by Amy Jarecki
If the music hadn’t stopped, Fletcher would have pursued that topic a bit further. Why was Georgiana so attached to a cottage where she had no family support? Though he’d asked, she hadn’t volunteered anything of substance. And though she professed that she was not yet ready to remarry, she lacked no enthusiasm in the bedchamber. In fact, her behavior between the linens was quite extraordinary for a bluestocking...not that Fletcher had anything with which to compare. His past partners had all been rather outgoing—like Signora Morella.
After a gentleman stopped to ask Lady Eleanor to dance, Fletcher found Georgiana in the vestibule engaged in an animated conversation with Lord Hamilton. She smiled and clasped her hands, looking as if she’d just won a horserace with ten-to-one odds.
Fletcher hastened toward her but was stopped by a woman who introduced him to her daughter—a blushing debutante. He tried to be reasonably polite but excused himself directly. By the time he was close enough, Hamilton was bowing over Georgiana’s hand. “Thank you ever so much, my lady.”
“No, no, thank you,” she replied.
Fletcher slid in behind her. “It seems Hamilton has made you happy?”
“Possibly. He expressed his interest in some of Daniel’s work.”
“Oh, that’s right. He was an inventor. Odd you’ve never spoken of his inventions.”
“Yes, we’ve discussed steam engines. He was a fan of Watt just as you were, do you not recall?” Her face turned red, then Lady Derby passed as if she were on a mission. Nonetheless, Georgiana grasped her mother’s elbow. “There you are, Mama. Are you planning to waltz with His Grace? Of all the guests, he’s the closest to the throne. It wouldn’t be proper if the matron of the house did not.”
Fletcher gave Georgiana a questioning glance before he bowed and offered his hand. “Of course, I’d be delighted.”
He waltzed with Lady Derby and the Dowager Duchess of Ravenscar, and two other matrons of the ton before the orchestra finally took a recess.
“My word, Evesham, I’m surprised to see you here,” said Lord Saye.
Searching the hall for Georgiana, Fletcher gave the man a bland stare. It was beginning to seem as if everyone present was conspiring to keep him away from Her Ladyship. “Why’s that?”
The man snorted sarcastically. “What with your reputation, I’d imagine everyone was as shocked as I to see you as the guest of honor of all things.”
“Perhaps there are still some members of polite society who believe a man’s character is not defined by the gossip columns.”
“Oh, please.” The earl gave him a once over. “I need no tabloids.”
Fletcher had heard it before. He was of ignoble birth and, therefore, an imposter in many men’s eyes. But none of them were able to do a damned thing about it. “Unfortunately one cannot choose one’s parents.”
“Quite.”
He watched as the pompous arse sauntered away. Of course, Saye had no idea Fletcher’s slight was directed at his father. In no way would he deign to disrespect the memory of his mother. He looked to the refreshment table where, while Fletcher was dancing, Georgiana had been in conversation with not one but three gentlemen, but now she was nowhere to be found. Bless it, if he didn’t know better he might think she was deliberately trying to avoid him.
His suspicions mounted tenfold when he arrived at the cardroom and found Her Ladyship sitting along the wall in deep conversation with Clarence Webster. That the man had ventured to the cardroom was no surprise, but that the swindler had anything good to say to Her Ladyship was impossible. Webster had not only bullied Fletcher at Eton, he would cheat a man out of his last farthing, then send his ruffians to rough the poor sop over and collect on any outstanding debts.
In fact, Webster was the initial reason why Fletcher had sought boxing lessons. At Eton, Fletcher had been the smallest boy in his year, oft picked upon by older boys, Webster being the leader of the pack. In one summer, he’d grown an entire foot but the swindling fool had moved on to Cambridge. Nonetheless, if nothing else, his youth taught Fletcher one thing—no one would ever run roughshod over him again.
He cracked his knuckles as he strode into the room, his blood boiling while Georgiana covered her mouth and laughed at something the weasel had said. But his temper completely boiled over when Webster rested his hand on her arm.
“Webster,” he growled, stopping in front of the pair, and jamming his fists into his hips. “Whatever pulled you from your dung hill?”
Georgiana’s jaw dropped. “Your Grace!”
The dastard hopped to his feet. “Evesham, you are insolent and insulting.”
Drawing in a deep breath, Fletcher’s chest expanded. “It is impossible for me to be insolent. I am a duke. And last I checked, you had no title.”
Her Ladyship rose and stood beside the varlet. “That may be so, but Mr. Webster is a guest—”
“And a swindler,” Fletcher added. “I have no idea why he’d be on the guest list.”
“Because I suggested Mama invite him. He has expressed interest in Daniel’s work.”
“Daniel’s work? And why is it this groundbreaking invention is suddenly of such import? Aside from this evening, you haven’t mentioned it to me.”
Webster thrust out his damned chest. Evidently, he still thought he was king of the bloody roost. “Mayhap that’s because Her Ladyship knows better than to trust the likes of you.”
Fletcher backed the cheat against the wall and pinned him with an arm bar across the throat. “You may have been two years my senior and a foot taller when we were at Eton, but no more. You will stay away from Lady Georgiana and her family. If I catch wind that you have gone anywhere near them or embroiled them in your deceit in any way, I will personally see to it you are ruined for the rest of your days.”
“Remove your filthy hands,” Webster croaked as he threw a knee intended as a strike to the groin.
But Fletcher reacted in time, taking the jab to his thigh. Snarling, he tightened his grip. “You always did fight like a scoundrel.”
Webster spat. “Bite my arse.”
As Fletcher ducked, the bastard swung a hook, only managing a glancing blow. He countered with a jab, knocking the swindler to the floor. “Don’t bother getting up,” he growled.
Webster looked a bit dazed as he wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth.
“Stop it!” Georgiana shouted.
Fletcher backed away, his hands shaking.
Georgiana slapped his face. “How could you?”
Stunned, he stared back. Didn’t she realize he was protecting her from a coward, a cheat? “It shouldn’t have come to blows. He struck first.”
“Only after you threatened him and pinned him against the wall,” she seethed, her voice filled with scorn. She took two steps away, then turned and fled from the room.
Webster smirked.
Fletcher gave the man a dead-eyed glare. “If I ever see you in Her Ladyship’s presence again, I’ll show no mercy.”
Without a moment to lose, he bounded out to the vestibule, catching sight of Georgiana as she dashed up the steps. She tripped when she reached the landing, barely catching her fall with the banister. A slipper came tumbling toward him as he followed.
“Wait,” he called, picking it up.
Reaching the first floor, she stopped and faced him with fire in her eyes. “I have an important conversation with a businessman and you waltz over and pick a fight like a jealous fiend.”
“Me? That man wouldn’t think twice before he swindled you out of your last farthing.”
“Lady Eleanor said he pays her.”
“That’s because Her Ladyship is a smuggler—she’s nearly as bad as Webster.”
Gasping, Georgiana clutched her hands over her chest. “You, sir, have just insulted not only my dearest friend, you have insulted me. Now I know why your character is always in question—”
“You cannot possibly understand.”
“No? I think I fully understa
nd. You were a nobody before you fell into a dukedom, and now you exploit your position by demanding everyone bow to your wishes. I will not and will never be suffocated by a man who forces me to bend to his will.”
“Georgiana, I—”
“No!” She unclasped the pearls and threw the strand at him, then did the same with the earrings and tiara. “We are absolutely, unequivocally incompatible!”
As if slapped across the face, Fletcher stooped, gripping the handrail and watching her flee.
What have I done?
Chapter Twenty-Three
THE DEW ON THE GRASS made Georgiana’s hem damp, but she hardly noticed. She ought to be ecstatic about today, but her heart felt as dank as the morning’s fog. On the positive side, Roddy and Mr. Walpole had arrived at Richmond Park exactly on time and, during the ball last night, Lord Hamilton had purchased the pumper demonstration model sight unseen and would be depositing payment in her bank account on the morrow. Even if today’s demonstration was another flop, she had secured at least one buyer for Daniel’s invention. Though she wouldn’t bring in enough money to establish a factory, she now had the means to return to Thetford and manufacture another prototype and have it finished within two months.
If only she were able summon the joy she ought to be feeling and shove away her ridiculous melancholy.
Lady Eleanor’s coach arrived and she hastened to alight with the help of a footman. “Georgiana, why were you not at breakfast?”
“I wasn’t about to chance another encounter with Evesham. Did you not hear? He grew enraged when I was speaking to Mr. Webster and the two came to blows.”
“I’d heard about the tussle.”
Georgiana pursed her lips against the sickness roiling in her stomach. “So, the duke showed his true colors at long last. To be honest, I’m glad. We have no possible future together.” She inhaled deeply. “At least this way, we’ve made a clean break and that’s the end of it.”
“Oh dear.” Eleanor led her away from the growing crowd. They stopped in a quiet spot behind the fire engine. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have introduced you to Clarence Webster.”
“How can you say such a thing?”
“He doesn’t exactly run a well-to-do establishment.”
“Are you saying Evesham’s accusations are founded?”
“Well, Mr. Webster has never swindled me, but I’ve heard enough conjecture to believe his card tables are fixed.”
Her stomach turned over. Good heavens, she’d been so curt with the duke last eve. “He cheats?”
“I believe he does.”
What was done was done—and for the best. Besides, Georgiana mustn’t forget that Fletcher had come to blows last night—at her mother’s ball of all places. “That still doesn’t absolve Evesham for his abhorrent behavior. And I’ll tell you true, he not only accused Mr. Webster of being dishonest, he outright said you were a smuggler.”
Eleanor laughed. “Oh, did he now?”
“You laugh?” Georgiana puzzled at her friend as if she’d grown two heads. “If I were you, I would be outraged not amused.”
Winding a red curl around her finger, Eleanor blinked. “He’s not entirely wrong on that count either, though I would put my enterprise at no more devious than that of a privateer.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Business is quite good, though it was better during the war. And you’ve seen for yourself how I’ve prospered.”
Georgiana clapped her hands over her ears. “Good Lord, I do not want to hear another word. You are my dearest friend and I would hate for anyone to misjudge you.”
“Me as well. That’s why I put on airs and go to house parties when I have absolutely no interest in finding a husband.” Eleanor looked behind her, then lowered her voice. “A gentlewoman must keep up appearances, mind you.”
“Please tell me you’re not involved in anything dishonest.”
“Dishonest? No, I can promise that without a doubt. Though I might avoid paying duties to give my customers the best prices possible.”
Georgiana thwacked her friend on the arm. “You are shameful.”
“Not really. And remember that when you need supplies to build your pumpers.”
Hesitating for a moment, Georgiana calculated a list of sums in her head. How much could she save by purchasing through Eleanor? “You can help me acquire supplies?”
“I can help you acquire anything you need...within reason.”
“I shall keep that in mind—as long as there is no skullduggery involved.”
“Of course not.”
Roddy dashed up and climbed onto the pumper’s platform. “Good morn, ladies. The fire in the pumper has been lit and it’s ready to go.”
“And the water?”
“The holding tank is chock full.”
“You are a champion, young man.” Georgiana waved at Mr. Walpole. “Are you as prepared, sir?”
“Absolutely, my lady. I can recite my lines backward if need be.”
“I am duly impressed.” Georgiana gestured to Eleanor to follow and climbed the steps of the dais. “Thank you for your efforts. I truly appreciate all you have done, both with the dancing and with the fire engine.”
After an inspection, Georgiana deemed all in order. The demonstration proceeded without incident. Both Mr. Walpole and Roddy were magnificent. The crowd even applauded and though no one stepped forward to offer to provide the financial backing for Whiteside Pumpers, Georgiana did receive a second request. This one came from Mr. Beaverton. She had met him at Lady Maxwell’s ball and she had sent him a letter with information about the fire engine.
Mr. Webster obviously had not been scared off by Evesham’s abominable treatment, and he met Georgiana at the machine. “By jove, Daniel did it.”
She bit the inside of her cheek, stopping herself from saying she’d perfected the machine. Besides, her late husband deserved all the accolades. He’d lost his life working on the pumper. It had been his dream, not hers.
“If only he were here to see it.”
Running his hand over the cast iron, Mr. Webster moved to the rear.. “You have mechanized both the suction and discharge hoses?”
“Absolutely.”
“It is amazing you had enough pressure to do both.”
She smiled knowingly. “Harnessing enough pressure was our greatest hurdle.”
“I’d like to know more.”
“Perhaps you’d like to place an order?”
“Hmm. First I’d need to see Daniel’s workshop...”
Mr. Webster continued talking, but Georgiana’s attention was pulled away when she saw the Duke of Evesham standing beside Mr. Walpole. Except Mr. Walpole looked as if he’d just been slayed and Fletcher’s expression was as angry as a rendering of Zeus during a thunderstorm.
Georgiana froze, heat thrumming through her veins at the breakneck pressure of one hundred pounds per square inch. She’d spent over a month trying to conceal the fact that she was responsible for dousing him at the Southwark Fair.
But by the blaze reflected in his eyes, he not only realized who she was, any affection he’d harbored for her had vanished in the blink of an eye.
“Evesham, come off your dunghill to consort with the commoners, have you?” said Mr. Webster, further proving his questionable character.
“This day will not end with another brawl.” Georgiana held up her palm. “Please excuse us. I have a matter to discuss with His Grace.”
Fletcher barely acknowledged Webster’s remark as he sauntered forward. “Now I know why you were familiar. Devil take it, I should have recognized that worthless actor when I saw you with him at Covent Garden.”
“Your Grace, I never intended—”
“You lied to me,” Evesham growled, his eyes filled with ire, his face red.
Georgiana clutched her arms across her midriff and took a step away. “I didn’t exactly lie, I just didn’t ever see the point in angering you further.”
“But you kept this
—” He thrust his hand at the pumper. “This disastrous fire engine a secret while you deceived me into thinking you might actually care for me.”
As his words turned her insides to shreds, she pressed praying fingers to her lips. “But I do care for you.”
He threw up his hands. “What other secrets have you not told me about?”
“I assure you this is the only one.” She dared to take another step closer. “Whiteside Pumpers is Daniel’s legacy. I owe it to his memory to see that his ambitions are realized.”
A tic twitched in Fletcher’s jaw. “And what about your ambitions?”
This was no time to hide the truth, and it stung like falling into a clump of nettles. “Daniel’s ambitions are mine as well. That’s why I insisted we not make promises—that our liaison only last as long as the house party.”
“So you used me—toyed with my affections when you didn’t give a damn about how I might feel about you.”
She squared her shoulders. “I did not intentionally mislead you. Please, try to understand.”
“I understand quite clearly.” Fletcher’s chin tilted upward with the narrowing of his eyes. “You are in love with a dead man and have no capacity to care for anyone else.”
“But—” Reaching out, Georgiana stepped toward him, but he turned his back and strode away, in an aura of fury. His posture reminiscent of the Southwark Fair, she didn’t dare follow. Clutching her hands across her ribs, tears stung her eyes while her throat thickened and burned.
What have I done?
Chapter Twenty-Four
FOR THE PAST THREE weeks since returning to London, Fletcher had avoided any and everything to do with polite society. In fact, the only time he’d left his town house was for his sparring sessions with Brum or to play cards at a gentlemen’s club where he would be sure not to cross paths with females—especially those who were nobly born and single.
He wanted nothing to do with the fairer sex.
Sitting at his writing table, he pored over the books of accounts for his estates as he grumbled to himself about the excesses. And it was neigh time he put an end to a few of them, especially his housekeeper’s maddening habit of replacing the draperies every year due to dust. Fletcher might be wealthy, but he wasn’t a squanderer. Egad, that’s exactly how men lost their fortunes. He reached for his quill and added to his list of changes, “Henceforth, draperies shall only be replaced if worn or faded.”