’ve been to Gunter’s this week. It’s a great pity I’m such a short, stubby creature. If only I had your height, Georgiana, I could eat whatever I liked.”

  “If you had my height, you’d also have my sharp elbows and shockingly large hands and feet.” Georgiana had once hoped curves would replace her angles, but she was twenty-five years old now, and long since reconciled to her fate. “You’re much better off as the sweet, petite little thing you are, rather than a bony spinster.”

  Georgiana winced as one by one, the smiles on her friends’ faces faded.

  Dash it, how did that dark note keep creeping into her voice? She did miss her friends, but she had more than enough work to keep her occupied. Lady Clifford had asked for her help with some ambitious plans she had for the school, and Georgiana had a pack of mischievous little girls to look after.

  “How are you, dearest?” Cecilia reached across the carriage to squeeze Georgiana’s hand. “You seem a bit glum today.”

  “Nonsense. I’m never glum.” She wouldn’t permit such a thing. “I’m as content as I’ve ever been.”

  Her friends exchanged skeptical looks, but she pretended not to notice. They’d only worry, and she really was perfectly well. If she missed them, and occasionally wished things might have remained as they were forever, well…she’d simply make up her mind not to indulge in such melodramatic nonsense.

  She’d grow accustomed to the silence at home soon enough. Who’d ever heard of such a thing as too much quiet? Privacy was a luxury at a school packed to the rafters with unruly schoolgirls, so it was delightful, really, to have some peace for a change.