Chapter 4

Georgie dressed for dinner that evening with unusual care. She, Louisa and Miss Spry were housed together in a tower, each with a bedchamber that opened into a comfortably furnished shared sitting room. The walls of all these chambers were curved, wood-panelled, and the small windows offered magnificent, albeit currently rain-drenched, views out over the sea, the wild coast and the inland moors. It was undeniably picturesque, said Miss Spry, but must be extraordinarily inconvenient for the servants. At least they were not obliged to haul all the water for the ladies' ablutions up the steep spiral staircase with its timeworn stone treads; there was an ingenious dumbwaiter, operated by a pulley, set in one of the thick walls. Unconsciously echoing her niece's thoughts upon arrival, Lady Louisa said that she would never previously have imagined that any dwelling-place could make her own venerable childhood home, Castle Irlam, seem almost modern. And yet she admitted that this place did. ‘I suppose it is the proximity to the sea and the height of the cliffs that produce much of the powerful effect. It is sinister, even in summer. Can you imagine,' she said with a shiver, ‘what it is like here in the depths of winter?'

‘You have no appreciation for the sublime,' Jane Spry replied with fond mockery. ‘I find it magnificent; do not you, Georgiana? One of the most striking places I have ever visited. Although I shall be sure to take my warmest shawl down to dinner, and I recommend you both do the same or risk dying of pneumonia, so perhaps I am nothing but a sad hypocrite.'

Georgiana agreed that the prospect was indeed magnificent to contemplate, and hoped that it might be possible to descend and walk along the beach one day, if the rain ever abated. ‘Though I cannot imagine how the strand may be reached,' she said, peering down. ‘I can see no path, and if there is one it must surely be dangerously precipitous.'

She was determined to converse as lightly and naturally as possible, and to ignore the lurking sense of dread that haunted her. She had administered a silent, stern lecture to herself while she was dressing, telling herself that she must remain composed at all costs. Any undue agitation she betrayed would be perilous, and might attract attention that she by no means desired. Attention from the Duke himself, and from her fellow visitors.

Whatever might happen, whatever disaster impended, she would not allow herself to imagine that her host had the least intention of exposing her, of revealing to his distinguished guests where they had met and exactly what had passed between them there. She must remember that he had assembled a company here at his home with the fixed intention of choosing a bride from the young ladies present. His sister had explicitly said as much: that he must marry and set about obtaining an heir – what an innocuous phrase that was, if one did not think about it too deeply – as quickly as possible. Such a purpose would hardly be served by creating a fearful scandal with another guest. Young ladies and their families who had travelled so far in search of a rich and titled husband might overlook much in the way of the gentleman's irrevocably tarnished reputation, but surely they would not overlook such an insult.

If anyone learned her guilty secret, Georgie realised suddenly, they would inevitably think the Duke had brought her here to serve most dishonourably as his mistress of a night while he made his choice of bride at leisure and then courted another by day. Such an affront could not be borne, and no woman of birth and breeding would ever look at him again if what he had done became widely known. So perhaps she was not entirely without weapons of her own, although in order to use them – as had been the case with Mrs Aubrey – her own reputation must first be entirely destroyed. But she could threaten, could she not, if it came to that, even if in truth there was little chance of carrying out her threats? This thought, extreme and Gothic as it was, made her feel a little better, and gave her the courage to straighten her shoulders and regard herself with critical attention in the silvered mirror. She would go down fighting if she must, take full responsibility for her own rash actions, and look her best while she did it. She had her pride to sustain her, even if she was quaking inside at the prospect of seeing him again.

‘I do not think I have ever seen you looking so well, my dear girl,' Louisa said behind her. ‘That gown is extraordinarily becoming, and quite out of the common way.' Louisa was known for her stylish dress, and a compliment from her was a rare thing, and to be treasured. It gave her niece a little much-needed courage. In Venice last winter, Georgiana had found a changeant silk that exactly matched her eyes and yet was shot through with gold – it was an unusual colour, or colours, for a fabric, and she had purchased a full bolt of it and brought it home. When it had become clear that the summer was to be an extraordinarily cold one, she had had it made up into an evening gown with long sleeves and a demi-train. She wore it now with a bright shawl of Indian silk and an ancient family jewel on a long gold chain. This was no occasion for tiny puff sleeves, demure pearls and white muslin. She needed armour.

The wisdom of her choice was soon revealed to her, after she and her companions made their way down winding stairs, along galleries, and down yet more stairs to the reception room where the guests were all assembled – some might have said, huddled – by another roaring fire. The older ladies were most of them sensibly dressed, with long sleeves, warm shawls and modish lace caps tied under their chins, but some of the debutantes in the party had foolishly chosen to array themselves in thin, clinging muslin gowns that might be appropriate for a July evening in Brighton in any normal year, but not for North Yorkshire in this year without a summer. These gowns, designed to display and to entice, left their bare arms and the exposed portions of their bosoms slightly blue and shivering now, a sad prey to gooseflesh. Georgie smiled inwardly to herself, and moved forward with Louisa to greet the company with a serenity she had previously thought beyond her grasp. She could do this, she told herself. She must.

She soon realised that her presence was creating a certain amount of dismay among the young ladies and their mamas, which they were concealing with varying degrees of success. Of course, she thought, they consider me one of their number, and a rival; they imagine I have entered myself into the lists as a candidate for Northriding's hand. I suppose there is no way of conveying to them that they are fair and far off in such a supposition. They would simply not believe me, and I cannot really blame them. I am here, after all.

They were most of them ladies with whom she had become acquainted in Town, this season or the one before. Like her, they all remained unmarried, unbetrothed, or of course they would not be here, eyeing each other like cats who were currently contemplating arching their backs and hissing in warning.

Only one of them was a friend: Miss Alice Templeton, who had made her curtsey to Queen Charlotte at her side and whom she had always liked, though they were very different in character. Perhaps that was why she liked her. At least she is glad to see me, thought Georgie as they embraced each other, and I am pleased to have her company, though I can hardly think her a fit bride for the Duke. She is so excessively gentle, mild and good, and I am sure has never entertained a wicked thought in her life, while he, as I have reason to know… Alice drew her aside, and said, smiling a little, her soft brown eyes warm with affection, ‘I was delighted when Lady Blanche told us you were coming, for I had not looked to encounter you here.'

‘We had not expected to be here, Alice,' replied Georgiana. ‘We were in Yorkshire already, at my sister-in-law's house, when the letter from Lady Blanche was forwarded on to my aunt. Since we were relatively close by, Louisa thought she might take advantage of the circumstance in order to visit her friend; they were at school together as girls, you know, and have corresponded ever since, but not seen each other for an age.' She thought she might at least try to impress upon some of her fellow guests that she had other reasons than theirs for being here.

‘You did not think to remain with Lord Irlam, then, Lady Georgiana?' said another voice from just behind her, one far less friendly in tone.

‘I did not,' Georgie replied with a false smile. Of all the debutantes she loathed – and there were regrettably many, for unlike Alice she was not a meek or a patient young woman – she thought that Mary Debenham must be the worst; of course fate would have ensured that she would be here. The woman was a harpy in silk and muslin. ‘My brother is, as you will recall, not ten months married, and the company of two people so entirely besotted with each other as he and Lady Irlam can be a little trying after a while, dearly as I love them both. I must admit I was glad for an excuse to come away and leave them be.'

‘Oh, yes,' said Mary, something approaching a sneer marring her icy blonde prettiness. ‘It was a love match, was it not?' It was plain that she found the whole concept perfectly ridiculous and not in the best of taste. ‘I do seem to recall that Lady Irlam was a Miss… Somebody-or-other from Yorkshire, I quite forget the name, for I declare it is not one I ever heard before I met her.'

‘Cassandra was a Miss Hazeldon,' said Georgie from between gritted teeth, wishing she could think of some witty, devastating set-down to put the odious creature firmly in her place.

‘An old Skipton family, I believe.' A deep, rich voice: the Duke had, unobserved by any of the three ladies, joined them, and stood regarding them sardonically, immaculate as ever. For a tall, well-built man, he moved very swiftly and quietly when he chose. ‘Be careful how you criticise a Miss Somebody-or-other from Yorkshire, Miss Debenham; my own mother was nothing more.' A cold, glinting smile accompanied these words, and did nothing at all to mitigate the sting they carried.

Mary was aghast, and could scarcely find the words to express her dismay as she stuttered out an apology. She had not meant to imply; she would be mortified if the Duke should think… She lost herself in a morass of confused words. He merely smiled ironically in response and did nothing at all to aid her in her distress. Fortunately for her, dinner was announced at that moment, sparing her blushes, and she was able to escape.

‘I believe I am to take in your aunt to dine,' said her tormentor as he turned to Georgie, his silver eyes enigmatic. ‘A pleasure, I am sure, but also a shame, as I would have welcomed the chance to become better acquainted with you, Lady Georgiana. But that will have to wait for a more convenient occasion, and I must possess my soul in patience until then. And here is my nephew, more fortunate than I, come to escort you.'

There was no time to dwell on the implications of his words, or to try to decipher the mocking expression in those arresting eyes, let alone to examine the feelings raging within her; Mr FitzHenry was smiling eagerly at her and offering his arm, and she was obliged to smile in return, and take it, and go in, like the civilised creature she was supposed to be but, she feared, most definitely was not.