“Good afternoon to you, too, ma’am,” said Georgie, dipping a curtsy.
Lady Arden’s bright gaze flicked to Violet. “Where is your mother, child?”
“Did you not get her letter?” said Violet, removing her bonnet and shaking the water droplets from its brim. Rain pelted down outside now. A gust of wind blew into the hall before the footman heaved the heavy door shut.
“Farrago of nonsense,” said Lady Arden. “I could not make head nor tail of it for all the crossed lines and blotches—tearstains, one must suppose. If I had, you may be sure I’d have posted up to Bath and fetched Violet myself.” She blew an exasperated breath. “Well, come along. Now you’re here, Mrs. Paynter will take you up.”
Having seen Violet settled in her apartment next door, Lady Arden swept in to Georgie’s chamber.
Deducing from the spark in her eye that Lady Arden wouldn’t allow the presence of a servant to stop her speaking her mind, Georgie nodded a dismissal at Smith. “I’ll see you when it’s time to dress for dinner.”
“Now, you must tell me the meaning of this,” said Lady Arden as soon as the door shut behind the maid. “I suppose that stupid, indolent woman decided she was too ill to travel.”
Georgie thought it best to ignore the insult to her stepmother. “Lady Black would have given much to be here, ma’am. She truly is unwell.”
“Then why didn’t the silly woman send some other relative to chaperone Violet?” Lady Arden pressed her fingertips to her temple as she paced. “Good God, this is an awkward state of affairs.”
“Believe me, no one is more sensible of that fact than I,” said Georgie. “Do you think I wish to be here, at such a party? I feel like Banquo’s ghost. The specter of the bride who might have been.”
That made Lady Arden laugh. “I always liked you, my girl. Such a pity you and Beckenham didn’t stick.”
Georgie said nothing.
“But you are cold.” Lady Arden grasped Georgie’s hands in hers and chafed them. “Let us get you out of these damp things, shall we?”
“There’s no need,” protested Georgie. “I am merely a trifle damp.” She wished her relative would say her piece and leave her be.
“Nonsense. I never had a daughter, you know. Or a son, for that matter.” With brisk efficiency, she helped peel the gown from Georgie’s body, then set to work on her corset strings while Georgie shed her petticoats.
“There.” When Georgie stood only in her chemise and stockings, Lady Arden snatched up a light rug from the foot of the bed and put it about Georgie’s shoulders. The gesture had a faint whiff of maternal tenderness about it. Strangely, Georgie felt comforted. A sudden, sharp longing for own mother made her duck her head.
Collecting herself, Georgie perched on the edge of the bed to ease off her stockings. “I will do my best to stay out of the way. You needn’t fear I mean to create a scene or add fodder to gossip.”
Eyeing her with a judicious air, Lady Arden said, “It is not your nature to fade into the background, Georgie.”
Stung, she demanded, “Do you think I would try to overshadow my sister?”
“No, I merely think that any man with a pulse will not waste time with debutantes when you are in the room.”
Georgie flushed. She’d promised Violet moral support, but this sort of thing was precisely what she’d feared. “You may be sure that Lord Beckenham is far too high-minded to allow any woman’s charms to distract him from his duty.”
“Ha! I’d never have taken you for such an innocent, my dear.”
This sort of talk merely rubbed salt into the wound. Wasn’t it precisely because he was so good at resisting her supposed siren’s lure that she was here now playing gooseberry to her sister rather than mistress of this house?
Her looks, such as they were, had only ever brought her grief.
Without a great deal of hope, she said, “Do you want me to leave?”
Lady Arden tilted her head to the side, as if seriously considering the merits of sending Georgie back into the storm. That ruthless streak Georgie had always rather admired in her relative was now wielded against her.
“No,” she said at last. “Your sudden departure would cause gossip. Now that you are here, you must show all of the young ladies and their matchmaking mamas that you have no intention of picking up where you left off with Beckenham.”
“I shall do my best to avoid his company altogether,” said Georgie. That would serve her desires equally well. “Perhaps we could put it about that I caught a chill and cannot come downstairs.”
“Craven,” mocked Lady Arden.
Georgie sighed. Lady Arden was right. Besides, there was her promise to Violet. She could scarcely provide moral support from her supposed sickbed.
None knew better than she the nasty little claws some ladies hid beneath their gloves. Put them into a situation like this, all vying for a countess’s coronet, and it would be a bloodbath.
Her sister had no notion of how vicious her rivals could be, nor how adept they were at hiding their malice from gentlemen they sought to impress. As hostess, Lady Arden would be too occupied to watch over Violet all the time.
“Do we know anything of the competition?” inquired Georgie.
“But of course, dear. How could you doubt it?” Lady Arden glanced out the window. “All frightfully eligible, pretty-behaved girls. I believe Beckenham stipulated the young ladies must be quiet and docile.”
“Did he?” Georgie knew how to take that, she supposed.
“An amazingly bland parcel of ninnies,” continued Lady Arden idly. “But I suppose that’s what most men want, after all. A pretty young thing to warm their beds with enough sense in her head to run a household and sufficient meekness to obey their every dictate.”
Georgie’s lip curled. “How tedious of him.”
Lady Arden’s gaze sharpened. “Do you think he deserves better?”
He needed to be shaken out of his irritating complacency. The kind of female Lady Arden described would never do it.
Violet never would. She banished the treacherous thought.
“If they are ninnies, he will find them dead bores,” Georgie observed. “Violet, on the other hand, is intelligent as well as sweet-natured. She is perfect for him.”
The words seemed to leave a lump in her throat.
Lady Arden came to her and placed a bracing hand on her shoulder. “Whatever lies between you two is in the past now. I want you to act like Beckenham’s future sister-in-law, not his former betrothed.”
Georgie met Lady Arden’s eyes. By sheer will, she allowed her gaze to reflect nothing save tranquil acceptance. “That is precisely my intention, my lady.”
* * *
The flash of flame red hair in the distance, quickly hidden by a large black umbrella, was the first sign that Georgie Black had come to Winford.
Beckenham had taken the gentlemen of the party on a tour of his stables, happily unaware of the rude shock in store for him upon his return.
By God, he ought to have known that prime piece of horseflesh, just arrived from the Black household ahead of their party, would be neither Violet’s nor Lady Black’s, but Georgie’s. Not many females were strong enough or skilled enough to control a mare like that.
“New arrivals, eh?” said Lydgate, gesturing with his whip to the carriage on the drive.
“Indeed,” said Beckenham, trying to ignore the rush in his blood, the soaring sensation in his chest, even as the rain sheeted down around them.
An oath from Lydgate cut through the downpour. “What the Devil is she doing here?”
Giving him no reply, Beckenham narrowed his eyes, staring after Georgie, but it was no good; the house had already swallowed her up. Too late, he realized he hadn’t even noticed her companions. One of them must surely have been the sister.
Damn the woman! Hadn’t these past months been spent getting her out of his system, once and for all?
Only he still hadn’t found the opportunity to ease
certain … tensions of the body and spirit, and that made him susceptible to … Damn it to hell, why did she have to turn up on his doorstep unannounced?
He must have gone through the motions with his guests after that, for later, he couldn’t recall a word anyone had said to him. He skulked down in the drawing room for as long as he could before he realized she wasn’t going to join the rest of the company before dinner.
He didn’t even have the opportunity to cross-question Lady Arden, who had talked him into the entire charade. He’d thought it an excellent idea at the time. It suited his notions of effectiveness and efficiency. Besides, it meant he could curtail the tedious progression from one house party to the next in search of a bride.
Instead, the most likely contenders all came to him. He would choose a countess by the end of this house party or perish in the attempt.
Sometimes, when he was obliged to listen to Lady Charlotte Cross’s prattle, he would happily choose the “perish” option.
He had only himself to blame, of course. He’d drawn up the exclusive list of candidates. They’d been here for close to a week already, save for Violet Black. Though he knew the girl was coming, the thought that Georgie might accompany her hadn’t entered his head.
Had he secretly hoped this would happen when he agreed to add Violet’s name to the list?
He didn’t like to think himself capable of using Violet to get to her sister. That notion was so foreign to his character, he was momentarily disgusted with himself for even letting it cross his mind.
By considering Violet, he did nothing but his duty. Everyone had agreed that a match rejoining Cloverleigh to the Winford estate was highly eligible when it was Georgie who stood to inherit. Why should that have changed now that Violet would get Cloverleigh?
At dinner, Lady Arden seated Georgie as far away from Beckenham as it was possible to be, and yet his every fiber was aware of each breath that entered and left that magnificent bosom of hers. The ambivalence of his feelings put him at constant war with himself.
All through his conversation about horseflesh with Miss Margo deVere, Beckenham thought resentfully of Georgie’s lush body, of its ridiculous power over him.
He shifted a little in his chair. No, best not to think of that.
Had Georgie planned to make his possible courtship of her sister as difficult as possible? She seemed to have a deep affection for Violet. No doubt she’d warned the girl against him.
He’d seen at once that Xavier was right about Violet Black. She was precisely the sort of lady he wanted. Calm, sweet, with a quiet dignity that did her great credit.
Pretty, too. As pretty as a rosebud.
His gaze slid back to Georgie, whose beauty was more like a tropical flower. Lush, vibrant. Carnal.
Good God, he needed to stop thinking about her.
Yet he couldn’t help noticing that her manner was retiring in the extreme this evening. She’d barely spoken two words to him in the drawing room, where they’d gathered before moving in to dinner.
She wore a watery gray gown, a color he’d never seen her in before. What the Devil was she doing in gray? She wasn’t in half mourning, was she?
And the demure way she cast down her eyes and most correctly restricted her conversation to the guests to her right and left made him wonder what game she was playing.
The old Georgie would have commanded the admiring attention of the male half of the table; the envy of the female portion. She possessed an inner fire that drew men like moths.
The old Georgie would laugh that low, husky laugh of hers, make men turn their heads, break off their conversations, lean toward her, forgetting their dinner companions entirely.
Lady Arden, he saw, looked upon Georgie with approval. Had she read her kinswoman the riot act? Was Georgie behaving herself in obedience to Lady Arden’s decree?
Perhaps that was it. Perhaps Georgie had been enlisted to promote a match between him and Violet.
The notion did not sit well with him. Georgie had more than her share of pride. Surely it galled her to be obliged to take a hand in catching him for her sister.
Unless she didn’t care whom he married …
* * *
Georgie forced herself to ignore Beckenham as much as possible. Which was exceedingly difficult to do, for if ever a man appeared to advantage in evening dress, it was he. There was something about the contrast between the rugged austerity of his face and the clean lines of black and blinding white that set her pulse pattering like a military drum.
No. She had a job to do. She needed to observe the other candidates for Beckenham’s hand, analyze their strengths, their weaknesses, and plan how she would knock them out of the running. On Violet’s behalf, of course.
Four other young ladies were present, and a formidable opposition they were. Miss Priscilla Trent, Lady Harriet Bletchley, Lady Charlotte Cross, and Miss Margo deVere.
At dinner, she’d noted that Priscilla was a cool blonde with impeccable manners. Lady Harriet was very taking, but no beauty. She had an intelligent spark to her eye, however, and who could say but that Beckenham might take a shine to her? He’d liked her enough to invite her here, hadn’t he?
Lady Charlotte Cross was a classic dark-haired beauty. One to watch, Georgie thought. And Miss deVere, despite her unfortunate family background, was attractive and animated. By the small amount of her conversation Georgie overheard, Miss deVere was hunting and horse mad, so her sporting interests would please Beckenham.
Georgie had more opportunity to observe her quarries when the ladies removed to the drawing room after dinner.
Lady Arden dispensed tea. Georgie took her cup with thanks and turned to find Lady Trent, Miss Priscilla’s mama, at her elbow.
“So brave of you to come, in the circumstances,” she murmured, her eyes shooting sparks, her lips thinly smiling.
Ah, so now it started. “I am no more than a chaperone for my sister,” said Georgie. “I see nothing courageous in that, ma’am. Violet is such a pretty-behaved girl, I’ve practically nothing to do.”
“Indeed?” said Lady Trent. “One wonders that Miss Violet’s mama is not here to lend her support.”
“Does one?” Georgie smiled. “I’m afraid my stepmother’s health does not permit the exertion. However, Violet is fortunate that our kinswoman, Lady Arden, is here to lend as much, er, support as she requires.”
That made the stiff-rumped matron poker up. Perhaps she’d forgotten that Lady Arden hailed from the Black family.
“For me, visiting Winford is like a homecoming,” said Georgie, warming to her theme. “Violet and I grew up on the neighboring estate, you know. The property will be hers upon her marriage.”
She lifted her chin and searched the crowd beyond, pretending not to notice the thunderstruck look on Lady Trent’s face. “Excuse me. I must greet an old acquaintance.”
Georgie glided away, leaving anger and uncertainty in her wake. She was beginning to enjoy herself, just a little. She did not doubt the news of Violet’s distinct advantage over her peers would be all over the drawing room in seconds flat.
Perhaps she’d made Violet a target for malice, but as soon as they all saw how superior her sister was in every respect, they’d be aiming their poisoned darts at her anyway. Against Violet’s looks, disposition, and dowry, those other young ladies did not stand a chance.
The only fly in the ointment was Georgie herself. She knew in her bones that Beckenham was too decent to fail to consider her feelings on the matter. Her presence here was most unfortunate. If she’d stayed away, he would have been able to put her out of his mind and do his duty to marry Violet and reclaim the estate his grandfather had lost.
Whatever the case, it might be to Beckenham’s benefit to marry Violet. Georgie still needed to reserve judgment about whether Violet would be happy as Beckenham’s countess. She must not lose sight of that. Violet herself seemed content at the prospect, but what did eighteen-year-old girls know, after all?
; Seeking a respite, Georgie took her tea to where the Dowager Marchioness of Salisbury surveyed the gathering with a gimlet eye and seated herself beside her.
Here was a friendly face, if not an ally. Lady Salisbury wore an impressive purple turban that complemented the gown she wore. Smack in the middle of the turban perched a brooch containing the largest diamond Georgie had ever seen.
The old lady caught her staring and leaned toward her. “Paste, m’dear! But don’t tell anyone. I’m pockets-to-let, and hoping Harriet has enough gumption to snare this earl before the entire family sinks under debt.”
Georgie blinked at being made the recipient of this startling information. “It is a very fine copy,” she murmured. “One would never know.”
“Aye.” The lines around Lady Salisbury’s lips deepened as she pursed them. “But it’s not as if all of London don’t know the state we’re in, baubles notwithstanding. The Abbey is falling in a heap. Poor Salisbury is at his wits’ end.”
“I am sorry to hear that,” said Georgie. The notion that one lady in particular truly needed this marriage depressed her.
She sought for a more cheerful subject. “Lady Harriet is pretty.”
“She’s passable,” said the dowager. “As clever as she can stare. If the gel can be brought to keep her nose out of a book long enough to set her cap at Beckenham, I shall have done my duty. Her mama is worse than useless,” she said, indicating a gaunt female who sat alone sipping her tea and looking as if she’d rather be elsewhere. “Bluestocking. Good God, what use is book-learning, pray, when your house is falling down around your ears?”
Well, she could not let Lady Harriet have Beckenham, but perhaps she might persuade Lady Arden to make her a match. Georgie was still lending her ear to the dowager’s woes when the gentlemen joined them.
Viscount Lydgate, Beckenham’s cousin, made a beeline for them. “Good evening, Lady Salisbury. And Georgie Black. Well, well, this is a sight for sore eyes. How do you do?”
She rose and curtsied. With a flashing smile, he bowed elegantly over her hand and led her to an alcove set a little apart from the company.
She felt a hard, dark gaze upon them as they settled themselves. Did Lydgate mean to flirt with her? His manner was certainly flirtatious. She received this signal with a sinking feeling. She supposed she ought to set up a flirt here to deflect attention from her former engagement to Beckenham. Now, presented with the perfect opportunity, her heart wasn’t in the business.
The Greatest Lover Ever Page 13