Aunt Caroline had picked all her gowns from a fashion book and had employed the village dressmaker to execute them. Gina had told her once that she’d thought Georgiana dowdy when they’d first met. But no one would think her dowdy in Madame Marie’s gown. The cut emphasized the curve of her breasts and the slender figure beneath. So this was what Madame had meant by using the new lower waist. The woman was a genius.
Georgiana smoothed the drape of the soft violet silk over her hips and sighed. “I’ve never had a gown more beautiful, Madame. I think I should have one in every color.”
The modiste chortled. “Not every color, I think, chèri. But a few more of this cut would discourage your competition. No?”
Her competition? For what?
“I shall change the colors and trim. Per’aps add a flounce at the ’em on one, or embroider the ’em on another. They will never realize it is the same as this one. Oh, I should like to shut their mouths.”
Georgiana noted the frown on Madame Marie’s face and realized the woman was talking about something specific. “What have they been saying, Madame?”
“Oh, I did not mean... Well, per’aps you should know. Two exceedingly plain women were in for fittings yesterday. One said that Mrs. ’Uffington is a brazen ’ussy. That no man will propose to you, no matter ’ow you bait the ’ook. The other said you are like Circe, casting a spell over unwary men.”
Georgiana felt the heat rising in her cheeks. “I am not casting a spell or a hook, Madame. I am in town on business.”
The woman dimpled. “Of course you are, chèri. They are simply jealous, yes?”
“Yes. I mean...no!”
Madame laughed a full-bodied enjoyment of Georgiana’s confusion. “Ignore them, chèri. Enduring such talk is the fate of every great beauty. And when this gown is finished, you will ’ave the envy of everyone who sees you.”
Georgiana was about to protest when there was a soft knock at the side door to the fitting room.
“Come, François. She is decent.”
Mr. Renquist peeked around the door before entering. He went to a far corner and leaned one shoulder against the wall, but not before Georgiana noted a look of appreciation pass over his usually inscrutable face.
“Not much to tell, yet, Mrs. Huffington. Just a few items of interest.”
She nodded, waiting for what he’d been able to discover.
“Cautious questioning has led me to believe that the incident outside the Theatre Royal the other night was no accident. Mr. Hunter has made an enemy. The gossip in the rookeries has it that he was the target of that attack.”
Georgiana did not know whether to be relieved or worried. If she was not the object of the attack, was someone targeting Charles because of his appearance with her? “Do you know who was behind it or why, sir?”
“I cannot confirm anything, Mrs. Huffington. A theory has been mentioned, but I have been unable to trace the rumor. I would not feel comfortable mentioning a name until I can confirm the information.”
As much as she would like to press for an answer, she had to respect his wishes. In truth, it made little difference which of them had been the object of the attack. The fact remained that Charles was facing danger in her presence. “What next, Mr. Renquist?”
The man straightened and put his little notebook back in his jacket. “I have gone over my notes from our last meeting, Mrs. Huffington, and I think I shall look into the Misters Foxworthy. Because of their ploy to become your conservators, they have a great deal to gain by keeping you unattached, and the most to lose from any possible remarriage.”
That fact had occurred to Georgiana. Any insights she could gain would be an advantage in dealing with the brothers—Walter in particular. But what of the other claims against her? “Have you any news of Mr. York?”
Mr. Renquist shrugged. “I shall send someone to investigate just to be certain, but I do not consider him as a part of this whole mess, Mrs. Huffington. For one thing, he was related to your second husband and, therefore, could have had no interest in your first husband’s death. And secondly, he has not expressed any particular concern over any remarriage. His suit is more of the common variety of a disgruntled relative who had lived in expectation of an inheritance. Perhaps he has borrowed against future funds and now finds himself in a very bad position with his creditors. Whatever the reason, I think we can dismiss him as a killer.”
“Should I make him an offer, sir?”
“That is your decision. How much money would satisfy him, and how badly do you want him disengaged from your life?”
“Very badly,” she confessed.
“On the other hand,” Mr. Renquist continued, “if the rumors are wrong and the shot outside the Theatre Royal was actually meant for you, Mr. York would be the likely suspect. No attacks had been made on you until then—on the settlement of your second husband’s estate. I would advise caution in any event.”
Georgiana sighed. This was all such an impossible muddle.
Chapter Eight
Charles waited on the steps of the Argyle Rooms in Little Argyle Street for any sign of his coach. The evening had turned into a series of frustrations. He’d been delayed at the Home Office, then subjected to a lecture from his eldest brother, Lord Lockwood, on the dangers of becoming involved with Georgiana Huffington, and finally had been summoned to the Argyle Rooms for an early private conversation with Lord Wycliffe. He’d been remiss in not interviewing Lord Carlington after Wycliffe suggested he might want to look into that possible lead.
He watched his coach round a corner and slow as it pulled up to the broad steps and breathed a sigh of relief. He’d sent his driver to retrieve Mrs. Huffington rather than make her wait for his arrival and he’d been half afraid she’d refuse to come alone. Thank heavens she was a sensible woman.
Rather than wait for the footman, he stepped forward, flipped the step down, and opened the door.
“I was beginning to think I’d been kidnapped,” she said as she took the hand he offered to help her down from the coach. “Your driver was quite mysterious.”
She was especially lovely tonight in a deep blue frock with an embroidered hem and neckline in a darker hue. She was sure to draw attention, and he wanted to make certain the whisper of their engagement was circulating before anyone else could make a claim on her. “I apologize, Mrs. Huffington...Georgiana. I was called here early for a meeting and I did not want to leave you waiting at home.”
“Yes, but I wanted to talk to you before we made an appearance. You have not made the announcement to anyone, have you?”
“Second thoughts, my dear?”
“For your sake, sir. Not mine.”
“Come, now. I thought we’d decided I would make an admirable target. Would I not?”
“No! Yes. But you would be killed, would you not?”
“We’ve been over this, Georgiana. I am willing to take the risk.”
“I am not.”
He lowered his voice suggestively. “Have you grown fond of me, Georgie?”
He noted the tightness in her jaw and knew she was holding back a scathing retort. He supposed it was a good thing that one of them had some measure of self-control. He took her arm and led her up the stairs to the grand foyer, then handed her mantle to a footman before leading her up the wide staircase to the private rooms.
“My family is here tonight. Shall we start with them?”
“Start? Oh, you mean...” She heaved a sigh of resignation. “Can we not tell them the truth, Mr. Hunter?”
He shook his head. “I think it best if you and I are the only ones who know. Conversations can be overheard, Georgiana. Should Sarah and Lockwood comment privately in a corner, someone nearby could learn the truth. And you know how quickly scandal travels in the ton. Our game would be up before it began.”
“Your family will not like it.”
“Nonsense! Sarah will be delighted. She has made it her calling in life to see all her brothers married. She has begun t
o despair of me, so she will be relieved by our announcement.”
Georgiana looked up and gave him a sad smile. “Not if she loves you and wants to see you live to a ripe old age.”
He guffawed. “Well, if that is the case, she will keep it to herself.”
She murmured something under her breath that he could not make out. Disagreement, he gathered.
At the top of the stairs, Charles turned her down a corridor to the series of rooms reserved for Carlington’s ball. Rather than having a footman announce every new arrival, Lord Carlington, himself, headed a small reception line. Charles felt Georgiana stiffen at his side and wondered at her sudden hesitation. She was shy, but she was not ordinarily timid.
“Lord Carlington, may I present my...dear friend, Mrs. Georgiana Huffington?” He then turned to Georgiana and smiled reassurance. “Mrs. Huffington, please meet Owen Trent, Lord Carlington.”
Georgiana performed a flawless curtsy—deep enough to be deferential, but not so deep as to be falsely flattering. Lady Caroline had trained her well.
Their host performed an equally flawless bow. “Mrs. Huffington. I am pleased to meet you, at last. Your reputation precedes you.”
She blushed and Charles wondered if he should try to fill the suddenly awkward silence, but she recovered quickly. “And I have heard of you, Lord Carlington. I am delighted to put a face with the name at last.”
Carlington gave her an odd look, half bewildered, half admiring. “We must find time to discuss mutual friends, Mrs. Huffington. If not this evening, then in the near future?”
“I shall look forward to it, Lord Carlington.”
The press of the last arriving guests behind them forced them to move forward into a large ballroom lit with brilliant chandeliers and an orchestra at the far end. They paused at a table laden with filled wineglasses and canapés. He handed a glass to his companion.
“How do you know of Carlington, Georgiana?”
“I’ve only heard his name. I believe he knew Aunt Caroline when they were younger.”
“Ah. Well, brace yourself. Here comes my sister and her husband. Have you met Ethan?”
“Lady Sarah introduced us when I went to her...reading group.”
Charles thought back to that day less than a week ago and remembered the surprising nature of his reaction. Even though he’d engineered that meeting, he hadn’t expected her to still cause such a strong reaction in him. Physical, he told himself. Purely physical.
“Here you are, Charlie,” Sarah greeted him with a kiss on his cheek. She gave Georgiana a sweet smile. “And, Mrs. Huffington, how nice to see you again. Will you come to our book club meeting again day after tomorrow?”
“I should love to come, schedule permitting. How kind of you to ask, Lady Sarah.”
“Are you very busy, then?”
Charles seized the opportunity. “She has affairs to put in order before the nuptials.”
Ethan raised an eyebrow and Sarah’s eyes widened. “Nuptials? Are you marrying again, Mrs. Huffington?”
Georgiana opened her mouth and Charles knew she was going to deny him. “I—”
“She has accepted my proposal. I’ve been hoping to catch her between husbands for quite some time now. I’ve been successful at last.”
“This is so sudden.” Sarah looked as if she were doing her best to cover her astonishment. He could not tell if there was a slight element of dismay in her eyes. “I...I did not know you were long acquainted.”
“Not as sudden as it might seem. We met years ago, when Georgiana was first brought to town. Is that not right, my dear?”
She gave him a sideways glance before donning a smile and answering. “Yes. But Charles was not serious minded at the time.”
He had not been serious? Was the treacherous little chit turning her motives around on him? That was a foul play and he’d pay her back in kind.
“That very much sounds like my brother,” Sarah admitted. “But he has always said he will never marry. It seems Cupid has aimed his arrow true.”
He clutched at his heart. “Aye, and ’tis a deep wound.” He looked down into Georgiana’s face, reading her near rebellion in her dilated pupils. “I pray no one will say anything to dissuade her.”
Sarah looked as if saying nothing would be difficult for her. The silence became awkward and Ethan finally spoke.
“Then I wish you bliss, Charles. It has been a long time coming.”
Charles expelled the breath he’d been holding. Despite his reassurances to Georgiana, he’d been worried there would be objections. There might still be, but at least his family would hold their tongues for the moment.
He glanced toward the door with an air of unconcern. “Carlington is done receiving his guests. I’d like to have a word with him.”
Ethan was quick to seize the opportunity to escape the tension, too. “I shall go with you, Charles. I’ve been meaning to talk to him.”
“Take care of Georgiana while I’m gone, Sarah,” he instructed. He did not want to give her a chance to back out.
As they moved to intercept Lord Carlington, Ethan lowered his voice and said. “Is it true, Charlie? Did you narrowly miss the opportunity to become Mrs. Huffington’s first late husband?”
“Truer than I like to think.”
“You do not intend to go through with it, do you?” Travis lowered his voice. “It’s a ruse, is it not? You are trying to draw a killer out?”
“It is not a ruse, and Lockwood has already given me this lecture, Travis. Do not waste your breath.”
“I am certain you’ve considered the consequences.”
“I have.”
“When do you intend to do this?”
When, indeed? “There are matters she needs to tend to before she is free to think of planning a wedding.”
“Meantime you are a walking target, Charlie. If her curse does not kill you, Gibbons will. Have you lost your mind?”
Very likely. As they approached him, Carlington smiled a welcome. Thank heavens he could put an end to this conversation. He shot Travis a warning look as they joined Carlington.
Their host offered them a welcoming smile. “Travis. Hunter. Are you enjoying yourselves?”
“Very much so, Lord Carlington. Good of you to invite us.”
“Ah, well. A ball is not complete without three or four Hunters in attendance. And since I do not have a wife, having the event here relieves me of the responsibility of finding a hostess. Quite satisfactory, in all.”
Carlington had had some great disappointment in love, according to the rumor mill. Charles was beginning to suspect just what that disappointment had been. He gave his brother-in-law another quelling look. Travis was discreet to a fault. If he caught on to Charles’s ploy, he would not say anything.
“I am curious about what you meant when you said that Mrs. Huffington’s reputation preceded her,” he said.
Carlington looked chagrined. He raised his glass and took a drink before he spoke. “I have watched Mrs. Huffington from afar. I knew her guardian, you see. Lady Caroline Betman. Lovely woman. For her sake I’ve kept my eye on the girl since Lady Caroline brought her home. I had not met Mrs. Huffington’s mother, but I knew a great many of Caro—Lady Caroline’s friends. She certainly is a beauty.”
“I think so,” Charles admitted.
Travis put his glass down on a side table. “Charles has just announced to the family that he and Mrs. Huffington intend to marry.”
Carlington’s eyebrows shot up. “Indeed? Well, that is very interesting.” The older man grinned. “I had not known that you have a death wish, Hunter.”
Charles laughed. “Go on. Tweak me all you want. It won’t change a thing.”
“I am glad to see you have a sense of humor about this.” Carlington laughed. “I hazard you are going to need it.”
Charles grinned and steered the conversation back to his original purpose. “Then you knew Mrs. Huffington’s guardian well?”
Carlington si
ghed. “It is a little-known fact that she and I were on the verge of betrothal. Her father and mine were in accord that it was a good match. There seemed to be no impediment.”
“What happened?” Travis asked, and Charles made a mental note to thank him.
“One night we were dancing and laughing, the next she was gone. The first thing I heard was that she’d had a tragic accident that had left her scarred. Her father swept her back to Kent and she declared she would not return to London. She begged I would not hate her for her change of mind. I couldn’t hate her, of course. I only wish she’d allowed me to visit.”
Charles recalled those shocking scars. He could well understand Lady Caroline’s reticence. She could never have been the sort of wife a man in Lord Carlington’s position needed—a public hostess, the mother to the Carlington heir, a force in London society. And her pride would have prevented her from allowing Carlington to see her in such a condition.
“But when you have a moment, Hunter, bring Mrs. Huffington to me for a visit. I would very much like to hear about Lady Caroline’s life. I always imagined she’d found a way to fill it when she took in her goddaughter.”
“I shall. I believe she would enjoy talking to someone who knew Lady Caroline.”
* * *
So that was Lord Carlington. From across the room, Georgiana watched the handsome man with silvery-gray hair—the very same man to whom she would deliver a packet from her aunt. The man who had caused Aunt Caroline to sigh whenever his name was mentioned. The man who might hold the secret to what had happened to Aunt Caroline all those years ago.
“You seem distracted, Georgiana,” Lady Sarah said.
“It is just that I almost feel as if I know Lord Carlington. I heard my aunt mention him on occasion and with a great deal of respect.”
“He is a very good man from what I hear,” she agreed.
“Is he married?”
“I do not believe so. I’ve never met a Lady Carlington.”
Had he remained single because of Aunt Caroline? It was quite unusual for a man in his position—a man who should be providing an heir for his title—not to marry. Or was he simply not inclined toward matrimony?
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