A Scandalous Countess: A Novel of the Malloren World (13 page)

Dickon had slept in her bed only after coupling, and not always then. A warm body beside her had been pleasant, but he’d taken more than his share of the bed and was inclined to toss and turn in his sleep. She doubted she’d like it for many nights in a row.

Winnie made sure their mother had all she needed, and then took Georgia to another room. “It’s rather small, I’m afraid, but we have only four good bedrooms in addition to our own, and with the house party…”

For a moment they were reflected in a mirror, but Winnie immediately stepped out of view. Georgia knew why. They were too alike, and too different.

Winnie’s
hair was closer to brown than burnished, and her chin receded. When younger she’d been prey to pimples, and though that stage had passed, some had left marks. The scars were almost undetectable, but Georgia knew the comparison with her own flawless skin still hurt her sister.

Georgia could take neither credit nor blame for nature, and it seemed unfair that it matter, but such was the way of things.

“I like the room,” Georgia said, striving for harmony. “The view’s delightful and I can glimpse the river in the distance.”

“To have the house closer would be unhealthy. Everyone knows the river is foul.”

“Surely not this far upstream?”

“Which is why Hammersmith is preferable to Chelsea.”

So they were still scoring points, were they? Sanscouci had been—was still—in Chelsea.

Georgia held her smile as she unpinned her hat. “It’s very kind of you to hold an entertainment for me so soon after your confinement.”

“Father requested it,” Winnie said, twitching the brown bed hangings to eliminate an imaginary flaw. “But it serves Thretford’s purposes as well. He’s striving to be a peacemaker between those who are contributing most to the discord.”

“You expect the king to attend?”

“His Majesty? Of course not.” But then Winnie caught Georgia’s meaning. “Georgie!”

“He’s the root of the problem and you know it. He can’t reconcile with those who didn’t want the queen listed as regent. What’s more, I hear that he’s a little…”

She tapped her head.

Winnie turned pale and clutched a bedpost. “Georgie! Do not even
whisper
such a thing, even here.”

Georgia hurried to her side. “My wretched sense of
humor. I’m sorry, Winnie. I promise I won’t. Maundering in the countryside for so long must have touched
my
wits.” Before her sister could shriek again, she added, “When will I be able to see your little darling?”

The distraction worked.

“As soon as you’ve refreshed yourself. Ah, here’s your water. I’ll return shortly and take you to the nursery.”

Her sister escaped and the Thretford maid poured hot water into the china basin. When she’d left, Georgia washed her hands and face thinking this was going to be a very long visit, no matter how many days it lasted.

Jane arrived, along with the two trunks that contained Georgia’s immediate necessities. The rest of her belongings were coming south more slowly by wagon.

Her mother had protested that. “Where is it all to go?”

“What point in leaving it at Herne?” Georgia had replied, not speaking the rest. That she would never return to Herne for more than short visits, and she truly wanted to shake the dust off her shoes. And off her gowns, her petticoats, her books, her small items of furniture…

“Jane, when you can, discover whether there’s room here for all my belongings. I forgot how small this place is. I may have to arrange for them to be stored elsewhere until I marry again.”

“Yes, milady.” Jane closed the door on the departing footmen. “Do you want to change your gown?”

“Not yet. I dressed lightly today because of the heat.” But then Georgia changed her mind.

She’d marked the end of her mourning four days ago by dispatching all her grays and lavenders to the vicar for the benefit of the poor. The blacks had gone that way six months earlier. She’d have liked to have traveled in pinks and yellows, but common sense had made her choose duller colors. Common sense need not rule now.

“A
bright-colored gown, Jane. And light. See which is the least creased.”

Jane unlocked one chest. “As hot as it is, milady, it must be right nasty in London.”

“Don’t talk nonsense.”

“The sewers’ll be stinking and disease spreading,” Jane insisted, carefully unfolding layers of muslin. “Be grateful you’re away from it and that the world will come to you.”

“So it will. Remind me, Jane—I must check the guest list for the ball to be sure the right people will attend.”

“Very well, milady. Here we are. The yellow stripe.”

“Excellent.” Georgia began to unfasten the blue and take it off.

She was soon in the yellow stripe gown with the white petticoat. Much better, but plain. Jane had found the cap trimmed with ribbons of the same color, which helped a little.

“The jewelry box, Jane. I’ll wear the coral beads.”

The coral closely matched her hair and made an improvement. Georgia added matching earrings and ring.

“There,” she said, standing. “In fine trim to admire my sister’s triumph.”

“Now, don’t you be like that, milady. A baby’s a baby.”

“Tell that to Anne Boleyn.”

“Who, milady?”

“Henry the Eighth’s second wife.”

“Oh, her. But what…?”

“She bore a healthy baby, but it was a girl. If Elizabeth had been a boy, Anne would never have gone to the headsman’s block.”

“But wasn’t she up to things she shouldn’t be, milady?”

“Perhaps, perhaps not. As mother to the king’s son and heir, there would have had to be more proof.”

And if I’d had a son, I wouldn’t have lost my life.

Winnie hadn’t given birth to a son, but she’d borne a
babe within ten months, so a son would surely follow. No one would be watching her waistline or suggesting that she consult a doctor, as Lady Hernescroft had with her.

She’d followed the suggestion, mortifying though it had been. Being told that she was a normal, healthy young woman had done no good. She’d suggested Dickon do the same thing, but he’d laughed it off.

“Nothing wrong with me, love, as you know every time I come to your bed! Put it out of your mind. We’re young yet, and the infantry will come.”

But the infantry hadn’t come, and here she was.

Her sister returned and Georgia went to admire the proof of victory. In truth, there was little to see. The tiny creature slept in a gilded, lace-trimmed cradle, with the covers drawn up, and an embroidered cap covering her face to the brows. Georgia wondered if the child wasn’t dreadfully hot, but she dutifully cooed and admired, pushing away jealousy as best she could.

She returned to her room with wounds newly raw. What if the lack of children had been her fault? What if she was barren? How could a doctor know?

What if she married again and it was the same?

Dickon had never reproached her, but men wanted heirs, especially men with titles and estates. She didn’t want to run the risk of being a childless widow a second time, vulnerable to being exiled in one cruel moment.

During her marriage she had wondered whether Dickon came to her bed often enough, but frequency didn’t seem to be the key. There’d been Maria the kitchen maid whose belly had swelled. She’d sworn it had been only the once when her Kentish swain had traveled up to London to see her. She certainly couldn’t have sinned regularly, as her Michael had made great effort to get leave from his farm laborer’s job that one time.

“I just missed him so, your ladyship,” the girl had sobbed. “I missed him so.”

It
turned out that Maria had come up to London to earn higher wages in the hope that in a few years she could save enough for them to have a cottage of their own with a bit a land where they could grow some food and keep a pig.

What a crisis that situation had been!

The housekeeper had refused to keep Maria in the house even overnight for fear she’d corrupt the other servants, and Mistress Hownslow had been far too valuable to lose. Georgia had begged advice of Babs Harringay, who had told her about Danae House, a charity that provided help for female servants led astray.

Georgia had taken the girl there in her own carriage, ready to pay for her to be admitted, and been astonished to find herself talking to the Marchioness of Rothgar.

Lady Rothgar, it had turned out, had founded Danae House and recruited aristocratic ladies as patronesses. The price of Maria’s instant admission had been that Lady Maybury become a patroness of the house herself. Georgia had done so willingly, for Maria’s story was gentler than others’. Most of the girls helped by Danae House had been seduced or raped by the men of the family that employed them or by guests.

Each case was handled individually, but if a marriage was possible, a dowry was provided. That had been Georgia’s participation. She’d provided a dowry for Maria and then added to the fund every month. The sums were so trifling. Ten guineas had enabled Maria and her swain to set up life together, but sometimes less would do.

It was satisfying to help, but the charity had always troubled her. Georgia entered her room with the old question rattling in her head. Danae House was proof that hasty coupling and even brutal assaults could result in children. So why had she, a virtuous, well-loved wife, never quickened?

Jane came in with a pile of ironed shifts. “How is the baby, milady?”

Georgia smiled at her. “Small. But if I’m to acquire a similar minikin, I’d best be about choosing a husband.”

It was the only way. A woman without a husband was nothing.

She sat by the window to go over her notes. The top entries were the unmarried dukes. “Beaufort is still my first choice. He’s only a little older than I and malleable.”

“Go on with you, milady. If it’s malleable you want, choose a doting dodderer.”

Georgia shuddered. “Wrinkles and bad teeth. Never. There’s the Duke of Bridgwater, but he shows no interest in marriage. They say one of the Gunning sisters broke his heart, but I suspect he’s wedded to his canals.”

“And producing a progeny of them, milady.”

“Jane, you’re a wit! I’ll use that line one day. Bolton’s unmarried, but gone forty and becoming rather odd. As for marquesses, alas, with Ashart gone there are none left unmarried. I might have to satisfy myself with another earl.”

“You look for a good man you can love, milady.”

“I will love the right man, Jane, but I couldn’t love a man who would tumble me down the social scale.”

Jane’s lack of response was eloquent.

Georgia swiveled to look at her. “Don’t you take your status in the servants’ hall from mine? You’re Countess of Maybury now. Do you want to become Viscountess Lowly, or Lady Down-in-the-Mud if I marry a baron?” A baron like Lord Dracy…She pushed that out of her mind. “Could you bear to rank below ladies’ maids who were previously below you?” She saw Jane wavering and pressed home the point. “On the other hand, imagine being a duchess, ruling the roost.”

“I’d not mind if you were happy, milady.”

“I wouldn’t
be happy, so that’s that.” Georgia picked up her sheet of paper. “I shall go and speak to my sister.”

Winnie was in her boudoir, setting neat stitches in a tiny gown, wearing spectacles. She looked dowdy but still content. She looked up over the lenses. “You have everything you require, Georgie?”

Georgia sat. “Yes, thank you. What a delightful little garment. Charlotte will look lovely in it.”

That had Winnie smiling. Good.

“About the ball. Will you be able to add a few names to your list?”

“Of course, dear. I know you must want support.”

Georgia’s teeth gritted over two aspects of that sentence—pity and “must”—but she maintained her smile. “The Harringays are in Town, for Babs refuses to be separated from her husband, and he does something very important in some government department. And the Torrismondes’ estate is not far to the west.”