“No, I find myself unwilling. To list the eligible men of the ton, and their attributes and connections, makes me feel as if I am selecting a stud horse.”
“My dear, that is the best way to get it done. There are simply too many suitable options. What of Lord Cole? According to Lady Bristol, he is a fine lover indeed.”
Georgiana’s eyes cut to the dashing viscount chatting a few paces away. Curious, she steered Daphne in his direction. He snapped to attention when he spied them, admiration glowing in the gaze that settled upon her.
“Your Grace,” he said with a deep bow, his voice warm and inviting. “What an unmatched pleasure to see you tonight.”
His emphasis had her arching a brow. It seemed polite society expected her to select a lover.
“Lord Cole, a delight, I’m sure,” she said with a smile. They exchanged a few pleasantries, and after a few moments, she deftly extricated herself.
“Clearly, he is not an option,” Daphne murmured, accurately discerning Georgiana’s disinterest.
“I confess, this may prove to be an impossible challenge. Oh, Daphne, perhaps I was too hasty with my thoughts.”
“Certainly not. I think Lord Petersfield is ideal. He is in the card room. I will collect him.”
Before Georgiana could protest, Daphne hurried away. Though the earl was handsome and intelligent and charming, he stirred nothing in Georgiana.
“Your Grace?”
She turned to the footman, who seemed as if he had materialized from thin air. “Yes?”
He held forth a note. “I was asked to deliver this to you.” She took it, opened her reticule, and tipped him, then he melted away discreetly.
She flipped the note open.
Come to the gardens.
Georgiana frowned, perplexed by the lack of signature and not recognizing the bold scrawl. She scanned the room, wondering who had sent it. Curiosity had her slipping the note in her reticule and heading for the open French doors. Had Simon sent her the note? But wouldn’t her brother have signed it? It had been a while since he’d had cause to write her a letter, and she tried to recall his style of handwriting. She had appealed to him to help her investigate Nicolas’s nursemaid, who had disappeared without giving notice or informing her that she would be leaving. She had not even forwarded an address with a request for a character reference.
Georgiana pressed a hand to her stomach as an unknown disquiet twisted through her. She had never been one to sit in silence and endure ceaseless speculations, so she had tried to do something about it and had encountered a dark, ugly, immovable wall of silence. That wall could have simply been cold indifference or something far more sinister. She had used her influence and gotten Bow Street involved. They had returned a verdict of a runaway nursemaid…in three days, with little show of concern to do any more.
She pushed through the throng, heading for the gardens. She made her way down cobbled steps and ran into someone.
“Georgiana, I was just coming inside to claim a dance,” said her brother, Simon, the Earl of Fairfax.
“Simon,” she greeted, holding her hands out. “I’m delighted to see you. Nicolas misses you.”
He arched a brow at her gentle admonition then gripped her hands and made a courtly bow. “I miss him, too. I will visit soon.”
She tugged her hands from his and reached into her reticule. “Did you send me this?”
He took the note, scanned it, and then crumpled it into a ball before stuffing it into his left pocket. “Another one of your ardent suitors no doubt. You should put them all from their misery and show favor to at least one.”
She frowned. Simon made as if he would direct them back up the small steps to reenter the ballroom. “Shouldn’t we stay in the gardens? There will be more privacy and less noise.”
They could have met at her townhouse, or at Meadowbrook Park. The dratted man had insisted she abandon the estate and travel to town. He had done it from love, but his interference was annoying, for it tugged her back into the lushly beautiful limelight of high society and away from the tranquility she found in the country.
“Certainly. Walk with me,” he murmured.
She looped her arm with his, and they entered the garden and traveled deeper into the mazelike gardens where they would be assured of privacy. “Do you have news for me?”
He grunted. “I have thought long and hard about your situation, and though it pains me to even broach such a topic, I have a solution to suggest. The ton has been talking of your restlessness, your inattention at political dinners, your many refusals of society’s invitations, though you have been out of mourning for a full three years. You are not acting quite like yourself, and now, this unheard-of investigation you are demanding into a woman who probably simply ran away. As Mother tells it, you are refusing to select another husband. Perhaps you need to consider a discreet liaison.”
Georgiana’s breath hitched. “I believe I misheard you.”
“What you need is a lover,” he said, giving a decisive nod.
“Dear Simon, have you been hiding a sense of humor all these years?”
“I do not jest.”
Was her emptiness so evident for the polite world to speculate and for her brother to remark upon? It would not do for him to see the way his pronouncement rattled her, simply because she was planning to embark on an affair. That was her business, and not one her family should stick their noses into.
She was also quite taken aback by her brother’s liberal opinion. In the past, he, too, had been concerned with her propriety. Though she had thought it hypocritical, for both her husband and brother had had at least one mistress, but such an action was not considered a stain upon the refined airs of nobility they wanted to protect. The Hardcastle line had never endured a scandal or hint of impropriety. A thing she had thought impossible until she had wed the duke and had been on the receiving end of his gentle-but-rigid instructions of expected comportment.
“I did expect some reaction, even if it was to slap my face for my temerity,” he said softly. “I do not like how cold you’ve become.”
She did value Simon’s opinion, so perhaps she could partially explain her inability to assuage her current loneliness. “I cannot lightly embark on a scandalous affair that would most assuredly be remarked upon.” She had a reputation and a legacy to protect, to hone, and always she must be The Duchess, which was how the ton referred to her, for her son’s sake and their family’s reputation. It was not easy to dismiss so many years of ingrained lessons about what she could and could not do, but she was achingly desperate to let go the expectations that had been settled on her shoulders from her earliest memories. “Nor am I inclined to remarry any time soon, despite Mother’s hopes.”
The muscles underneath her fingertips tensed. “Georgie, surely you are lonely? You could be extremely discreet.”
Georgie. Surprising warmth burst in her chest at the shortening of her name and the memory that it brought of days gone by. How she missed the days when she had run barefoot in the glen and played in the snow by the lake making snowmen. But it was more than those happy childhood days she missed. She longed to be held, kissed, and embraced. Yes, she was lonely, so empty she felt like a marble effigy of her former vivacious self.
To be the wife and duchess of the powerful Duke of Hardcastle, she’d had to evolve from the young girl who had loved painting and music. Since her marriage, she had been molded tenderly, and at times brutally, into an unflappable, decorous, and serenely beautiful duchess who was praised for her wit and cunning intelligence. A simple word from her had seen reputations restored, men ruined, and wealth founded. Her reputation preceded her, and many lords and ladies coveted her presence in their drawing rooms, ballrooms, literary salons, and investment meetings.
Everything she was today she owed to Hardcastle for helping her achieve. His greatest desire had been to see their son taking the reins of his inheritance without his dukedom being beholden by debt and scandal, maintaining the Har
dcastle legacy. It was a desire she shared, and that was where her ambitions were directed, despite Nicolas only being six years of age. Her husband had trusted in her acumen and dedication to manage their son’s inheritance and see it grow into something powerful and respected, one their son would be proud to inherit.
“I owe Hardcastle much, Simon.” She’d found a hidden part of herself, and she would forever be grateful for his austere and exacting expectations for having revealed it. Now she was considered an influential force in society and a fashion icon the ton followed avidly and loathed in equal measure. Despite the fact Hardcastle had taken a mistress, he had supported Georgiana in all her endeavors, with kindness, with respect, and even love. It wasn’t that he had failed her by taking another to his bed, but that she had failed him by responding to his caresses with tepid passion, a reminder that had been driven home with painful accuracy.
Hardcastle had been gravely dignified. It had shocked Georgiana he’d had a mistress. She had fled to her mother in tears at the humiliation and had been scolded. Men of great nobility were expected to procure mistresses, because genteel wives were not built to satiate men’s baser urges. The entire conversation had been mortifying and illuminating. She had boldly approached her duke and made it known she would happily provide for his baser urges, whatever they were, though she couldn’t really imagine what they could possibly be. She had shocked him, and then she, in turn, had been shocked when he replied she was not a woman of passions, and she should not trouble herself.
“He had a most ardent desire to see our son’s legacy protected from debt and scandal,” she told her brother, pushing the memories aside.
“You do not owe him the rest of your life, Georgie.”
“You haven’t called me Georgie in years,” she said. She had missed the comfort of her childhood name and the free young girl the name had been made for.
Simon frowned. “It was a slip, unbecoming of a lady of your stature.”
“Truly, I do not mind. In fact, I would prefer you refer to me as Georgie.”
He slid her a probing glance. “And you are digressing. That is quite unlike you, dear sister.”
They reached a garden bench and lowered themselves. His dark-blue eyes, a reflection of hers, glowed with concern. “Confide in me, Georgiana. You are not acting yourself.”
“This is quite an indelicate conversation for us to have, wouldn’t you agree?”
He tugged at his cravat, flushing. “You are my dearest sister, though I pray you do not tell Ellie I said so.”
Eleanor was their younger sister and was considered the toast of the ton since she had entered the marriage mart this season. She was well loved by her family and was secure in the knowledge their brother was her doting protector and her staunchest defender.
Georgiana laughed. “I’ll try.”