by Jane Feather
Georgiana smiled, her confidence once more intact. She could deal with Godfrey with Ned at her back. “What did you wish to talk to me about, Godfrey?” she asked, sipping her wine.
“Talk to you?” he queried. “Why would I want to talk to you about anything? I just won’t have you talking to Allenton. I told you that already. And I won’t be defied.”
“You grow tedious, Godfrey,” she said, turning away from him. He grabbed her arm and she stopped, looking over her shoulder at him. “Let go. You don’t want a repetition of this afternoon in front of everyone.” It was reckless and stupid to provoke him so, but after the many months of enduring his bullying, of smiling and nodding and offering only compliant obedience, it was a wonderfully heady feeling. Tonight she would dare anything. And she knew why.
It didn’t stop her taking an involuntary step back as she saw Godfrey’s face. He looked capable of anything, his reddened eyes murderous in his flushed face. A purple vein pulsed in his temple and his hand on her arm tightened on the bruises he had already made that afternoon, so that she felt tears of pain spring to her eyes.
“You will be sorry for that, Georgiana,” he promised, spittle gathering on his fleshy lips. “Later. I shall make sure of it.” Then he released her arm, almost throwing it from him, before weaving away toward the dice players.
A cold shudder crept up her spine. She took a step toward Ned but he shook his head, an almost imperceptible movement that nevertheless stopped her in her tracks. Of course, nothing would be gained by further provocation tonight. She turned away from him and went over to a sofa where two women sat chattering.
“Good evening, Mrs. Eddington, Mrs. Maryfield.” She sat down in a chair beside the sofa. “I trust you spent a pleasant day.”
“Indeed, Lady Georgiana, most pleasant,” Mrs. Eddington declared with a conspiratorial wink at Mrs. Maryfield. “Indoor pursuits can certainly compensate for the lack of the outdoor variety.” She winked with vulgar significance.
“Oh, come now, dear Mrs. Eddington,” Mrs. Maryfield said from behind her fan. “For shame, ma’am. Lady Georgiana’s sensibilities are too delicate for such talk.”
Her companion merely laughed. “Only for a few more months, my dear friend. Once she’s wedded and bedded, she’ll be fit to join the company, you mark my words.”
“Oh, yes.” Mrs. Maryfield nodded with a significant glance toward Godfrey Belton. “Such a man he is. You are to be congratulated, my dear Georgiana, on such a good catch. He’ll make you a fine husband. And that house he’s building for you…everyone says it will be one of the finest in the county.”
“I wouldn’t know, ma’am,” Georgiana said, hiding her distaste. “I haven’t been consulted.”
“And how should you be, my dear?” Mrs. Eddington exclaimed. “‘Tis hardly a woman’s place to have an opinion on such matters. Leave it to your husband, child. He will know best.”
“I’m sure,” Georgiana said, tapping the ivory sticks of her closed fan against her knee. “Godfrey must always know best.”
Dinner was announced and the party trooped across the hall to the dining room, where servants stood lined up along the walls. The dinner guests stood behind their chairs at the long table and the strains of “The Boar’s Head Carol” sounded from the hall. All eyes turned to the door. The cook entered bearing a massive golden salver with the glistening boar’s head surrounded by bay leaves and rosemary, an apple in its mouth. He was followed by servants bearing other dishes, garlanded with holly and juniper, their voices raised tunefully or otherwise in the traditional medieval carol.
The guests joined in the final refrain as the magnificent offering was placed upon the table among the brightly burning candles, and Lord Selby took up the carving knife and fork. He looked down the table and smiled.
“Georgiana, my dear, you shall be awarded the apple,” he declared amid a small burst of applause. “It should satisfy your somewhat timid appetite.” He forked the apple from the boar’s mouth and placed it on a plate presented by the cook. The plate was placed in front of Georgiana, who smiled faintly at the jest.
The guests took their seats while the boar’s head and a suckling pig were carved and distributed. The smell of meat was rich and heavy in the overheated room, the candles too numerous and too bright for comfort. Georgiana glanced across the table at Ned, who was not looking as if he was enjoying himself at all. He looked up, as if aware of her glance, and very slightly lowered one eyelid. Instantly she felt stronger.
Ned kept to himself as far as it was possible throughout the eternal evening. The Lord of Misrule declared a game of blindman’s buff after dinner, with a kiss instead of the customary buff on the shoulder to be given by the blindfolded person when he or she caught one of the players, who would then be blindfolded in turn. The game quickly degenerated into a drunken free for all, furniture knocked to the floor, glasses smashed, kisses becoming lusty embraces.
Georgiana hung on the sidelines of the game, dodging the blindfolded pursuer gracefully as if she was playing in earnest, but making absolutely certain that she was never close enough to be caught. She noticed that Ned was doing much the same. Obviously he was as aware as she was of the potential for malicious mayhem if they found themselves the blindfolded, blundering victims of this dangerously rowdy group.
Godfrey was the blindman as the clock struck midnight. Selby tied the scarf around his eyes amid much merriment, turned him around three times, and then stepped back, raising his glass to his lips, watching with hooded eyes.
Godfrey moved with amazing stealth for such a large man so full of drink, pausing to listen frequently, turning his head this way and that as if to smell someone close by. Georgiana had retreated to the far corner of the salon. Ned was by the door, watching closely. Godfrey turned suddenly toward Georgiana. He began to move through the furniture and Ned inhaled sharply. There was a purposefulness to the man’s movements, to his direction, and Ned guessed that he could see. Selby had tied the blindfold leaving enough space for Godfrey to see beneath.
Had they arranged it beforehand between themselves? Georgiana was to be punished for her defiance. Ned held himself still with the greatest difficulty as he saw Georgiana’s eyes widen with sudden acknowledgment as she realized that Godfrey was making straight for her. She moved sideways. He followed her. The room was a roaring cacophony of laughter and cheers. It seemed as if everyone was in on the joke except Georgiana and Ned.
Georgiana moved behind a chair and someone jerked it aside just as Godfrey lunged forward. He caught her, trapping her in the corner, tearing off his blindfold as the room exploded in a crescendo of applause. He caught her face between both hands, pressing his mouth to hers.
Georgiana struggled for air, suffocated by the hot vinous reek of his breath, the wet fleshiness of his lips that seemed to be devouring her mouth, the weight of his body pressing her own slight frame against the wall behind her. And her ears were filled with the hateful, cheering applause of the audience.
Ned slipped his hand inside his jacket, his fingers closing over the ivory handle of the pistol. Every instinct told him to hold his nerve. If he fired, even just into the air, it would tip the entire situation over the edge into full-fledged disaster. He’d seen riots, and he knew what could happen, even to such a small group, in the right conditions. And these conditions were ripe for mayhem. They were all drunk; the edge of violence was sharp and would be easily incited by a leader. And Selby or Belton was more than ready to push the boulder over.
But he could barely endure to see Belton slobbering and pawing Georgie, and slowly he began to slide the pistol from his pocket.
And then suddenly it was over. Belton stepped back, breathing hard, a hand on his side. Georgiana slipped out of the corner into the freedom of the center of the room. She appeared composed, but her face was ashen, her eyes glittering.
“If you’ll excuse me, Lord Selby, I find myself fatigued,” she said, in a voice as steady as the Rock of Gibraltar. “I s
hall seek my bed. Good night, Godfrey. Ladies and gentlemen.” She offered a nod in lieu of a more formal curtsy and turned to the door.
Ned opened it for her, and she threw him a glance as she passed him. He closed the door behind her, wondering what she had done to Godfrey to cause him to sink into a chair, one hand still pressed to his side, his other carrying a glass of wine to his lips. Whatever it was, it had been inconspicuous to all but the victim. He wasn’t at all sure Georgie needed any help from him at all.
The atmosphere in the room was deflated, the guests milling aimlessly. Selby declared a game of charades, but there seemed little enthusiasm and the group began to break up, guests drifting toward the stairs to collect their carrying candles. Some stumbled, some weaved uncertainly, clinging to the banister on their way upstairs.
Ned was about to follow the procession upstairs when Selby spoke at his back. “A word with you, Allenton.”
Ned turned slowly and found himself facing Selby and Belton, standing shoulder to shoulder. “Certainly,” he said with a pleasant smile. “What can I do for you, gentlemen?”
“Not here,” Selby said. “In there.” He jerked his head back toward the salon.
Ned weighed his options. He didn’t trust either of them, but he did have his pistol. And he had a certain curiosity about what they wanted of him—apart, of course, from two thousand guineas for a useless piece of land.
He shrugged. “If you wish.” He stepped away from the stairs.
Selby and Belton exchanged a glance and came around him one on each side. “Good man,” declared Selby. “I’ve a particularly fine cognac I should like you to try.” And between them they ushered Ned through the salon and into the library.
Belton closed the door firmly behind them and turned the key. He gave Ned a most unpleasant smile. “It would have been so much better for you if you had chosen some other refuge, Allenton,” he declared, cracking his knuckles.
“Really?” Ned raised an eyebrow. “How so?”
“You have insulted my hospitality, Allenton,” declared Selby. “You’ve dishonored my ward, Belton’s fiancée—”
“And just how have I done that?” Ned interrupted. “Don’t be absurd, man. Your imagination is running away with you.”
“I’ve seen the way you look at her…and I’ve seen the way she looks at you,” Belton declared, stepping closer. “And I tell you, by the time I’ve finished with you, you won’t be fit to be seen.” Without warning he drove his fist into Ned’s belly.
Ned inhaled. It hurt, but Belton was drunk and had the physique of a dissolute. He was vicious, but nowhere near as strong as he thought he was. Ned, on the other hand, was hardened by years of dirty work. He hadn’t spent all his time in India behind a desk juggling figures—he’d visited his holdings, his plantations, ridden for days at a time administering his property. He’d hunted game with maharajahs, fenced and shot with officers of the East India Company, and a weak blow, however underhanded, from a Godfrey Belton was more than a flea bite but far from a hornet’s sting.
He raised his fist and brought it up under Belton’s jaw. The man slumped back into a convenient chair and Ned turned to Selby. “I’m not sure how I’ve insulted your hospitality, Selby, but I’m certainly sure how you’ve broken the rules of hospitality. Do you usually set your tame thugs on your guests if they refuse to pay you a guest fee?”
He massaged his knuckles thoughtfully. “I can only imagine that your demand for two thousand guineas is a fee for room and board. It seems a trifle excessive to me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I shall decline the offer of cognac. Good evening, sir.” He bowed and walked to the door. He turned the key and opened the door, expecting any minute to hear some response from Selby. But nothing came.
Selby only glanced at the door as it closed behind Ned, and then he looked at the crumpled Belton. “You do appear to be having a hard time of it, Godfrey,” he said. “I’m always telling you not to lead with your fist. And particularly with Georgiana. She has more wit in her little finger, dear fellow, than you have in your entire body.”
He poured cognac into two glasses and gave one to Godfrey, who had hauled himself upright in the chair. Selby took a reflective sip from his glass. “I’m beginning to wonder if you’re exactly the man I’m looking for,” he mused.
Godfrey stared at him. “We had an agreement, Selby. I can control Georgiana. Don’t you worry.”
“I hope so, Godfrey. I certainly hope so.” Selby set down his glass. “I bid you good night…and better luck with her tomorrow. I should avoid getting too close to her if I were you. I couldn’t see what she did to you just now, but it must have been nasty.” He gave a short derisive laugh and left the library, saying over his shoulder, “Snuff the candles before you leave.”
Godfrey swore a vile oath. He drained his glass and hurled it into the fireplace, where it shattered into shards of crystal. His side hurt like the blazes but he didn’t know what she’d done to make that happen. One minute he was in the ascendancy and the next he’d experienced a stab of the worst pain he could remember.
But she could be subdued. She was so small, so fragile. It was ridiculous to imagine he couldn’t control her. He was prepared now. Forewarned, forearmed.
Chapter Seven
Ned sat by the fire in his chamber, sipping cognac and waiting. He’d had some strange Christmases in his life, he reflected. No one could say eating boar’s head and brandy-rich Christmas pudding, and singing carols in the midday heat of Madras in December was normal. But the British preserved their traditions religiously however peculiar the circumstances. However, the last twenty-four hours really transcended anything in his experience. And he had the absolute conviction that they were going to change the course of his life forever. The thought brought a smile to his lips.
He let the clock strike one and then he rose and went to the door. He opened it and stepped into the corridor, listening intently. He could hear no sounds and the only light came from a single sconce on the wall close to the galleried landing at the end of the passage.
He walked softly to the landing, listening. Still no sound. On the landing he stopped. The hall below was in semidarkness, also lit only by a single sconce. There was no sound, apart from the general creaking of old boards in an old house. He trod softly down the stairs, across the hall, and opened the door to the salon. The room was in darkness, and when he moved toward the library door he saw that it was closed and there was no telltale line of light beneath.
He made his way back, up the stairs, but instead of going to his own chamber he took the passage he had taken with Georgie earlier. He stopped outside her door. Light glowed from beneath. He knocked softly.
“Georgie, let me in.”
There was only silence. He was about to knock again when he heard the key in the lock. It turned and the door opened halfway. He stepped through, and she shut it swiftly, turning the key again.
“I didn’t wake you?”
She shook her head, said simply, “No.” She turned aside to the fire, where a small pan was heating on a hob. “I was warming some milk for myself. Would you like some?”
“No,” he exclaimed. It was so domestic and soothing, and he didn’t feel either of those things. “What else have you?”
Georgiana, bending over her saucepan, straightened, laughing. “Cognac on the dresser. I like to put a little in the milk.”
“It sounds revolting,” he declared, finding the decanter and filling a glass. “What did you to Belton?”
“A jab in the kidney,” she said easily. “Undetectable but most effective.” She lifted the saucepan, ready to pour its contents into a cup she had ready, and then set it aside. “No, perhaps you’re right. This isn’t a moment for hot milk.” She stood up, turning to face him.
“Where did you learn those tricks?” Ned asked, his eyes fixed upon her. She wore a light peignoir over her nightgown and her hair was an unruly copper mass around her pale face and clustering on her narrow shoulders.
“What tricks?” Georgiana looked at him warily.
“You know perfectly well,” he declared. “Would you like cognac?”
“Please…and if you’re referring to my ability to protect myself from Godfrey, then Jacobs’s son taught me. He’s a prizefighter.”
Ned laughed as he handed her a glass. “I thought there was something unusual between you and Jacobs.”
“He stands my friend,” she said, taking a sip, still looking at him with some degree of wariness. “He knew my father. They were children together.”
“So your family’s from Northumberland? Carey…? I don’t recognize the name.”
Georgiana curled into a corner of the daybed. It seemed pointless to keep her family history a secret. And the urge to confide in Ned Vasey was well nigh irresistible. Ever since she’d found herself in this place, torn from her London roots with such lack of ceremony, she had kept her own counsel, given as little of herself as she could. Confided in no one, trusted no one. All her energy had gone into finding a way out of this calamitous situation that had been forced upon her. But something existed between herself and this man, something unlooked-for. And every instinct told her to rely on it.
“My father was a younger son of the Dunston family. There were six children and by the laws of primogeniture he would have been left nothing.” She waved a dismissive hand at the immutable fact of the property laws.
“When a distant cousin, a Jeremiah Carey, offered to adopt him because he and his wife were childless, Lord Dunston jumped at the opportunity. It meant one of the younger sons would be well provided for. So at the tender age of ten, my father was sent to live with the Careys in London, took their name and inherited Jeremiah’s property on his death. He married well, I was born, and then both my parents died of typhus within two months of each other.”