A Scandalous Countess: A Novel of the Malloren World (33 page)

She turned the charm on him. “What will you wear to the masquerade, Dracy?”

Dracy hadn’t even known there was to be a masquerade, and he wasn’t overly fond of such events, but he
said, “In the best tradition, it will be a secret, Lady Maybury.”

She chuckled and rapped him with her fan.

Dinner was announced, and she went in between him and Sir George and then sat between them at table. The dinner was informal, and the talk intensely political. It became clear that Sir George was to be encouraged—and perhaps charmed?—into supporting some measure to do with taxes. Dracy knew he should pay attention, but he was absorbed by the woman at his side.

She said little but was clearly following the discussions, and he suspected she could make some succinct remarks if she thought it appropriate. Lady Hernescroft was a full participant, even if she did occasionally cloak her own opinion as if agreeing with something said by the earl.

Clever women, both of them.

Lord Bathurst caught him unawares by asking his opinion on the reduction of the navy. It was an easy subject, however.

“I’d like to believe in eternal peace, my lord, but I’m too attached to facts. France will strike again, and there’s trouble brewing in the American colonies. How is Britain to defend herself and her interests without an ample navy and the trained men to man the ships? We should be building, sir, not scrapping. And planting oaks for the future.”

That set up a debate, which fortunately moved on to the colonies, on which he could be silent.

“Do you plant oaks at Dracy?” Georgia asked.

“Yes, and I’ll plant many more, even though it will only benefit future generations.”

Sir George’s age hadn’t affected his hearing. “Good man. Too much land wasted on fancy trees, that’s what I say. Tulip trees, indeed. And drooping willows too weak to survive.”

Dracy was happy to talk about trees and other agricultural
matters, leaving Georgia to politics. Different worlds, but they did connect, as with oaks and the navy.

The meal over, the two ladies left, but the conversation at the table continued along political lines. Dracy excused himself. Georgia would be returning to the business of her costume, and he wanted to speak with her. He was only just in time, for she was already coming downstairs.

“Lady Maybury, may I have a moment of your time?”

“Hours of it, my lord, as soon as the masquerade is over. I do apologize, Dracy, but I’m driven by necessity, I assure you.”

How could he insist without raising speculation, which in Georgia’s case could too easily turn to scandal? She was in no danger at her mantua maker’s, and there’d be opportunity to lay out his thoughts about Sellerby in the evening.

“I bow to necessity, ma’am, and look forward to this evening.”

“As do I,” she said with a smile and hurried away.

No point in cursing their separation. In fact, he needed to be busy too, and on the same matter. If Georgia was braving the world at a fashionable masquerade, he must be there to guard her.

He sought out Lady Hernescroft and asked her about the event.

“But of course you must attend, Dracy, to lend credence to our little device.”

“Wearing what, ma’am?”

“Most of the gentlemen will wear variations on classical robes, so you may do the same. I’m sure we can supply something.”

“Thank you, ma’am, but I believe I can find something myself.”

Insane to feel he should try to match Lady May, who was apparently famous for her originality, including a damnably indiscreet goddess costume, but he did. A
naval friend had encouraged him to look up a brother who was an actor at the King’s Theatre, and this seemed just the moment. Edward Nugent was amenable and gave him access to such a vast collection of costumes that Dracy could only plead for help.

“A nautical theme,” said Nugent and rummaged around. “Here you go, and here, and here. A mask? I know just the person. You’ll need to use this glue for your facial decorations, which must be warmed. Don’t worry; it rips off without taking too much skin.”

Nugent packaged it all up but then insisted on Dracy going with him to a tavern for some ale. Dracy enjoyed himself too well and had to rush back to Hernescroft House to tidy himself for a beau monde musical evening.

He joined the company a little late and apologized.

“Enjoying the diversions of Town, Dracy?” Georgia asked, the minx.

“I admit, with good company it can be tolerable.”

He was trying to decide why she looked different. Her yellow silk gown brought out all the warmth of her complexion and the glory of her hair. It was prettily embroidered with white flowers, and he noted the occasional clever touch of silver thread. Perhaps the difference was an effect of simplicity, even though the gown probably cost more than many people made in a year.

Her hair was gathered up in some magical way and set with small silk flowers. She wore pearls in her ears, at her throat, and on her right wrist. Pearls on her buckles? At the moment he could see only the toe of a white satin shoe.

Then he realized her hands were tight on her white silk fan.

“Do you have to attend this?” he asked quietly.

“I can’t stay at home every night. It shouldn’t be unpleasant. Lady Gannet is a cousin of mine, and the company will mostly be connections.”

He should have realized that the Perriams would manage this first Town event with expertise.

“Will Lord Sellerby be there?” he asked.

“I shouldn’t think so. Why?”

“I need to speak to you about him.”

“Is he still spreading that absurd story? I would never have imagined that he could be so densely persistent. But he’s my burden to bear, Dracy. Pray don’t concern yourself with him.”

The carriage was announced and he could say no more.

When he realized that Lady Gannet’s house was only a street away, he thought the carriage ridiculous, but he supposed the ladies couldn’t walk the evening streets in silks and jewels, especially not with the threat of disorder lurking in every shadow. What had Sellerby said? His valet attacked on a short mission.

They alighted to enter an elegant house where music already played, and went upstairs to a drawing room. This was no fashionable crush. The thirty or so guests could be comfortably seated in the ranked chairs.

He and the Perriams were greeted warmly by Lady Gannet and then by others. If anyone here thought Georgia a wicked harlot, they didn’t show it. When everyone took their seats, Dracy realized opportunities for private moments were unlikely, especially if he didn’t want to cause talk.

At least the music was excellent.

Three professionals performed—a slender flautist, a barrel-chested baritone, and a plump harpist. After the harpist had been applauded, the company all went down to the dining room to take supper at a long table while a trio played out of sight.

The conversation here was mostly of music and other arts, about which Dracy knew little, but he was willing to learn. He relaxed his vigilance over Georgia, for no one here wished her ill, but he couldn’t help watching her.
Their supposed betrothal gave him some excuse. He realized that she was using charm and apparent ease with all the skillful intent of an admiral and that she was salting it with a touch of youthful innocence.

The gown! The aspect that had puzzled now came clear. The low bodice was topped by a frothing tumble of fine lace so that no part of her breasts showed. She’d doubtless had that detail whipped together today at her mantua maker’s with this demure effect in mind.

Georgia Maybury was a mistress of her art.

She even had musical talent.

After supper, everyone returned to the drawing room, and now the guests entertained. Georgia performed third. Her musical skills weren’t professional, but she played the keyboards well and sang a light ditty about a girl seeking a lost linnet and enjoying a flirtation with the youth who helped her. It suited her sweet voice and also augmented her illusion of youthful innocence.

She was only twenty, he reminded himself, and she was reminding everyone of the fact.

He, however, had another vision for his foolish fantasy—Georgia at Dracy, playing and singing like that for him alone. Or for a small gathering of neighbors. Or, in time, for their children.

Impossible, but it was as impossible for him to think it so.

He was more and more sure that his ideas about Sellerby were ridiculous, but as they took the short journey home he hoped for the opportunity to lay them before Georgia. She should be warned. However, she parted from him with no more than a smile and a “Good night,” and went upstairs with her mother.

He was snared to take brandy with Lord Hernescroft. He went, expecting an awkward discussion of betrothals, but after a cursory “Betrothal business going well, is it?” it was all horses. Dracy escaped as soon as he could and went upstairs, dissatisfied by his day. He paused outside
a door not his own. This was the door to Georgia’s room, and he indulged for a moment in visions.

Was she still up, perhaps sitting at her dressing table as her maid brushed out her hair?

Or was she already in bed, tucked under the covers, sweetly, innocently asleep? He was falling under the illusion of her performance tonight, but he didn’t find sweetness or innocence unsuitable.

The house was quiet.

The corridor was deserted.

It would be easy to go in, and he even had an excuse of sorts.

Would she scream?

No, she’d be too aware of the consequences of that. She’d be outraged, and with reason, but it still took fortitude to walk on and enter his own room.

He halted just inside the door.

Georgia Maybury was there, sitting in the armchair that faced the door, waiting for him.

Chapter 20

S
he was more substantially covered than she had been at Lady Gannet’s, but a high-necked nightgown covered by an encompassing robe of pale green was not dressed. Not at all.

He shut the door behind him. “Georgia?”

“Don’t take any foolish notions, Dracy. You said you needed to speak to me.”

“And you think this is the moment?”

“Are you angry? Then I’ll leave.” She rose, frowning at him. “I truly don’t mean anything by this. Please don’t leap to the wrong conclusion.”

“Of course not,” he said, struggling to find the right response, which wasn’t easy when her light perfume had invaded with her. Though her presence was torment, he didn’t want her to leave.

“Please, sit down again. I do have something important to say.”

She did so, but this time perched and wary.

Sweetly innocent.

It was so easy to forget that Lady May was young and that her only real experience of the world was as a cherished wife.

“About Sellerby?” she prompted.

“Yes. He called on you this morning.”

“
I was told.”

“I was just leaving, so we walked a ways together. He hasn’t taken your words to heart, and he hasn’t given up hope. He finds our supposed betrothal incredible.”

“With reason,” she said, clearly not meaning it to be a blow.

“He claims your rejection was part of a game, a game you and he have played for years.”

“Oh, the deuce. He is impossible.”

“I agree, but you encouraged him, didn’t you?”

“Not in this,” she protested. “Before…before Maybury died, he had to have known that any flirtation was a game. He would profess his devotion too strongly and I would scold him. He would offer too rich a gift and I’d scold him again. He would then offer a suitable one, and I would accept. A game, yes, but not one that could lead to marriage. I was devoted to my husband and Sellerby knew it. I tried to find him a bride any number of times, but he never pursued any of them.”