The Mad Heiress and the Duke – Miss Georgette Quinby: A Regency Romance Novel (Heart of a Gentleman Book 1)

by Isabella Thorne

  He should save her, he thought, from Lady Fitzravels. It was the gentlemanly thing to do. He made his way across the room, and navigated Miss Quinby away from the old dowager.

  After the lady thanked him for rescuing her from the conversation, she turned their talk to his gift of music. She had been practicing it daily, and hoped that at some point he would allow her to play it for him.

  "It will not compare to the performance you saw in Vienna, I've no doubt of that," she said. "But it would bring me joy, to share it with you."

  He assured her that he would greatly enjoy hearing her play.

  They made their way to one of the quieter corners of the room. The musical entertainment had been quite enjoyable, and now the guests were enjoying refreshments and conversation.

  "I must inquire, whether there has been any development since last week." Her eyes darted back and forth. "Regarding the, um, what I overheard."

  He bit his tongue. Her attempt at subtlety was adorable.

  "Unfortunately, I have nothing new to report," he said.

  "Oh." She looked so disappointed.

  He wanted to wipe that look off her face, to make her smile again.

  "But there is something that you might assist me with," he said.

  Her eyes were so bright when she was excited, he thought. She leaned forward conspiratorially.

  "What?" she whispered.

  He bent down slightly. He could smell the scent of her...was it perfume? Blanche had worn a discrete perfume that smelled like wisteria. Miss Quinby smelled more like strawberries. Was that possible?

  "I need to do something that might possibly be considered unlawful," he said.

  "Unlawful?"

  "I need to search a man's living quarters," he said.

  "Without his permission?"

  "Yes."

  "I know you are a duke, but there is no question. That is most certainly unlawful," she said.

  He shrugged. "I suppose that means you do not wish to help. Forget I said anything."

  She looked at him with a gimlet eye.

  "What is it you would ask me to do?" she asked.

  "I need the gentleman in question to be distracted for some time," he said.

  She raised an eyebrow. "Meryton?"

  He nodded.

  She breathed out in exasperation. "I told you it was not Merry. I know Merry."

  "Be that as it may, I am operating on additional information. I ask you to trust me."

  She chewed her lip. "Very well," she said. "I maintain that it was another gentleman, but I will trust you. So long as you promise to trust me, if I ever determine who that gentleman was."

  He bowed in agreement. "Do you know how you might be able to distract Merry for the duration of an afternoon?" he asked.

  She chewed her lip again and then nodded. "Yes," she said.

  "Yes?"

  He looked at her. She dimpled at him.

  "But I shan't tell you," she said.

  He growled slightly in exasperation. She laughed.

  "When were you hoping to search his rooms?" she asked.

  "As soon as I might," he said

  She nodded. "Tomorrow afternoon," she said. "I shall send a footman to tell you, once the coast is clear."

  He opened his mouth and closed it. "Tomorrow afternoon? So soon?"

  "Do you doubt me?" she asked in a teasing tone.

  "I am astonished," he said. "How are you so certain?"

  "It is my secret," she said. "In return, however, I request a favor. Would you be willing to escort Fanny and me to the Castleton ball the following evening?"

  "Happily. But you truly will not tell me?"

  "I shall not. That will be your punishment, for continuing to believe it might be Merry. Now, you must speak to other ladies. People are beginning to stare."

  "Are you embarrassed to be seen with a duke?" he asked.

  She laughed. He wanted to draw out her laughs all night.

  "Not embarrassed, no. But I do believe that people other than Fanny will begin to misinterpret your interest if we continue to speak in a corner. They may not be so ready to believe that we are merely friends."

  "Friends. That is what we are, is it not?" he asked.

  "Yes," she said. "I believe we might become very good friends. I feel great promise in the future."

  He smiled. She wished to be friends with him. Good.

  Good.

  ~.~

  Chapter Eight

  "Fanny," Georgette said the next morning. "We are escorting Delia Ditherfield later today, are we not?"

  Fanny groaned. "Oh, lud, I'd forgotten. Could we possibly send our regrets? It is not that I don't adore Delia, for I do. I simply do not know how much more of this I can take. Why can she not marry Merry and be done with it?"

  "I was under the impression that they were not yet betrothed," Georgette said.

  "They are not, it is true, although it continues to astonish me. What are they waiting for?" Fanny blew a stray curl away from her eyes.

  Delia Ditherfield and Fanny had become friends the previous year. Both heiresses, the two young ladies had bonded over the difficulties associated with being in possession of a great deal of money, and the courtship struggles that come with it. Fanny, ever cautious after witnessing Georgette's heartbreak a decade earlier, maintained constant distance from the gentlemen interested in her. Thus far, into her second season, she had not demonstrated any particular interest in any of the young men who buzzed about. Delia, on the other hand, had fallen madly in love with Merry Meryton the previous year. He had been very reserved around her, however. This action Georgette had attributed to his reservation to court an heiress, when he had very little funds himself. Georgette believed that Merry, ever affable and friendly, also possessed a considerable amount of pride, which prevented him from feeling he could extend an offer of marriage to a woman when he had so little to offer her, other than his heart.

  This knowledge of the situation with Delia, was one of the reasons she refused to believe Merry could be a traitor to the Crown. However, it was also one of the reasons why she felt compelled to admit that he might be. Could he be driven to commit such a heinous act, out of love for Delia? Georgette believed no; Merry operated based on a very transparent and identifiable code of gentlemanly conduct: do not offer for a woman unless you have the means of supporting her; do not compromise her virtue; do not betray your country.

  She did have to admit that she had derived a particular sort of glee when Eversley had asked her to somehow distract Merry for an afternoon. She had been about to refuse, to say she wanted no part in the activity, when she remembered that Fanny had already agreed to escort Delia to Gunter's that afternoon, where Merry would meet them. His very evident admiration of her ability to lure Merry away, despite not knowing that she was in fact doing nothing out of the ordinary, had been extremely gratifying.

  Fanny, however, was unaware that the Duke of Eversley was hoping to break into Merry Meryton's rooms to search for a special list, and so the afternoon for her was less than thrilling. Both Delia and Merry had an unfortunate tendency to ignore all other company when in the presence of each other which made them less than pleasant companions. They had eyes only for each other.

  "Cheer up," she told Fanny. "After ices perhaps we can stop to buy some ribbons. Eversley has agreed to accompany us to the Castleton ball on the morrow. Therefore, you must look very fine."

  Fanny gasped. "You sly minx," she said. "Have you done with denying he is courting you?"

  "I have not. We are good friends, nothing more. Accept what it is, Fanny, do not push for more than it can be."

  ~.~

  Chapter Nine

  The Duke of Eversley had broken into more apartments than he would care to admit. This activity, he had justified because he was doing work for his country, for his nation, his sovereign, and, most importantly, to avenge Blanche's death. He had broken into mansions filled with spies, tents in a French bivouac, underground apar
tments hiding French nobility who had escaped the mobs, even Napoleon's own quarters.

  Therefore, searching Merry's apartments was relatively child's play. He dispatched James to follow Meryton himself, and Joseph to distract his manservant. He had lifted Meryton's key and done a wax pressing a week earlier. That afternoon, dressed in the uniform and wig of a manservant, he made his way to the Albany.

  He had chosen the afternoon, as it was the time when most of the gentlemen were bound to be out. It was also the time for errands and visitors, and therefore no one looked amiss at a manservant with a key.

  The Albany on Picadilly had been converted into apartments the previous year. The stately former townhome belonging to the Duke of York boasted a courtyard flanked by outbuildings. The front door --grand, yet not overly so-- was accessed up a small flight of steps from the ever-bustling courtyard.

  The address had become the most popular among bachelors in Town. It had also provided a solution to some of the more impoverished gentry. Based on his inquiries, Eversley knew that Merry was able to let his townhome to a merchant family, and take much smaller quarters at the Albany. It also allowed him to let go of most of his staff.

  Still, many of the other gentlemen residents had a good deal of staff, who accessed the building via the back. It was through this entrance that Eversley made his way that afternoon. He had previously entered the house several times in this costume, partly to ensure that he could locate Meryton's suite without trouble, but also to allow enough of the other staff to recognize him, and to therefore not believe anything was amiss.

  The entire effort went smoothly. He quickly entered the apartments, which were almost painfully bare. Meryton must have left most of the furniture in his townhome, or been forced to sell it. Eversley methodically worked his way through the rooms, tapping walls and floorboards, checking under furniture and drawers. Once, he believed he had located a promising space, but it merely resulted in a cache of love letters.

  Delia Ditherfield. Goodness, the man was smitten. Hastily, Eversley returned the letters to their hiding place, not wanting to invade his friend's romantic privacy.

  Eversley did not understand. If Merry needed money, why not simply marry Miss Ditherfield. Did her father threaten to withhold her inheritance if she married Merry? He shouldn't. Merry came from an old and established family. He was also well known as a good and kind gentleman, whose family wealth had been destroyed by the previous generation's excess, not his own. He was a good man.

  Aside from possibly being a spy for France and a traitor to the crown, that was.

  But there was no evidence that Merry was a traitor to the Crown --at least, not in this apartment. Eversley gave it one final sweep and then, shaking his head, departed the apartment and the Albany.

  He cut back towards his mansion in Mayfair, pondering what to do next. He could not say he was surprised that he did not discover anything in Meryton's apartments. Something about this entire assignment felt wrong. He chewed the inside of his lip as he ran over the details. Meryton was one of the suspects who could have taken the list. Meryton had no funds. He was in love with Miss Ditherfield, but refused to offer for her out of some sense of ego and pride.

  But if Merry had the list, he would know the people on the list.

  He would know the people on the list.

  Eversley stopped abruptly in the middle of the street.

  "Oi! Watch where ye be going!" a woman with a large basket yelled at him as she passed.

  Eversley blinked at her. He looked around. Everywhere, men and women were passing him. Tradesmen, servants, street sellers, lightskirts, all of them with somewhere to be. He had forgotten how exhilarating London was. Paris had been similar, but also so very different, and so filled with mistrust and apprehension for the future.

  Merry would know that Eversley was a spy, and yet, he had betrayed no nervousness in Eversley's presence. He had not deviated from his routine. He had accepted Eversley's attention as that of a friend. While it was very possibly that Merry was truly that incredible of an actor, Eversley doubted it.

  Miss Quinby was in the right. It could not be Merry.

  ~.~

  Chapter Ten

  "Thank heavens that is ended." Fanny untied her bonnet and tossed it onto the divan.

  Georgette had to admit it had been somewhat excruciating. Merry Meryton and Delia Ditherfield had eyes for no other when in each other's presences. She and Fanny had been superfluous, window dressing, necessary only to keep society from undue gossip.

  Merry and Delia had visited over ices for as long as they possibly could. Finally, the gentleman had taken his leave, and Georgette, Fanny, and Delia had returned to their carriage, where Delia had promptly burst into tears.

  "I simply do not understand," she had wept into her handkerchief. "Why will Merry not ask me to be his wife?"

  "I believe Mr. Meryton does not feel he deserves to ask you to be his wife," Georgette said.

  "But why?" Delia had wailed. "I have repeatedly attempted to tell him that I do not object to his family's poverty."

  "Did you say it in that manner?" Fanny asked.

  "What do you mean?" Delia sniffed.

  "Simply that I have never met a man who enjoys being told that, despite his very pointed inadequacy, you love him nonetheless."

  Georgette raised an eyebrow at Fanny. "Have you told a gentleman that you love him despite his very evident inadequacy? Are you speaking from experience."

  Fanny merely fixed Georgette with a look. "Do I look like someone who would fall in love with a gentleman with an inadequacy?"

  Georgette grinned. "No, I must admit, you do not."

  Delia had then sobbed some more. Her tears were mostly dried by the time the carriage dropped her off at her family's townhome, but both Georgette and Fanny were feeling somewhat overwhelmed.

  "Ahem." It was the butler.

  "Yes, Smith?" Georgette asked.

  "There is a manservant here to speak with you, Miss Quinby. I placed him in the yellow room."

  "A manservant? Whose manservant?"

  "The Duke of Eversley, Miss."

  Fanny raised eyebrows and raised her fingers. "The Duke of Eversley is just Miss Quinby's friend, Smith. You mustn't get excited."

  "No, miss." The butler, well acquainted with Fanny's informality, stood stoically next to the door as Georgette passed by.

  She entered the yellow room. The manservant was standing in the middle of the room. His coat and trousers did not fit him perfectly, and his wig was askew. He looked slightly awkward.

  But familiar. He looked familiar.

  Georgette stopped and looked him up and down. Then quickly walked forward.

  "Heavens, Eversley," she said. "Do you often call upon ladies, dressed as a manservant?"

  He grinned, suddenly looking decades younger, despite the wig.

  "Did I fool you at all?" he asked. "Was there even a moment of doubt?"

  "A moment," she conceded. "You might have fooled me better had I not known whose manservant you were purporting to be."

  "I have many manservants," he said.

  "To be sure, but not that many who would visit me. May I ask the reason for the costume?"

  "Lest you forget, I was doing a small amount of reconnaissance. This particular uniform allows me a shocking amount of liberty. No one notices a manservant."

  "You are incredibly knowledgeable about this. Are your espionage activities always so thorough?"

  "Not always. On occasion they are positively dull."

  She burst out laughing. "I find that difficult to imagine," she said. "I don't believe anything you could do would ever be dull."

  He had frozen, as if suffering from some sort of blow. He was staring at her intently. She suddenly felt awkward. She traced a finger over the top of one of the chairs and swallowed.

  He cleared his throat.

  "Believe me," he said. "Dull beyond belief. One time I had to sit at a wharf, waiting for a ship to come in."<
br />
  "That does not sound very dull. It sounds exciting. Sea breeze, sailors, possibly pirates. Oh dear!"

  "I had to sit there for a month."

  "You exaggerate."

  He placed his hands over his heart. "I swear it," he said, staring soulfully into her eyes.

  She smiled. "Did you find anything from your possibly unlawful activities?"

  He cleared his throat. "Only that Merry Meryton is extremely attached to Delia Ditherfield."

  She nodded. "So. You admit then that Merry is not the Englishman I overheard."

  He rubbed his jaw. "I admit that it was likely someone else," he said. "Will that do?"

  "I suppose it must," she said.

  "Will you tell me now how you managed to lure Merry out?" he asked.

  "Oh. He already had an appointment with Delia for ices. Fanny and I were escorts to alleviate the gossip. It has been planned for over a week."

  "So, you did nothing. You led me to believe you had a brilliant plan of attack, when in reality you simply went about your day as already planned."

  "I ensured he did not leave too soon. That must count for something." Her eyes twinkled mischievously.

  "No doubt that was incredibly difficult, ensuring that he did not pry himself away from his beloved too quickly."

  "You have no idea," she said. She placed her clasped hands beneath her chin and looked up at him through her lashes. "Oh, Merry!"

  Playing along, he took one of her hands and held it over her heart.

  "Oh, my love!" he said.

  She giggled, and they stared at each other. At first, in fun --playing at being Merry and Delia, staring soulfully into each other's eyes. But then his eyes turned searching, flitting to the corner's of her face, down to her lips, back up to her eyes.

  She coughed delicately and looked away, breaking the spell.

  He let his hand fall to his side.

  "Tell me," he said. "Did Sebastien ever declare his love for you?"