<< Go Back

Where Love Rrestores, Where THere is Love #4

By Donna Fletcher Crow

Order Now!

One


Lady Georgiana Somerset, younger daughter of the sixth Duke of Beaufort, frowned into her gilt-framed looking glass. “Agatha, you may remove these odious feathers from my hair.” She pointed at the three ostrich plumes adorning her shining gold Apollo’s Knots.
But, milady, you know Mr. Agar-Ellis is particularly fond—”
“If George Agar-Ellis is so fond of feathers, he should undertake to escort an ostrich to the hunt ball. I have no intention of playing the role for him.” She plucked the feathers from the elegant topknot. The maid replaced them with a pearl ferronniére. The delicate gold band encircled Georgiana’s head, and a cluster of lustrous pearls ornamented the center part over her forehead.
Then because she was not a young lady given to frowning, Georgiana smiled, picked up her sarcenet shawl and lace fan, and swept from the room in a pale blue cloud of French silk and a delicate mist of rose petal water. As she made her way to the ballroom, thoughts of George Agar-Ellis brightened her smile with humor, if not exactly with fondness. Really, although a good friend, George was such a clodpate to insinuate that fate had destined them for each other because of their similar names—as if half the babies born in England weren't named George or Georgiana in honor of His Majesty, King George IV. And as if that weren’t enough, George insisted on effecting an excessive admiration for Horace Walpole, going to great lengths to memorize Walpole’s witticisms in order to regale his friends with them.
Still smiling, Georgiana swept into the great drawing room where the family was gathering to greet their guests. The green damask walls were hung for the occasion with midnight blue and golden buff draperies, the colors of the Badminton Hunt, to which many attending the ball had ridden that day. Her eyes sparkled at the feast laid before their guests. There was nothing her father, the duke, loved more than extending the amenities of Badminton House to all his acquaintances. As she walked through the softly lit room, the candles in the three-tiered Bristol chan¬deliers threw back multiple reflections of light and color.
“Oh, Mama, how charming you look.” Georgiana kissed the duchess and stepped back to admire the soft rose gown with its off-the-shoulder neckline and tight band just above her mother’s natural waistline. “The new styles do suit you.”
“Yes, my dear, but it does feel so odd to have a gown banded at the waist; however, I daresay we shall all become accustomed to it.” Then she added in a lowered voice. “I must confess, though, I am not so certain about the tight lacing underneath.” She smiled at her daughter.
“If it is to become fashionable, we shall all have to become accustomed, Mama. And it was clever of you to have your hair dressed with fans; it sets off your earrings most elegantly.” The duchess turned her head, causing her diamond and pearl earrings to sparkle with fire like the chandeliers.
“You shall put all your daughters in the shade, Mama.” From long habit Georgiana raised her voice for her slightly deaf mother.
Her father overheard and joined them. “No one puts my daughters in the shade— nor my wife, neither.” The duke kissed his wife’s hand.
“And how was the hunt today, my dear?” the duchess inquired.
“Satisfactory. Most satisfactory. We ran the cub to earth near the Cricklade covert. I daresay we should have had him sooner, but that fool of a lawyer from Chipping Sodbury halloed us onto a fresh fox, and it took Payne nearly half an hour to get the hounds onto the original scent again. But altogether it was excellent sport, excellent.”
Smiling to herself, Georgiana moved quietly away. Her father’s fox-hunt stories could run on rather, even though she loved the sport well enough herself. The room was rapidly filling. The duchess’s guest list included a large segment of the Gloucestershire gentry, mem¬bers of the Badminton Hunt, and leading members of the various compassionate societies Her Grace patronized. The evening should not lack for variety.
Although she never lacked for partners, Georgiana soon found the ball beginning to pall—sufficiently so that when George Agar-Ellis made his bow to her, she accepted his hand with a ready smile.
George had a reputation for being one of the most conspicuous young men of the day—much of which could be laid to his tailor’s credit. The padding added to the chest and hips of his claret evening coat made his waist appear smaller and enhanced its close fit. His striped silk cossack trousers, tapering narrowly to the strap beneath his instep, stretched as he bowed over Georgiana’s hand.
“Your absence in the field today distressed us all greatly.” He led her to the floor where a new set was forming.
“Why, sir, you surprise me. I understood you had excellent sport.”
“Ah, yes, excellent sport indeed, but it lacked that luster your presence alone can give to any activity.”
Fortunately the set divided just then, or Georgiana would have laughed out loud at such extravagance. By the time they came together once more at the end of the room, she had quite regained her composure, although her bright blue eyes continued to sparkle mischievously. The lines formed, and the gentlemen bowed to their partners. The quadrille continued with the ladies’ stiffened skirts swinging gracefully like bells across the polished wood floor as they went through the intricate figures of the grande ronde.
“May I bring you a glass of ratafia?” George asked leading Georgiana to a gilt and brocade chair as the music came to a close.
“Lemonade, if you please. And pray let us find chairs closer to a window.”
As George moved through the crowd, Georgiana glanced around the room. She smiled with pleasure when she spotted her brother, Lord Worcester, leading a lady to the floor. Henry is always the first crack of fashion, and yet he never looks overdressed, she thought as she surveyed his Beaufort Hunt evening coat of dark blue lined with buff, worn over a white embroidered silk waistcoat, light blue silk-web pantaloons, white silk stockings, and shoes brode à jour. Understated elegance when worn without any parade—and so good to see him out of black at last.
A small sigh escaped her as George reappeared. “Do you have the headache?” he inquired solicitously, seating himself next to her on the green striped sofa.
“Pray, do not be absurd, sir. I never have headache. I was just wishing Henry would take another wife now that his mourning is past.” Her eye strayed to Sir Thomas Lawrence’s elegant portrait of her
deceased sister-in-law hanging on the east wall. “He is only at Badminton for a week, and then he goes back to London. It dis¬tresses me to think of him living alone in that great rambling residence.”
“Indeed, yes,” her companion agreed. “A most melancholy affair for your family to have Lady Worcester snatched from this life so suddenly— dancing at a ball at court one day and only seven days later to be no more. But you must take great comfort that she died a heroine, full of cheerfulness and courage to the last.” Warming to his topic, George turned to Georgiana and seized her hands, almost causing her to spill her lemonade into her lap. Undaunted, he continued, “She was snatched from life at a time when she was becoming every day more fit to live, for her mind, her temper, and her understanding were steadily and rapidly improving.”
Retrieving her hands, Georgiana agreed softly. “We all miss her.”
“Oh, yes, yes! You speak for all her friends. Long, long will it be before I forget her, the lively impression of her virtues and of our mutual friendship.” Before Georgiana could reply, her com¬panion went on. “But then in the words of the incomparable Gray: ‘Full many a flower is born to blush unseen and waste its sweetness on the desert air.’”
Since her late sister-in-law, Georgianna Fitzroy, a favored niece of the Duke of Wellington, had lived most of her life in the social whirl of the London ton, had reveled in having her engagement announced at a ball at Carlton House, had been given away at her wedding by the Iron Duke himself, and then had honeymooned in Paris, the quota¬tion struck Georgiana as hardly apropos. She chose not to mention it, however. It was simpler to agree to George’s offer to fetch another glass of lemonade.
She sat back against the cushions of the sofa and fanned herself lightly, surveying the whirling dancers reflected in the floor-to-ceiling gilt pier glass between the windows. Until her attention was caught by the mirrored image of a tall young man with tanned skin and striking military bearing striding into the room at the far end of the hall. Georgiana turned from the glass for a direct view, but the dancers on the floor momentarily blocked her line of vision. The set parted, and she caught sight of him again. Even from that dis¬tance Georgiana could appreciate the trim cut of his dark blue coat, his high stiff collar tabs, and meticulously tied white neck cloth. The newcomer frowned slightly as he surveyed the room. His air of detachment seemed to speak of a sense of superiority.
Caught between admiration for his appearance and dislike of his aloof bearing, Georgiana continued to watch, wondering who he might be. She thought she had at least a passing acquaintance with all their family connections. The man seemed vaguely familiar. She wondered whether he was a mem¬ber of the hunting set or one of the compassionate society mem¬bers. Neither seemed to fit him. Her curiosity increased.
Georgiana followed the newcomer’s progress across the room and saw to her surprise that he approached the duchess. But just as the stranger bowed over her mother’s hand, George returned, fol¬lowed closely by Frederick Calthorpe. Georgiana rose. “Poor George, you have gone to the trouble of securing me a lemonade, and now here is my partner for the next dance. Pray excuse me.”
With a swirl of her silk skirt Georgiana moved onto the floor on the arm of Fred Calthorpe, brother of Lord Calthorpe, an old family friend. George was left to drink the lemonade himself.
When the set came to an end, Georgiana glanced around, but she could not locate the mysterious newcomer. He did not appear to have danced and too many people were in the way for a view of those standing at the bottom of the room. “It is an unaccountably warm evening for September. Would you like to take the air on the terrace, Lady Georgiana?” her partner inquired.
“Indeed, it is warm. But I should prefer you to take me to my mother, sir.” Georgiana smiled and flipped her fan with a touch of coquetry that she did not feel. Indeed, all she felt now was overwhelming curiosity. And the more elusive the stranger, the stronger her desire to have her curiosity satisfied.
When they arrived at the side of the duchess, the young man with black locks had departed. Georgiana longed to enquire after his identity, but the Honorable Frederick hovered near making small talk. Georgiana was just on the brink of sending him off for yet another glass of lemonade when her partner for the next dance claimed her and she was obliged to take her place in the set for the pas de Zephyr with her curiosity still unsatisfied.
When doing a turn around the floor, she caught a glimpse of the inscrutable visitor standing near the fireplace with his hands behind his back in his detached manner. It appeared that he did not mean to dance even though several most attractive young ladies were sitting out. In spite of his good looks, he must be proud and unpleasant. Georgiana decided. In that case she should give him no more thought. With a toss of her head she laughed at a mild witticism from her partner and was swept around the floor.
For some time Georgiana saw no more of the stranger—which was just as well since she had decided to dislike him. Then just before time to go in for supper, she paused to chat with her elder sister, the elegant Lady Charlotte Sophia. As they talked, Georgiana saw George Agar-Ellis approaching, and turning slightly, she saw herself approached from the other side by the stranger. Unlike his earlier air of hauteur, he was now looking at her with unseemly familiarity. Lady Georgiana lifted her pert chin, took the arm of Lady Charlotte, and turned sharply.
“Lady Georgiana, may I have the honor?” George bowed over her hand with a flip of his tails.
In spite of the injury another dance with George was sure to do to her slippers, Georgiana accepted. They moved to the center of the floor just before the stranger reached the spot where she had been standing. A quick glance over her shoulder revealed a dark head bowing over her sister’s hand and Charlotte smiling radiantly in return. Georgiana caught only one further glimpse of the couple during the dance. She had a strong impression of Charlotte’s blonde, beflowered hair and white gauze dress next to her partner’s handsome darkness.
Having partnered George for the supper dance, Georgiana was obliged to accompany him into the dining room where the gentle strains of Pandean pipes floated lightly on the air. Georgiana tried to match the festive mood in the room. Candles burning in the crystal-draped chandeliers turned the fluted columns amber gold and caused flickering shadows to play hide-and-seek among the fruit, flowers, and game birds of the Grinling Gibbons carvings. But she felt her spirits oddly sagging. More than once her attention wandered from her escort as she sought the stranger she had determined to ignore.
The supper table held a fine assortment of dishes and Georgiana discovered that the dancing had sharpened her appetite. She accepted servings of haricot of mutton, veal, olives, brown soup, and macaroni pie. She was, however, just about to refuse the ragout of pullet and sweetbreads when George tugged at the narrow frill on his shirt cuffs. “I advise you to refuse the ragout, my dear. Taken at a late hour, it can be quite as unsettling to the digestion as a fricassee.”
Georgiana allowed the footman to place a serving of ragout on her plate. “Jensen, after you’ve served this around, I should like a portion of the fricassee of chicken.”
“Very good, milady.”
Georgiana refused the fish, the almond pudding with coconut, and the blancmange; but she accepted the floating island after George turned it down.
“I understand it was always the habit of the excellent Walpole to retire at an early hour,” she chided her partner, knowing George sought to copy the Earl of Orford in all things. “I’m surprised you stay so late.”
“If the author of The Castle of Otranto had had such inducements as your fair self at Strawberry Hill, he might have found himself with greater stamina,” George replied gallantly. And then he added with just a touch of arch¬ness, “But because one admires a man’s literary taste and style, one need not go to extremes.”
“My sentiments precisely, sir.” Georgiana winced at her own words. In spite of his taste for the overblown, George was a pleasant companion. She wished he didn’t bring out such contrariness from her. She resolved to behave in a more ladylike manner henceforth.
Tea would be served later in the drawing room. Now the strains of the orchestra announced that the ball was resuming with a country dance, and Georgiana was certain that George was considering the impropriety of asking her for a third dance. “Oh,” she cried suddenly, “I see Mama and my sister just going into the garden to take the air. Pray excuse me, sir. I must speak to them.”
Not waiting for a reply and hoping fervently that the duchess was not standing somewhere in plain view of Mr. Agar-Ellis, she slipped quickly through the open French door. Just in case George might be thinking of following her, Georgiana side ¬stepped from the light of the long windows into the shadows.
Instead of the open space she expected, however, she collided soundly with a solid muscular chest. Two strong hands gripped her arms firmly to support her. “Steady as she goes, Georgie.” A deep masculine voice with a hint of a smile in it spoke near to her ear. “In the old days you were always throwing yourself at me as I recall but I hadn’t dared hope for as much after all this time.”
Georgiana pulled away. “I fear you mistake, sir...” She stopped mid-turn. “Georgie? No one has called me that for years.”
“Indeed, not for nine years I should hope. Not since I went off to serve His Majesty in the Royal Navy.”
With an almost audible click, memory slipped into place. “Gran! How extraordinary! Imagine you the scrawny boy who lashed me to the cherry tree and then forgot to come back until after luncheon.”
“Not at all! I’m certain I couldn’t have done that. I may have lashed you to the cherry tree, but I would never have forgotten you. And I was not scrawny. I do, however possess distinct memories of Miss Primrose repeatedly scolding you for smudges on your face and rips in your lace.”
“A gentleman would not recall such things, sir.” But she said it with a smile in her voice as she placed her hand on the arm he offered. “But how extraordinary of you to show up out of the blue like this. Do tell what brings you here.” They began strolling along the garden path.
“I found life in the navy didn’t suit. So I sold out.”
Georgiana gave a gasp, followed by a small trill of laughter. “You sold out, and here you are? Just like that?”
“More or less. Yes.” He paused. “No, there’s more to it than that. Ever since the defeat of Napoleon, naval work has been largely a matter of patrol duty. I didn’t want a job that was just putting in time. But worse, I found that I had exchanged an exacting father for an exacting superior officer. The final straw was realizing the pointlessness of promotions that weren’t really earned.”
“And only something you’ve earned yourself has value?” She didn’t mean to argue with him; she was just trying to understand.
“I have been taught that one must strive for things of true value, unlike the simple inheritance of money and title so natural to our rank.”
“Yes, but—” Light from a flaming torch lighting the path fell across his face. His stormy countenance made her change what she was about to say. “But fancy Mama not informing me of your homecoming. Surely your mother would have written the news to her.”
“Perhaps my mother thought to bring the news herself. My parents are to arrive tomorrow. I came directly here from Southampton after only a brief stop to visit my tailor in London.”
“And now that you’ve sold out of the navy, what will you do?” Georgiana remembered to speak a bit more loudly as her cousin shared his aunt’s tendency to deafness. They turned their steps back toward the house, the light falling from the long dining room windows making golden stripes on the lawn.
At her question Granville seemed to withdraw from her. For the first time since their abrupt encounter, Georgiana saw the aloofness that she had interpreted as arrogance earlier. “That remains to be seen. With Sandon having taken his seat in Parliament now and our honorable father serving as President of the Council, our family is not lacking for useful employment. There may be no place for the younger son.”
They strolled in silence for a few moments, Georgiana wondering at the sharpness of his words—so unlike the Granville she had known as a boy.
“Well, if you find life too tedious, there’s always compas¬sionate work.” She spoke lightly, although the interest both of their families took in religious and charitable activities was hardly a matter for frivolity.
To her surprise, her attempt at lightness seemed to darken her companion’s mood even more. “And just which one would you suggest I put my energies into?” His tone was very near a taunt. “Let’s see, I might turn my talents to The London Orphan Asylum for the Reception and Education of Destitute Orphans, Particularly Those Descended from Respectable Parents; or The General Benevolent Institution for the Relief of Decayed Artists of the United Kingdom; or The Association for the Refutation of Infidel Publications. Or perhaps I could use my naval training in The Institution for the Cure of Various Diseases by Bandages and Compression. Or maybe you could recommend The Cloathing Society for the Benefit of Poor Pious Clergymen of the Established Church and Their Families?” The list had taken them to the top of the path. He turned sharply. “Or better yet, why not The Friendly Female Society for the Relief of Poor, Infirm, Aged Widows, and Single Women of Good Character Who Have Seen Better Days?”
Hearing the aversion in his voice, Georgiana held back her laughter. “There is certainly a variety of possibilities,” she man¬aged with only a hint of the humor his list of inflated titles aroused. “But you must allow that many of them do accomplish their purpose.”
“Perhaps, but I can't help wondering how many are sub¬scribed to by people who are as destitute, decayed, and infirm spiritually as the people they try to help. That would certainly be the case if I were to add my name to the lists.”
At these words, Georgiana’s desire to laugh died. What did he mean? Spiritually destitute—Granville? Perhaps she had mis¬understood. But it was obvious that he was deeply troubled. And that troubled her.
There was no opportunity to explore Granville’s quandry further, however, as Lord Lauderdale, her brother’s closest friend, appeared in the entrance. He caught sight of the strollers and came to claim Georgiana for the dance she had promised him earlier. “Lord Lauderdale, I believe you know my cousin, Granville Ryder, newly returned from service in His Majesty’s Navy.”
The gentlemen exchanged bows. “I ride out before break¬fast,” Georgiana said over her shoulder to her cousin as she moved back to the music and lights of the ballroom.
When the dance ended, she rapidly surveyed the room for Granville. Since his height placed him several inches above every other man in the room, it should not be difficult to see him.
But he was not there. And she had not had a dance with him yet. His final words to her continued to plague her—did Gran truly feel himself spiritually inadequate? She had never known her cousin to be inadequate in anything, nor had she ever had rea¬son to think any member of the earl’s family lacking in spiritual commitment.
Could something have happened in the navy to turn him from his faith? The thought depressed her. Not Gran. Not the dear companion of her youth to whom she could always turn . . . Childhood memories flooded back. Life was at its best when her mother’s sister Aunt Susan visited Badminton bringing her sons with her. When Gran was there, Georgiana had no worries; if she skinned her knee, he would bandage it for her rather than make her face Miss Primrose; if she was late for luncheon, he would make an excuse for her; if she was afraid of a jump, he would take it first or find a way around it for her. And always he could make her laugh. There seemed to be no laughter in him now.
Surely those days weren’t gone forever. The harshness and self-recrimination she had glimpsed in him tonight were unbearably out of place in her Granville.
Tomorrow most of the guests would be gone, and she would have a proper conversation with him. She must understand what had happened. She must help him.
One


Lady Georgiana Somerset, younger daughter of the sixth Duke of Beaufort, frowned into her gilt-framed looking glass. “Agatha, you may remove these odious feathers from my hair.” She pointed at the three ostrich plumes adorning her shining gold Apollo’s Knots.
But, milady, you know Mr. Agar-Ellis is particularly fond—”
“If George Agar-Ellis is so fond of feathers, he should undertake to escort an ostrich to the hunt ball. I have no intention of playing the role for him.” She plucked the feathers from the elegant topknot. The maid replaced them with a pearl ferronniére. The delicate gold band encircled Georgiana’s head, and a cluster of lustrous pearls ornamented the center part over her forehead.
Then because she was not a young lady given to frowning, Georgiana smiled, picked up her sarcenet shawl and lace fan, and swept from the room in a pale blue cloud of French silk and a delicate mist of rose petal water. As she made her way to the ballroom, thoughts of George Agar-Ellis brightened her smile with humor, if not exactly with fondness. Really, although a good friend, George was such a clodpate to insinuate that fate had destined them for each other because of their similar names—as if half the babies born in England weren't named George or Georgiana in honor of His Majesty, King George IV. And as if that weren’t enough, George insisted on effecting an excessive admiration for Horace Walpole, going to great lengths to memorize Walpole’s witticisms in order to regale his friends with them.
Still smiling, Georgiana swept into the great drawing room where the family was gathering to greet their guests. The green damask walls were hung for the occasion with midnight blue and golden buff draperies, the colors of the Badminton Hunt, to which many attending the ball had ridden that day. Her eyes sparkled at the feast laid before their guests. There was nothing her father, the duke, loved more than extending the amenities of Badminton House to all his acquaintances. As she walked through the softly lit room, the candles in the three-tiered Bristol chan¬deliers threw back multiple reflections of light and color.
“Oh, Mama, how charming you look.” Georgiana kissed the duchess and stepped back to admire the soft rose gown with its off-the-shoulder neckline and tight band just above her mother’s natural waistline. “The new styles do suit you.”
“Yes, my dear, but it does feel so odd to have a gown banded at the waist; however, I daresay we shall all become accustomed to it.” Then she added in a lowered voice. “I must confess, though, I am not so certain about the tight lacing underneath.” She smiled at her daughter.
“If it is to become fashionable, we shall all have to become accustomed, Mama. And it was clever of you to have your hair dressed with fans; it sets off your earrings most elegantly.” The duchess turned her head, causing her diamond and pearl earrings to sparkle with fire like the chandeliers.
“You shall put all your daughters in the shade, Mama.” From long habit Georgiana raised her voice for her slightly deaf mother.
Her father overheard and joined them. “No one puts my daughters in the shade— nor my wife, neither.” The duke kissed his wife’s hand.
“And how was the hunt today, my dear?” the duchess inquired.
“Satisfactory. Most satisfactory. We ran the cub to earth near the Cricklade covert. I daresay we should have had him sooner, but that fool of a lawyer from Chipping Sodbury halloed us onto a fresh fox, and it took Payne nearly half an hour to get the hounds onto the original scent again. But altogether it was excellent sport, excellent.”
Smiling to herself, Georgiana moved quietly away. Her father’s fox-hunt stories could run on rather, even though she loved the sport well enough herself. The room was rapidly filling. The duchess’s guest list included a large segment of the Gloucestershire gentry, mem¬bers of the Badminton Hunt, and leading members of the various compassionate societies Her Grace patronized. The evening should not lack for variety.
Although she never lacked for partners, Georgiana soon found the ball beginning to pall—sufficiently so that when George Agar-Ellis made his bow to her, she accepted his hand with a ready smile.
George had a reputation for being one of the most conspicuous young men of the day—much of which could be laid to his tailor’s credit. The padding added to the chest and hips of his claret evening coat made his waist appear smaller and enhanced its close fit. His striped silk cossack trousers, tapering narrowly to the strap beneath his instep, stretched as he bowed over Georgiana’s hand.
“Your absence in the field today distressed us all greatly.” He led her to the floor where a new set was forming.
“Why, sir, you surprise me. I understood you had excellent sport.”
“Ah, yes, excellent sport indeed, but it lacked that luster your presence alone can give to any activity.”
Fortunately the set divided just then, or Georgiana would have laughed out loud at such extravagance. By the time they came together once more at the end of the room, she had quite regained her composure, although her bright blue eyes continued to sparkle mischievously. The lines formed, and the gentlemen bowed to their partners. The quadrille continued with the ladies’ stiffened skirts swinging gracefully like bells across the polished wood floor as they went through the intricate figures of the grande ronde.
“May I bring you a glass of ratafia?” George asked leading Georgiana to a gilt and brocade chair as the music came to a close.
“Lemonade, if you please. And pray let us find chairs closer to a window.”
As George moved through the crowd, Georgiana glanced around the room. She smiled with pleasure when she spotted her brother, Lord Worcester, leading a lady to the floor. Henry is always the first crack of fashion, and yet he never looks overdressed, she thought as she surveyed his Beaufort Hunt evening coat of dark blue lined with buff, worn over a white embroidered silk waistcoat, light blue silk-web pantaloons, white silk stockings, and shoes brode à jour. Understated elegance when worn without any parade—and so good to see him out of black at last.
A small sigh escaped her as George reappeared. “Do you have the headache?” he inquired solicitously, seating himself next to her on the green striped sofa.
“Pray, do not be absurd, sir. I never have headache. I was just wishing Henry would take another wife now that his mourning is past.” Her eye strayed to Sir Thomas Lawrence’s elegant portrait of her
deceased sister-in-law hanging on the east wall. “He is only at Badminton for a week, and then he goes back to London. It dis¬tresses me to think of him living alone in that great rambling residence.”
“Indeed, yes,” her companion agreed. “A most melancholy affair for your family to have Lady Worcester snatched from this life so suddenly— dancing at a ball at court one day and only seven days later to be no more. But you must take great comfort that she died a heroine, full of cheerfulness and courage to the last.” Warming to his topic, George turned to Georgiana and seized her hands, almost causing her to spill her lemonade into her lap. Undaunted, he continued, “She was snatched from life at a time when she was becoming every day more fit to live, for her mind, her temper, and her understanding were steadily and rapidly improving.”
Retrieving her hands, Georgiana agreed softly. “We all miss her.”
“Oh, yes, yes! You speak for all her friends. Long, long will it be before I forget her, the lively impression of her virtues and of our mutual friendship.” Before Georgiana could reply, her com¬panion went on. “But then in the words of the incomparable Gray: ‘Full many a flower is born to blush unseen and waste its sweetness on the desert air.’”
Since her late sister-in-law, Georgianna Fitzroy, a favored niece of the Duke of Wellington, had lived most of her life in the social whirl of the London ton, had reveled in having her engagement announced at a ball at Carlton House, had been given away at her wedding by the Iron Duke himself, and then had honeymooned in Paris, the quota¬tion struck Georgiana as hardly apropos. She chose not to mention it, however. It was simpler to agree to George’s offer to fetch another glass of lemonade.
She sat back against the cushions of the sofa and fanned herself lightly, surveying the whirling dancers reflected in the floor-to-ceiling gilt pier glass between the windows. Until her attention was caught by the mirrored image of a tall young man with tanned skin and striking military bearing striding into the room at the far end of the hall. Georgiana turned from the glass for a direct view, but the dancers on the floor momentarily blocked her line of vision. The set parted, and she caught sight of him again. Even from that dis¬tance Georgiana could appreciate the trim cut of his dark blue coat, his high stiff collar tabs, and meticulously tied white neck cloth. The newcomer frowned slightly as he surveyed the room. His air of detachment seemed to speak of a sense of superiority.
Caught between admiration for his appearance and dislike of his aloof bearing, Georgiana continued to watch, wondering who he might be. She thought she had at least a passing acquaintance with all their family connections. The man seemed vaguely familiar. She wondered whether he was a mem¬ber of the hunting set or one of the compassionate society mem¬bers. Neither seemed to fit him. Her curiosity increased.
Georgiana followed the newcomer’s progress across the room and saw to her surprise that he approached the duchess. But just as the stranger bowed over her mother’s hand, George returned, fol¬lowed closely by Frederick Calthorpe. Georgiana rose. “Poor George, you have gone to the trouble of securing me a lemonade, and now here is my partner for the next dance. Pray excuse me.”
With a swirl of her silk skirt Georgiana moved onto the floor on the arm of Fred Calthorpe, brother of Lord Calthorpe, an old family friend. George was left to drink the lemonade himself.
When the set came to an end, Georgiana glanced around, but she could not locate the mysterious newcomer. He did not appear to have danced and too many people were in the way for a view of those standing at the bottom of the room. “It is an unaccountably warm evening for September. Would you like to take the air on the terrace, Lady Georgiana?” her partner inquired.
“Indeed, it is warm. But I should prefer you to take me to my mother, sir.” Georgiana smiled and flipped her fan with a touch of coquetry that she did not feel. Indeed, all she felt now was overwhelming curiosity. And the more elusive the stranger, the stronger her desire to have her curiosity satisfied.
When they arrived at the side of the duchess, the young man with black locks had departed. Georgiana longed to enquire after his identity, but the Honorable Frederick hovered near making small talk. Georgiana was just on the brink of sending him off for yet another glass of lemonade when her partner for the next dance claimed her and she was obliged to take her place in the set for the pas de Zephyr with her curiosity still unsatisfied.
When doing a turn around the floor, she caught a glimpse of the inscrutable visitor standing near the fireplace with his hands behind his back in his detached manner. It appeared that he did not mean to dance even though several most attractive young ladies were sitting out. In spite of his good looks, he must be proud and unpleasant. Georgiana decided. In that case she should give him no more thought. With a toss of her head she laughed at a mild witticism from her partner and was swept around the floor.
For some time Georgiana saw no more of the stranger—which was just as well since she had decided to dislike him. Then just before time to go in for supper, she paused to chat with her elder sister, the elegant Lady Charlotte Sophia. As they talked, Georgiana saw George Agar-Ellis approaching, and turning slightly, she saw herself approached from the other side by the stranger. Unlike his earlier air of hauteur, he was now looking at her with unseemly familiarity. Lady Georgiana lifted her pert chin, took the arm of Lady Charlotte, and turned sharply.
“Lady Georgiana, may I have the honor?” George bowed over her hand with a flip of his tails.
In spite of the injury another dance with George was sure to do to her slippers, Georgiana accepted. They moved to the center of the floor just before the stranger reached the spot where she had been standing. A quick glance over her shoulder revealed a dark head bowing over her sister’s hand and Charlotte smiling radiantly in return. Georgiana caught only one further glimpse of the couple during the dance. She had a strong impression of Charlotte’s blonde, beflowered hair and white gauze dress next to her partner’s handsome darkness.
Having partnered George for the supper dance, Georgiana was obliged to accompany him into the dining room where the gentle strains of Pandean pipes floated lightly on the air. Georgiana tried to match the festive mood in the room. Candles burning in the crystal-draped chandeliers turned the fluted columns amber gold and caused flickering shadows to play hide-and-seek among the fruit, flowers, and game birds of the Grinling Gibbons carvings. But she felt her spirits oddly sagging. More than once her attention wandered from her escort as she sought the stranger she had determined to ignore.
The supper table held a fine assortment of dishes and Georgiana discovered that the dancing had sharpened her appetite. She accepted servings of haricot of mutton, veal, olives, brown soup, and macaroni pie. She was, however, just about to refuse the ragout of pullet and sweetbreads when George tugged at the narrow frill on his shirt cuffs. “I advise you to refuse the ragout, my dear. Taken at a late hour, it can be quite as unsettling to the digestion as a fricassee.”
Georgiana allowed the footman to place a serving of ragout on her plate. “Jensen, after you’ve served this around, I should like a portion of the fricassee of chicken.”
“Very good, milady.”
Georgiana refused the fish, the almond pudding with coconut, and the blancmange; but she accepted the floating island after George turned it down.
“I understand it was always the habit of the excellent Walpole to retire at an early hour,” she chided her partner, knowing George sought to copy the Earl of Orford in all things. “I’m surprised you stay so late.”
“If the author of The Castle of Otranto had had such inducements as your fair self at Strawberry Hill, he might have found himself with greater stamina,” George replied gallantly. And then he added with just a touch of arch¬ness, “But because one admires a man’s literary taste and style, one need not go to extremes.”
“My sentiments precisely, sir.” Georgiana winced at her own words. In spite of his taste for the overblown, George was a pleasant companion. She wished he didn’t bring out such contrariness from her. She resolved to behave in a more ladylike manner henceforth.
Tea would be served later in the drawing room. Now the strains of the orchestra announced that the ball was resuming with a country dance, and Georgiana was certain that George was considering the impropriety of asking her for a third dance. “Oh,” she cried suddenly, “I see Mama and my sister just going into the garden to take the air. Pray excuse me, sir. I must speak to them.”
Not waiting for a reply and hoping fervently that the duchess was not standing somewhere in plain view of Mr. Agar-Ellis, she slipped quickly through the open French door. Just in case George might be thinking of following her, Georgiana side ¬stepped from the light of the long windows into the shadows.
Instead of the open space she expected, however, she collided soundly with a solid muscular chest. Two strong hands gripped her arms firmly to support her. “Steady as she goes, Georgie.” A deep masculine voice with a hint of a smile in it spoke near to her ear. “In the old days you were always throwing yourself at me as I recall but I hadn’t dared hope for as much after all this time.”
Georgiana pulled away. “I fear you mistake, sir...” She stopped mid-turn. “Georgie? No one has called me that for years.”
“Indeed, not for nine years I should hope. Not since I went off to serve His Majesty in the Royal Navy.”
With an almost audible click, memory slipped into place. “Gran! How extraordinary! Imagine you the scrawny boy who lashed me to the cherry tree and then forgot to come back until after luncheon.”
“Not at all! I’m certain I couldn’t have done that. I may have lashed you to the cherry tree, but I would never have forgotten you. And I was not scrawny. I do, however possess distinct memories of Miss Primrose repeatedly scolding you for smudges on your face and rips in your lace.”
“A gentleman would not recall such things, sir.” But she said it with a smile in her voice as she placed her hand on the arm he offered. “But how extraordinary of you to show up out of the blue like this. Do tell what brings you here.” They began strolling along the garden path.
“I found life in the navy didn’t suit. So I sold out.”
Georgiana gave a gasp, followed by a small trill of laughter. “You sold out, and here you are? Just like that?”
“More or less. Yes.” He paused. “No, there’s more to it than that. Ever since the defeat of Napoleon, naval work has been largely a matter of patrol duty. I didn’t want a job that was just putting in time. But worse, I found that I had exchanged an exacting father for an exacting superior officer. The final straw was realizing the pointlessness of promotions that weren’t really earned.”
“And only something you’ve earned yourself has value?” She didn’t mean to argue with him; she was just trying to understand.
“I have been taught that one must strive for things of true value, unlike the simple inheritance of money and title so natural to our rank.”
“Yes, but—” Light from a flaming torch lighting the path fell across his face. His stormy countenance made her change what she was about to say. “But fancy Mama not informing me of your homecoming. Surely your mother would have written the news to her.”
“Perhaps my mother thought to bring the news herself. My parents are to arrive tomorrow. I came directly here from Southampton after only a brief stop to visit my tailor in London.”
“And now that you’ve sold out of the navy, what will you do?” Georgiana remembered to speak a bit more loudly as her cousin shared his aunt’s tendency to deafness. They turned their steps back toward the house, the light falling from the long dining room windows making golden stripes on the lawn.
At her question Granville seemed to withdraw from her. For the first time since their abrupt encounter, Georgiana saw the aloofness that she had interpreted as arrogance earlier. “That remains to be seen. With Sandon having taken his seat in Parliament now and our honorable father serving as President of the Council, our family is not lacking for useful employment. There may be no place for the younger son.”
They strolled in silence for a few moments, Georgiana wondering at the sharpness of his words—so unlike the Granville she had known as a boy.
“Well, if you find life too tedious, there’s always compas¬sionate work.” She spoke lightly, although the interest both of their families took in religious and charitable activities was hardly a matter for frivolity.
To her surprise, her attempt at lightness seemed to darken her companion’s mood even more. “And just which one would you suggest I put my energies into?” His tone was very near a taunt. “Let’s see, I might turn my talents to The London Orphan Asylum for the Reception and Education of Destitute Orphans, Particularly Those Descended from Respectable Parents; or The General Benevolent Institution for the Relief of Decayed Artists of the United Kingdom; or The Association for the Refutation of Infidel Publications. Or perhaps I could use my naval training in The Institution for the Cure of Various Diseases by Bandages and Compression. Or maybe you could recommend The Cloathing Society for the Benefit of Poor Pious Clergymen of the Established Church and Their Families?” The list had taken them to the top of the path. He turned sharply. “Or better yet, why not The Friendly Female Society for the Relief of Poor, Infirm, Aged Widows, and Single Women of Good Character Who Have Seen Better Days?”
Hearing the aversion in his voice, Georgiana held back her laughter. “There is certainly a variety of possibilities,” she man¬aged with only a hint of the humor his list of inflated titles aroused. “But you must allow that many of them do accomplish their purpose.”
“Perhaps, but I can't help wondering how many are sub¬scribed to by people who are as destitute, decayed, and infirm spiritually as the people they try to help. That would certainly be the case if I were to add my name to the lists.”
At these words, Georgiana’s desire to laugh died. What did he mean? Spiritually destitute—Granville? Perhaps she had mis¬understood. But it was obvious that he was deeply troubled. And that troubled her.
There was no opportunity to explore Granville’s quandry further, however, as Lord Lauderdale, her brother’s closest friend, appeared in the entrance. He caught sight of the strollers and came to claim Georgiana for the dance she had promised him earlier. “Lord Lauderdale, I believe you know my cousin, Granville Ryder, newly returned from service in His Majesty’s Navy.”
The gentlemen exchanged bows. “I ride out before break¬fast,” Georgiana said over her shoulder to her cousin as she moved back to the music and lights of the ballroom.
When the dance ended, she rapidly surveyed the room for Granville. Since his height placed him several inches above every other man in the room, it should not be difficult to see him.
But he was not there. And she had not had a dance with him yet. His final words to her continued to plague her—did Gran truly feel himself spiritually inadequate? She had never known her cousin to be inadequate in anything, nor had she ever had rea¬son to think any member of the earl’s family lacking in spiritual commitment.
Could something have happened in the navy to turn him from his faith? The thought depressed her. Not Gran. Not the dear companion of her youth to whom she could always turn . . . Childhood memories flooded back. Life was at its best when her mother’s sister Aunt Susan visited Badminton bringing her sons with her. When Gran was there, Georgiana had no worries; if she skinned her knee, he would bandage it for her rather than make her face Miss Primrose; if she was late for luncheon, he would make an excuse for her; if she was afraid of a jump, he would take it first or find a way around it for her. And always he could make her laugh. There seemed to be no laughter in him now.
Surely those days weren’t gone forever. The harshness and self-recrimination she had glimpsed in him tonight were unbearably out of place in her Granville.
Tomorrow most of the guests would be gone, and she would have a proper conversation with him. She must understand what had happened. She must help him.

Order Now!

<< Go Back