A Scandalous Countess: A Novel of the Malloren World (8 page)

Lady Hernescroft was a tall, gaunt woman with steel gray hair. Sometimes people said that Georgia resembled her mother in youth, which was positively alarming.

Thin lips grew thinner. “Because your father requests it.”

Orders,
Georgia interpreted, but she resisted. “You know I don’t intend to mix with society until my mourning year is over, Mother.”

“Then you shouldn’t have attended the race. Having done so, you must correct the damage by presenting a more decorous picture at dinner.”

“No one noticed,” Georgia protested.

“Of course they did. And those who didn’t have heard of it. In breeches! What were you thinking, girl? You will do as requested.”

“I don’t think it wise—”

“You question your father’s judgment?”

Georgia instinctively said, “No!” That would be like questioning the word of God. But then she asked again, “Why? My attending dinner won’t change anyone’s mind.”

Her mother still glared, but then, amazingly, her direct gaze shifted. Something was afoot. “It has to do with the race.”

“
My being there wasn’t so—”

“Not your behavior, Georgia. The victor.”

“Cartagena?”

“Lord Dracy! Despite the loss, your father took a fancy to him and has invited him to dine. You shall attend to his comfort.”

“He needs a cushion for his chair, or a footstool for a gouty toe?”

“Don’t be pert. Lord Dracy was in the navy until his cousin died in January. He’s taken up his responsibilities but is sadly ill prepared for the highest circles. You shall ease his way over dinner.”

Georgia bit back another pert comment, this time about choice of fork.

“Why me? Millicent will be there.” Pranks’s wife enjoyed fussing over guests and would resent Georgia supplanting her.

“Millicent will not be there. You know how sensitive she is when carrying. Your antics have sent her to her bed.”

“Then I’m sorry for it, Mother, but surely…”

“There’s another reason Millicent has absented herself. Lord Dracy was unfortunately scarred in battle. One side of his face is distorted in a way that must distress a sensitive lady.”

“Whereas I’m tough as boiled leather?”

“
You
are not carrying a child.”

Georgia told herself that wasn’t a deliberate thrust. “I think it would be shameful to turn pale at the sight of a man blemished in defense of us all, even if I were with child.”

“Do not criticize your sister-in-law because you are made of coarser stuff.”

“Coarser? To seek to be kind to a hero?”

Georgia saw her mother make a big effort. Her lips even turned up at the corners. “You do have a good heart, daughter.”

What on earth was going on?

“What exactly am I asked to do?” Georgia asked.

“Stay by Dracy’s side and converse with him no matter how tongue-tied he is. Ease his way, advise him.…”

“On what?”

“Anything that arises.”

A lewd vision popped into Georgia’s mind and she had to struggle to keep a straight face. If only Dickon were with her. He’d laugh too.

“Have you other questions?” her mother demanded.

Only,
why
? Was this political? Her parents were constantly involved in political chess, especially now, with the king at odds with his ministry, and cabals scheming in every corner of St. James.

“Mother, what’s truly behind this?”

“You are unpleasantly willful, Georgia,” her mother said, but almost wearily. “If you will have an explanation, Hernescroft regrets the loss of Fancy Free. He hopes to negotiate an exchange of prizes. Some kindness to Lord Dracy might smooth the way.”

“Ah, that makes sense.”

Georgia considered the situation. She wanted to keep to her seclusion for the full year. Once she made a resolve, she liked to hold to it. However, Fancy Free’s situation truly did concern her.

“Then I will attend,” she said. “In Fancy Free’s cause, I’ll take the most tender care of our gouty tar.”

“He’s a naval officer.”

Georgia ignored that. “And if he bellows across the dining table or spits on the floor I’ll hint him toward better ways.”

“Sometimes I despair of you!” her mother snapped, but closed her eyes and held back any other rant. “Remember, Georgia, you must also counter the impression of your appearance at the race. Dress modestly and behave with sober discretion; then perhaps our guests will carry away a good report of you.”

She swept out, and Georgia indulged in sticking out her tongue at the door as it closed and muttering, “I’m as much a slave as a horse.”

“You stop that, milady,” said Jane, who’d been standing quietly in a corner.

Laughing, Georgia stuck out a tongue at her too, and then sat to add the latest news to the letter to Lizzie.

“Milady. You need to dress.”

“In a moment.” Georgia wrote quickly, ending with,
“If this could reach you in time, I’d beg you to pray for me. As it is, I’ll hold the letter back and report before dispatching it.”

She put the letter in a drawer in her desk and locked it, then surrendered to Jane. She shed her robe, then put on her stays for Jane to lace, regretting that “pray for me.” It revealed nervousness. She’d explained keeping to her room last night as part of her commitment to avoid society for a full year, but she knew she’d grasped at the excuse.

She longed to return to real life, to fashionable life, but now, as the time came close, she sometimes felt slightly sick. How many people still thought she’d been Vance’s lover, and thus the cause of Dickon’s death?

She took out her feelings on the stays, pushing the flat, boned front into place. “What an imposition. I haven’t worn a full corset in an age.”

“You can’t wear country stays to dine, milady. It’s always obvious and gives a poor impression.”

“I know, but this is so unfair.”

“I warned against you going to watch the race, milady.”

“Yes, you did, but it was worth it.”

“You always say that,” Jane grumbled, giving the laces a sharp tug. “But perhaps it’s no bad thing for you to appear in a small gathering before going on to larger ones.”

“You might be right. Beaufort is here, and Waveney.”

“Lord Waveney is married now, milady, and his wife’s here with him.”

“Lud!
Then I’ll see if I can attract Portland, though he is rather dull.”

“It’s the ladies you need to impress, milady. Those are the ones who’ll write letters and carry away stories.”

“At least Millicent won’t be there, sighing and tossing in reproachful comments. Though I suppose her sister will act as her proxy. Why Eloisa Cardross dislikes me so, I can’t imagine.”

“Yes, you can, milady. She’s considered a beauty but can’t hold a candle to you. Stand up straight, milady.”

Georgia did. “Have I started to slump? Horrors! You would tell me, wouldn’t you, if I had?”

“Always, for what attention you pay.”

“You are my wise older sister.”

Jane snorted, but there was a laugh in it, for they were friends.

Jane had just turned thirty when hired to be the new Countess of Maybury’s lady’s maid, and at first she’d seemed severe. Beneath a starchy exterior, however, lurked a wry sense of humor and a delight in fashion that equaled Georgia’s. She’d soon become a friend and confidant, and she and Georgia had worked together to design the unique garments worn by Lady May.

Georgia knew she should have listened to Jane’s sensible advice more often, but her adventures had seemed harmless and Jane’s cautions stuffy. There’d been no serious consequences at the time, but those exploits had made it easy for vile-minded people to believe the worst.

The time she’d diced for kisses.

The goddess costume that gave the illusion of bare breasts.

Being caught kissing Harry Shaldon at Lady Rothgar’s ball.

That had been unfortunate, but Dickon had made light of it, even claiming that he’d lost the right to the kiss at cards. He’d not reproached her afterward either.

Dear Dickon.

But that alone had made the story of her being Vance’s lover credible to some. As if there were any comparison. Shaldon was a bold, sporting gentleman, but he was a gentleman. For all his birth, Sir Charnley Vance was not.

“Take my advice now,” Jane said, knotting the laces. “Behave perfectly, for all eyes will judge you—”

“I know that.”

“But do not show anxiety or shame. That duel was your husband’s folly, no more than that, and though you’ve grieved for him most tenderly, you have nothing with which to reproach yourself.”

Georgia almost argued, for she knew her sins, but what Jane said was mostly true. She was innocent—of anything really bad, at least.

“Now, what gown, milady? The cream lustring, the blue, the fawn with roses?”

“The gray tabby.”

“That thing! It’s hardly suitable for dusting, never mind dining with dukes and earls.”

“It’s my best half mourning. I won’t dress in colors, Jane. I resolved to give Dickon the twelve months, and to renege on that simply because I mingle with the beau monde would be despicable.”

“I doubt any of them are watching the date.”

Georgia laughed. “They’ll be counting the days as carefully as they count those to the birth of a first child. The gray. Hurry. To be late will make me all the more significant.”

“Then put on the pockets and hoops whilst I get it.”

Georgia was tying the second knot when Jane returned, her arms full of smoky cloth. It did rather look like a dark cloud.

“When you’re finished with gray, milady, I’ll say a prayer of thanks. It performs a miracle and makes you drab.”

“Drab is exactly what we want now.”

Jane passed over the skirt and Georgia put it on. Next came the bodice, which hooked up the front and reached modestly to her collarbone. She scrutinized herself in the mirror.

“Can you find that frilled insert, Jane? And the snood cap.”

Her maid gave a snort of disgust but soon returned with the two linen items. The insert fastened around Georgia’s neck and tucked down beneath the bodice, front and back.

“Positively nunlike,” Georgia said. “This should smother any thoughts of the Scandalous Countess.”

“A scandal it is that anyone call you that, milady, and you scarce more than a girl even yet. Sit you down and I’ll fix on the cap.”

“I don’t think age plays a part,” Georgia said, obeying. “There are girls at Danae House who were raped, but others who danced merrily along the path to disaster at fourteen.” Danae House was a charity for disgraced serving girls.

Jane twisted up Georgia’s thick hair and pinned it tightly. “It’s not suitable for you to be involved with such as them.”

“Is it wrong for Lady Rothgar to be a patroness, or Lady Walgrave, or the Duchess of Ithorne?”

“They’re all older than you, milady.” Jane shoved a last pin into Georgia’s hair and added the snood, which covered all the hair at the back. Georgia tucked away as much of her front hair as possible.

“Jewelry, milady?”

To wear none other than her wedding ring would be eccentric, but what? “The pearl studs,” Georgia said, taking out the plain gold ones she was wearing. “And my mourning bracelet.”

When Jane returned, Georgia put in the earrings and then slid the mourning bracelet on her right wrist, pulling
a face at it. The black and silver band held a crystal that protected a lock of Dickon’s brown hair. It always made her think of his corpse.