NATURALLY, after she had considered the matter from all angles, Georgiana sought Bella’s opinion of Charles’s visit and his declaration.
“Friends?” The incredulity in Bella’s voice left little doubt of her opinion of Charles. She snorted. “He’s a bounder. Always was, always will be.”
Georgiana shrugged. “Well, that’s neither here nor there.” She bent her head over her stitchery. It was the day after Charles’s visit and they were in the back parlour, as was their habit of a morning.
Bella stifled a yawn. “Ye gods! I declare I’m infected with your illness.”
Georgiana raised an enquiring eyebrow.
“Finding the evenings over-tiring,” Bella explained. “I would never have thought a musical supper would be so positively exhausting.”
“I rather think that depends on the music,” put in Georgiana, with a smile for her hostess. “Besides, from what I saw, you were half asleep through most of the recital.”
Bella waved a hand airily. “It’s fashionable to nod off. All the best people do it.”
With a gurgle of laughter, Georgiana set her work aside. “Seriously, though, do you think Charles will give me my father’s paintings back?”
“Don’t get too carried away. They might not be your father’s at all.”
A discreet knock heralded Johnson’s entry. “A note for you, miss. There’s a messenger waiting for your reply.”
Georgiana lifted the simple note from Johnson’s salver. It was sealed with a nondescript lump of wax.
Dismissing her butler with a nod, Bella turned to find her friend regarding the missive in her hand with some nervousness. “Well? Open it!”
With a small sigh, Georgiana broke the seal and spread out the single sheet. “It’s from Charles,” she told the waiting Bella. After a moment, her face brightened. “He’s found them! Oh, Bella! They were there after all!”
Seeing the sunshine in Georgiana’s face, Bella relaxed and grinned back. “How lovely for you. Is he sending them over?”
Georgiana was reading on. A small frown clouded her brow, then lifted. “Yes and no. He hasn’t actually got them yet. He says he’s sent to Pringate to bring them to the Hart and Hounds—that’s the posting inn, the last before London on the road to Candlewick. I remember stopping there on our way here.”
Bella nodded absent-mindedly. “Yes, but why? Why not just bring them to London?”
Georgiana, engrossed in deciphering Charles’s scrawl, shrugged aside the quibble. “Charles says he’s going to meet Pringate this afternoon to pick up the pictures, and asks if I would like to come too. Oh, Bella! Just think! By this afternoon I’ll have them.”
“Mmm.” Bella eyed her friend with a frown. It would be of no use to tell Georgiana that Charles was not to be trusted. From her face it was clear nothing on earth would stop her from going to fetch her paintings. With a definite feeling of misgiving, Bella held her peace.
While Georgiana penned an enthusiastic reply to Charles’s invitation, Bella sat and worriedly chewed her lip. But, by the time Johnson departed to give Georgiana’s note to the messenger, she had perked up and was able to listen to Georgiana’s excited ramblings with an indulgent smile. It was obvious really. To protect Georgiana from Charles’s machinations, all she had to do was precisely what she had always done whenever Charles had threatened. She would tell Dominic.
When Charles called for Georgiana at three, Bella played least in sight. Charles was high on her list of unfavourite people. She had already surreptitiously dispatched a note to her brother, summoning him to her instant aid. As she watched Charles’s small phaeton carry Georgiana away, she struggled to subdue a disturbing sense of disquiet.
Impatiently, she waited for Dominic to call.
ENSCONCED in the comfort of well padded leather, Dominic Ridgeley, Lord Ridgeley, Viscount Alton, man of the world and political intriguer, was deep in consideration of the beauties of nature. Or, more specifically, one particular golden-haired, golden-eyed beauty. The silence of the reading room of White’s was punctuated by the occasional snore and snuffle and the crackle of turning pages. Otherwise, there was no sound to distract him from his reverie. The daily news-sheet was held open before his face, but he would have been hard pressed to recall the headlines, let alone the substance of any of the articles. This morning Georgiana Hartley occupied his mind to the exclusion of all else.
He had not seen her for over twenty-four hours. Which fact, he felt, was more than ample excuse for his preoccupation. A political dinner had prevented him from attending Lady Overington’s musical supper—a mixed blessing, he was sure. Hence, he had to be content with reliving the events of the masked ball. A slow grin twisted his lips as he recalled his angel’s response to some of his more outrageous sallies. He would have to make certain he disabused her mind of her apparent belief that he had not known her identity. The point niggled, like a burr caught under his collar. It had been a strategic error, to allow her to leave him still thinking he was showering his attentions on a damsel unknown to him. An error he was more than experienced enough to recognise. Still, he would ensure the matter was rectified at their next meeting—tonight, at the Pevenseys’ gala. Consideration of her likely reactions to his revelations kept him entertained for some minutes. The sight of her face when the penny finally dropped, her innocent confusion, all unknowingly reflected in her glorious eyes, would afford him untold pleasure.
A soft smile of pure anticipation curved his fine lips.
Seeing it, Lord Ellsmere paused, before clearing
his throat meaningfully.
At the sound so close by his ear, Dominic jumped. His eyes met those of his friend in pained surprise.
Julian Ellsmere grinned. “Interesting thoughts, old man?”
Dominic struggled up out of the depths of his chair. “Damn you, Julian! I was just—”