"Scotland forever!” they said in unison.
Georgina saw that her mother had joined Susan near the grandstand and decided it was her chance to slip away from parental control. Her brother told her that they had arrived too late for the first minor race, but that the second would be run shortly. "Lend me a guinea, George, and point out a bookmaker; then I shall happily allow you to escape.”
"Done!” he said, fishing in his pocket for the coin.
The fellow taking the bets was in conversation with the Earl of Lauderdale and seemed to be having difficulty understanding the Scot’s thick brogue.
"I’ll act as your interpreter, James, if you’ll tell me who’s running in this race.”
"Lady Georgina, ye’ve saved ma bacon. Tell this laddie I want tae place a bet on ma own horse, Strathspey.”
"How much?”
"A hundred guineas.”
"Is that all? You are ever the frugal Scot. Surely you have more confidence in your own animal than that, James?”
“Go on, make it two hundred. Strathspey canna lose.”
Georgina arranged the bet for Lauderdale and gave him a saucy smile. “Thanks for the tip.” She listened carefully as he named the other horses in the race and turned back to the bookmaker. She proffered her own guinea and placed her bet. Then she headed toward the grandstand so she could watch the race.
As she walked along, she was aware that every head turned to stare at the young lady sporting the kilt and doublet. She fingered the large amethyst in her thistle broach. Father, you have made me the talk of the Woburn races. I can run and hide, or I can thumb my nose at drab respectability and act with bravado.
Georgina caught up with Lord Lauderdale. Since he was a Scot, and a widower to boot, she felt safe with him. She bit her lip with vexation as he hailed his great friend Francis Russell. As she had anticipated, the Duke of Bedford’s lustful eyes lingered on her legs with appreciation before he raised them to her face.
“What a delightful surprise. Your brother told me in no uncertain terms that you would not be accepting my invitation for the weekend.”
“Ah, I’m afraid I’m not here for the weekend, Your Grace. It was imperative that Mother contact my sister, the Duchess of Manchester, on a family matter. We shall be leaving shortly.”
“Surely not before you watch the main event for the Woburn Gold Cup? I insist you stay and partake of my hospitality. It will be an honor to serve as your escort, Lady Georgina.”
She relented a little. “Well, I shall certainly watch the upcoming race, since I have placed a wager on it.”
Lauderdale clapped Bedford on the back. “Strathspey’s the horse tae beat. I hope ye have money on him, Francis.”
“I do, James, since I don’t have one of my own horses in this race. The odds are only two to one, but there is a thrill to backing a winner that has little to do with money.”
Only a man with more riches than Croesus would think that. Georgina stepped closer to the rail. “It’s about to start!” She watched avidly as the horses swept past them, raising a cloud of dust beneath their thundering hooves. At the same time, she was acutely aware that Bedford’s eyes were focused on her. Mother too will be watching me with bated breath. Please don’t get your hopes up, Duchess Drinkwater.
The ending of the race was exciting, and a great babble of voices rose up as Strathspey and another racehorse galloped neck and neck down the stretch. A collective sigh could be heard when Strathspey lost by only a head.
“Hellfire and damnation!” Lauderdale shouted, visibly crestfallen. “I’m sorry, lassie, ye’ve lost yer bet.”
“James, please don’t be sorry. I didn’t lose. I won!”
“How did ye win?” he puzzled as Bedford listened intently.
“I didn’t bet on Strathspey. I placed my wager on Silky Sullivan. An Irish horse will beat a Scottish horse every time. I thought that was common knowledge, but perhaps not, since the odds were twenty to one.”
Francis Russell threw back his head and roared with laughter. He laughed even harder when he saw his friend’s face turn purple with ire. “The joke’s on you, James, to let a slip of a girl beat you at your own game!”
“And how much did you lose, Your Grace?” Georgina asked pointedly. “Oh, I forgot. It isn’t about the money ... it’s about the thrill of victory or the agony of defeat.”
Francis placed his fingers beneath her chin and looked at her. He made no effort to conceal the hot desire in his eyes. “You enjoy being cruel to me. The shoe might be on the other foot someday, mistress, and you will beg for mercy.”
“Do you often delude yourself, Your Grace?” she asked sweetly. “I know you gentlemen will excuse me while I go and collect my winnings.”
Georgina walked away from them so rapidly, she was panting by the time she found the bookmaker and presented her ticket. When he put the twenty guineas in her hand, she felt rich beyond her dreams. She’d never had more than a sovereign in pocket money.
She turned away quickly and almost collided with John Russell, who had also come to collect his winnings.
His dark, disapproving glance swept over her in the short kilt, and she felt her cheeks burn. She wanted to sink through the turf. Her pleasure at winning was wiped away. Why the devil does he make me feel like an audacious baggage? She raised her chin and said defensively, “I bet on the winner.”
“Congratulations. Making wagers is obviously a game you enjoy. I too bet on the Irish horse.”
“Twenty-five quid pays five hundred, m’lord.” The bookmaker inquired if he’d placed his bet on the Woburn cup race.
“Not yet. You can put my winnings on Gimcrack.”
“How about you, m’lady?”
“I don’t know who’s running.”
The bookmaker handed her a list.
She felt Russell’s disapproving eyes on her. The dark devil has a dangerous look, as if he’d like to shake me until my teeth rattle. The thought prompted her bravado to assert itself. “I’ll have fifteen guineas on Thunderpot!” she said defiantly. “I believe the name is a euphemism for Pisspot.”
John Russell did not laugh. “You have a penchant for vulgarity. It is decidedly inappropriate in a maiden.”
“Are you totally devoid of a sense of humor, Lord Tavistock?”
“Not entirely.” His glance deliberately wandered over her kilt and doublet. “I find an endless number of things that amuse me.” He bowed politely. “Good day, Lady Georgina.”
He bested me again—I wish I’d kicked him in the shins. Picturing the act brought a smile to her lips. My kilt would have flipped up to expose more than my legs!
She joined her mother and her sister in the grandstand. “If Susan has agreed to bring her impressive silver service for my coming-out party, I see no reason to remain much longer.”
“We are not leaving before the main event,” Jane declared. “I have a wager on the Prince of Wales’s horse, Royal Charger. I got the tip from Charles James Fox.”
“That’s taking quite a risk. If it wasn’t for bad luck, Fox would have no luck at all.”
Susan laughed at her sister’s apt remark. “I asked William to place my bet on Godolphin. He’s a magnificent stallion.”
“William or Godolphin?” Georgina asked innocently.
Susan’s smile disappeared. “Both, I’m afraid. Sometimes I wish it wasn’t so.”
“How about a private wager? I’ll bet five pounds on Gimcrack.”
Susan agreed. “That’s the favorite. It belongs to Bedford.”
“I didn’t know that.v John Russell has bet five hundred pounds on his brother’s horse.
“I’ll put my money on Messenger,” Susan declared, assessing the racehorses as they made their way to the starting post.
“I saw you bantering with Francis Russell, Georgy. I hope he indicated that he will be attending our grand ball,” Jane said.
Georgina smiled sweetly. Since I tore up his invitation, it will be a miracle if we will have t
he pleasure of the Duke of Bedford’s company. “He gave me no indication, Mother.”
“They’re off!” Susan grasped Georgina’s arm in her excitement.
“Come on, Messenger!v she cried with great enthusiasm.
“Royal Charger is in the lead,” Jane cried, surging to her feet. “I shall be able to join Prinny in the winner’s circle while he receives the gold cup!’’
Georgina saw that Gimcrack and Thunderpot were running neck and neck. If Thunderpot wins the race, I’ll collect an amazing sum! Gimcrack pulled ahead of her horse and, suddenly, perversely, she wanted Gimcrack to win. Her excitement increased apace as Gimcrack moved to the rail and inexorably moved past each horse that was ahead of him. By the time he took the lead, she was jumping up and down and screaming his name. “Gimcrack! Gimcrack!”
“He won! He won!”
“Georgy, the odds were two to one. I only owe you ten pounds. Hardly an amount to get so excited about.”
John Russell won a thousand pounds! I am delighted for him. I don’t give a fig that I lost fifteen guineas on Thunderpot.
“How fortuitous that Bedford’s horse won. It is only fitting that we go down to the winner’s circle and congratulate him.”
Georgina cursed silently and rolled her eyes at Susan. She pictured Francis Russell presenting the Woburn gold cup and quipped, “Bedford will be beside himself.v
Chapter 9
The first week of October sped past so quickly, it all seemed like a blur to Georgina. The day before she was to be presented to the queen, her sisters and their spouses arrived en mass at the Pall Mall mansion. The ladies spent a delightful afternoon showing one another the gowns they would be wearing to court. The men withdrew to the card room and discussed the merits of various racehorses and the amounts they had lost at Newmarket and Woburn.
That night, Georgina lay abed, too unsettled to fall asleep. She got up, walked to the window, and gazed at the stars in the midnight sky. “I wish Father had come,” she whispered wistfully. She knew the apprehension she felt about being presented at court was magnified because her father would not be there to give her moral support. Her confidence was at low ebb. People will think his absence shows a lack of love or caring for me. But that’s not true! She saw a shooting star and made a wish.
The following morning Georgina slept late, and when she went down for breakfast found the room filled with her siblings, all talking at once. For the most part they ignored her as she pushed her food around her plate listlessly.
Finally, Louisa took her hand and squeezed it. “What’s the matter, cockroach?”
“No appetite,” she murmured.
“Nerves!” Charlotte declared with her usual wisdom.
Georgina managed a wan smile for Louisa. “Are you happy?v
“I’m Lady Brome, and someday I’ll be a marchioness. Of course I’m happy.”
Georgina stared at her pretty, Titian-haired sister. Are titles truly what make a woman happy? Without a grand title, am I doomed to unhappiness?
Louisa squeezed her sister’s hand again to reassure her. “Not to worry, Georgy. I have every confidence you will outdo us all!v
“You are the beauty of the family,v Charlotte said briskly. “We expect great things from you.v
Georgina’s heart sank. She desperately wished she could vanish into thin air.
One by one they all left, completely occupied with preparations for this evening’s royal ceremony at Saint James’s Palace. Georgina sat alone, overwhelmed by inertia. Gradually, because the servants began to rush about, she became aware that someone of importance must have arrived. She shook off her lassitude and left the breakfast room. As she passed a window, she saw a huge black traveling coach standing on the driveway.
Georgina rushed through the entrance hall, flung open the front door, and ran down the steps, her lethargy forgotten. “Father! Father! You came! Oh, I am so happy and so excited. Isn’t it an absolutely glorious day?v She flung herself into his outstretched arms, laughing and crying at the same time.
“Do ye see who I brought wi’ me, lass?”
Georgina looked at the man climbing from the coach. “Mr. Gow! Mr. Gow! You’ve come to play the fiddle for my coming-out ball tomorrow night. Welcome to London, Mr. Gow. Father couldn’t have brought me a better present.”
Alexander, his arm around his daughter, headed for the house. “How many are invited to this grand ball?”
“Three hundred,vshe admitted reluctantly.
“I hate these damned affairs, so dinna expect me to be host to these English society snobs. But I will escort ye to court tonight. It will give me pleasure to present ye to the queen.v
She smiled into his eyes. “Thank you, Father.v
The Duke and Duchess of Gordon, in a show of solidarity, rode the short distance from Pall Mall to Saint James’s Palace in their carriage. With them were Huntly, their son and heir, and their youngest daughter, Lady Georgina. Behind them were the carriages of the Duke and Duchess of Manchester, Lord and Lady Lennox, Lord and Lady Brome, and lastly Madelina and her husband, Sir Charles Palmer.
When they arrived at the palace, there were so many carriages clogging the entrance that the Gordon entourage was forced to wait over thirty minutes before they could alight. The Duke and Duchess flanked Georgina, and the rest of the family followed.
In the large crowd slowly making its way to the presence chamber where the debutantes were to be presented to Queen Charlotte, Georgina caught sight of the Duchess of Devonshire’s towering wig, decorated with ostrich feathers. Her glance slid over the Duke of Devonshire’s stiff, pale face, and finally she saw their daughter, Lady Dorothy. Her friend was wearing an exquisite white muslin gown and wig, similar to her own, but her appearance was marred by the gawkiness of her tall, ungainly figure and her mouth that had a tendency to gape open.
Georgina sent her friend a fleeting smile of encouragement. I’m glad my father is here. His presence gives me so much more confidence. She looked around and caught glimpses of the dozen or so other young ladies who were being presented tonight. She knew their names because she had seen the list, but she was far more familiar with their parents, who often attended entertainments given by her mother at their Pall Mall mansion.
She saw the Duchess of Devonshire’s sister, Lady Bessborough, who had brought her daughter, Caro Ponsonby, and Harriet Cavendish to watch Lady Dorothy be presented to the queen. Georgina smiled at the girls, but Caro stuck out her tongue. Unfortunately, Jane Gordon saw her and, in retaliation, she gave Lady Bessborough a haughty snub.
When the doors of the presence chamber were finally opened, the throng filed into the long room hung with royal portraits and rich tapestries and stood against the walls. The royal chamberlain would announce the nobles and the name of each debutante being presented in alphabetical order. Then, in turn, each girl was to leave her parents and walk the length of the chamber to where Queen Charlotte sat enthroned.
Behind her fan, Jane murmured, “I’m gratified to see that dear Prime Minister Pitt has come to pay his respects.” Then she bristled slightly. “It’s too bad that our daughter will be presented after the Devonshires’ daughter.”
The chamberlain waited until Queen Charlotte, seated at the far end of the presence chamber, finished speaking with Lady Henrietta Coyningham; then he read from a card: “Lady Dorothy Cavendish, daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire.v
The duchess gave her daughter a push, and Lady Dorothy moved forward with an ungainly, hesitant gait. Her head stuck out before her, like a tortoise from its shell.
When Georgina heard her mother murmur, “Here’s my head—my arse is coming,” her heart ached for her friend. Then she saw her mother hand the chamberlain the invitation card printed with her name, and knew she was next. She closed her fan, adjusted her gloves, and proudly raised her chin.
“Lady Georgina Gordon, daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Gordon of Banffshire, Scotland.”
Georgina felt as if she were
surrounded by an aura of light. Her lips parted in a half smile, and she had the sensation that she was floating down the long presence chamber. When she arrived before Queen Charlotte, she swept down into a graceful curtsy and waited until the queen raised her.
“It is a special pleasure to meet the youngest daughter of our dear friends the Duke and Duchess of Gordon,” the queen said.
With a sweet smile, Georgina replied, “It is a great honor to be presented to you, Your Highness.”
The captive audience gave a collective sigh at the young debutante’s radiant beauty and grace.
Once all the young ladies had been presented, Queen Charlotte arose and led the royal guests to a reception room where buffet tables lining the walls were laden with hors d’oeuvres, rich desserts, and German wines.
Jane Gordon, a great favorite of the queen’s, brought her a glass of golden Rhenish wine. She noticed a look of panic cross Queen Charlotte’s face when the king entered the room to join the guests. “What is amiss?” she murmured.
Queen Charlotte whispered, “The king isn’t feeling quite himself tonight. Could you help me, Lady Gordon?”
Jane looked over at King George, who was wearing what looked like a purple dressing gown. He had recognized Alexander and was deep in animated conversation with him. “Leave it to me, Your Highness. The Duchess of Devonshire desires your attention.”
Jane signaled William Pitt, and together they approached the king and the Duke of Gordon. “If you don’t want a Regency on your hands, you’d better get His Highness out of the room.”
The pair saw that Alexander had an alarmed look on his face as he listened to King George’s rapid staccato speech, punctuated with “What? What?” every few seconds.
Prime Minister Pitt made an elegant bow to the king and suggested smoothly, “Why don’t we go somewhere private so we can discuss the matter further, Your Highness?”
George’s bulbous blue eyes stared at Pitt until he recognized him, then his head nodded rapidly. “Just so! Just so! Just so!”
Flanked by the prime minister and the Duke of Gordon, King George withdrew from the reception room.
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