Chapter Three

G eorgiana had dressed for the eyes of the ton, not for Lord Taverston, but the poorly hidden smirks of the Duke’s entire household suggested they believed otherwise. How did servants know everything? Even Jeanette, her abigail, insisted upon a more elaborate hairstyle than Georgiana preferred and then even asked if she wanted pins that fell out or pins that stayed in. Alice must have told her about the incident; Georgiana certainly had not.

Since Lady Andini’s ball was the first official function of Georgiana’s second London Season, she had chosen her gown with care, well before her encounter with the Earl of Iversley’s son. Last year she had dutifully worn the whites, pale yellows, and light blues in modest styles becoming to a girl new to adult society. This year, Mama permitted their modiste more license. Georgiana’s gown was a luscious dark-rose. It was gathered beneath her bosom to fall in soft folds to the floor. An elaborate pattern of dark braiding on the bodice emphasized the swell of her hips and breasts and gave the appearance of an impossibly narrow waist. Georgiana had asked the modiste to raise the neckline, though. She’d rather imply an ample bosom than show. She had trunks full of beautiful new clothes, but this was her favorite. As for dressing to impress Lord Taverston, she thought the effort redundant. He needed a wife, one just like her. And here she was.

No doubt his mother was thrilled that they’d met at Mrs. Preston’s. Hers was. And why not? The Duchess was not a gossip, but she nevertheless had her sources. There were no black marks against Lord Jasper Taverston. He hadn’t even been sent down from Oxford that long ago time when she’d seen him at Chaumbers. He’d brought home his brother, Crispin, who had been ill. Georgiana had no memory of that. The poor boy must have spent the entire two weeks in his bedchamber.

Mama also answered for Georgiana, without her asking, why her path had not crossed that of Lord Taverston during the whole of last year when Georgiana had participated in every major ton event and a good number of the minor ones. Where had he been then?

“I’m pleased the Taverstons are back in London, most of them.” Mama had offered, apropos of nothing. “The Earl has been dreadfully ill. He suffered apoplexy, I believe, two summers past, and has not left Chaumbers since. Beatrice—” she paused and corrected herself—“Lady Iversley was there most of last year. And the boys took turns staying with her. And, of course, Olivia kept them company. She was supposed to come out last year. Seventeen is too young, in my opinion, but I seem to be in the minority. Eighteen is more appropriate.”

Olivia. The little sister. The hoyden.

“I didn’t see her at Mrs. Preston’s,” Georgiana mused. “And honestly, I don’t remember her though we must have met at some point.”

“You have. But it’s been a long time. Little girl tea parties and birthdays and such.”

“And at Chaumbers.”

“Yes.” Mama smiled. “She followed you about like a pet. But you were more interested in Lord Taverston. And those silly cats.”

“I was not ‘interested’ in Lord Taverston. Honestly, mother. How old was I? Seven?”

“Just.”

“I don’t understand…”

“Hmm?”

It had been bothering her, so she asked. “If you and Father were friendly enough with Iversley to attend his house party, why…what happened?” It was a fair question in her opinion. After all, they moved in roughly the same circles. She should have known Lord Taverston and the other sons and Olivia too, on sight.

Perhaps she had been hoping for a falling out of earthshattering proportions. Something that would have caused Father to forbid Lord Taverston to call on her. At least then there would be an obstacle for them to overcome, rather than the dull going-through-the-motions. But Mama disappointed her.

“Oh, we were not so very friendly. Though I do like Lady Iversley. We might have been better friends given more opportunity. But we are not London people. And Chaumbers is a long way from Sayles or Marbury. We went that one time because your father and the Earl were working on a bill together.” Mama paused, shaking her head. “It should have passed. But the good bills never do. Anyhow, after that, your father and the Earl discovered how little else they agreed upon. They belong to different clubs. Lady Iversley and I support different charities. The friendship didn’t…take.” Then Mama smiled, as though to reassure her. “But there is no reason it shouldn’t.”

And Georgiana felt that vertigo again.

All she could choose was what dress to wear. Everything else was beyond her control.

*

“Don’t be daft, Reg.” Jasper, impeccable in evening wear, shook his head in disbelief. If Reginald had not been his brother, the man would have used the dreaded quizzing glass on him. “You can’t sit at home sulking.”

“I’m not sulking. I’m reading.”

“Same thing.”

Reginald, seated in a library chair, with a loose, somewhat battered banyan thrown over his shirt and pantaloons, spectacles perched on the crown of his head, responded by putting his nose back into his book.

“My dear, odd little brother,” Jasper continued. “I know you are less bothered by the whole thing than you should be. But if you don’t attend this ball, people will think you are more bothered than you should be. Not only think it. They will say it.”

“And I care…why?” he asked, without raising his eyes from the page.

“Because it’s preposterous. And because I don’t much care for Plodgett and his fat-faced gloating. Honestly, Reg. A little family pride, please.”

He set the book down, frustrated. How on earth could the loss of his mistress be a blow to “family pride?” “What am I supposed to do? Call him out?”

“No. Don’t even dignify this with the cut direct. Go right up to him. Wish him a pleasant evening. Ask him about his gout.”

Reginald snorted. It would be gratifying.

Jasper grinned. “Besides. I’d like you to be there tonight. I’ll support you if you support me.”

“Support you?”

“Yes, I’m throwing myself into the breach.”

Reginald raised an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

“Facing my responsibility.” He looked away, his smile gone. He even paced a few steps. This was no jest. His voice dropped low. “Father may be stable, but he has ceased improving. Mother is right.” He set his jaw and spoke as if chiding himself rather than explaining himself. “I’ve put this off for too long.”

“So you’re seeking your countess.” Well, it was time. He felt for Jasper. Who seemed sincerely attached to his own mistress. Idiot. He should have married her instead of giving her carte blanche. But it was complicated then and impossible now. A countess should be wellborn and must be morally beyond reproach.

“No need to seek. It seems I’ve found her.”

That made him jump. “Good Lord, Jasper! When did this happen?”

“Sunday night. At Mrs. Preston’s crush.”

“A debutante? Really?”

Well, why not? Crispin was the jaded one, not Jasper. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, he heard the thud of the front door’s knocker and its echo. Had Jasper formed a party to go with tonight? Or had Mother? He’d paid no attention to the arrangements. Maybe he had become the jaded one.

“No,” Jasper said, running a hand through his hair and somehow not mussing it. He didn’t even bother to look in the mirror over the mantle to check. He wasn’t vain, for all he looked it. “This is her second Season, so Mother tells me.”

“Her second?” He pretended to reel. “What’s wrong with her?”

Jasper laughed. Reginald immediately felt bad for making a joke at the poor girl’s expense. Was Jasper serious about this? After one brief encounter?

Jasper said, “Word at White’s is she had sixteen offers last year. Sixteen! Can you imagine? I’ve never heard such a thing. Must be a record.”

She must be heiress to a substantial sum. But Jasper didn’t need money. This impetuousness worried Reginald. Sixteen offers and Jasper had already queued up to be the seventeenth? She must be a siren.

“Waiting for you, then, was she?”

“Maybe.” Jasper made a face at him, a gross imitation of the concern that had popped out on his own. Then he mused, “Actually, maybe. Mother thinks it’s a possibility.”

“Mother said that? Yet approves?” Odder by the moment. Usually, Mother frowned upon giggling girls who set their caps for Jasper. “Who is this paragon?”

“Come to the ball and see.”

He’d have to dress. And shave. And lose his train of thought in his book, a complex bit of philosophy he’d been following with some difficulty. Of course, that train was already lost.

“I promised Olivia I’d wait for her before jaunting about.”

“That would have been an unsolicited promise, serving yourself rather than Olivia.” Jasper’s brow clouded. It was a disconcerting sight, since his brother had the easiest disposition of any man Reginald knew. “Mother didn’t tell you then?”

“Tell me what?”

“About Olivia’s latest letter? Came this morning?” Seeing Reginald’s blank look, Jasper filled him in. “Olivia will not be arriving on Saturday. She has postponed coming to London for another fortnight.”

Reginald swallowed something sharp in his throat. Father must not be doing as well as they’d hoped. But Olivia must be brought out. And Jasper must…

He made himself sigh. “I suppose if I don’t go out in society for a fortnight, Plodgett’s crowing will become insupportable. I’d best go change my clothes.” He stood and dimmed the lamp he’d been using. “Give me a hint though, will you? So I don’t go soliciting a waltz with the wrong girl.”

Jasper laughed. “No chance of that. I’m leading her out for the first set. That will stake my claim. But to satisfy your curiosity, it’s Hovington’s girl. Lady Georgiana.”

He nodded gravely. “Acceptable birth.” An understatement that made Jasper’s grin widen. She would possess all a lady’s decorative accomplishments and all the training needed to run an earl’s household. “I suspect she’s tolerably pretty.”

“Very tolerably. And she has wit.”

“She sounds too good for you.”

“No. I anticipate seventeen is the charm. She can’t refuse us all.” His smile went crooked. “It feels right, Reg. But I would like you to come and see her. Make sure I’m not missing her third eye or cork leg.”

Affection for his elder brother welled in Reginald’s breast. The man was such a perfect representative of the aristocrat “type,” that one could miss seeing his, well, his humanity . Marriage was a huge undertaking. A lifelong commitment. Even Jasper’s equanimity was shaken in the face of it.

And there was the chance that his brother was leaping in simply because he felt pressured. Their father was dying. Slowly, but he was dying. If this duke’s daughter was wrong for Jasper, he should be reined in. Though what qualified Reginald to judge or to do the reining was beyond him.

He said, “Too bad Crispin isn’t here. He can spot a third eye at fifty paces.” And Crispin had always been better at reading Jasper. He rubbed his jaw. “Can I get away without shaving?”

“No, you Slavic beast, you cannot.”

Unlike his fair-haired brothers, Reginald was dark. They never let him forget it.

He heard a pattering of footsteps, and the library door flew open, startling them both. Their mother stood in the doorway, a piece of paper in her hand. Her face was as white as the paper.

“Your father has had another fit.”

“My God,” Jasper said, paling also. Reginald could say nothing at all.

“I’m going to Chaumbers tonight.” Mother’s voice was tight.

Jasper said, “I’ll bring you.”

The journey would take hours. Seven hours in the dark. And they had to pack. No, not pack. Only ready the carriage and horses. The servants could send their things on. What if…oh, God. They weren’t prepared. He wasn’t prepared. Why hadn’t he talked to Father about…anything, but pretended everything was going to be fine?

“No, Jasper, no. You go to the ball. Reginald can come with me. For Heaven’s sake. You’ve already asked Lady Georgiana—”

“For a dance. Surely she’ll understand. And if she doesn’t, I wouldn’t want her.”

“Reginald will bring me.” Mother sounded steely. As if she wanted something to control. “We’ll send word back whether you need come. Or when.”

“Mother—”

“Don’t argue with her, Jasper.” He finally found his voice. Their mother didn’t need an argument. Especially when she was wrong.

Jasper turned, startled. Angry. He growled, “And I’m supposed to dance and laugh and woo while—”

“Yes,” Mother said, beginning to tremble. “Olivia says he was adamant we were not to be sent for. He doesn’t want us all rushing home as if, as if…”

Reginald stepped forward and put his arm around his mother’s shoulders. His brothers used to mock him for being his mother’s favorite. Perhaps he was. But Jasper was their father’s. And Crispin was an island unto himself.

Maybe Jasper understood that it was their mother who needed support just now, more than their father, because finally, he yielded. “Send word tomorrow. If I haven’t heard from you by nightfall, I’m coming anyway.”

Their mother nodded, leaning so heavily against Reginald’s shoulder that it frightened him. He guided her to the door. Would he have time to gather his books and notes? He’d have to grab quickly. And his valet would have to throw a few things into a bag. He looked back to see Jasper’s sagging face. He didn’t look like a man eager to go courting. How would this Lady Georgiana respond to so morose a wooing?

“Make sure you go to the ball. You have to give my regards to Plodgett.”

Jasper smiled weakly. “Ah, yes. At least there’s that.”