It was important that he hear what they were saying about Georgiana, of course. After all, he had promised to get her married, hadn’t he? Any reconnaissance he could do as far as societal opinion of her would help get his part in the play done.
That was the only reason that he cared about what the ladies were saying.
Still, when the Countess Holborn said, “The point is, the girl is ruined. Name or no, she’s loose. What man could be assured his heir is his? And the fact that she parades the daughter around Hyde Park as though she weren’t a bastard and just as cheap as her stock is . . . offensive. Just look at them . . .”
She was here.
“What a horrible woman,” Cynthia repeated.
The ladies’ conversation trailed off as they picked up speed. West no longer cared, as he was too busy searching for the subject of their conversation. They’d said she was here. With her daughter.
And suddenly, West wanted very much to make the girl’s acquaintance.
He did not see them on the path, but the throngs of people made it difficult to find anyone, he supposed, even as he resisted the thought. Even as he told himself that he would notice her. That if she were here, in either of her costumes, he would know her.
He kept looking, turning to see if she was behind. That was when a flash of deep, sapphire blue caught his eye, away from the throngs of people. He released the breath he had not known he’d been holding. Of course she wasn’t here with the rest of the ton. She didn’t wish to be a part of their world.
She stood on a slow rise beyond the trees, a young girl at her side, two horses trailing behind them, and the Serpentine their backdrop. They were deep in conversation, and he watched for a long moment, until the girl said something and Georgiana laughed. Bright. Bold. As though she were in private and not in full view of half of London.
The half of London that she required for her acceptable marriage.
West found himself wondering what had been so amusing.
And then wondering what it would take to amuse her himself.
He did not take his gaze from her as he pulled the curricle to the edge of the path and dismounted, speaking to his sister. “Would you like to meet the subject of their gossip?”
From high atop the conveyance, Cynthia’s surprise was clear. “You know her?”
“I do,” he said, wrapping the reins around a hitching post and stepping off the dirt path and onto the grass. He moved up the slope toward where Georgiana walked. He willed her to stay, to keep off those beautiful horses and remain in the grass a little while longer. Until he could reach her.
Cynthia was with him, having rushed to keep up. “I see.”
He cut her a look at the words. “What do you see?”
She smiled. “She’s very pretty.”
She was more than that. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“You hadn’t.”
“No.” There had been a time when he’d been able to lie much more effortlessly. A week ago.
“You hadn’t noticed that Lady Georgiana Pearson, blond and lithe and lovely up on the hill, to whom you are rushing—”
He slowed. “I am not rushing.”
“To whom you were rushing,” she clarified. “You had not noticed that she was pretty.”
“No.” He deliberately did not look at her then, because he did not wish to see the understanding and the surprise and the interest he heard in her reply.
“I see.”
Lord deliver him from sisters.
Chapter 9
. . . in case of fire, this paper cautions you to resist relying upon the Viscount Galworth’s horses for escape. They never run as fast as one would wager . . .
. . . Meanwhile, Lady G— continues to edge away from her dreadful and utterly unsuitable moniker. There’s been not a scandal in sight this season, though, in truth, this author is somewhat disappointed . . .
The Scandal Sheet, April 27, 1833
“Tell me again why we are walking here and not down there with all the others?”
Georgiana looked to Caroline, surprised by the question. They’d been wandering the edge of the Serpentine for the afternoon—something they’d done a dozen times before, whenever Caroline was in town.
But they’d never done it while Georgiana was out and on the marriage mart. And in all the times that they’d done it, Caroline had never asked that question—why here, and not Rotten Row.
Georgiana supposed that she should have been prepared for it. After all, Caroline was nine, and girls eventually learned that the world did not solely exist for their pleasure. Eventually, they learned that the world existed solely for the pleasure of the aristocracy. And so, this close to throngs of aristocrats, Caroline was bound to ask.
“Do you wish to walk down there with the others?” Georgiana asked, evading her daughter’s original, pointed question. Willing her to answer in the negative. She didn’t think she could face the stares if they took their afternoon ride with the rest of London. She didn’t think she could stand the way they whispered about her. The way they whispered about her daughter.
Being within sight of them made things bad enough.
“No,” Caroline said, turning to peruse the crush below. “I was just wondering why you didn’t wish to be there.”
Because I should rather spend an afternoon being ritually stung by bees, Georgiana thought. She supposed she couldn’t quite tell her daughter that. She settled on, “Because I would rather be here. With you.”
Caroline cut her a disbelieving look, and Georgiana was struck by the honesty in her pretty, open face—by the way her wide eyes filled with knowledge far beyond her years. “Mother.”
She supposed she was responsible for that, for the knowledge. For the fact that Caroline had never in her life acted her age—she’d always known more than a child should. It came with being a scandal. “You don’t believe me?”
“I believe you wish to spend the afternoon with me, but I don’t believe that is the reason we are not down there. The two are not mutually exclusive.”
There was a pause, after which Georgiana said, “You are too intelligent for your own good.”
“No,” Caroline said thoughtfully. “I am too intelligent for your own good.”
“That is definitely true. Would you believe me if I promised to take you to Rotten Row the next time we come to the park?”
“I would,” Caroline allowed, “but I did notice that the promise is contingent upon us returning to the park, full stop.”
Georgiana laughed. “Foiled again.”
Caroline smiled, and they walked together for a few quiet minutes before she said, “Why are you planning to marry?”
Georgiana nearly choked on her surprise. “I—”
“It was in this morning’s newspaper.”
“You shouldn’t be reading the newspaper.”
Caroline gave her a dry look. “You’ve been telling me to read the newspaper since before I could read. ‘Ladies worth their salt read newspapers,’ do they not?”
Caught. “Well, you shouldn’t be reading anything about me.” Georgiana paused. “In fact, how did you know it was about me?”
“Please. The gossip pages are designed to be obvious. Lady G—? Sister to Duke L—? With a daughter, Miss P—? In actuality, I was reading about me.”
“Well,” said Georgiana, casting about for something to say that was appropriately parental. “You shouldn’t be doing that, either.”
Caroline looked at her, those brilliant green eyes, at once so knowing and curious. “You didn’t answer the question.”
“What was the question?”
Caroline sighed. “Why are you looking to marry? And why now?”
She stopped walking and turned to face her daughter, not knowing quite what to say, but knowing that she must say something. She’d never lied to her daughter, and she did not think it right to begin now, with the most difficult question she’d ever asked. She thought she’d simply open her mouth and let the
words come out. It might not be articulate, but it would give Caroline an answer.
But by the grace of God, she did not have to find words. Because behind Caroline’s horse, Duncan West came up the rise.
Her savior.
Once more.
Her breath caught in her throat as she watched him approach, all golden, as though the sun shone upon him even on this grey day. He was perfectly turned out in grey trousers, crisp white shirt and cravat, and navy topcoat. His greatcoat swung around him, making him seem larger than life.
But, it occurred to her, he would seem larger than life anyway. Something about the way he moved, with such sureness, as though he had never in his life made a misstep. As though the world simply bent to his whim.
She’d been born the daughter and sister to the most powerful dukes in Britain, and this man, not an aristocrat—not even a gentleman—seemed equal to them in power. More so.
Which was the reason she was so drawn to him, surely.
Not that power should be of interest to her. She had plenty of it herself.
And still, her heart pounded. To cover the noise, which she was certain all assembled could hear, she said brightly, “Mr. West!”
Caroline gave her a strange look. Perhaps she’d spoken too brightly.
She ignored her daughter, instead looking to the woman at West’s elbow. Miss Cynthia West, his sister, younger by ten years, and widely believed to be a charming eccentric, spoiled by her brother.
“Lady Georgiana,” West said, executing an impressive bow in Caroline’s direction. “And Miss Pearson, I presume?”
Caroline giggled. “You presume correctly, sir.”
He winked at the girl and righted himself. “May I present my sister? Miss West.”
Miss West dropped into a curtsy. “My lady.”
“Please,” Georgiana said, “there’s no need to stand on ceremony.”
“But you are the daughter of a duke, no?”
“I am,” Georgiana replied, “but—”
“She rarely uses the privilege,” Caroline interjected.
Georgiana looked to the Wests. “One should always travel with a nine-year-old to complete one’s thoughts.”
Cynthia replied, all seriousness, “I so agree. In fact, I was thinking of finding one for myself.”
“I’m certain my mother would happily lease me.” Caroline’s jest drew laughter from the group, and Georgiana was supremely grateful for the girl’s quick wit, as she did not know quite what to say to Duncan West, considering their last interaction ended with her bodice around her waist.
The thought made her blush, and she pressed gloved fingers to her cheek as the heat rushed up her face. She looked to West, hoping that he hadn’t noticed.
His warm brown gaze lingered where she touched her cheek.
She pulled her fingers away. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?” The words came out harsher than she expected. More shrill. His sister’s eyes widened, as did Caroline’s.
He ignored the tone, instead saying, “We were riding and saw you here. I thought that was a much better idea than creeping along Rotten Row for another hour.”
“I would have thought that you liked creeping along Rotten Row. Does it not provide food for your work?”
“Ha!” Cynthia interjected. “As though Duncan cares a bit for gossip.”
“You don’t?” Caroline asked pointedly. “Then why publish it?”
“Caroline,” Georgiana said, maternal scolding in her tone. “How did you even know that Mr. West is a newspaper publisher?”
Caroline beamed. “Ladies worth their salt read the newspaper. I always assume that included the bit where they list the staff.” She looked at West. “You are Duncan West.”
“I am.”
She considered him for a long moment. “You’re not as old as I would have imagined.”
“Caroline!” Georgiana interjected. “That’s inappropriate.”
“Why?”
“It’s not at all inappropriate.” He smiled at her daughter, and Georgiana did not like the way it made her feel. In fact, it made her feel somewhat queasy. “I shall take it as a compliment.”
“Oh, you should,” Caroline said. “I would have thought you quite old. Considering you’ve so many different papers. How did you manage that? Did you have a brother who is titled?”
Warning bells rang, as Caroline knew that part of the reason why The Fallen Angel existed at all was because of her uncle Simon. There was no need for West to grow curious about the reason for her questioning. “Caroline, that’s quite enough.”
Cynthia interjected, “If only we had a brother who was titled. Everything would have been much easier.”
Don’t be so certain, Georgiana wanted to say, but she bit her tongue.
“Well, if I can’t ask him that, then can I at least ask why he publishes gossip if he doesn’t care for it?”
“No,” Georgiana said. “We do not ask probing questions.”
“Well, he does, doesn’t he? He’s a reporter.”
Lord deliver her from nine-year-old girls wise beyond their years.
“She has a point, Lady Georgiana, I am a reporter,” West said.
And from thirty-three-year-old men too handsome for their own good.
“There, you see?” Caroline said.
“He’s being polite,” Georgiana replied.
“I wasn’t, really,” he interjected.
“You were being polite,” Georgiana insisted firmly, wishing she’d stayed inside today. She turned to her daughter. “Which you might try sometime. What did we discuss relating to Society events?”
“This is not exactly an event,” Caroline argued.
“It’s close enough. What did we say?”
Caroline’s brow furrowed. “Not to bring up skull drinking?”
Shocked silence fell, broken almost instantly by West’s and Cynthia’s laughter. Finally, the lady said, “Oh, Miss Pearson. You are great fun!”
Caroline beamed. “Thank you.”
“Now tell me about these beautiful horses, will you? You must be a very fine horsewoman.”
And with that, Caroline had been deftly extricated from any situation that might end in her being either scolded or murdered by her mother. Georgiana’s head spun as she was overcome by the distinct feeling that she and West had been left alone on purpose. She was not used to losing so roundly.
She missed her club.
She turned back to West, who was still smiling. “Skull drinking?” he asked.
She waved away the words. “Do not ask.”
He nodded. “Fair enough.”
“You see now why I need a husband. She’s too precocious for her own good.”
“I don’t see it at all, honestly. She’s charming.”
She smirked. “You are obviously not good ton.” He went serious, and she suddenly felt as though she’d misspoken. She added. “And you do not have to live with her.”
“You forget, I have a sister who is similarly eccentric.”
It was a perfect word for Caroline. “Tell me, are most gentlemen seeking eccentricity in their wives?”
“As I am not a gentleman, I would not know.”
Something flared inside her, unfamiliar and yet thoroughly recognizable. Guilt. “I didn’t mean—” she said.
“I know,” he replied. “But you were not wrong. I am not born a gentleman, Georgiana. And you would do best to remember it.”
“You play the part well,” she said. And he did, looking every inch the gentleman now, and each night on the floor of her club. He’d played it well when he’d rescued her from Pottle’s slithering, disgusting grasp. And in the years leading up to that moment, during which he’d never propositioned her. Not once.
“You think so?” he asked casually, as they trailed behind Caroline and Cynthia, whose conversation grew more animated by the minute. “You think I played it well when I manhandled you on the floor of a casino? When I nearly stripped you bare
?”
They were in public—in the middle of Hyde Park. And to an unsuspecting observer, they were all propriety. No one would ever know that his words sent heat coursing through her, warming her straight through, as though they were in that shadowed alcove in her casino once more.
She did not look at him, afraid he would see what he had done to her.
“When I wanted to do much more than that?” he added, the words soft and full of promise.
She’d wanted it, too. She cleared her throat. “Perhaps you are not such a gentleman after all.”
“I promise you, there is no perhaps about it.”
She was certain that anyone who watched them would know what he said. How she enjoyed it. How shameless they both were. She looked to the Serpentine, trying to pretend they discussed something else. Anything else. “What are you, then?”
He did not answer for a while, and she finally turned to look at him, finding him watching her carefully. She met his gaze, finally. He held it for a heartbeat. Two. Ten. “I would have thought you’d recognized it the moment we met. I’m an utter scoundrel.”
And in that moment, he was. And she didn’t care.
Indeed, she wanted him more for it.
They walked farther, trailing his sister and her daughter as they edged around the curve of the Serpentine lake. After long moments of silence, she could not bear it any longer, the wondering what he was thinking. The hoping he’d give voice to thought. The hoping he wouldn’t.
So she spoke first. “My brother’s wife nearly drowned in this lake once.”
He did not hesitate. “I remember that. Your brother saved her.”
It had been the beginning of a love for the ages. One that did not end in tragedy, but in happiness. “I suppose you wrote about it.”
“Probably,” he said. “At the time, if I recall, The Scandal Sheet was the only paper I had.”
“I just had a conversation with Caroline that leads me to believe that it still holds a fair amount of influence.”
He turned to look at the girls. “Oh?”
“Yes. As you may have divined, she reads the gossip pages.”
Never Judge a Lady by Her Cover_The Fourth Rule of Scoundrels Page 13