Impetuous Innocent (Regencies 3)

The black brows rose. “Seemed the least I could do.” Dominic’s face showed evidence of distraction, as it frequently had that night. Arthur’s lips twitched. He sternly repressed the impulse to smile.

Eventually Dominic shook off his abstraction sufficiently to comment, “Bella was saying she’s becoming rather stubbornly taken with this idea of hiring out as a companion. She seemed to think that she, Miss Hartley, might take things into her own hands. That, I need hardly say, will simply not do.”

Arthur nodded gravely. “I entirely agree. Also, I have to concur with Bella on her reading of Georgiana’s character.” He paused to steeple his fingers, and stared into the fire over the top of the structure. “Georgiana is clearly unused to relying on the bounty of others. It irks her, I think, to be living, as it were, on our charity. She has some money of her own, but not, I suspect, the requisite fortune. She has spoken to me about the best way to go about hiring herself out. I returned an evasive and, I hope, restraining answer. Luckily, the fact that she has been out of England for so long makes it relatively easy to make excuses which on the face of it are reasonable, without going into over-many details. However—” he smiled at Dominic “—beneath that demure exterior lies a great deal of strength and not a little courage. From what I gather, she made her way to England virtually unaided—not an inconsiderable feat. I seriously doubt she’ll accept our vague answers for much longer.”

A black frown of quite dramatic proportions dominated the Viscount’s face.

Arthur suppressed a grin. Finally he asked, “Do you have any ideas?”

Still frowning, Dominic slowly shook his head. Then he glanced at Arthur. “Do you?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” Arthur straightened his shoulders and prepared to explain. His grey gaze rested thoughtfully on Dominic’s face. “Bella, of course, needs distraction. Essentially, that means a companion. But can you imagine how she would feel if I insisted she hire one?”

Dominic’s frown lightened.

“Bella has been most assiduous in helping Georgiana and, from what I’ve seen, Georgiana is truly grateful. I plan to suggest to Georgiana, in confidence, that she become Bella’s companion in truth. However, in order to spare Bella’s quite natural feelings, the arrangement will be a secret between the two of us. To all outward appearances, which of course must include the servants, she will continue as a guest in this house.” Arthur’s brows rose interrogatively. “Do you think that’ll pass?”

Dominic grinned. “I’m sure it will. How useful to be able to turn your talents to something other than politics.” His grin broadened into a smile. “And no wonder you’re so invaluable in your present capacity.”

Arthur smiled and inclined his head. “As you say.” For a moment he regarded the younger man intently. Then, almost imperceptibly, he shru

gged. “I’ll speak to Georgiana in the morning. It would be wise, I suspect, to ensure she has no opportunity to take the bit between her teeth.”

“THANK YOU, MY LORD.” Georgiana curtsied and watched young Lord Mortlake mince away across the floor. Still, at least he had danced well.

She flicked open her fan and plied it ruthlessly. The large, sparsely furnished rooms which were Almack’s were crammed with bodies dressed in silks and satins of every conceivable hue. The day had been unseasonably warm, and the evening, initially balmy, had turned sultry. The air in the rooms hung oppressively. Ostrich feathers wilted. As a particularly limp pair, dyed puce, bobbed by, attached to the head-dress of an extremely conscious beauty, Georgiana hid her smirk behind her fan.

Her eyes scanned the company. Other than Bella, standing by her side, engaged in a low-voiced conversation with an elderly matron, Georgiana knew only those few people Bella had thus far introduced her to. And, she reflected, none of them needed a companion.

As her eyes feasted on the spectrum of colours mingling before her, she spared a smile for her sartorial elegance. By comparison with many about her, she was underdressed. The pattern of Fancon’s amethyst silk robe was simple and plain, with long, clean lines uncluttered by frills and furbelows. Her single strand of pearls, inherited from her mother, shone warmly about her neck. Originally uncertain, she now felt smugly satisfied with her appearance.

Thoughts of dresses brought her earlier discovery to mind, together with the subsequent argument with Bella. How on earth could she accept the sea-green gauze and topaz silk dresses from Bella, to whom she was already so deeply indebted? Yet it was undeniable that Bella could not wear them. Both dresses were presently hanging in the wardrobe in her chamber. She had been quite unable to persuade Bella to repack and return them. What was she to do about them?

The idea that, if she had been wearing the topaz silk gown that evening, Lord Alton would have paid more attention to her flitted through her mind. Ruthlessly, she stamped on the errant thought. She was here to find employment, not ogle lords. And what possible interest could Lord Alton have in her—an unremarkable country lass, not even at home in England?

Depressed, by that thought and the lowering fact she had not yet made any headway in finding a position, Georgiana determinedly looked over the sea of heads, pausing on the occasional powdered wig that belonged to a previous generation. Maybe, beneath one, she would find someone to hire her?

“Here, girl! Georgiana, ain’t it? Come and help me to that chair.”

Georgiana whirled to find Lady Winterspoon beside her. The old lady was leaning on a cane.

Seeing her glance, Amelia Winterspoon chuckled. “I only use it at night. Helps me get the best seats.”

Georgiana smiled and obediently took her ladyship’s arm. Once settled in a gilt chair by the wall, Lady Winterspoon waved Georgiana to its partner beside her.

“I can only take so much of this place. Too much mindless talk addles the brain.”

Georgiana felt the sharp grey eyes assessing her. She wondered whether she would pass muster.

A wry smile twisted Amelia Winterspoon’s thin lips. “Just as I thought. Not in the common style.”

The old lady paused. Georgiana had the impression she was reliving long-ago evenings spent under the candlelight of ballroom chandeliers. Then, abruptly, the grey gaze sharpened and swung to her face.

“If you’re old enough to heed advice, here’s one piece you should take to heart. You ain’t a beauty, but you’re no antidote either. You’re different—and not just because you’re fair when the current craze is for dark. The most successful women who’ve ever trod these boards were those who were brave enough to be themselves.”

“Themselves?”

“Themselves,” came the forceful answer. “Don’t put on airs, nor pretend to be what you ain’t. Thankfully, you seem in no danger of doing that. Don’t try to ape the English misses. Don’t try to lose your foreignness—use it instead. All you need to make a go of it is to smile and enjoy yourself. The rest’ll come easy.”