“Where are my manners?” Amelia asked. “I do not know what you must be thinking of me, Mrs. Tarrant, I have not yet introduced you to Miss Herries.”
Georgianne turned her back on Pennington. She addressed the neatly gowned lady of thirty years or more, who stood next to her father. “I am very pleased to meet you, Miss Herries. We have much in common, for we are the daughters of heroic soldiers.”
“Too strong, Mrs. Tarrant,” Colonel Herries said with self-deprecation.
Georgianne inclined her head, liking him for his modesty. “Not at all, Colonel.”
To her intense relief, Mrs. Deane bustled to her side. “Come, Mrs. Tarrant, it is time for us to leave.”
“Not yet. Major Tarrant has arrived with Viscount Langley,” Amelia said, her eyes bright. Her cheeks turned from damask rose to poppy red while she gazed at Langley.
Georgianne looked at her husband, delighted by his presence and, as ever, thrilled by his good looks.
“Is Viscount Langley not handsome?” Amelia whispered.
It seemed the young lady entertained warm feelings for Langley. Did he return them? She frowned, thinking of Helen. Had she imagined Langley’s particular interest in her sister? Her frown deepened. Unless she was mistaken, Helen was not indifferent to Langley. She hoped Helen’s heart would not be broken by a man who did not share her sentiments.
The colonel’s voice interrupted her reverie. “Viscount Langley’s got an eye on a filly. His lordship is kind enough to say I am one of the best judges of horseflesh in the country. He wants me to have a look at her,” he said to Pennington.
“So, I have much in common with Langley.” Pennington looked pointedly at Georgianne with a predatory light in his eyes. “I have my sights on a very pretty filly whose name I will not mention. A gentleman should never tell.” He tittered.
Tarrant reached her side in time to hear the earl’s provocative words. He nodded at Pennington but not before Georgianne noted his eyes blaze and the muscles in his cheek twitch. “You are a gentleman, are you not?” Tarrant asked his lordship. “Your servant, ladies, Colonel.”
Georgianne laid a hand on her husband’s rigid arm. “You said a gentleman should never tell,” she spoke, forcing herself to confront the earl calmly. “But tell what, Lord Pennington?” She forced a smile. “I doubt someone of your lordship’s advanced years has anything to divulge.”
Pennington raised a penciled eyebrow. “How fierce you sound, ma’am. Yet you are right, so far there is nothing to announce to the world.”
Aware of the Herries’ astonishment, Georgianne curtsied.
Tarrant removed her hand from his arm. He advanced toward the earl, his hands clenched so tightly that his knuckles shone like ivory.
“Pennington,” Langley intervened, “do not tease Mrs. Tarrant by making a Cheltenham drama out of nothing.”
Her infuriated husband halted. She looked gratefully at Langley.
“Colonel Herries, shall we leave for Tattersalls?” Langley cocked an eyebrow at Tarrant.
“Come, my dear, we have much to discuss,” Tarrant murmured in her ear. He glanced significantly at Pennington. “I will escort you and Mrs. Deane to your carriage.”
“Colonel Herries,” Langley said, “shall we accompany the ladies before we head for Tattersalls?”
“Lord Langley, you only arrived a moment ago,” Amelia protested. “Will you not partake of a glass of wine?”
Langley bowed. “No thank you. Your servant, Miss Carstairs.”
Her eyes luminous, Amelia pressed her hand to her heart. “I look forward to seeing you at Sir James and Lady Tarrant’s country ball, if not before, my lord.”
* * * *
“My dear,” Mrs. Deane said when Georgianne sank onto her seat in the carriage. “Nothing could be more unfortunate than Pennington’s presence at my dear friend’s house. Nevertheless, I am pleased because you have finally met Mrs. Bettismore and her charming granddaughter. Mrs. Bettismore is eccentric but a woman of her wealth can afford to be. However, she is of humble birth. Her first husband, a tradesman, left her a fortune and she inherited even more from her rich second and third husbands.”
“Indeed,” Georgianne murmured to show polite interest.
“Miss Carstairs is an orphan, the offspring of Mrs. Bettismore’s only child, a daughter. Miss Carstairs is Mrs. Bettismore’s sole heir so she is sure to marry well.”
Georgianne feared Amelia’s prospective fortune might injure Helen’s chance of making a match with Langley. Unsure of how much Helen cared for him, a deep sigh escaped her.
Mrs. Deane patted her hand. “I would not be surprised to hear Mrs. Bettismore is the richest woman in England. You must not despise her either for her speech or peculiarities. She is of a charitable disposition and does much good.”
“Commendable,” Georgianne said. Her own desire to engage in good works, instead of leading a life of luxury totally dedicated to pleasure, surfaced. Oh, to be sure, she enjoyed the little she had seen of fashionable London life but the more poverty she glimpsed behind its glittering façade, the more she wanted to help others.
Her companion patted her hand again. “After my dear husband died, no one could have been kinder to me than Mrs. Bettismore. My husband was not perfect, but—” Mrs. Deane dabbed a tear from her cheek. “Foolish of me, it does no good to dwell on the past.”
Georgianne withdrew a handkerchief from her muff and handed it to Mrs. Deane who wiped her eyes. “Thank you. I hope you and Miss Carstairs will be great friends. Both of you are of the same age to enjoy the London Season, and what a season it will be if everyone’s prediction of Napoleon’s defeat comes true.”
Georgianne relaxed. Dare she hope Napoleon would be trounced? She prayed Tarrant would never choose to purchase another pair of colours? God willing, if the allies triumphed, the world would never again see so monstrous a dictator destroying Europe. She smiled, trying to banish all thoughts of Napoleon Bonaparte and Pennington. To divert her mind, she adjusted the position of her wide brimmed hat, around the crown of which curled a jaunty Madonna-blue ostrich plume. She sighed. Before she went out this morning, her mirror revealed her charmingly framed face. Yet it seemed her husband had not noticed her milliner’s exquisite creation. Or did he refrain from commenting on the hat because he did not like it? When they were apart did he think of her at all?
She caught her lower lip between her teeth. Her husband had not yet fulfilled his promise to take her riding after Bab recovered. Tomorrow she would surprise him by rising early. Moreover, she would not allow Pennington’s innuendoes to destroy her peace of mind. After all, Tarrant had assured her Helen and Bab were safe on his father’s estate.
* * * *
Tarrant entered the stable yard where Corunna stood, saddled up for an early morning ride. To his surprise, Georgianne, wearing a dashing green habit trimmed a la militaire, held Corunna’s bridle.
He pointed to the pale grey sky hung with dark rain clouds. “Georgianne, I did not expect to see you here so early in the morning, particularly on such a dismal day.”
“You must stop treating me as if I am a fragile lady who can scarcely walk to the end of the street,” Georgianne said, seemingly irritated. “I am going to ride with you. Indeed, I would be mounted by now if your groom had not refused to saddle a horse for me. He claims there is no mount suitable for a lady.”
“He is right. I must buy you one from Tattersalls. I should have done so yesterday.”
Georgianne patted Corunna’s neck. “Pooh, I can ride any horse in your stable including this fine fellow.”
“Corunna is not suitable for you.” Instead of replying, his wife pursed her lips so he continued somewhat hastily. “You cannot ride today. I have yet to purchase a side saddle for you.”
Georgianne grinned. “You are mistaken. I can ride today. Yesterday, after we left Mrs. Bettismore’s house, I bought a side saddle. As for there not being a suitable mount, I disagree. Firecracker will suit me.”
“No!” T
arrant exclaimed. Her eyes flashed. Strewth, he liked her high spirits. “Georgianne, be reasonable. Suppose Firecracker threw you.”
“I wager my new hat he will not,” she said with absolute confidence.
He chuckled. “What would I do with your hat?”
Georgianne peeped at him through her lashes before opening her eyes wide. “It is a particularly fine hat with a Madonna-blue ostrich feather.”
Tarrant patted Corunna’s glossy neck. “Oh, that hat, I remember thinking how delightful it is.”
Her dimples deepened. She seemed pleased. Tarrant laughed. “You are a minx, Georgianne.”
“Even if I am, you do like me, do you not?”
“By now you should know I do.”
For a moment, he could not breathe. A man could drown in the depths of eyes as blue as Georgianne’s. Tarrant took a deep breath, for fear that right here and now he would lose control, and sweep her into his arms, kissing her again and again. He tried to squash his desire, fearing his tight fitting buckskins would expose it. “Saddle Firecracker for Mrs. Tarrant,” he ordered the groom.
“Thank you, Tarrant.” Georgianne rose on tiptoes to kiss him on his cheek, her fragrant perfume redolent of lilies of the valley, which mitigated the smells of the stable yard, and enchanted his senses.
“Dash it, Georgianne, it is not the thing to kiss me in front of the grooms,” he protested, gratified by her affection and still struggling to quell his passion. She is little more than a child, he reminded himself in the hope this reflection would douse his insistent urge. A treacherous voice whispered in his ear. No Georgianne is not a child. She is a woman full grown.
The groom led Firecracker to the mounting block.
Tarrant cupped Georgianne’s foot to help her up into the saddle. “You are not accustomed to London traffic so we will walk our horses to the park.”
“Will we?” Georgianne settled herself on the saddle. “Tally Ho,” she cried mischievously before he mounted his horse.
Thank God, his wife kept Firecracker at a trot. Tarrant vaulted into the saddle and followed in her wake. What a fine figure she cut on horseback. He wanted her to be happy and have a carefree London Season. If riding in the park delighted Georgianne, they would ride every day. It would be his pleasure to escort her.
They entered the park where few members of the ton rode at this early hour.
“Is there a ride where Firecracker can show me what he is made of?”
“Yes,” he replied, enjoying her company more than he ever anticipated when they married.
The wind chased the dark clouds away. A pale sun in a silver sky cast shafts of brilliant light. His spirits lifted. “Follow me.” Prepared to indulge her, he led the way to the bridle path. When they reached it, Firecracker responded to Georgianne’s light touch on the reins. Before Tarrant could gather his wits, she headed along the hard packed earth, leaving him to follow. Firecracker cantered between trees with bare branches stark against the sky. His chestnut coat and Georgianne’s bright habit enlivened their dull surroundings. By Jove, he had never seen a finer horsewoman. Filled with pride he watched her rein in Firecracker at the end of The Gallop. At the moment he had almost caught up with her, she guided the horse around to face him.
Georgianne patted Firecracker’s neck. “You are handsome,” she said, looking at her husband.
“Yes, he is.”
She chuckled for she had referred to Tarrant.
Tarrant held up his hand. “Do not coddle him, he is my remount.”
“Why did you say Firecracker is your remount? You have sold out of the army.” Her expressive face revealed her fear at the thought of him engaging in another battle.
“Just so.”
“Do you miss it?”
“No, my dear, although war is a bloody business and soldiers must do their duty.”
“You look grim.”
“If I do, it is because my former comrades in arms are still fighting while women and children suffer at the hands of Napoleon’s merciless troops.”
His wife guided Firecracker to Corunna’s side. “My dear husband,” she said with a catch in her throat, “you have nothing with which to reproach yourself. You were commended in Wellington’s dispatches several times.”
He captured her free hand and pressed a kiss to the back of her glove.
For a moment neither of them moved. Colour rose in his wife’s cheeks. Firecracker sidestepped. Georgianne withdrew her hand from his grasp. “How I have missed riding, Tarrant. After Papa died—”
He patted her shoulder. “I will engage to put the army behind me. You must put grief behind you. I brought you to town to enjoy yourself.”
“Dearest Tarrant, you are very kind.”
Kind! That damnable word again when he wanted her to think of him very differently. “Georgianne, my dear, as I said, I want you to enjoy your London season so you must not allow Pennington to disturb your peace of mind. After all, you and your sisters are well guarded.”
“Pennington does not trouble my mind …at least, only a little.”
With Georgianne beside him, he rode away from the overcast bridle path into ever-increasing sunlight.
“Breakfast?” he suggested.
Georgianne nodded her agreement. “Tarrant, I shall ride with you every morning.”
“By all means, if it is possible.”
Dash it, again she looked like a disappointed child whose sweetmeats had been snatched away. “When the season starts you will lay abed too late to ride with me.”
His wife laughed. “We shall see.”
With the intention of breakfasting tete-a-tete with Georgianne in her parlour while further discussing Pennington, he suggested they return home. However, his sister’s arrival while they were out riding thwarted his plan to breakfast in private with Georgianne.
He greeted Sarah with a kiss on the cheek. “What brings you to town?”
“My wardrobe, I have not a rag fit to be seen in, not to mention one to wear at my parents’ ball. Even my husband has decided he must rig himself out in new clothes.”
Tarrant eyed a heap of luggage on the parquet floor. “Where are you putting up?”
Sarah’s cheeks reddened. “My husband thought you would not object to our staying with you. Baby is fretful after the journey so his nurse is even now setting up a nursery in one of your bedrooms. Mr. Stanton wants to consult a doctor, however Nurse says Frederick is crotchety because he is cutting a tooth.”
After Georgianne hugged Sarah, she looked sideways at the reverend gentleman. “Of course you are welcome to stay with us.”
Tarrant raised an eyebrow, certain his wife welcomed Sarah’s arrival though he would be happy to consign Stanton elsewhere.
Sarah looked at him with a question in her eyes.
“You may stay here if it pleases my wife, she is mistress of her house.”
Sarah planted a kiss on his cheek. “My thanks to both of you.”
Georgianne returned the kiss. “Have you breakfasted?”
“Yes, we ate while the horses were changed at the last post house.”
Georgianne handed her hat, gloves, and riding crop to a footman. She smoothed a stray curl back from her forehead before linking arms with Sarah. “Have some coffee with us while we eat.”
* * * *
“The expense of maintaining your house must be enormous,” Stanton commented when he joined Tarrant and the ladies in the breakfast parlour on the day after his arrival.
Tarrant concealed a grin. What a cheese scraper Stanton was. He not only worried about paring his own cheese, he also worried about others paring theirs to save pennies.
Stanton scrutinised Georgianne. “I am a vicar of Christ, so please forgive me for saying I consider your riding habit too ostentatious to please a person of good taste.”
Tarrant narrowed his eyes. “Alas, it seems I lack good taste for I greatly admire it.”
“I am sure you do not.” Stanton’s fingers splayed across
his paunch. “A moment’s reflection will inform you no gentleman wishes his wife to attract attention.”
“Do you think so? I fear I will disappoint you. I hope Georgianne has ordered a splendid gown for the ball which everyone will admire. Come to think of it, I also hope Sarah will be much admired.” He succumbed to the temptation to please his half-sister and annoy Stanton. “Sarah, send me the bill for a ball gown so splendid everyone will remark on it. Think of it as a belated wedding present. I was in the Peninsula when you married and did not send you one.”
Sarah’s smile revealed her delight. “Thank you, Tarrant.”
Stanton waved his plump hands. For a moment Tarrant thought Stanton would declare he would foot the bill for his wife’s gown and say he did not want her to attract attention. However, his parsimony must have won the war with his pride. He looked down and raised his coffee cup to his mouth.
“Where is Mrs. Deane, Georgianne?” Sarah asked. “Does she not breakfast with you?”
“Yes, as a rule she does but she is indisposed.”
“Indisposed!” Stanton exclaimed. He half rose, his hands resting on the table. “I trust she is not infectious. We must think of Frederick’s well being.”
Tarrant resisted the temptation to be rid of his brother-in-law by saying there were several cases of cholera in the immediate area.
“Mrs. Deane has one of the severe headaches she suffers from at irregular intervals,” Georgianne explained.
Stanton subsided onto his chair. “Finish your coffee, Sarah. I think Nurse is right. Our poor child is suffering from the discomfort of cutting a tooth. It is not necessary to send for a doctor so we shall visit my uncle.”
Tarrant cocked his eyebrow. “Before you do so, Stanton, I must acquaint you with certain facts.”
Without mincing his words, Tarrant gave Stanton and Sarah the details of Bab’s kidnap and rescue.
Stanton finished his coffee. “I cannot approve of Georgianne’s unwomanly conduct.”
“It is not for you to question my wife’s behaviour. What is more, I expected compassion from a vicar of Christ.”
Sunday's Child (Heroines Born on Different Days of the Week Book 1) Page 13