To Win the Lady (16 page)

‘My winnings
will fetch me out of the River Tick,’ he said, when Richard demurred at the
amount.

‘And if you
lose you will drown in it,’ his friend said cryptically. ‘I wish you had not
done it.’

‘Too late,
can’t back out now,’ John told him, complacent as ever. ‘If I’d had the mint
sauce, I’d have come in on the race with you.’

‘Then I’m glad
you have not. This is between me and Lord Barbour. Now I’m for my bed.’ He rose
and picked up his pile of winnings, jingling the coins in his hand as he went
towards the door. ‘There is much to be done so do not expect to see me for a
few days.’

‘What about Mrs
Bertram’s ball?’ John called after him.

Richard stopped
and turned; it was still there, still to be faced, but now he felt easier about
it. ‘I shall return for that, never fear.’

It seemed that
Mrs Bertram was going to be right. The ball was set fair to be a glittering
occasion and even some of the ton who had already left for the country were
constrained to return for it. It was a dreadful crush in the vestibule as
everyone began to arrive, taking their turn to be greeted by Colonel and Mrs
Bertram and the Misses Paget, both of whom looked stunning, although the elder
was really too old for bringing out. No matter, rumour was rife that Lord
Barbour meant to offer for her, which was perhaps all she could expect. Widower
he might be and with a brace of children, but he had a title and an estate,
run-down though it was, and they did not suppose Sir Henry had left either girl
high in the stirrups.

The younger,
Miss Felicity Paget, was another matter; she was a plum ripe for the picking
and it looked as though that scapegrace son of Viscount Dullingham would come
up to the mark. There was a story that he had fallen out with his papa years
before and left home to go to war. Such a ramshackle thing for an heir to a
great estate to do. Now he had returned and the gabble-grinders could only
suppose he had come back to claim his inheritance, for the Viscount was not in
plump currant. That would put William Baverstock’s nose out of joint, to be
sure.

And there was
that proposed ride to York. All London was talking about it and every betting
book in every club, not to mention Tattersall’s, was full of side-wagers, from
whether the race would take place at all to whether it would finish because one
or other of the riders had died of a seizure, or fallen off through fatigue.
Bets were being laid on the probable finishing point, seeing as few expected
either man to reach York; the time it would take in the unlikely event of one
or both men finishing; the weather at the start and how many horses would
survive the gruelling gallop. And anyone who had a half decent horse for sale
or hire was hoping to make a good profit. It was going to be a lively couple of
weeks.

Georgie was
perfectly aware of the wager, for who could not be when London was on fire with
it? And she knew it was Richard who had instigated it, for he had hinted that
he might, but she wished it could be otherwise. Whatever the quarrel between
him and Lord Barbour, she did not believe it was worth injuring either men or
horses.

She stood at
the head of the stairs, in dove-grey gauze embroidered with silver, receiving
her aunt’s guests with a smile and a polite greeting, but her thoughts were
elsewhere. In her head she was back at Rowan Park, riding Grecian Warrior
across the heath, feeling the saddle between her thighs and the wind stirring
her hair, laughing for the sheer joy of riding.

And that jump.
She had been reckless, she knew that, but oh, how marvellous it always made her
feel! And how angry the Major had been. He had no right to anger; she would
never ride a horse into the ground for the sake of a wager. She could almost
hate Richard Baverstock for that. But she knew that was a lie.

Would he be too
busy making plans for the race to come tonight? Did she want him to come? She
glanced towards Felicity. She was looking beautiful in soft white silk with a
high bodice and a low neckline made decorous with an infill of silk flowers.
She had their mother’s pearls about her throat but wore no other ornament. Georgie
reached out and took her hand. Felicity, who had been staring at the floor,
looked up and smiled.

‘Nervous?’
Georgie asked.

‘Yes.’ She
paused and took a deep breath. ‘Georgie, I...’ She stopped and looked into
Georgie’s face. Their aunt was right; how could she disappoint the sister who
had been a mother to her for so long, and a father too, this last year? Georgie
had made so many sacrifices for her, it would be churlish to throw it all back
in her face. Oh, how she wished Aunt Harriet had never come to Rowan Park! She
became aware that Georgie was waiting for her to finish what she had been
saying. ‘I expect I shall feel more the thing directly.’

‘Of course.’
Georgie turned back to her duty as another guest arrived and found herself
looking into the searching eyes of Major Baverstock. Once again she was almost
turned into a quivering jelly by his tall, lithe figure, enhanced by the white
breeches and blue regimental coat he wore, and by those dark eyes, which were
even now burning into her. Her knees felt weak and she knew her face was
flooded with colour. He had already greeted his host and hostess and was
waiting for some acknowledgement from her. She ought to offer him her hand, but
it was shaking so much that she dared not bring it out from the folds of her
dress. And if she curtsied she would surely collapse in a heap on the floor.

`Miss Paget,
your obedient,’ he said, making a leg and breaking the spell.

She dipped
quickly and forced herself to smile. ‘Good evening, Major.’ Then she turned to
her sister. ‘Look, dearest, here is Major Baverstock; why don’t you take him
into the ballroom? You do not need to stay here on display all evening.’ She
turned to Mrs Bertram. ‘Does she, Aunt?’ She was aware of the brittleness of
her voice, the stiffness of her smile, but she could not help it.

‘No, run
along,’ Mrs Bertram said. ‘Enjoy yourselves. After all, this is your evening.’

Richard bowed
to Felicity and offered her his arm and together they went into the ballroom,
watched by a despairing Georgie.

‘They make a
delightful couple, don’t you think?’ Mrs Bertram said to her husband. ‘He is
handsome to a stare and well-breeched too; she is so lovely and such a good,
obedient child.’

‘Yes, perhaps
too lovely and too obedient,’ he commented.

‘And what am I
supposed to make of that remark?’ she demanded.

‘What you will,
my love.’

‘I am not
disposed to solve your riddles,’ she said, tapping his arm with her
chicken-skin fan. ‘I believe the Major will ask to speak to you tonight.’

‘Why should he
speak to me?’

‘Because,
husband, Felicity has no father, nor mother either; we stand in their stead and
it is to you he will apply for permission to speak to her.’ She turned to
Georgie. ‘Is that not so, my dear?’

‘Yes,’ she
said, her voice barely more than a whisper as she contemplated the prospect.

‘Not only that,
but he was in your regiment,’ Mrs Bertram went on, turning back to her husband.
‘If he were still with the colours, he would have been obliged to ask your
permission to marry, and, even though he is no longer a serving officer,
courtesy demands no less than he should make you aware of his intentions.’

‘You seem very
sure of his intentions.’

‘Of course.
Women know these things, do they not, Georgiana?’

‘I am afraid I
have no experience of such things,’ she said, wishing her aunt would not keep
turning to her for confirmation of everything she said.

‘We have stood
here long enough, I think,’ her aunt said crisply. ‘I doubt there will be any
more arrivals and I need to sit down and take a glass of ratafia. And you may
wish to dance, Georgiana.’ She lifted Georgie’s hand where her dance card
should have been attached to her wrist by a ribbon. ‘Where is your card,
child?’

Georgie did not
like her aunt addressing her as ‘child’ but at the moment that was how she felt
- young and bewildered. ‘I do not wish to dance, Aunt. I am my sister’s
chaperon and guardian, or had you forgot?’

‘Fustian!’ Mrs
Bertram exclaimed. ‘I am here, am I not? You do not need to sit with the
antidotes tonight. Go and enjoy yourself.’

‘Aunt, there is
no one...’

‘Oh, yes, there
is,’ Colonel Bertram interrupted, taking her arm and leading her into the
ballroom to dance a stately minuet, and as soon as they were out of earshot he
said, ‘Now, me girl, you’d best tell me what’s bothering you.’

‘Nothing,
Uncle, nothing at all. But I would not wish to behave improperly.’

He threw back
his head and laughed, making several people in the vicinity turn to look at
him. ‘Is this the fearless Georgiana Paget I used to know? Why, as a girl, you
thought nothing of riding to hounds and taking a hedge with the best; are you
balking one now?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Jealous of
your sister, eh?’

She looked up
at him sharply and almost missed her step. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Getting an
offer before you. You are the elder, after all.’

She let out her
breath in a sigh of relief. ‘Oh, I do not think of that at all, Uncle. If
Felicity is happy, it is all I ask.’

The Colonel
wisely decided to say no more and when the dance finished he took her card from
her reticule where she had hidden it and perambulated round the floor with her,
bowing and chatting to his guests as he went, putting Georgie forward whenever
he could, so that by the time they returned to Mrs Bertram, who was sitting
having a comfortable coze with Lady Hereward, her card was almost full.

It was very
kind of him and she appreciated his efforts, but it didn’t alter the fact that
Richard had not asked her to stand up with him and unless he did so very soon
she would not have a dance left for him. And that was as it should be, she told
herself sternly. She had no right to sigh after her sister’s prospective
husband.

She had hardly
taken her seat beside her aunt when Lord Barbour was standing before her, in
knee-breeches and satin coat, doing his best to make an elegant leg and
creaking terribly in the process. She favoured him with a smile which was just
a little too bright as he took her card and, seeing that there was no name
beside the country dance then beginning, asked her to stand up with him. She
retrieved her card, slipped it back over her wrist and stood up. This fat,
conceited, not entirely sober coxcomb was to be her lot and she had better make
up her mind to it, but even the feel of his clammy hand holding her fingers as
they began the promenade was enough to repel her. She was glad that the strict
etiquette her aunt insisted on meant that she would not have to endure more
than two dances with him.

Her aunt, when
Georgie was returned to her, was sitting between Mrs Sopwithy and Lady
Hereward, watching Felicity circulating the room with Richard, her gloved
fingers resting lightly on his sleeve. ‘How good to see one’s best efforts so
well rewarded,’ she told them as Georgie took her place beside Lady Hereward.

‘Shall it be
announced tonight, do you think?’ her ladyship asked.

‘He has yet to
speak to the Colonel, but we shall see.’ Harriet smiled like a contented cat.

Another dance
was beginning and Georgie’s partner came to claim her, so she was not obliged
to suffer any more of the conversation, for which she was utterly thankful. She
danced well and when she allowed herself to forget the tall major who dominated
the room with his presence and her pretty little sister, who seemed to be
flirting outrageously with every young man in the room, she managed to enjoy herself
- at least until after supper, when she found herself, for the first time,
sitting alone. Her aunt was gossiping with a group of her cronies, her uncle
had gone to see how the less energetic gentlemen were doing in the card-room
and Felicity was dancing with John Melford and laughing at something he had
said. She hardly had time to wonder where Major Baverstock might be when she
saw him coming purposefully towards her. She began a detailed inspection of her
fan because she could not watch his progress without the yearning in her eyes
becoming obvious.

‘Miss Paget,
will you do me the honour of waltzing with me?’

Only then did
she look up. ‘Why, Major,’ she said, pretending surprise. ‘You have taken me
unawares...’

‘Do you not
wish to stand up with me?’

Oh, yes, yes,
more than anything, her heart cried, but her voice said, ‘Major, I am supposed
to be my sister’s chaperon.’

‘Still? I had
supposed your aunt had relieved you of that duty. I have seen you on the floor
several times, twice with Lord Barbour.’

‘Oh,’ she said,
smiling up at him. ‘Were you counting?’

‘No, but I’ll
wager the tabbies were.’

‘And do you
suppose they have counted your dances too?’

‘Undoubtedly.’
He whirled her on to the floor and was even now spanning her waist with his big
hand, leaning back a little and smiling down at her. She felt herself melting
into him, so that they seemed fused by the music into a single body, moving as
one. She was in a dreamlike state that had no bearing on reality and she did
not want to wake up.