Suzanne Robinson (9 page)

Georgiana lay in bed on her stomach, her head buried beneath two pillows, and listened to Rebecca pull back the curtains to let in sunlight turned silver by clouds that looked as mournful as she felt. Last night’s humiliation had given her new insight—rank means nothing when you’re naked. However, it meant quite a lot when you were clothed and ready to demand a man’s expulsion on account of ungentlemanly behavior. Georgiana stuck her head out from under the pillows and called to the maid.

“I shall take breakfast here instead of with the family.” She wasn’t going to see Mr. Ross ever again, and especially not the morning after he’d seen her unclothed.

Rebecca left to inform Randall of her mistress’s wishes, and Georgiana sat up. A picture of Mr. Ross laughing at her while she splashed around in the plunge bath made her groan and dive headfirst under the covers toward the foot of the bed. She’d gotten little sleep due to the agony of her embarrassment.
The humiliation had been worse than finding out Lord Silverstone thought he was making a noble sacrifice by marrying a giant.

Reliving that first moment when she realized Mr. Ross was in the bath, she growled and beat her fists on the mattress. To have a man, a man as unchivalrous and depraved as Mr. Ross, view her unclothed! She’d never even been alone with a gentleman not a member of her family, except for the Hydes, who were soon to be family.

Nakedness and men, these were subjects Mother had avoided, except to say that both were forbidden until marriage. Georgiana had therefore concluded that nudity, men, and their private dealings with women were somehow shameful. She had worried that the whole business had something to do with what had happened to Jocelin. And that had scarred him deeply. Aunt Livy said not, but still, there seemed to be so much mystery and secrecy about the whole subject. Almost everyone seemed to think it shameful. Odd. Mr. Ross hadn’t seemed to think her lack of clothing shameful. But what did he know of the standards of polite society?

Bother Mr. Ross. He’d turned an adventure into a nightmare. The earl had shown her the plunge bath when she had first come, and offered its use. It had been outfitted with hot water recently, an innovation of which Threshfield was proud. She’d been visiting the bath several times a week, and everyone knew the place was reserved for her in the evenings. Obviously no one had bothered to tell Mr. Ross.

He’d followed her expecting to discover her with Evelyn, the evil-minded lout. And his threats … no decent man would threaten a lady in such a manner,
threaten to make up some disgusting story about their encounter in the bath. But it wouldn’t do him any good. Threshfield would believe her, not him. Mr. Ross would be on his way to the town of Worthbridge before luncheon, and on a train by nightfall.

Through layers of bed linens she heard a knock. Scrambling around to the head of the bed, she stuck her head out again and answered. One of the upstairs maids came in with a silver salver on which lay a sealed envelope. She took the envelope, dismissed the maid, and opened it.

It was a gracefully phrased apology from Mr. Ross. He’d written it in a well-formed script that belied his lowly heritage.
Dear Lady Georgiana, I must offer my abject apologies for intruding upon you last night. There is no excuse for my behavior.…

She read on, somewhat amazed at the reference to Oberon spying on Titania. Then he ruined the whole thing by reminding her that if he was forced to leave, Jocelin, who was ill from his wounds, would drag himself across the ocean to save her. Liza would follow, and she was nearing her time. Both would risk their lives, and it would be her fault.
Jocelin expects regular letters from me outlining my progress with you
. There was more, but she only skimmed it.

“Wretched vermin,” she muttered as she tore the note into minute pieces. Outwitted again. He knew she’d go to the earl at once and had forestalled her. She couldn’t jeopardize her brother’s health, or that of dear Liza and the baby. She would have to keep silent. But that didn’t mean she had to endure Mr. Ross. She was good at planning. She would plan her own retreat.

For the next three days Georgiana dined in her room. She sent a note saying she had a slight cold and
didn’t want to infect the earl. The time was well spent reviewing descriptions of neighboring properties that might serve as her children’s home. Sometimes she would leave her room after Rebecca had assured her that Mr. Ross was nowhere in sight, and spent her hours skulking in the dark cellar beneath the Egyptian Wing recording and describing objects. Yet in spite of her seclusion, she sometimes felt as if someone was nearby, as if she was being watched. She spoke to herself sternly about such feelings. Was she going to allow Mr. Ross to drive her into a brain fever?

The fourth day dawned brightly, with the sun illuminating the gold, russet, and yellow leaves of fall. October would come in a few days, and she was tired of hiding, even in the beautiful rooms the earl had given her. She was in the Lady’s Suite, a series of rooms consisting of a sitting room flanked by a bedchamber on one side and a dressing room and cabinet on the other. The colors of the suite were porcelain-blue and white. The sitting room had a balcony that looked out on the eastern park, with its miniature lake and Palladian sun temple on a little island in the middle.

Somehow the sight of that brave little temple sitting in the middle of a jewel-blue lake made her quite irritated with herself. Why was she cringing and hiding? Mr. Ross was the one at fault, the one with the disgusting habit of spying and sneaking up on people. He was the one who should be ashamed. She would be no longer. The more irritated she grew, the more her cooling anger at him heated again.

With Rebecca’s help she dressed in a gown the same pale blue as her bedroom and picked up an embroidered work apron and matching cap. “I’m
through hiding, Rebecca. I’ve had my last breakfast in this room. Mr. Ross isn’t going to run me out of this house.”

Rebecca had a receding chin, so when she stared at her toes, half her face vanished. Georgiana was sitting at a dressing table facing a mirror. She set the cap on her head, pushed her spectacles into place, and glanced at the maid in the mirror.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s Mr. Ross, my lady. I found out he’s not been here this whole time. I kept looking for him, and then I happened to overhear Mr. Randall and the housekeeper talking about him. He’s been away since the morning after he—he …”

“The whole time,” Georgiana repeated, staring at her reflection without noticing it. Suddenly she banged on the dressing table. “The monster!”

“My lady?”

“Nothing, Rebecca. Thank you.”

Georgiana drummed her fingers on the dressing table. The fiend knew she would dread encountering him again. He’d gone away to prolong her agony, to make her wait in embarrassed fear while he cavorted with unsavory persons in some low haunt. But she would show him that nothing he did mattered to her. She’d face him; she’d stare straight at him and through him. No doubt he thought to find her cowering in fright, wondering when and where he’d appear.

She’d face him down. But … perhaps not now. Perhaps she’d do it this afternoon. By then she’d be well prepared. Her righteous anger would burn brighter if she delayed. Yes, that was an excellent plan. No sense rushing things. That was the secret to good plans. Right now there were tasks that needed attending
in the basement of the Egyptian Wing. But she wasn’t hiding anymore. On that point she was quite clear.

To prove it, she marched to the Egyptian Wing openly, head high, her heels tapping on marble floors. Once, when she crossed the curved corridor between the main house and the Egyptian Wing, she thought she heard extra echoes after her footsteps. She listened for a moment, then stopped abruptly. The tapping continued for two steps, then ceased. Georgiana looked behind her but saw only the high windows that bordered either side of the corridor, and the polished floorboards. Bright sunlight heated the chill of the morning. Turning, she began walking and heard no more strange sounds.

Upon reaching the Egyptian Wing, she said good morning to Ludwig, who was busy composing a detailed description and drawings of the new sarcophagus. The acquisition had pride of place in the great work chamber that had originally been intended as a ballroom. As usual, the rooms were dark to protect the more delicate antiquities, and Ludwig worked by lamplight. Ludwig showed her his drawings. She noticed that his pale, ink-stained hands were shaking.

“Aren’t you well, Ludwig?”

Wiping perspiration from his chin, Ludwig rolled up a large drawing and shook his head. “Disturbing news. Disturbing. I spoke to Great-uncle last night, and he mentioned he was going to leave the collection to you.” Ludwig’s shoulders slumped even more than usual, and he seemed near tears.

“Oh, no. But we only discussed making it the basis of a museum. I thought you would be the curator.”

“Well, you know how Great-uncle can twist things. And my parents would be pleased. They’re always after me to give up my studies. Mother says I’ll have to once Great-uncle dies and I’m heir to Threshfield. And that only makes Great-uncle furious.”

Georgiana took her spectacles from a pocket of her apron and put them on. Shoving them back onto her nose, she watched Ludwig droop into a chair, the rolled drawing clutched between his knees.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I’ll speak to him. This isn’t what I intended at all.” She swept her arm around to indicate the multitude of objects that surrounded them. “These things need more care than we can provide by ourselves. Some of the papyri are disintegrating rapidly, Ludwig. You know that.”

Nodding his cabbage-shaped head, Ludwig smiled gently at her. “I’m trying to work more quickly. Oh, my heart, yes, and I really don’t mind as long as it’s you to whom the collection goes. You and I will still work on it, won’t we?”

“Of course, but I’ll speak to Threshfield. He shouldn’t play games with you. You don’t deserve it.”

“I didn’t know it was a game.” Ludwig squinted in the dim light, rose, and knelt by the red-granite sarcophagus. “I didn’t see this. Look, Georgiana, at how finely carved are the wings of the goddesses.”

“Yes, lovely, Ludwig.”

“I must insist that Great-uncle hire a good photographer to record this. My drawings will never suffice.”

She left Ludwig to his discovery, vowing to take Threshfield to task for toying with Ludwig. The earl had promised to do nothing about his collection without
involving Ludwig in the decision, the wretched old liar. She went downstairs.

The basement wasn’t as dark as it could have been, for barred windows at ground level allowed light to filter into the vast storage rooms. Here sat countless boxes filled with more loot from the earl’s raids on ancient sites and various antiquity shops in Egypt. Some had never been opened since they’d arrived in England. In his later years the earl had discovered a new lust—for the paintings and other works of the great Western artists. He had a reputation as a collector who was eager as Catherine the Great of Russia had been.

Georgiana remained in the basement for several hours. She had opened a box that contained shabti, figurines of servants and laborers who were supposed to substitute for the deceased should he or she be called upon by the gods to do work in the afterlife. However, she couldn’t concentrate for worrying about Ludwig. And when she wasn’t worrying about him, memories of Mr. Ross coming upon her naked kept intruding.

Why couldn’t he look as barbaric in evening dress as he had in his western garb? Her embarrassment had been all the more acute because he’d been exquisitely attired in black Saxony relieved only by the finest white linen and diamond studs. But what she remembered the most was how dark his eyes grew when he looked at her. They were blue, the blue of gentians, but the outer edges were darkest indigo. It had been a trick of the light, that sudden deepening of color. He’d had to look down into shadow to see her, that was all.

Nevertheless, she was turning crimson just thinking
about how he’d stared at her. She had sensed something in that stare—that he knew how to infuse it with raw need and make it burn into his victim’s soul. No wonder women seemed to deteriorate into simpletons when he came into a room. But she was confused. Why would he direct such attentions to her, a lumbering giant? Out of habit, that was why.

Georgiana glanced at the painted face of the shabti in her hand and spoke to it. “He’s a poor creature, do you hear? A user of women, a miscreant, a malefactor, a sly reptile. And speaking of sly reptiles, I must talk to Threshfield.”

She left the shabti and the notes she was making on it in the basement. Her concern for Ludwig was interfering with her work. She would fetch him, and together they would corner Threshfield. Upstairs she passed through the hall with its shadowed mummy cases. Pressing her hands against her skirts, she kept her crinoline from brushing a dust-laden coffin in the form of an ancient Egyptian prince.

Pausing at the door to the workroom, she felt a sudden creeping tingle that started at her fingers and crawled up her arms and spine. Turning, she looked over her shoulder, but all she saw was blankly staring statues of priests, viziers, and a sphinx of Senwosret III. Her gaze caught the shadow cast by the jackal-headed god Anubis, lord of the dead. All was dust, darkness, and stillness.

“Is anyone there?”

Silence as complete as that of a house of eternity, an Egyptian tomb. She was growing feebleminded. Next she’d begin watching for Mr. Ross to jump out at her, and she wouldn’t put it past him to do so. Drat
him. He’d nearly ruined her plans to gain freedom and already had succeeded in destroying her peace.

Dropping her hands to her skirts again, she eased past the prince’s coffin and entered the workroom. It was deserted. Ludwig’s drawing lay on the table next to the sarcophagus. The oblong granite box lay in a yellow pool of light cast by a lamp Ludwig had left on one of its corners. Nearby on the floor rested the flat stone lid. She walked between the sarcophagus and the table on her way to the room that served as a library.