“Please do not misunderstand me. For my part I cannot condone my uncle’s shocking behaviour yet I daresay it was no more than an ill-advised prank.”
Good. His anger had intimidated Stanton to some degree but the clergyman’s lack of understanding further enraged him. “Damn you, Stanton, your uncle would have—” He reined in his temper. “Beg your pardon for swearing, ladies.” He must ensure Stanton and Sarah’s discretion. “To speak of this matter in public will do you no favour in Pennington’s eyes. Besides, Stanton, his lordship is already displeased with you because you officiated at our wedding. As a man of the cloth, please do me the favour of making it clear to Pennington that his snide comments and threats concerning Helen must end. If they do not, he will have me to reckon with. So far, I have been reluctant to challenge an idiotic old man to a duel, however my patience is not inexhaustible.”
Sarah’s giggle broke the tension. “How fierce you look, Tarrant. Shall we speak of other matters?” She smiled at Georgianne. “We put up at my parents’ house for three nights before proceeding to London. Of course, it took us out of our way, but I enjoyed seeing Mamma and my sisters. As for Helen and Bab, they get on well enough.”
“Good.” Georgianne followed the word with a sigh. “I miss them very much. This is the first time we have been separated for so long.”
“You are married now so—” Sarah commenced.
“If it were not for Mr. Stanton’s odious uncle, we would not have been forced to send my sisters away.”
Tarrant cleared his throat. “We shall see your sisters soon, Georgianne. You are not the only one who misses them.”
Despite his anger with Pennington and his irritation with Stanton, Tarrant relaxed at the thought of Bab. He smiled at Georgianne. One day he hoped to have a spirited daughter like Bab who would love him without reservation. His hands trembled. Dolores should have given him the daughter of his heart. Curse the black-hearted devils who raped her. He hoped they would go to hell for all eternity.
“Tarrant?” Georgianne’s concerned voice called him back to the present.
He looked at his wife as if seeing her for the first time, as though the sun dispersed the darkest clouds. The beginning of what he suspected would be a lifelong love stirred in him.
“What is it, Tarrant?” Georgianne asked.
He released his breath. His body relaxed. “I am glad we married,” he said, oblivious to Wilfred and Sarah’s presence.
“So, you did not marry Georgianne to spite my uncle?” Stanton asked.
“To spite your uncle?” Tarrant repeated. “Why should I have married her for so paltry a reason? What is your uncle to me?” No need to say he married Georgianne to protect her. He shook his head in self-reproach. Considering subsequent events, he had made a poor job of it.
“More coffee, Mr. Stanton?” Georgianne asked. “Sarah, Tarrant, more coffee? No? Sarah, if you are not too tired shall we visit my modiste after nuncheon?”
* * * *
Georgianne glowed. Tarrant said he was glad he married her. Like a child given a longed for birthday gift she hugged her joy to herself and trod lightly.
Later, very pleased with the commissions she and Sarah had placed with the modiste, they returned to Half Moon Street in good time to receive afternoon callers.
Georgianne sauntered up the stairs to change into an afternoon gown while Sarah hurried to the nursery to see how Frederick fared.
Dressed in a pale blue silk morning gown, Georgianne sat in her elegant drawing room which, to her delight, did not have a single piece of furniture made in the Egyptian style. The butler announced Mrs. Bettismore and Amelia. She stood, invited Mrs. Bettismore to sit by the fire, and smiled a welcome to Langley, who entered the drawing room behind Tarrant.
Amelia, delightful in a white cambric gown and leaf-green spencer immediately engaged Langley in conversation.
Mrs. Bettismore looked with obvious fondness at Langley and her granddaughter. She pointed at them. “They make a fine pair, do they not, Mrs. Tarrant?”
“Yes,” Georgianne replied, put out of countenance by the older woman’s question.
Amelia laughed at something Langley said.
Georgianne looked at the carpet. She hoped against hope Helen had not fallen irrevocably in love with Langley. The sooner she saw her sisters, the happier she would be.
Chapter Fourteen
Georgianne sneezed in the confined space of the stuffy coach in which she was travelling to Tarrant Manor with Mrs. Deane. She envied her husband, who rode Corunna despite the cold March weather.
She sighed with admiration at the sight of Tarrant, a heroic figure in a dark green military greatcoat, divided on either side below the knees and spread out behind him over Corunna’s rump. Yet, when they stopped at the post house to change the horses and partake of refreshment, she voiced her concern. “Tarrant, you will be soaked to the skin.”
“I think not, my greatcoat and buckskins should keep me dry. Besides I have experienced worse weather during campaigns.”
“You are no longer an army officer. What is more, you have not survived only to catch an inflammation of the lungs in England.”
“Would you care?”
Although she noticed the teasing glint in his eyes she did not rise to the bait, and suppressed any hint of her ever-increasing desire for him. Her yearning for Tarrant to tell her he loved her, now ruined any pleasure she had experienced since he slipped the wedding ring onto her finger.
Tarrant raised his eyebrows. “Georgianne, I suggest you go inside out of the wet.”
Followed by her husband, she hurried after Mrs. Deane, who wasted no time in seeking shelter.
Dry within the oak-panelled hall, Tarrant smiled. “Georgianne, I want you to enjoy life. You shall be presented at court, dance at Almacks, go to the theatre, and—”
Georgianne sighed. “While away my life with frivolity, while children go hungry on the streets of London?”
“Do not disturb yourself with such thoughts. Although I contribute to various charities, the problem is too large to solve.”
“I apologise. I should not have raised the subject.”
“I would not have you other than you are. Besides I am sure you will find many charitable concerns worthy of your patronage. Perhaps with subscription balls which raise money for good causes. And—”
Mrs. Deane bustled up to them. She grasped Georgianne’s arm. “Before we set out again you must refresh yourselves.”
* * * *
Bab ran down the steps and flung herself into Georgianne’s arms. “I have missed you. Everything is horrid without you. How are you? The nursery is boring. I liked living with you and Tarrant—who let me eat with you sometimes, instead of having all my meals in the nursery. And I liked my school.” She freed herself from Georgianne to reach up to Tarrant. “Please let me live with you, if you do I shall be very, very good.”
Tarrant picked her up and hugged her. “I wouldn’t recognise you if you were very, very good,” he said with a hint of laughter in his voice. “No, no, do not look worried. In my eyes you are good.” He set her on her feet.
Appreciative of the warmth, he took off his greatcoat and handed it to a footman while his wife and her companion removed their outer garments.
“Make your curtsy to Mrs. Deane,” Georgianne prompted Bab.
“Good day, Mrs. Deane.” Bab rose from her curtsy. “Please follow me,” she said while servants brought in the baggage. “Aunt Tarrant is waiting for you in the crimson drawing room.” She giggled. “Wait until you see the new furniture: crocodile feet, sphinxes and, oh all sorts of things. Aunt Tarrant says it is a la mode. Uncle Tarrant says it is an expensive abomination. What does abomination mean?”
“Never mind.” Tarrant raised his eyebrow. “Real crocodile feet?”
Bab giggled. “Silly, they are wooden ones.”
Georgianne laughed heartily. “More pseudo-Egyptian,” she murmured to Tarrant when she caught her breath. “Alt
hough it is now out of fashion, I prefer our elegant French furniture. And I greatly admire the Indian furnishings at Calcutta Place.”
Her husband grinned boyishly. “Although it is very unpatriotic to approve of anything French, I thank the Lord for your good taste.”
“Tarrant, my dear boy,” his step-mamma said. “You may kiss my cheek, though you are not yet forgiven for marrying in too much haste to invite me to the wedding. Now, tell me if your leg has healed.”
“Yes, thank you, it has.”
“My dear niece, how do you go on?” Tarrant’s step-mamma asked. “No one was more surprised than I when I not only heard you married this rascal, but you also cheated me of the opportunity to attend your nuptials. Yet what a blessing it is for us to be related both by blood and your marriage.”
Georgianne smiled at her short, corpulent aunt, whose charming apricot-coloured silk afternoon gown suited her complexion.
Helen rose from a window seat. Georgianne held out her arms. Her sister stepped forward quickly to embrace her. Helen disengaged herself to gaze at Georgianne. “How fine you look.” Her lips quivered. “I have missed you.”
She laughed at Helen, but not unkindly. “Thank you, ‘fine feathers make fine birds.’”
Their aunt looked pointedly at Tarrant’s mud-spattered boots. “Please conduct Major and Mrs. Tarrant to their rooms,” she instructed a footman. She frowned and glanced at Tarrant. “Or would you prefer to partake of a glass of wine first?”
“No, thank you.” Rueful, Tarrant looked down at his boots. “My apologies for my shocking appearance, Mamma.”
“Surely you did not ride here?” his step-mamma asked.
Tarrant laughed. “Guilty as charged.”
Although her eyes expressed tenderness she frowned as though he was still a naughty youngster. “It will not do for you to ride instead of travelling in your coach.” She tapped his arm reprovingly. “After all, you are no longer in the army.”
Tarrant gazed at Georgianne. “So my wife tells me.”
Something in his expression alerted his outspoken step-mamma. “Never tell me yours is a love match.”
He kissed her cheek. “Please do not put my wife to the blush.”
Helen linked arms with Georgianne. “Come, I look forward to hearing all your news.” She eyed Georgianne. Colour stole into her cheeks. “Did you marry Tarrant for love?” she whispered.
“Shush.” Georgianne murmured, hoping no one had overheard her sister’s question.
Tarrant followed them up the stairs to a door which his valet—who had travelled with Elliot in the fargon—opened. “Your baggage is in the dressing room adjoining the bedchamber, sir.”
Georgianne and her sisters followed Tarrant, and the valet, upstairs to a bedroom with an enormous four-poster bed.
“May we come in?”
“Of course you may.” After Georgianne opened the door she eyed an enormous four-poster bed. She felt a certain anticipation mingled with trepidation. Would Tarrant share her bed tonight as Papa once shared a bed with Mamma?
The valet bowed. He opened the dressing room door. He indicated another door on the opposite side. “Your bedchamber, madam.”
Disappointed, Georgianne entered her room where her dresser awaited her. Elliot indicated an open trunk. “Shall I finish unpacking, madam?”
“Yes, please.”
Elliot busied herself with her customary efficiency.
Georgianne plopped down onto a chair placed at one side of the fireplace. “Helen, Bab, I have some presents for you.”
“Thank you,” Helen said while Bab bounced up and down with joyful anticipation.
For the first time in her life, she could afford to be generous. When she received the first instalment of her pin money, Georgianne thought Tarrant expected her to pay some of the household expenses as well as meet the bills for her clothes. She had erred. Tarrant paid all the bills. Oh, how she appreciated his open-handedness, yet, whenever she attempted to say so, he brushed aside her thanks. How could she repay him for giving her an allowance generous enough for a duchess? What could she do for Tarrant which would really please him?
Bab wriggled with excitement. “What have you brought me?”
Elliot put several packages on the low table beside the chair.
“Those boxes tied with silver ribbons are for you, Bab,” Georgianne said, indicating them before she handed Helen two neatly wrapped parcels.
Bab ripped the paper off the larger box. “Oh, thank you, thank you, Georgianne.” She examined the blonde-haired, blue-eyed doll. “I can organise another funeral.”
Even as Bab spoke, Aunt Tarrant entered the bedchamber. “No, Bab, dolls’ funerals frighten my little girls,” she said, referring to her three youngest daughters who still occupied the nursery.
“But, Aunt, they are looking forward to another one. We will use the toy coach, pretend the dogs are black horses, put plumes on their heads, and—”
Their aunt’s face turned an alarming shade of red.
“Dearest,” Georgianne intervened, “you must not plague Aunt Tarrant, who is very good to you. Open your other parcel.”
Bab opened the box which contained a gold necklace strung with coral and turquoise. She kissed Georgianne. “Thank you, it is beautiful.”
Georgianne smiled at Helen. “Please open your presents.”
Helen exclaimed with delight over a pearl necklace, earrings and two arm clasps. She put them down and then enthused about a fan painted with a pastoral scene of lambs, plump ewes, and a dainty shepherdess. She unfolded the leaves, and then fluttered it backward and forward. “Thank you, it is exquisite. I shall treasure it.” She rose to kiss Georgianne’s cheek. “As for the pearls, they are beautiful, I cannot thank you enough.”
“No need, it is my pleasure to give them to you.”
Aunt Tarrant examined the jewellery. “Most appropriate. “You may wear the pearls and carry the fan when you dine before the ball. However, you have not yet made your curtsy to polite society so I insist you retire before the dancing commences.”
Elliot opened the door in answer to a knock. Tarrant entered the bedchamber. “Georgianne—” he broke off at the sight of his sister-in-laws and step-mamma.
Georgianne raised an eyebrow. “Tarrant?”
“Come.” Their aunt ushered Helen and Bab to the door.
Suspicious of Bab’s meek demeanour, Georgianne watched her leave the room. She hoped Bab was not planning the doll’s funeral. “Come back later, Helen. I will show you the gowns I bought for you.” She gestured to Elliot to leave and then turned to look at her husband, who stood close to her.
Georgianne brushed a speck of dust from the sleeve of Tarrant’s kingfisher-blue tailcoat worn over a primrose yellow waistcoat. “You look as fine in civilian clothes as you do in uniform.”
“Thank you. By the way, I think you fretted unnecessarily. Your sisters look well.” He grinned. “Although Bab complained, she seems happy.”
“Yes, she does, yet I do not like her preoccupation with funerals. Your mamma disapproves of them, too.”
“A childish game, but my step-mamma is right, it is not one to be encouraged.”
A small crease marked Georgianne’s forehead. “At least Helen seems content, but I wonder if—”
“What?”
“Nothing important.”
“If your thoughts make you frown they must be significant.”
“I am thinking about Langley.”
“You do have a decided partiality for him,” Tarrant said, emphasising the word decided.
“Yes, I am partial to him. He is your friend so he is always very good to me.”
She frowned. “Are you cross?”
Tarrant shook his head.
She looked at him doubtfully. “You look put out.”
* * * *
On the evening of the ball, Helen parted the strawberry red window curtains in the spacious bedchamber allotted to Georgianne. She sighed. Although Lan
gley was staying in his parents’ nearby country house, if it continued to snow, the weather might prevent his attendance.
“Why are you looking out of the window?” Georgianne asked.
“The skies are leaden. The weather is so bad that I wonder if Viscount Langley will come.”
Georgianne put an arm around Helen’s waist. “I hope you have not given your heart to Langley.”
“Why? You gave your heart to Tarrant at my age.”
Georgianne removed her arm and sat.
“You did give it to him, did you not?” Helen asked with a note of uncertainty.
She smiled at Helen in an attempt to reassure her. “There is no time to chat now. We must dress for the ball.”
* * * *
Georgianne stepped out of her bath. She wrapped herself in the towel Elliot held out to her and then stared into the depths of the log fire. Sarah had remarked that Tarrant preferred playing cards to the ballroom. Would he dance with her even once?
She pressed her lips together. Were his kindness and courtesy no more than a veneer? If so, what lay beneath it? Sometimes she caught a glimpse of stark unhappiness. What could be the cause?
“It’s late, madam.” Elliot picked up Georgianne’s stays.
Later, Georgianne sat at the dressing table thinking about the ball. If only Tarrant would waltz with her. Her stomach fluttered with delight at the prospect of whirling around the ballroom in his arms. She caught her lower lip between her teeth. Perhaps he would not dance with her.
“Please keep still, madam.”
Elliot’s skilful fingers coaxed Georgianne’s curls to frame her face. Deep in thought, Georgianne regarded her reflection in the mirror. A naughty glint entered her reflected eyes. If she flirted with other gentlemen, how would her husband react?
Her hair, styled to Elliot’s satisfaction, Georgianne stood and then raised her arms for the woman to dress her in an ice-white silk dress.
Elliot made sure each petal of the tiny white satin roses, stitched around the edge of the low-cut neckline, was in place. “The gown is perfect for you, madam. Most ladies’ complexions suffer if they wear pure white.”
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