She had arrived in Georgiana’s chamber just as that damsel emerged from her bath. Drifting to the bed, Bella fingered the lilac silk gown laid out there. Then, as if making up her mind, she turned to Georgiana. “Georgie, I know your feelings on this, but I really think you should consider wearing the sea-green gauze. You know I can never wear it. Please, wear it to please me.”
Georgiana looked up, arrested in the act of towelling herself dry. Golden curls, dampened with steam, wreathed her head. For one moment she hesitated, considering Bella’s plea.
“Wouldn’t it cause comment, being so soon after my father’s death?”
“But your father said you weren’t to go into mourning, remember? And although it’s common knowledge that your father has recently died, I haven’t told anyone how recently. Have you?”
Georgiana shook her head. She considered the sea-green gauze. Stubbornly, she had bought three more evening gowns from Fancon, all in lilac shades, rather than wear the two gowns Bella had surreptitiously bought. But really, what right had she to refuse? It was a simple request and, after all Bella’s help, it was a small price to pay. In reality, it was only her pride that forbade her to wear the delicate creations hanging ownerless in her wardrobe. So she smiled, fleetingly. “If it would please you.”
Bella grinned happily. “Immensely.” Her objective gained, she did not dally but whisked off to place herself in the hands of Hills.
Some three hours later, when they had finally gained the ballroom of Lewes House, Georgiana stood beside Bella and wondered why she had not overturned her stubborn pride weeks ago. The approbation in Arthur’s eyes when she had entered the drawing-room that evening had assured her that her decision to wear the gown had been the right one. And the unusually intent attention of her court, and of numerous other gentlemen she had not previously encountered, bore testimony to their approval of her change in style.
As she accepted Lord Mowbray’s arm for the first waltz, she smiled happily, laughingly returning his lordship’s pretty compliments. To her surprise, she had discovered she could preserve the façade of a young lady enjoying her first London Season, free of care and the tangles of love, despite her empty heart. She had never been encouraged to think her own troubles of particular note. Hence, she continued to observe the lives and foibles of those about her with interest. She treated all her court in the same friendly style she had always affected. True, there were few among the débutantes she could yet call friend, but Bella was there to supply that need, for which she would always be thankful.
Georgiana had no idea what exactly Bella had said to Lord Ellsmere. Whatever it was, he had gracefully withdrawn his suit, simultaneously assuring Georgiana of his lifelong devotion. For a whole evening, she had speculated on what Bella could have said. In the end, she decided she didn’t need to know.
Despite Bella’s fears, her refractory behaviour in the matter of her suitors had not given rise to any adverse effects. She was still “that most suitable Miss Hartley” to the hostesses, and the cards and invitations continued to flood in. She could hardly claim she did not enjoy the balls and parties. Yet, somewhere, some part of her was detached from it all, aloof and unfulfilled, empty and void, waiting. But, as she sternly lectured herself in the long watches of the night, what she was waiting for had no chance of arriving. Lady Winterspoon’s dictum had come to her rescue. There was nothing she could do but enjoy herself, thereby pleasing Bella and, as her father would have told her, extending her own experience. So, with typical abandon, she did.
By the end of the third dance, a cotillion, the rooms were starting to fill. Georgiana was escorted back to Bella’s side by her partner, Mr Havelock, and he remained beside them, chatting amiably of social happenings. When he finally made his bow and left them, Georgiana turned an impishly animated face to Bella. But what she had intended to say regarding Mr Havelock remained unsaid. In fact the words melted from her mind. Her lips parted slightly in surprise as her gaze locked with Viscount Alton’s.
Dominic had made his way to Bella’s side through the crush, intending to learn what had become of the golden girl he had left in her care. Only when she turned to face him did he recognise in the exquisite woodland nymph, standing slim and straight in silver-green gauze beside his sister, the same young girl whose heart-shaped face and warmed-honey eyes inhabited his dreams. The realisation left him momentarily bereft of words.
It was Bella who came, unwittingly, to their rescue. She uttered a small squeal of delight and, remembering to restrain her impulsive habit of throwing her arms about his neck, grabbed both of Dominic’s hands instead. He looked down at her, and the spell was broken. Smoothly, suavely, he raised her hands, first one, then the other, to his lips. “Dear Bella. Clearly in fine fettle.”
“But I thought you were fixed in Brighton.” Bella received her hands back, but had eyes only for her brother. She saw his gaze had moved past her to Georgiana. When he made no reply but continued to stare at Georgiana, she felt constrained to add, “But you remember Georgiana?”
“Assuredly.” Dominic couldn’t help himself. His voice had automatically dropped to a deeper register. He smiled into those huge honey-coloured orbs in a manner perfected by years of practice and, taking her small hand, raised it fleetingly to his lips.
Barely able to breathe, Georgiana blushed vividly and sank into the regulation curtsy.
Her blush recalled Dominic to his senses. When she straightened, his face had assumed its usual, faintly bored mien. He turned slightly to address Bella. “As you see, I’ve decided to exchange the extravagant but questionably tasteful entertainments of His Highness for the more mundane but distinctly more enjoyable pursuits of the ton.”
“Shhh!” said Bella, scandalised. “Someone might hear you!”
Dominic smiled sleepily. “My dear, it’s only what half of the Carlton House set are saying. Hardly fodder for treason.”
Bella still looked dubious.
But Dominic’s attention had wandered. “Perhaps, Miss Hartley, I can steal a waltz. Judging by the hordes of gentlemen hovering, you have few to spare.”
By this time, Georgiana had regained her composure and was determined not to lose it again. “The fruits of your sister’s hard work, my lord,” she responded readily. She placed her hand on his lordship’s sleeve, suppressing by force the shiver that ran through her at that simple contact. How on earth was she to survive a
waltz?
Thankfully, Lord Alton seemed unaware of her difficulties. One strong arm encircled her waist, and she was swept effortlessly into the dance. As her feet automatically followed his lead, she relaxed sufficiently to glance up into the dark-browed face above hers.
He intercepted her glance and smiled. “So you’ve been filling in time with all manner of social gadding?”
Georgiana shrugged lightly. “The pleasures of the ton have yet to pall, though I make no doubt they eventually will.”
The dark brows rose. “What a very novel point of view.” Dominic’s lips twitched. “Surely my sister has taught you that all débutantes must, of necessity, profess addiction to all tonnish pursuits?”
A small and intriguing smile lifted Georgiana’s lips. “Indeed, Bella has tried to convince me of the irreparable harm my lack of long-term enthusiasm might do to my chances. Still, I prefer to hold my own views.” Georgiana paused while they twirled elegantly around the end of the room, before continuing, “I find it difficult to imagine being satisfied with a routine composed entirely of balls and parties and such affairs. Surely, somewhere, there must be some greater purpose in life?”
She glanced up to find an arrested expression on the Viscount’s face. Suddenly worried she had inadvertently said more than she intended, Georgiana made haste to recover. “Of course, there may be a hidden purpose in such affairs—”
“No. Don’t recant.” His voice was low and betrayed no hint of mirth. His eyes held hers, unexpectedly serious, strangely intent. “Your views do you credit. Far be it from me to disparage them.”