Never Judge a Lady By Her Cover: Number 4 in series (The Rules of Scoundrels series) (17 page)

And in his case, two people knew it. “Too much damage, my lord.”

The earl seemed to sense the shift in the conversation, and he tipped his hat in their direction before heading off down the path.

West and his sister rode in silence for long minutes, until another wind blew, and Cynthia decided to lighten the mood in the curricle. Holding on to her enormous hat, she smiled wide at a passing group of doyennes of the
ton
. She spoke with a bright, happy voice. “It’s a beautiful day for a ride.”

“It’s grey and threatening to rain.”

She smiled. “It’s London in March, Duncan. That’s practically blue sky.”

He narrowed his gaze on her. “How is it that we are siblings and yet you are so damn impractical?”

“You say impractical, I say cheerful.” He did not reply, and so she offered, “I suppose the gods were smiling down upon you when they delivered you a baby sister.”

The gods were doing no such thing at the time of her arrival. But he still remembered that day, covered in tar, blisters on his young hands, sent into the laundry where his mother lay hidden in a corner on a makeshift pallet of old blankets, holding a tiny baby.

The memory came without warning.
Go on, Jamie, hold your sister.

He had, taking the little mewling bundle. She’d been wrapped in the master’s shirt, one in need of mending. He’d barely seen the baby for that shirt.
He’ll be angry that you’ve ruined his shirt.

There’d been sadness in his mother’s eyes when she’d replied,
You let me worry about him.

He’d unwrapped the shirt then, to get a good look at this little creature that had been identified as his sister, with a headful of brown hair and the bluest eyes he’d ever seen.

He extinguished the memory before it went too far. “You looked like a goblin.”

She turned shocked eyes on him. “I did not!”

“Maybe not. Perhaps it was more like an old man – all red and blotchy, as though you’d been in the sun or in your cups for too long.”

She laughed. “That’s a horrible thing to say.”

“You grew out of it.” He shrugged one shoulder and added, so no one nearby could hear him, “And the first time I held you, you pissed on me.”

“I’ve no doubt you deserved it!” she said, indignant.

He smiled. “You grew out of that, too, thank goodness.”

“I’m beginning to think that I should not have invited you for this ride,” she said. “It’s not nearly so rewarding as I thought it would be.”

“Then I have achieved my goal.”

She scowled at him before her attention turned to two ladies riding ahead of them, heads bent in the telltale sign of gossip. “Now shush. Those two look like they have something to say.”

“You realize that your brother has the line on all the significant gossip of the
ton
? You receive at least three gossip rags to the house a week.”

She waved away his words. “It’s no fun reading it with the rest of the world. Get closer. And pretend as though we are conversing.”

“We
are
conversing.”

“Yes, but if
you’re
talking I can’t hear
them
. So
pretend
.”

The dirt path was packed with aristocrats and gentry, all here for the same reason Cynthia was here, and so the whole damn group was moving at a snail’s pace, which made it perfectly easy to eavesdrop. The gossip shared on Rotten Row was never very valuable, in part because everyone on Rotten Row had heard it already. Nevertheless, he slowed to a creep so his sister could listen to the ladies, now next to them, despite lacking any semblance of interest in their conversation.

“I heard that she’s got her eye on Langley,” one said.

“He’d be a tremendous catch for her, but I don’t think he’d marry into such a family,” the other opined.

“‘Such a family,’” came the unconvinced reply. “She’s the Duke of Leighton for a brother, and Ralston through the duke.”

Suddenly, West was very interested in the conversation.

“They’re speaking of Lady Geo —”

He raised a hand and Cynthia stopped speaking. For once.

“They may have titles, but they shouldn’t matter when you consider the rest of the story – Leighton’s duchess has been a scandal from the start.”

“She’s received everywhere,” the first pointed out.

“Of course she is. She’s a duchess. And a rich one at that. But it doesn’t mean people wish her presence. Italian.
Catholic
. And a bastard.”

“What a horrible woman,” Cynthia whispered, leaning closer.

It was only years of practice that kept West from doing the same. The woman in question was Lady Holborn, a wicked gossip and a terrible person if talk was to be believed. The other was Lady Davis, not the most prized guest at a gathering, but in comparison, a veritable saint, it seemed.

It was important that he hear what they were saying about Georgiana, of course. After all, he had promised to get her married, hadn’t he? Any reconnaissance he could do as far as societal opinion of her would help get his part in the play done.

That was the only reason that he cared about what the ladies were saying.

Still, when the Countess Holborn said, “The point is, the girl is ruined. Name or no, she’s loose. What man could be assured his heir is his? And the fact that she parades the
daughter
around Hyde Park as though she weren’t a bastard and just as cheap as her stock is… offensive. Just look at them…”

She was here.
 

“What a
horrible
woman,” Cynthia repeated.

The ladies’ conversation trailed off as they picked up speed. West no longer cared, as he was too busy searching for the subject of their conversation. They’d said she was here. With her daughter.

And suddenly, West wanted very much to make the girl’s acquaintance.

He did not see them on the path, but the throngs of people made it difficult to find anyone, he supposed, even as he resisted the thought. Even as he told himself that he would notice her. That if she were here, in either of her costumes, he would know her.

He kept looking, turning to see if she was behind. That was when a flash of deep, sapphire blue caught his eye, away from the throngs of people. He released the breath he had not known he’d been holding. Of course she wasn’t here with the rest of the
ton
. She didn’t wish to be a part of their world.

She stood on a slow rise beyond the trees, a young girl at her side, two horses trailing behind them, and the Serpentine their backdrop. They were deep in conversation, and he watched for a long moment, until the girl said something and Georgiana laughed. Bright. Bold. As though she were in private and not in full view of half of London.

The half of London that she required for her acceptable marriage.

West found himself wondering what had been so amusing.

And then wondering what it would take to amuse her himself.

He did not take his gaze from her as he pulled the curricle to the edge of the path and dismounted, speaking to his sister. “Would you like to meet the subject of their gossip?”

From high atop the conveyance, Cynthia’s surprise was clear. “You know her?”

“I do,” he said, wrapping the reins around a hitching post and stepping off the dirt path and onto the grass. He moved up the slope toward where Georgiana walked. He willed her to stay, to keep off those beautiful horses and remain in the grass a little while longer. Until he could reach her.

Cynthia was with him, having rushed to keep up. “I see.”

He cut her a look at the words. “What do you see?”

She smiled. “She’s very pretty.”

She was more than that. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“You hadn’t.”

“No.” There had been a time when he’d been able to lie much more effortlessly. A week ago.

“You hadn’t noticed that Lady Georgiana Pearson, blond and lithe and lovely up on the hill, to whom you are rushing —”

He slowed. “I am not rushing.”

“To whom you
were
rushing,” she clarified. “You had not noticed that she was pretty.”

“No.” He deliberately did not look at her then, because he did not wish to see the understanding and the surprise and the interest he heard in her reply.

“I see.”

Lord deliver him from sisters.

Chapter 9

… in case of fire, this paper cautions you to resist relying upon the Viscount Galworth’s horses for escape. They never run as fast as one would wager…

… Meanwhile, Lady G— continues to edge away from her dreadful and utterly unsuitable moniker. There’s been not a scandal in sight this season, though, in truth, this author is somewhat disappointed…

The Scandal Sheet
, April 27, 1833

“Tell me again why we are walking here and not down there with all the others?”

Georgiana looked to Caroline, surprised by the question. They’d been wandering the edge of the Serpentine for the afternoon – something they’d done a dozen times before, whenever Caroline was in town.

But they’d never done it while Georgiana was out and on the marriage mart. And in all the times that they’d done it, Caroline had never asked that question – why here, and not Rotten Row.

Georgiana supposed that she should have been prepared for it. After all, Caroline was nine, and girls eventually learned that the world did not solely exist for their pleasure. Eventually, they learned that the world existed solely for the pleasure of the aristocracy. And so, this close to throngs of aristocrats, Caroline was bound to ask.

“Do you wish to walk down there with the others?” Georgiana asked, evading her daughter’s original, pointed question. Willing her to answer in the negative. She didn’t think she could face the stares if they took their afternoon ride with the rest of London. She didn’t think she could stand the way they whispered about her. The way they whispered about her daughter.

Being within sight of them made things bad enough.

“No,” Caroline said, turning to peruse the crush below. “I was just wondering why
you
didn’t wish to be there.”

Because I should rather spend an afternoon being ritually stung by bees
, Georgiana thought. She supposed she couldn’t quite tell her daughter that. She settled on, “Because I would rather be here. With you.”

Caroline cut her a disbelieving look, and Georgiana was struck by the honesty in her pretty, open face – by the way her wide eyes filled with knowledge far beyond her years. “Mother.”

She supposed she was responsible for that, for the knowledge. For the fact that Caroline had never in her life acted her age – she’d always known more than a child should. It came with being a scandal. “You don’t believe me?”

“I believe you wish to spend the afternoon with me, but I don’t believe that is the reason we are not down there. The two are not mutually exclusive.”

There was a pause, after which Georgiana said, “You are too intelligent for your own good.”

“No,” Caroline said thoughtfully. “I am too intelligent for
your
own good.”

“That is
definitely
true. Would you believe me if I promised to take you to Rotten Row the next time we come to the park?”

“I would,” Caroline allowed, “but I did notice that the promise is contingent upon us returning to the park, full stop.”

Georgiana laughed. “Foiled again.”

Caroline smiled, and they walked together for a few quiet minutes before she said, “Why are you planning to marry?”

Georgiana nearly choked on her surprise. “I —”

“It was in this morning’s newspaper.”

“You shouldn’t be reading the newspaper.”

Caroline gave her a dry look. “You’ve been telling me to read the newspaper since before I could read. ‘Ladies worth their salt read newspapers,’ do they not?”

Caught. “Well, you shouldn’t be reading anything about me.” Georgiana paused. “In fact, how did you know it was about me?”