Impetuous Innocent (Regencies 3)

BY THE TIME the Winsmere House ladies were handed into their coach for the drive home from King Street, Georgiana had had proved to her, over and over again, the truth of Lady Winterspoon’s dictum. If she enjoyed herself, then her partners seemed to enjoy her company. If she laughed, then they laughed, too. And, while such overt behaviour did not sit well with one brought up to the self-effacing manners expected of young Italian girls, it was a great deal better, to Georgiana’s way of thinking, than simpering and giggling. Her upbringing clearly had not conditioned her for English social life. Nevertheless, the unrufflable calm she had been instructed was a lady’s greatest asset certainly helped, allowing her to cloak her instinctive responses to some of those she had met—like Lord Ormskirk and his leering glances, and Mr Morecombe, with his penchant for touching her bare arms.

“The Sotherbys are holding a ball next week. Lady Margaret said she’d send cards.” Bella’s voice came out of the gloom of the seat opposite. “After tonight, I’ve no doubts we’ll be kept busy. So fortunate, your meeting with Brummel.”

The unmistakable sound of a smothered yawn came to Georgiana’s ears. She smiled into the darkness. Despite her tiredness, Bella seemed even more excited by her success than she was. She had originally found her hostess’s claim of boredom difficult to believe. Now she could find it in her to understand that, without any special interest, the balls and parties could indeed turn flat. Still, to her, everything was too new for there to be any danger of her own interest flagging before Bella’s did. Hopefully Bella would not feel too let down when she found a position and moved away. Into obscurity. Georgiana frowned.

If she had been asked, five days previously, whether she had any ambition to enter the ton, she would un-hesitatingly have disclaimed all such desire. Ho

wever, having now had a small sample of the diverse entertainments to be found amid the social whirl, she rather thought she might enjoy being able to savour these, in moderation, by way of a change from the quieter lifestyle she considered her milieu. A saying of her father’s drifted past her mind’s ear. “Experience, girl! There’s nothing quite like it and no substitute known.’

As the clop of the horses’ hoofs echoed back from the tiered façades of the houses they passed, Georgiana puzzled over her change of heart. Still, nothing could alter the fact that she would need to earn her way, at least to some extent. That being so, perhaps she should take this opportunity of experiencing the ton, of enjoying herself amid the glittering throng? According to Bella, she needed to be known to find a position. So, until she secured one, she could, and perhaps should, follow her father’s and Lady Winterspoon’s advice.

Bella yawned. “Oh, dear. I’d forgotten what it was like.” Another yawn was stifled behind one slim white-gloved hand. Then, “I wonder if Dominic has managed to convince Charles to sell the Place yet?”

The question jolted Georgiana out of her reverie. “Lord Alton wishes to buy the Place?”

“Why, yes. Didn’t I mention it?”

Her friend’s voice was sleepy, but Georgiana’s curiosity was aroused. “No. Why does he want it? From what I saw, it’s terribly run down.”

“Oh, it is. Run down, I mean. Even when Charles’s father was alive… And now…”

Georgiana waited, but Bella’s mind had clearly drifted. “But why does he want it?” she prompted.

“The Place? Oh, I keep forgetting you don’t know all that much about it.” Bella’s skirts rustled as she sat up. “Well, you see, the Place didn’t exist a hundred years ago. It used to be part of Candlewick. But one of my ancestors was something of a loose screw. He gambled heavily. One of his creditors was one of your ancestors. He agreed to take part of the Candlewick lands in payment. So that was how the Place came about. My spendthrift ancestor didn’t live long, much to the family’s relief. Ever since then, the family has tried to buy back the Place and make Candlewick complete again. But your family have always refused. I don’t know how long it’s been going on, but, generally, both families have always dealt amicably despite all. That is…” Bella paused dramatically; Georgiana sat enthralled “—until my father’s death. Although he had always talked of rejoining the Place to Candlewick, my father hadn’t, as far as Dominic could discover, done much about it. So when he inherited, Dominic wrote to your uncle to discuss the matter. But your uncle never replied. He was, by that time, something of a recluse. Dominic could never get to see him. After a while, Dominic gave up. When he heard of your uncle’s death, he wrote to Charles. Charles didn’t reply either. Mind you,” Bella added on a reflective note, “as Charles dislikes Dominic as much as Dominic dislikes him, I can’t say I was surprised at that. Still, from what you’ve said, the Place is falling down about Charles’s ears. I really can’t see why he won’t sell. Dominic’s prepared to pay above the odds, and Charles must know that.”

“Perhaps it’s mere stubbornness?”

“Maybe,” Bella conceded, tiring of her brother’s problems. She lapsed into silence, the better to consider the doors the evening had opened for her protégée.

Georgiana puzzled over Charles’s behaviour. In the few days she’d had to observe him, her cousin had given the impression of being addicted to the good things in life, or rather, that he had a liking for the finer things but had little of the wherewithal required to pay for them. Which made his refusal to sell the Place, in which he demonstrably took no interest, stranger still.

From consideration of Charles, it was a short step to thoughts of the man so inextricably linked in her mind with her escape from her cousin. The demands of her début at Almack’s had precluded her thinking of her earlier meeting with Lord Alton, beyond the wish that she had made a better impression. Undoubtedly she had appeared as a gawky, tongue-tied, awkward child. Where on earth had two years of experience gone? Certainly, nothing in her previous existence had prepared her for the odd effect he had on her. She had never reacted to a man in such a way before. It was both puzzling and unnerving. When it came to Bella’s brother, her carefully nurtured Italian calm deserted her. Hopefully, by the time they next met, the peculiar effect would have worn off. She did not wish to be forever appearing as a graceless schoolgirl to the gentleman before whom, more than all others, she wished to shine. Still, no doubt she was refining too much on their meeting. Lord Alton would have seen her merely as a child he had assisted in her time of trouble. She could be nothing more than that to him. The thought that she would like to be a great deal more than that to Lord Alton she ruthlessly decapitated at birth. He was a noted Corinthian and, from what she had heard at the dinner-table, one of the Carlton House set. She had nothing to recommend her to his notice—not beauty, nor fortune, nor birth. To him, she would be no more than a passing acquaintance, one he had perhaps already forgotten.

Besides, it seemed he was on the verge of contracting an alliance, although Lady Winterspoon certainly seemed to think the lady in question was rather less than suitable. But she had heard more than enough in Italy to distrust the conclusions of society. Who knew? Maybe Lord Alton was genuinely fond of Lady Changley. She tried to imagine what the lady Lord Alton was in love with would look like, but soon gave up. She knew so little of him that it was impossible to guess his preferences.

As she ruminated on the twist of fate that had caused them to meet, Georgiana reflected that it was perhaps as well she would get few chances to be in Viscount Alton’s company. He was the stuff schoolgirl dreams were made of. Unfortunately, she was no longer a schoolgirl. And she did not have the capital to indulge in dreams.

CHAPTER FOUR

“MY LORD, I’m most truly sensible of the honour you do me, but, indeed, I cannot consent to becoming your wife.”

Georgiana watched as Viscount Molesworth, an earnest young man more at home on his ancestral acres than in a London ballroom, rose awkwardly from his knees.

Dusting off his satin breeches, he sighed. “Thought you might say that.”

Georgiana swallowed a giggle and managed to look politely interested.

Seeing this, the Viscount obligingly continued, “Told m’mother so. But you know what women are. Wouldn’t listen. Said you’d be bound to accept me. Said you were just the thing I needed. Must say, I agree with her there.” He glanced once more at Georgiana. “Sure you won’t change your mind?”

Shaking her head, Georgiana rose and put her hand on the Viscount’s sleeve. “Truly, my lord, I don’t think we would suit.”

“Ah, well. That’s it, then.” Lord Molesworth, heir to an earldom of generous proportions, lifted his head as music drifted from the ballroom down the hall. “Best get back to the dancing, then, what?”

Unable to command her voice, Georgiana nodded. Strolling back into the ballroom on his lordship’s arm, she could not keep a happily satisfied smile from her face. She had known the Viscount was bordering on a declaration, had been teetering on the brink for the past week. And, as with her two previous proposals, Georgiana had dreaded having to hurt his feelings. But it had all passed off easily, even more easily than the others. Her first proposal had been from young Lord Danby, who had been truly smitten but so very young that she had felt she were dealing with a younger brother, not a potential lover. Her second offer had come from Mr Havelock, a quiet man of thirty-five summers. She was sincerely fond of him, but in a friendly way, and doubted she could ever think of him other than as a friend. He had accepted her refusal philosophically, and they continued friends, but he had impressed on her that, should she have need of support or even something more, he was forever at her disposal.

Relieved at having weathered yet another proposal with no bones broken, Georgiana gave silent thanks that she had attracted only true gentlemen. Some of the more dangerous Corinthians had certainly looked her over—almost, she had felt, as if she were

a succulent morsel they were planning to gobble up. But when they learned she was staying with the Winsmeres they usually smiled and passed on.