An Elegant Façade (Hawthorne House Book #2)

by Kristi Ann Hunter

  “Not very useful, then. We should add him to the book anyway if he’s being mentioned in the columns. I want to know whether or not to avoid him.” Georgina turned her head back and forth, examining her efforts in the mirror. This would be her first day receiving visitors at home. She needed to be perfect.

  She frowned. That curl was certainly not perfect.

  Harriette dipped a quill in the nearby inkwell and jotted a line in the leather-bound book that always rested on the edge of the writing desk. Keeping a log of the social actions of England’s finest was probably not what her mother had intended for Georgina to do, but that book was Georgina’s secret weapon and the key to making sure she never did anything to mar her carefully crafted reputation.

  After setting the book aside, Harriette picked up a letter from amidst the many newspapers. “Lady Jane sent you a message about your Friday gatherings.”

  Georgina’s eyes widened as she slid a final pin into place. “So soon? I only talked to her last evening about her ludicrous idea to turn our Friday salons into a book club. She promised to think of something else.”

  “She did.” Harriette avoided Georgina’s eyes. “It was apparently an epiphany on her way home last night.”

  The paper in the maid’s hand shook slightly, and Georgina frowned at it as if it were a vile snake instead of mere parchment. “What did she choose?”

  “I’m afraid it’s not much better.” Harriette started to extend the paper as if she didn’t want to say the words out loud. Her hand trembled for a moment before she dropped the note on the table.

  Georgina couldn’t stop herself from crossing the room and picking up the folded paper herself. She didn’t open it though, knowing only one thing could make Harriette so nervous. “Does she want to form a group for a musicale performance? I admit pianoforte is not my best talent, but I can perform well enough if I practice.”

  “She doesn’t want to do a musicale either.”

  Georgina was afraid of that.

  Harriette took a deep breath before tossing her words out in a rush. “She still wants to do a book club.”

  The groan escaped before Georgina could stop it. It was bad enough when the conversation turned to popular books during an evening gathering. But to meet for the express purpose of discussing books? What she’d been looking forward to as a potential bright spot of each week was now a deep black gouge across her social calendar. “But we can’t have men at a book club. She expressly wanted men to attend.”

  Harriette took the paper from Georgina’s numb fingers as she nodded. “A book club with occasional salons where you will exhibit for the guests with a selection of readings and plays.”

  This new plan of Jane’s was going to require careful handling. Until Georgina was safely married to a wealthy and titled gentleman, socially secure enough to appear as eccentric as she wanted, she had to be careful which invitations she turned down. If she didn’t attend Jane’s gathering, people would wonder why she’d turned on one of her oldest friends.

  “You know she values your opinion,” Harriette said quietly as she crossed the room to help Georgina into her dress.

  Georgina frowned at the note before slipping the gown over her head and turning her back for Harriette to tighten the laces. Yes, Jane valued Georgina’s opinion, but Georgina had already tried to talk her out of the book club idea. Should she continue to discourage her if it was what Jane truly wanted to do?

  The Season, which had seemed so interminably long when she couldn’t participate in it, now felt incredibly short. It was a feeling that had gnawed at her on the way home last night, the clicking of the wheels over the cobblestones sounding like a clock, eating away at the time she had left. Every event and invitation mattered because things were going to become more difficult with every passing day.

  A throb in her left temple threatened to bloom into a debilitating headache, and the day hadn’t even begun. She spun slowly on her heel. “How do I look?”

  Harriette looked up and down with a critical eye before giving an approving nod. “Perfect, my lady.”

  Georgina leaned over to inspect herself in the mirror once more. It was indeed as close to perfection as humanity could get. Not that she could take credit for the evenly spaced eyes, the delicate nose, or even the straight teeth. The clear skin, exposed to a precise amount of sun to appear healthy but not tan, was something she could claim. As was the flattering cut of the gown and the artfully arranged curls that hid her slightly uneven ears. Now she had only to maintain that pretense for a few hours while they entertained callers.

  The clock on the mantel chimed eleven. Mother was probably coming in the door at that very moment, exhibiting the punctuality she insisted a lady required. It was strange for Georgina, living without her mother, but the happy smile affixed to her face since she married Lord Blackstone made it all worth it. That Mother believed in traveling between the houses each day meant the two were still enjoying their married life. Or it meant that Mother knew Georgina would hate to give up receiving callers in a duke’s house. Either way, Mother needed to chaperone her daughters’ callers, and she’d said she would arrive at eleven o’clock this morning.

  Georgina glided to the drawing room, restraining herself from a giddy skip as she took in the white-and-gold room. She’d decorated the room herself, a project her mother had given her to alleviate the utter boredom of remaining in London for a while after Miranda’s first Season. It was the fireplace that had started it all. After Georgina had emptied the room, the white marble shot through with gold veins had inspired her. So vibrant yet untouchable and beautifully impractical. She’d done the room in white and then started in on changing her wardrobe.

  Fortunately, the room’s outrageous decor was well known around London. No one would know she’d coordinated her wardrobe and drawing room to create a formidable and lasting impression on anyone who came to call.

  And Mother would never know that Georgina and Harriette had spent a great deal of time last year in the formal drawing room, adjusting the placement of the white-and-gold-striped settees and gilt armchairs to perfectly frame Georgina’s all-white wardrobe, golden blond hair, and creamy complexion. It was the height of vanity, but who would dare accuse her of creating the entire thing on purpose?

  Georgina settled herself onto one of the sofas and waited for the first visitor to arrive. While Mother looked over every detail of Georgina’s appearance, Miranda walked past with nary a glance to settle on the other sofa and pull out her needlework.

  Why hadn’t Georgina thought to bring down something to occupy herself between guests? No, she couldn’t think that way. There would be no time between guests. She would be in that much demand.

  She had to be.

  “The Duke of Marshington will be coming by today.” Georgina wasn’t sure why she’d blurted out that particular bit of information, but she had to bite her lip to keep from smirking when Miranda jabbed herself with a needle. Whether Georgina was attempting to bolster her own courage or impress Miranda with her social prowess, she’d clearly failed. She didn’t feel any less anxious, and Miranda looked more annoyed than impressed.

  “Darling, it was a masquerade.” Mother gave a nod of approval after smoothing Georgina’s skirt. “There are always one or two gentlemen claiming to be the esoteric duke at these things.”

  Georgina adjusted the skirts her mother had just smoothed. It probably looked spiteful, but it was simply that infernal urge to move. “He had the ring, Mother.”

  “The ring? I suppose that does make a difference.” Mother sat in the adjacent gold brocade armchair and pulled out her own needlework.

  Honestly, of all the unnecessary things her mother had taught her in the last eighteen years, she couldn’t have found two minutes to say, “A lady always brings something to occupy herself while she waits”?

  “Did you bring anything to occupy yourself between callers this morning?” Mother frowned at Georgina’s empty hands.

  Confidenc
e. Confidence was the most important accessory a woman could put on. It made everyone think she knew what she was doing. “I don’t think there will be any need. Several people mentioned calling on me today. We shall find ourselves quite busy. Especially when word goes around that the Duke of Marshington has come out of his self-imposed exile for me.”

  Miranda snorted.

  Mother glared at her oldest daughter.

  “You think it otherwise, dear sister?” Georgina didn’t bother hiding her smirk this time. The truth was Georgina didn’t really believe it either, but there was no reason Miranda had to know that.

  Miranda set aside her needlepoint. “Has it not occurred to you, dear sister, that maybe he wants to call on me today? You are not the only eligible lady in this house.”

  And how well Georgina knew it. Miranda had had three years—three years—to get out of Georgina’s way, but no. Here Georgina was, having to share a drawing room with a sister approaching spinsterhood.

  “Oh, I am sorry to hurt your feelings. That was never my intention,” Georgina simpered. Perhaps it had been, but she would never admit it. “But don’t you think if you were the enticement he would have come back sometime in the last three years?”

  If that didn’t help Miranda remember the situation they were in, nothing would.

  Her mother’s voice cut through Georgina’s triumph. “Georgina, that is uncalled for. A lady does not mention another’s unwed status, particularly if they have been socializing for a while.”

  Georgina schooled her features into proper chastisement as she met her mother’s glare. At least the admonishment should help remind Miranda that she was not the freshest flower in this particular bouquet.

  She settled in to wait, biting her tongue to keep from saying anything else her mother might disapprove of.

  It seemed an interminable length of time, but Gibson finally announced the first caller.

  Georgina’s heart plummeted in disappointment as Mr. Sherbourne appeared in the doorway. Dark, wiry, and nothing more than a mere gentleman. Not even the oldest son. He would never do for Georgina’s plan.

  But he was a nice enough man. Perhaps Miranda wanted an unremarkable man. Georgina looked at the carnations clutched in his hand, knowing her sister was about to be very upset with her and be entirely unable to do a thing about it. “The flowers are beautiful, Mr. Sherbourne. Were you aware that my sister, Lady Miranda, adores carnations?”

  Actually, she didn’t. Miranda’s favorite flowers were tulips, but that was something she could set straight later if the two developed a tendre for each other.

  Mr. Sherbourne’s eyes clouded with confusion as his brows drew together, but he recovered quickly, turning to extend the bouquet to Miranda. “A lady should always have a bouquet of her favorite flowers. Please accept these, Lady Miranda.”

  Miranda looked much like she had the time Georgina decided to learn how to cook and she’d accidentally put too much salt in the biscuits. Her smile looked a bit sickly. “Of course. I am honored that you thought of me.”

  Georgina sat up a little straighter. Was it possible Miranda was actually intrigued by this man? If she was, it was Georgina’s sisterly duty to try to make it happen for her. That Georgina herself would benefit from Miranda forming an attachment was secondary. Almost.

  If she was wrong, her sister would be irked, and there was a certain amount of pleasure in that as well. Frankly, there was no way to lose. She tried to look attentive for politeness’ sake but avoided any smiles that would encourage Mr. Sherbourne in her direction.

  The man perched on the edge of a chair, looking unsure of which lady to direct his gaze to. He finally settled on Georgina. “The ball was splendid last evening. Lady Georgina, your angelic gown was divinely inspired.”

  Thank goodness Mr. Sherbourne wasn’t an acceptable choice. She would listen to such insipidness for the rest of her life if she had to, but it wasn’t her first choice. “Lady Miranda was the one with true inspiration. Her costume changed on a whim.”

  Confusion once more weighed his face into a blank mask before he turned that awkward small smile back to Miranda. “How did you manage that?”

  Miranda glared at Georgina before answering. Georgina hid her shrug in a shift of her seating position, trying to look as if Miranda’s answer was the most interesting thing in the world. Mr. Sherbourne apparently thought it was.

  His next two comments were directed straight to Miranda, and when he took his leave, his good-bye was directed to her.

  Georgina was quite proud of herself, though Miranda didn’t seem to appreciate the gesture. Perhaps Mr. Sherbourne wasn’t the man for her, but the encounter had given Georgina new purpose for the afternoon. Surely one of the men who came by today would be to her sister’s liking, as long as he wasn’t a man of great consequence.

  She’d have to save those for herself.

  Any man who didn’t suit her purposes, though, would find himself with an expanded esteem for Miranda, thanks to Georgina’s considerable practice and effort. If nothing else, Miranda’s rise in popularity would keep her from dragging Georgina’s reputation down.

  If Miranda seemed to find the outcome less than helpful, Georgina was honest enough to admit her irritation made the whole thing more enjoyable.

  As the third man departed, Miranda’s ears glowed red behind her yellow curls. Yes, she was well and truly mad. And she couldn’t do a thing about it.

  Gibson strolled into the room once more. “The Earl of Ashcombe, my lady.”

  Georgina sat up a little straighter. He wasn’t the duke, by any means, but the earl was young and titled, known to be plump in the pocket, and, most importantly, well-liked by men and women. He was considered a very good catch indeed.

  Miranda sat up a bit straighter as well. Then she stood. What was going on? When she walked to the door at the back of the room, Georgina’s concern grew. Everyone knew the two had considered courting during Miranda’s first Season, but that had been years ago. Surely all feelings of animosity had faded by now.

  The earl entered and winked at Georgina. Dreadfully cheeky of the man, but a light flirtation was a sign that the man was interested. The interest of a wealthy, titled, popular man was always helpful.

  He was startlingly handsome, almost irritatingly so. His dark hair was perfectly combed, his bold blue jacket and tan trousers precisely tailored. Together they would make the most striking couple.

  Georgina shoved Miranda’s discomfort from her mind and flashed Lord Ashcombe the coy smile she’d practiced in the mirror for hours. “How nice of you to come.”

  God save him from idiotic lovesick fools. Colin reached down between his feet and plucked a few blades of grass. Ryland sat on the bench next to him in the middle of Grosvenor Square, growling at each gentleman who entered the house across the street instead of enjoying the beauty of the park.

  Of all the things Colin could be doing with his afternoon, watching callers come and go from Hawthorne House ranked right below scouring the docks for a missing piece of cargo and right above telling Mr. Mathers again that he refused to seek investors for the man’s preposterous scheme to build a floating pleasure castle in the English Channel. For pity’s sake, there was a war going on. Who would want to sail into the middle of it for a party?

  A group of ton women exited a carriage, packages stacked three high on top. Very well, this bored lot might get a thrill from partying in the middle of a war zone, but Colin refused to have anything to do with such idiocy.

  Instead he’d embroiled himself in the slightly more palatable idiocy taking place in the middle of Mayfair.

  Colin glanced sideways as Ryland growled once again, the tension in his shoulders threatening to rip his well-tailored jacket at the seams. While they weren’t likely to die from this escapade, they certainly weren’t going to accomplish anything. Was Ryland planning on sitting here all afternoon?

  What was supposed to have been a brief visit on Colin’s way to the club had turned i
nto an entire day of moral support. Ryland had indeed talked to Miranda last night, but he’d kept his mask on. She still didn’t know he was the valet she’d met last fall. That was going to change today.

  If they ever managed to make it to the house.

  The Earl of Ashcombe strolled down the street, a clutch of bright pink roses in his hand. He bounded up the stairs to Hawthorne House’s door with a smug smile.

  Beside him, Ryland ground his heel into the dirt.

  Colin twined his blades of grass into a ring and tried to toss it onto a nearby tree branch. It bounced off. “Think any of them are here to visit her?”

  “Only the smart ones,” Ryland said.

  “So none, then.”

  The pithy comment drew a laugh from Ryland, as it was intended to. There was a certain truth to the statement though. When it came to personal dealings, some of the trappings of London’s high society seemed utterly ridiculous. Why had no one questioned them?

  He supposed growing up and socializing in Scotland and at sea had given him a different perspective on the formal rituals. The Scots enjoyed their pomp and ceremony when the occasion warranted it, but they also appreciated simple things. When one was at sea, it was sometimes a celebration just to be alive when sailing into port.

  After seven agonizing minutes—he knew because he’d counted the seconds—Colin pushed to his feet. “This isn’t a campaign, chap. We either go in or we don’t.”

  Another thirty seconds went by before the earl departed. That hadn’t taken long.

  Without a word, Ryland rose to his feet and crossed Grosvenor Square. Colin followed on his heels. Why had he agreed to this again?

  The butler opened the door, and Colin handed him his card with a feeling of resignation swirling through his gut. The servant didn’t look very impressed, but Colin hadn’t expected him to. This was the butler of a duke. And while Colin had been to the house more than once for business, this butler was now manning the portal of a popular young woman. He saw the best of the best. A mere mister with a Scotch-Irish history wasn’t going to impress him.