by Cheryl Bolen
Alex could not purge his mind of the ferocity of Georgiana’s passion. Would she ever allow herself to give in to it? God, but he wished he could be the fortunate recipient.
He started to walk away. “Then I’ll see if I can persuade Sinjin to accompany me.”
“We’ll meet this evening at the Palace of Westminster?”
“I’ll be there.” The military funding bill was very important to him.
* * *
As it happened, Sinjin was not at home, nor was his wife. Alex would have to go alone to see the actress. He knew from Freddie’s papers that his brother had set up Mrs. Langston in an older house in St. James. Though he always preferred to ride his horse—and a wonderful specimen of horseflesh Fleetania was—he decided to arrive at Mrs. Langston’s place in the ducal-crested coach. He only hoped the poor woman wasn’t seized with apoplexy when a man who so resembled her former lover arrived in the former lover’s coach.
Sophia Langston’s house clad in the red bricks so prominent a century earlier was much more impressive than what he’d expected. Its Palladian embellishments of fan-shaped windows and white pediments over the doorways and windows gave it a sophisticated air. He was relieved there were no other gentlemen’s coaches in front.
As befitted his rank, his coachman knocked upon the lady’s door, and when it was answered, he presented Alex’s newly printed card. Alex hoped to God she didn’t mistake him for Freddie.
A moment later, the butler returned and nodded to the coachman, signaling that Alex would be welcomed by the woman who had long been the toast of the London stage.
Alex was shown to the upstairs drawing room. It was furnished expensively in gilded French chairs and silken sofas of turquoise. Draperies of the same hue had been lifted away from the windows to allow sunlight into the chamber.
Mrs. Langston kept him waiting for half an hour. When she finally strolled into the chamber, his first thought was, She looks older in person than she looks on stage. He’d seen her several weeks earlier in a popular satire that was so well received, it was hard at times to hear the actors because of the audience’s roars of laughter.
Today she dressed tastefully in a dove gray, very fine muslin dress trimmed in white lace. Even her white gloves were ornamented with sprigs of lace. The litheness of her figure disguised her advancing years. Her brown hair was shorn in a youthful style but there was nothing youthful about the deep indentations on either side of her mouth or the sagging flesh beneath her chin. He’d thought she must be in her mid-thirties. Now he knew he’d missed the mark by a decade.
Her mouth gaped open when she beheld him. Her eyes misted. “You’re almost the image of the late duke!”
He nodded as he stepped forward to bow and kiss her hand. “We’ve been told that most of our lives.”
She ran an eye down the length of his torso. “You’re more muscular.”
“He was an indolent nobleman, I a soldier.”
“And now you’re to be the indolent nobleman! It is a very great honor to meet you, your grace. Won’t you please sit and visit with me?”
His sweeping arm gesture indicated for her to sit first. She sat in the center of the sofa. He chose a chair facing her.
“I shall never forget the first time I saw you on the stage,” he began. “No one has ever played Ophelia with such perfection.” He started to tell her how beautiful he’d thought her but, remembering Georgiana’s words, he feared he’d be sending the wrong message. The last thing he wanted was for her to think he wished to be her protector.
He clearly understood why Freddie had dismissed this woman after falling in love with Georgiana.
She smiled. “Hamlet. I did love that role—and the play. You must have been a mere lad.”
He chuckled. “I was. Eighteen. Just before I went to Spain.”
“I’m honored you still remember it.” Her voice was easily recognizable, yet different from the projection of her stage voice. There was a velvety timbre to her conversational voice.
They sat there facing each other for a moment, neither willing to start. Finally, she said, “My deepest sympathies on the death of your brother. I will confess this is the first time I’ve been able to speak of it without launching into tears. The first night after I heard the heartbreaking news, I could not perform. I could not staunch the flow of my tears.” She shrugged her dainty shoulders. “It’s silly, I know. We had parted more than a year earlier, and there’s a new man in my life who’s exceedingly devoted, yet still my heart broke for your brother.”
There was no malice in her words or tone when she spoke of Freddie. “I’m gratified you speak of him with affection.”
She bestowed a bright smile on Alex. “So . . . to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, your grace?”
His lips clamped together. “It’s difficult to explain. If you knew my brother well—and I’m not sure anyone really did—you’d know we weren’t close. I’m trying to learn about him during the last . . .” He almost said days but remembered Freddie hadn’t seen her in a year. “. . .year of his life. As his successor, I feel compelled to carry on as he would have.” Which was partially true. Except in Parliament.
She gave a bitter laugh. “You are right. Your brother was like some distant God to me. I worshipped him but never knew him. The year I spent under his protection was the happiest and the most miserable year of my life.” Her soft green eyes lifted. “Does that sound too ridiculously stupid?”
“Not at all. I think I understand.”
“You see, when he was with me—which wasn’t often—I was deliriously happy. When he was away, I felt great melancholy. I knew that a duke as young and handsome as he could easily win the affections of the most perfect being—which I know I am not. I tortured myself worrying that I would lose his affections.” She gave a little feminine chuckle. “And, of course, eventually I did.”
The most perfect being. Georgiana. He swallowed hard. “A man does not leave so generous a settlement to a woman he doesn’t care for. I believe my brother’s separation from you was motivated by honor. He was merely honorable enough to want to be a true and faithful husband to the woman he was going to marry.” Hopefully, this rationalization would assuage some of her sense of rejection.
“You’re very kind, your grace. I’m embarrassed that you know of my settlement, but I suppose it’s only natural that all of the late duke’s papers have fallen to you.”
Rather than allow this woman to know that Lady Georgiana Fenton could already have read Mrs. Langston’s personal letters to Freddie, Alex merely nodded.
“Then I should like to ask you a favor,” she said.
His eyebrows lifted.
“Could I persuade you to return my letters?”
He had not expected this and was unprepared to answer. While he did not want to lie, he did not want to reveal the truth, either. “Are you sure my brother kept them?”
Her shoulders shrugged. “I thought you would know.”
“I’ve mostly been concerning myself with his legal papers.” Which was mostly true.
She nodded. “I’m afraid I’m not particularly helpful about enlightening you about your brother since he succeeded, but I think you were right when you said it wasn’t likely anyone really knew him.”
“You speak of my brother with such affection. Did he never ignite anger in you? I know as lads, he and I fought each other like savages,” he said, grinning.
She tossed back her head and laughed. “I don’t remember ever being angry with him, but that is more a testament to my placid nature. He was most negligent of me.”
“Negligent?”
“Because he so seldom came to the Capital. In other ways, he was exceedingly generous. You will probably learn just how generous if you come across the bills of sale from Rundell and Bridge jewelers. I could live comfortably the rest of my life off the proceeds of the jewelry he gave me.” She drew a deep breath, and when she spoke, her voice cracked. “If I could ever part with anythi
ng I received from him.”
Alex no longer even thought about her aging, or how different she looked in person, or how poorly she compared with Georgiana. As he sat there speaking with her, he thought she was a lovely, gracious woman who’d been deeply in love with Freddie. She could no more have killed Freddie than he could have.
Another suspect exonerated.
* * *
Even though she was enthralled with Freddie’s papers, Georgiana needed to get away from Hartworth House if only for a little while. So she actually looked forward to joining Lady Margaret at the Tuesday gathering at Wycliff House.
Lady Margaret had collected her in the Fordham ducal coach. “My brother prefers his horse. In fact, he loves that horse as much as he loves his sisters! He hasn’t yet taken to the formalities of being a duke. He goes about acting as if he were still a soldier just returned from the Peninsula.”
Indeed, Georgiana had thought the very same thing about him. She could not recall any duke ever traversing about the Capital on horseback. But, then, nothing about Fordham would convey his elite status. He did bring to mind a rugged soldier far more than an idle nobleman.
As they neared the house on Grosvenor Square, Lady Margaret relayed an interesting story about Wycliff House. “Lord Wycliff’s father gambled away the house, and when Lord Wycliff was able to restore the family fortune, one of the first things he wanted to buy back was the Grosvenor Square House. That’s how he met his wife. She had lived there with her first husband, who’d died.”
“But she looks so young to have been married twice!”
“Yes. Her sister, who’s also a member of the Tuesday group, told us that Lady Wycliff —the former Mrs. Phillips—was forced into marriage with an older man when she was only fifteen. Lady Wycliff refuses to talk of it. I believe she’s four and twenty now.”
“The same as me,” Georgiana said in a whisper.
At the Grosvenor Square house, Lady Wycliff greeted Georgiana and showed her to the drawing room where a dozen young women had gathered in gilt chairs arranged in a circle. Lady Slade, looking very sweet in a lavender gown, popped up from her chair and came to greet Georgiana cheerily. “Each week one of us explores a different topic,” she explained. “Let me introduce you to this week’s speaker, Lady Wycliff’s sister, Ellie Coke.”
Mrs. Coke was much younger—probably by a half a dozen years—than the sister she so resembled. Even though the two bore a strong resemblance, the younger sister was merely pretty. Lady Wycliff was a stunning beauty.
“Mrs. Coke’s husband,” Lady Slade explained, “will be standing for the election to the Parliamentary seat vacated by the Duke of Fordham when he moved to the House of Lords. Mr. Coke is also Lord Wycliff’s cousin.”
“And I suppose your husband will stand as a Whig?” Georgiana said to Ellie Coke.
Mrs. Coke’s pale blue eyes flashed with mirth. “But of course.”
It was then that Georgiana recalled last year’s elections when the present Duke of Fordham had successfully stood for the House of Commons for Blythstone, and Mr. Coke had been defeated in his challenge to the Tory member from Alesbury. Now that she thought of it, she recalled Fordham saying he wished to sponsor Mr. Coke for his old seat. With the duke’s support—and his purse—Mr. Coke would be sure to finally take a seat in the House of Commons.
Soon all the introductions were completed, and the ladies took their seats, save Mrs. Coke, who stood to make her presentation on the concept of education for all. After her introductory remarks, she rather shocked Georgiana when she said, “The purpose of teaching the illiterate to read should not be to enable them to read Scripture—though we do believe being able to read Scripture a worthy skill. We believe the ignorant masses need to be exposed to every manner of the written word, and they will also need to be able to learn arithmetic, a useful skill for the rest of their lives.”
It wasn’t that Georgiana disagreed with anything Mrs. Coke said, but to rail against the reading of God’s Word was unprecedented. Georgiana’s thoughts then moved to the school for girls her mother sponsored in the village of Alsop. It had been established to teach the daughters of their cottagers to read the Bible. Lady Hartworth had also encouraged the school mistress to teach the girls elementary needlework.
But what of the lads? Georgiana could not recall any school for the boys of Alsop’s illiterate. How sad that young boys of the middle and upper classes received the opportunity to learn not only to read but also to learn of all the classical thinkers. But because of their station in life, sons of those who toiled were denied the same privilege.
As interesting as Mrs. Coke’s presentation was, Georgiana found herself trying to imagine the deprivation of not being able to read, not being able to write a letter, not being able to learn through books of the world and its history and its people.
“To move to a more perfect society,” Mrs. Coke said, “it is imperative that all the nation’s people also be an informed electorate.” Mrs. Coke smiled as her gaze moved to her sister. “But, of course, Lady Wycliff will address the expansion of the franchise next week. In conclusion, I will add that when literacy goes up, crime goes down. A well-educated man has no need to gain through misdeeds.
“But to establish schools for all boys and all girls in every corner of the kingdom will be exceedingly costly. Quite understandably, the wealthy land-owning Tories are violently opposed to diminishing their own wealth for the Greater Good.”
As Mrs. Coke sat down, all the ladies applauded. It was then that Georgiana realized she was not clapping. She was stunned over the single political reference from the speaker. Tories are violently opposed to diminishing their own wealth for the Greater Good.
Georgiana had read enough to know the Greater Good was promulgated by Jeremy Bentham. Good Lord, were these women Benthamites? Papa—were he alive—would have apoplexy! Her brother, too.
In her four and twenty years, Georgiana had never heard anyone utter a negative word against the Tories, who had ruled England for most of her life. Mrs. Coke was attempting to tear down the wall dividing Tories and Whigs. For the Greater Good.
Slowly, Georgiana began to clap.
Afterward, Georgiana went to compliment her. “Thank you, Mrs. Coke, for your enlightening talk. I agree with everything you said—except your bashing of the Tories. They’re not a bad lot. All my family are Tories.”
Ellie Coke’s features fell. “Oh, I am heartily sorry if I offended you or your family.”
Her sister came and put an arm around Mrs. Coke’s shoulders while addressing Georgiana. “Most of us, except for Jane Featherstone—er, I mean Jane Slade—were raised by Tories. However, we’ve come to believe things for the Greater Good should not be labeled either Tory or Whig. They’re for Humanity.”
Nodding, Georgiana relished being associated with intelligent women. “I feel honored to have attended today.”
“Will you return next week?” Lady Wycliff asked Georgiana. “I’ll be speaking.”
“Yes, but don’t expect me to ever oppose the Tories.”
“You don’t have to,” Lady Wycliff said. “We feel the causes we advocate are apolitical. We advocate for anything that improves the lives of everyone in Britain.”
“A worthy undertaking, to be sure,” Georgiana said. And she meant it.
All the way home her thoughts were on the words uttered by Lady Wycliff. She must be heavily influenced by the essayist Philip Lewis. Georgiana would be hard pressed to actually say Mr. Lewis was a Whig. His causes benefited . . . Humanity.
Georgiana could see that she would enjoy spending her Tuesdays with these brilliant women.
But of course, she could never embrace Whigs.
Chapter 13
Georgiana would want to know about his meeting with Mrs. Langston. That’s what Alex told himself as he rode Fleetania beneath gray skies from his home on Berkley Square to hers on Cavendish Square.
If he stayed away from Georgiana, would she dare come to him at For
dham House? She just might—not to see him, of course, but to satisfy her rampant curiosity about Freddie’s death. She was even more interested in helping him discover the murderer than she was in reading Mrs. Langston’s letters—and he had no doubts about how eager she was to indulge herself over torrid declarations from Freddie’s inamorata.
Whether she knew it or not, Georgiana was possessed of simmering passions—passions he would delight in freeing. He needed to suppress the memory of their crushing kiss, of feeling her slender body pressed against his, or he’d go mad with want of her.
Seeing her was the real reason he was going to Hartworth House this afternoon.
As he entered Cavendish Square he observed Hickington, also on a mount, entering the square from the Harley Street entrance. Even from across the square, Alex was more interested in Hickington’s horse than in its obstinate rider. How could a man as annoying as Hickington have so excellent an eye for horseflesh? This chestnut with white stockings was a beauty! Sixteen hands if she were an inch. And what a head! Sheer perfection.
“We meet once again at Lady Georgiana’s,” Hickington said when their horses drew up in front of Hartworth House. He could not have sounded more bitter were he challenging Alex to a duel.
Alex gave a curt nod, his attention drawn to the magnificent beast. He nearly complimented Hickington on his fine horse, but Alex had no desire to add to the man’s perceived consequence.
Without thinking of what he was doing, Alex extended his hand in an unsuccessful attempt to smooth out a swirling patch of hair on the beast’s withers. It was rather like trying to flatten grass with one’s hand—an impossible task.
The Hartworth porter swung open the glossy black door which was flanked by two shiny brass lanterns. “Should you grace wish Lady Georgiana to be told you’re calling?”
Alex glared at Hickington for a second before answering in the affirmative. The two men were shown to the drawing room. It was then that Alex noticed how hideously flamboyant the other man dressed. Was he actually wearing an orange cravat? Why would a man blessed with such height and a full head of black hair—a man who must be deemed of above-average appearance—gimmick up himself in such a manner? “I’m afraid you’ve once again come at a deuced bad time, old fellow,” Alex said to Lord Hickington.