‘Outside, where they will stay until after our guests have left,’ said Georgette with rather more force than she usually used to him.
George looked at her interestedly. ‘Nonsense,’ he said with all his father’s command. ‘People expect dogs around in the country.’
Dickson entered and exchanged a look with Georgette, who was composing a suitable answer, without recourse to tearing her brother’s pomaded locks. ‘They do, sir. But the dogs of Fortune Castle are a little unregulated, sir. They have a propensity to chew furniture, and perhaps the odd boot, sir.’
George laughed. ‘Yes, Papa has not trained his brutes well, I suppose. Very well, no dogs for the time being,’ he added with the air of one conferring a boon. ‘Lord Paxton is rather too fond of his boots as it is.’
Georgette gave the wan smile that she always gave in George’s presence, and asked casually (for George abhorred any hint of being compelled), ‘Do you have any clear idea of the persons who are coming?’
‘No,’ said George disobligingly, and picked up a racing journal as a sign of being finished with her. Georgette glided away silently, too frazzled by work exhaustion to find her brother in any way ridiculous today.
Chapter 4
It was known to Sally the maid that Miss Georgette was interested in The Morning Post whenever it arrived. Her mistress seldom spent much time on it, but seemed to read certain sections quickly. Nevertheless, as Mr George had brought one with him from town (and thus they received it two days earlier than usual) Sally obligingly brought the journal, which had been discarded on a table by the entrance, to the little sitting room that Georgette had adopted as her own.
‘Mr George brought this, Miss Georgette,’ she said, and dropped a curtsy.
By rote, Georgette took it up and looked at the announcements. Holding her breath despite herself, she breathed again when she did not find what she dreaded.
Of course, she knew that she might have missed it at any time. There were many missing copies of the Post in the last two years, and although she carried on a rather desultory correspondence with one of the young ladies that she had met in London, a Miss Lucy Pearson, who was now Mrs Fairfield (with a house in town and all the town news), she could never be sure that she had all the information she wished.
What she feared to see was an announcement of engagement, or even marriage, between Lord Onslow and Miss White. She berated herself for this compulsion, even sometimes leaving off regarding The Morning Post for some hours before she gave in — but she always gave in. She had at first expected to see the announcement daily. At the end of the season, it had looked as though all was fixed. After the dance with Georgette, Julia seemed more generous to her suitor, and more careful of his feelings. A man with that chin, that strength of features, could surely not have failed to propose when he was so obviously in love. And how might any lady refuse him? Though this last, she knew to be her own feelings. Julia White’s true feelings were never clear to her, and if someone of better rank and handsome face had also asked for her hand, like the young Earl of Enderby, Miss White might perhaps have succumbed. Georgette disliked herself for suspecting this and even more for hoping so.
Georgette had crumpled many expensive sheets of paper in an attempt to enquire of Mrs Fairfield Lord Onslow’s fate, but all attempts seemed to expose her feelings horribly. In truth, Mrs Fairfield was not so very clever, but every jealous word Georgette penned seemed to make herself utterly obvious. Therefore, she had never directly enquired in her missives. She continued the exchange of letters, reading accounts of Mrs Fairfield’s successes, written to her friend Georgette in the warm knowledge of her own social superiority as a married lady. Once Georgette had attempted, “What of our friends from our presentation? Have you news of them?” but Mrs Fairfield seemed not to have leisure to answer fully. One titbit she had dropped. “Lord Onslow asked me to dance at the Durants’ ball, and my husband was very jealous, I assure you!” This did not cause Georgette jealousy, only exasperation. Would she have mentioned Lady Onslow, if he were already married? And Miss White’s name, on the infrequent letters, had never been mentioned. Perhaps because she now bore another. If Georgette had had an intimate friend, she supposed she might have asked outright, but Georgette had never had such a friend, even among her sisters. No one but her mother, and that three second look of a man who forgot she existed, had ever really known her.
It was all, Georgette knew, a kind of sickness with her. What difference could these matters make to her life? But she thought of his whitened knuckles when Miss White smiled beguilingly at another. She thought of how he glanced at his lady love once, then tried so hard to stop himself doing so after that. To all but Georgette, who saw how his ears strained at the sound of Julia’s voice, who could see the control he exerted on his body which wanted always to be turned in Julia’s direction, Onslow’s interest in Julia White might have seemed almost casual. He was the favourite of the season’s belle, but he was not, the world might think, completely lost in her charms. Georgette knew better. She understood by his looks the riveted attention he would have loved to give to Julia White, by that same attention Georgette was mostly free to give to him. Her invisibility was suddenly useful. If she sat, or stood very still, she could watch him avidly, without being regarded herself. She honed her skills even in her dances with others, or in conversation at social functions. If Onslow were near, she was alerted by the frisson she felt and gently moved to face his direction, stealing glances below her lashes at him. Whatever his face sought to hide, Georgette discovered it. She saw the pulse in his neck throb when Julia laughed at a suitor’s compliment, his jaw clench when an innocent man, who had merely danced with his beloved, hailed him later. He was quick to cover up his feelings, adopting a casual attitude to all. But Georgette was not fooled. She knew his hands, his forehead, his hair, his strong back and muscular form. She knew that he had one earlobe slightly longer than the other. She saw the pulse in his neck when he was under strain. She knew many, many things.
And he never looked at her at all.
Her father had told her that Lord Paxton was coming with some friends, of course, and that the entire pack of Baileys was to come, but apart from that only an approximate number of guests expected was given to her, and when she asked about numbers between male and female for the dining table, was adjured not to worry about that.
‘These things are far less formal than in town, you know. An unbalanced table will raise no eyebrows in the country.’ Having attended just such a house party after her first season, Georgette did not agree. ‘And there may be changes in the numbers, you know. I was careful to let our guests bring whom they wish.’
Georgette started, thinking of chipped ewers, and her father cocked an amused eyebrow at her. ‘No one will invite an army, never fear. How many bedchambers are prepared?’
‘Twenty-six,’ marvelled Georgette at the first practical interest her father had shown in the preparations, beyond agreeing to banish the dogs for the time allotted.
‘Well, no need to worry, then. There are several married couples who might share a chamber, or certainly the Baileys will.’
‘It would be much easier, Papa, if you would remember all those whom you believe will come.’
But her father looked bored, saying merely, ’Oh, I don’t know, Georgette, not beyond thirty as I said.’
‘I thought the thirty included my sisters, excepting the twins,’ Georgette said, trying not to panic.
But her father was heading to the stables, murmuring audibly, ‘Why must she bother me? Her mother never bothered me with such nonsense … As well, she never ma—’
Georgette did not hear the last, but she sighed. Then she grinned inwardly. Could even the most exacting of husbands be as bad as Papa? Violetta, Cassie and Mary’s husbands, with all their faults, seemed vastly superior at that moment.
Chapter 5
The guests finally came in a convoy of carriages, with only a few minutes respite between. G
eorge and Papa greeted them all warmly, and Papa vaguely introduced those not acquainted to his daughters. A version of this greeted each new set of arrivals: ‘Miss Fortune,’ (Georgette was so called as she was now the eldest unmarried daughter) indicated Papa vaguely gesturing in her direction, ‘and here,’ he then said with far more enthusiasm, ‘are my pretty Jocasta, Katerina and Portia. All of marriageable age, you know,’ Georgette inwardly rolled her eyes, ‘and those are the twins.’ He did not bother to name them, but some guests politely enquired, taken by the blond prettiness of Leonora and Marguerite.
Georgette’s self-worth might have been piqued by all of this, but after years of living with Papa, she had none. Moreover, she knew that Papa’s affection for her sisters was no greater than for her. They were simply the best prospects, Georgette having, in Papa’s view (she knew because he said it aloud once) been given a fair chance and shown herself to be the slow runner. Nor did he favour his son overmuch, but by example George had become just like him. This meant they understood each other, and if George outran his allowance by betting on the wrong horse, Papa audibly berated him — but not for very long, and later found the money to deal with it.
Georgette did not even disagree with Papa. She had had a fair crack of the whip, and if no one quite appealed to her after Lord Onslow, then it was altogether her own fault that she had landed back in the windy, dusty halls of Castle Fortune.
It was comforting that the Bailey clan, their neighbours, arrived first. Lord and Lady Bailey had been friends of her family for many years and the son and heir, Frederick, a rather boyish thirty-five-year-old, who had been too old to play with any of them when they were children, had once had designs on her eldest sister Cassie. Their unmarried daughter Amethyst, Georgette’s age, also accompanied them, but Papa would not mind Amethyst for he considered she was plain and talked too much (though she was silent in his company, or when she felt any critical eye) — no rivals to his girls. Papa had watched Amethyst make her bow to him, then said in his habit of talking his thoughts, ‘Still timid and plain, no improvement at all.’ All the Baileys stiffened, but no one was surprised. Amethyst had an open, good natured face which Georgette liked very much. Her own sisters, the Fortune girls, had more regular features, it was true, but no one but Papa could call Amethyst plain. Maria Bailey, at eighteen, was quietly pretty, but so incredibly shy and unassuming that Papa barely acknowledged her. Along with the younger son James, a handsome pup of twenty-five, who grinned at all the sisters comfortably, this made up the Baileys.
As Georgette and the others stole a peak through the windows when they heard a noise, the next carriage decanted some gentlemen. The first being the same age and middling height as James Bailey, but a much more romantic figure with an aesthetic face, a dreaming air and an elaborately but carelessly tied cravat. Her father’s chest swelled - here was the reason for the whole affair, Lord Robert Paxton, heir to an earldom and showing interest in his Jocasta. Georgette looked at him fixedly, finding the air and the cravat a trifle overdone, and was smiling inwardly. She took her place in the Hall beside her papa’s side, and Paxton came in and made his bow. As he did so, she was able to get her first view of his travelling companion.
Georgette took a step back.
Onslow, here! Georgette couldn't believe it. As he came forward and shook her papa's hand, his arm brushed the thin muslin of her long sleeve and her body burned. Her eyes flew to his strong face - but as usual, that which caused her knees to buckle and wits to unhinge, he did not notice. He was saying polite niceties to her papa. Papa made the vague gesture in her direction and the marquis’ pale eyes just crossed hers vacantly as he bowed his blond curls slightly. Then Papa pulled forward his other daughters. Georgette was glad. She stepped back even more.
He was here for two weeks, she realised, and there was nothing she could do about it. She felt the old torture once more: the rush of delirious joy, and then the aching pain of her own invisibility. Still it seemed incredible that the effect he had on her did not reverberate within him. At the very least he should have to pull away, suddenly scorched when touching a furnace, but his face was utterly calm. At least since leaving London she had not had to view his indifference; she had been able to mourn his loss in secret. Now she must be on tenterhooks in case he was to see, in case anyone was to notice, the violence of her reaction. Yet another part of her said internally, he has come alone — there cannot be a wife. It shamed her that she felt joy. And now, standing back where she had a chance to breathe, she looked at his face. She saw some lines around the eyes that had not been there two winters ago. She knew every line of the face, and she saw the strain beneath the charming pleasantries. He was not happy, had not been so for a long time. Perhaps...? But Georgette crushed the budding hope at its inception and told herself again what she had told herself these last two years. You were mistaken. He does not know you.
When she could escape the Baileys, Georgette talked briefly to Jocasta’s potential suitor, Lord Paxton, that young man who took his image a deal too seriously: just the thing to offer her some secret amusement when her own spirits were calmed. He was of average height and colouring, and pleasing to the eye even if his limpid looks in Jocasta’s direction seemed somewhat overdone. A man who seemed less mature than his years, Georgette considered. His admiration for Jocasta seemed genuine, so she forgave him a few poetical flourishes in his conversation. Jocasta accepted his admiration as her due, rather as Miss White had treated her suitors, but with less subtlety. She was a little smug. This conversation with Paxton was as much as Georgette could manage as an attempt at ease, and she needed to escape. She went at last to her mama's sitting room, sunk onto the window seat, pulled the curtain over, and wept. She took some rose water from her reticule’s depth, and dabbed at her face with her handkerchief, whispering to herself, foolish, foolish girl!
When she was restored to order, she re-joined the guests.
‘Well,’ said Jocasta, sitting cross-legged on Georgette’s bed, having thrown an old plaid shawl around her nightgown in a bid to stop freezing to death, ‘at least we had enough rooms.’
‘Only because the Fentons have cancelled. Father finally remembered there was a proposed five in their party at least! He was quite pleased, because their party would have contained two of the daughters not yet out, whom Papa feared might be as pretty as their mama. But I am quite sorry in a way. Lady Fenton was very kind to me whenever I met her in London. And I would have liked to meet the beautiful Honoria and Serena, who are perhaps the ages of Portia and Katerina.’ As Jocasta had commenced shivering, Georgette lifted the coverlet quickly, and the girl snuggled in beside her, leaving the other sisters in the room to fend for themselves.
‘How do you feel about Lord Paxton now that he is here, Jocasta?’ asked tall, slender Portia, at the foot of the bed, trying to tuck her bare toes under her nightgown as she sat, knees up.
‘Well,’ considered Jocasta, dispassionately, ‘his friend Lord Onslow is handsomer, but extremely reserved. Why come to a party if you don’t choose to speak to anyone? I do think Lord Paxton has better manners, don’t you?’
‘Yes, dear. But that is hardly a reason to choose him for marriage, now, is it?’ said Georgette, and she knew she sounded just as Mama would.
‘It is more to me than Papa’s reasons — five thousand pounds a year and heir to an earldom,’ said Jocasta piously.
Georgette kissed the top of her head, which was facilitated by Jocasta having slid further down beneath the covers. ‘Well, I am glad to hear you think so loftily. But Papa is merely caring for your welfare.’
‘I know — and Paxton Park, his own estate separate from Alderly House, is a deal snugger that this place.’
‘It could hardly be less. But he may not,’ said Georgette warningly, ‘wish to marry you after all.’
‘Oh, nonsense!’ said Jocasta with a confidence that was at odds with the delicacy of her appearance, and which Georgette had never possessed. ‘He’ll propose —
but I wish to decide whether to accept him. He is very romantic, is he not? He bought me another book today, which he gave me secretly after dinner. He had pressed the lavender from our walk at Green Park within. That is sweet, do you not think?’
‘Oh, it is!’ breathed Portia. ‘Though Lord Paxton cannot be said to have the height of Lord Onslow, or even George, I do think his figure fine, Jocasta.’ She smiled. ‘His face has particularly delicate features that I would like to capture with my pencil. I shall give it to you for a keepsake when I have completed it.’
‘Why ever should you? I shan’t want it,’ said Jocasta. ‘If I wish to sketch him I shall do so on my own.’
Red-haired Katerina said, from her prone position on the carpet at the side of the bed, propped up by two folded blankets and hugging a twin to each side for warmth, ‘You know Portia can sketch better than anyone. You’d best let her do it, then pass it on as your own. He seems the sort to be impressed by such things. ’Her accents were disinterested and practical as was usual. When she wasn’t sulkily bored.
‘I do not seek to impress him,’ said Jocasta, disgusted. ‘Why should I?’
‘Isn’t this whole party made up so that Papa can foist you onto Lord Paxton? The faster he offers for you, the shorter the party need be,’ Katerina said with typical self-interest. She, of all of them, dreaded this party.
‘Foist is a vulgar word to use,’ said Georgette, primly.
‘Are you really so against this party? At least it will alleviate the tedium of our ordinary days,’ said Portia, passionately, ‘and we have done all the work of it already.’
Katerina looked even more bored at this and Georgette sighed, thinking of the hideous number of tasks that would still await her each day until the party departed.
Georgette and the Unrequited Love: Sisters of Castle Fortune Book 1 Page 4