Chapter Eight

T he Duchess’ small party set forth from London early in the morning in hopes of reaching Iversley before dark. The Duke had provided them with his finest carriage. It was strongly sprung, roomy with deep padded seats, and was embossed with the ducal crest. A separate carriage followed closely, filled to the hilt with their trunks and their maids. Twelve liveried outriders, armed, of course, accompanied them. Highwaymen existed, but Georgiana did not fear them.

She did not enjoy traveling. She considered it an evil necessary to conduct people where they wanted to go. It was even more unpleasant having to endure a daylong carriage ride when one dreaded arriving at the destination. She felt chilled, damp, and miserable.

This is a mistake. This is a mistake. This is a mistake.

Her thoughts rolled in a monotonous rhythm, matching the creak of the carriage wheels.

Mama and Alice spent the first hour chatting, with Mama drawing out her niece’s thoughts on the various men who had paid her their attentions. Georgiana made appropriate comments but could muster no real interest in what was being said. It took several minutes, perhaps longer, before she even realized the carriage had fallen silent. Mama had dropped into a doze and Alice peered at the dead-of-winter scenery through the window where the curtains parted. She looked pensive—eyes hooded and dark curls drooping. Georgiana felt bad that she was not more supportive of her cousin. Her own discontent was already turning her selfish and ill-humored. That did not bode well for the rest of her life.

Georgiana’s mind drifted back to the day she’d overheard her parents arguing. In retrospect, it seemed even more momentous than it had at the time. It was not the end of her childhood; she had already been outgrowing that. Yet it seemed the first step on the path that had led to here. Of course, those steps would have been taken regardless. There were no other paths for feet such as hers.

Father had been displaying her. It was something he did from time to time. Not often. But out of an overabundance of delight in her odd mathematical talents. When he did, she would grow a little silly with pride. What child would not bask in adults’ attention? She couldn’t remember who had been there that day. Perhaps Lord Billings. Or Lord Darby. It didn’t matter who had been gaping and applauding. What mattered was that Mama had been looking for her. And found her. Georgiana could still see her mother’s face going white. The widening of her eyes and flaring of her nostrils. The laughter in the room died. Mama bundled Georgiana off to the music room.

The little girl that she had been had not recognized her error. She took at face value her mother’s scold that she was supposed to be practicing her piano, but the extremeness of Mama’s reaction had frightened her. Naturally, she hastened to please. She plinked those piano keys for well over an hour. Yet she had done this knowing that whatever she tried would never be enough to make her mother happy. Not happy the way she had once been.

Oh, those days. She was feeling her mother’s presence again after what had seemed a long absence, and she was desperate, desperate , for a return of the mother-daughter bond she only vaguely remembered, but whose absence she nevertheless felt deep in her heart.

When Randolph died, it was as though all the light and laughter in their family had died with him. Georgiana had been just nine years old, and time passed differently then. Slowly, slowly, she and her younger brother Charles returned to their pastimes, encouraged by Father. But there was a hole in Georgiana’s life, a hole where her mother once had been. Then Mama rarely emerged from her bedchamber, which Georgiana recalled as being always dark, curtains drawn shut. When she did appear, she was so pale and hollow-eyed and listless, that it was as if a ghost had taken her place. She never took meals with them. She never spoke above a hoarse whisper.

Mama did not put off her mourning black for two years. To a girl as young as Georgiana had been, two years was an eternity. She had been left feeling, knowing somehow, that a mere daughter was not enough , could never be enough to compensate for the loss of a son. Yet rather than give up, poor little Georgiana tried harder.

At nineteen, Georgiana now understood what she hadn’t at eleven. That Mama grieved Randolph’s death differently than Father. He clutched Georgiana and Charles closer, while Mama withdrew. It had taken Mama a long, long time to return to herself—albeit a quieter, less openly affectionate version of herself.

Georgiana understood this, yet sometimes she saw herself still trying to win her mother’s approval. To make up for her loss. No, not sometimes. Always. She was always still trying.

Perhaps it was because on that day, that long ago day, she was made to understand that the very part of herself that brought her the most joy, was the part that most distressed Mama.

When Georgiana had heard carriages pulling away outside, knowing Father’s guests had left, she’d tiptoed back toward the library. While passing her mother’s sitting room, she overheard them together. Her father sounded abashed. Georgiana crept closer. Mama’s voice was raised.

“What could you have been thinking?”

“It was a mere amusement. Surely there is no harm—”

“She is your daughter! A young lady. She’s not a substitute for—” For Randolph. Mama would rather have Randolph.

“Mary, stop. Georgiana is my child. I’m permitted to dote. I’m not making her a replacement. There is no replacement. But if she wants to learn—”

“She has to learn the right things! Not what you are filling her head with. The right things!”

“The right things?” Her father laughed. It was not his true laughter, more like he was trying to tease Mama from her mood. But it worried Georgiana to hear him laugh falsely. Did that mean he might sometimes speak falsely too? “Well, I think she is bright enough to learn the right things and a few of the wrong ones.”

“You will make her ridiculous!”

Ridiculous .

She hadn’t understood what that meant. Not then. But Mama’s vehement disapproval of her daughter’s— gift , Father had called it—seared the word into her memory, and she certainly understood what it meant now. There was scarcely any worse social sin than to make oneself ridiculous in the eyes of the ton.

Georgiana knew that as a duke’s daughter, there was a proper way to conduct herself. So she did. Mostly. Then and now.

They stopped to change horses. Then they stopped to change them again, rest, and have a small luncheon. The innkeeper’s wife was solicitous, but served them a tough bit of poultry, swimming in grease, apologizing for having nothing fancier while beaming at them as if she had presented a feast. Georgiana didn’t want to appear ungracious, but she couldn’t eat. Mama took pity and made excuses to the innkeepers, begging a bit of plain bread for the ride as her daughter was ill from traveling. It was almost amusing how giddy it made the wife—this privilege of serving such a delicate guest.

Back on the road, they made good time. Too good for Georgiana’s liking. Mama said they should arrive by dinner, which heightened her dread.

Georgiana rejoiced silently when that prediction proved premature. They reached a sodden stretch and, after creeping along at a tortoise’s pace for an interminable time, they bogged altogether in the mud. While the outriders set to work trying to dig them out, Mama sent a messenger on ahead to warn their arrival would be delayed. For a short while, the carriage was jostled so roughly that Georgiana feared they would have to disembark and wait standing outside, causing her to arrive at Chaumbers with a dirty nose and messy hair. Finally, however, the coachman directed the others to lay as many branches and stones as could be gathered on the wayside beneath the wheels until the coach could be shimmied onto firmer ground.

When the same misadventure struck a second time, Mama sent another messenger. Lady Iversley absolutely must not hold dinner for them. They would not arrive until very late. She added delicately that although they were eager to spend time with the Taverstons, it might be best if they slipped in without fanfare and greeted their hosts in the morning.

“A reprieve,” Georgiana made the mistake of saying, with her first smile of the day.

Her mother looked at her askance. “Georgiana, I hope your attitude will improve. A great many people have been put to a lot of bother for you. A simple ‘no’ would have sufficed if you didn’t want to go.”

There had been no such option as a “simple” no.

She wouldn’t cry. She had shed enough unwarranted tears. Any other girl would be—what had Mama said? Ecstatic .

“I’m sorry, Mama. This journey has put me out of sorts.” Her, and Mama, too. She finished stiffly, “Rest assured, I know how to behave.”

*

Crispin was in fine form, Reginald was relieved to see. He was out of uniform, wearing light gray pantaloons and a closely tailored waistcoat that made it evident he had put a bit of muscle back on his skinny bones. Reginald remembered when, as a schoolboy, Crispin used to wear clothing too big for him, as if to bulk out his too-lanky frame. At some point, he evidently realized the tactic made him appear even punier because now his clothes fit. Crispin was nearly as tall as Jasper, but his bouts of illness had always prevented him from accumulating weight. Even Reginald, who was a good four inches shorter, had him beat by a stone, sometimes a stone and a half. And Reginald was by no means heavily built. But Crispin must have been in health for a while. Thank God.

Moreover, his disposition was cheerier than last time. Still, he would not speak of his military experiences. Either they were too secret or too painful to discuss. Well, they did not lack for conversational material at Chaumbers.

When Reginald interrupted their bickering in the billiard room, audible from the hallway, Crispin was making it clear he had no sympathy for Jasper’s fear of foundering.

“Bosh! You’ve been Earl of Iversley in all but name for a year and a half, Jasp. If the earldom was going to go to ruin, it would have done so by now. Just do as you’ve been doing.”

“You have no idea how difficult—”

“Oh, bosh. They’ve been preparing you for this since your steed was a hobby horse. The only difficulty I foresee is telling Vanessa you’re marrying a duke’s chit.”

That was the moment Reginald had stepped into the room. Crispin whirled around, catching the billiard balls he had been juggling, and said, “Ah, there’s just the parson I wanted to see.”

“How long have you been bursting to use that? You do know puns are the lowest form of humor?”

“Yes, well, I am feeling low. I saw the Earl last night.”

“Oh.” Reginald could not read Crispin’s face. “Did I send for you too soon again?”

Crispin gave him a hard look. It might have been that Reginald had dragged his brother away from something more important, or it might be that the humor was inappropriate, in which case Reginald was poaching in Crispin’s copse.

But then Crispin turned his face toward the wall. “No.” He sighed heavily. “No. It’s good that I came.”

“Dr. Haraldsen told Mother that indications are favorable,” Jasper said.

“Dr. Haraldsen is lying.”

Jasper crossed his arms over his chest and snapped, “And now you are a physician.”

“No. I am a man who has seen too many men die.”

“From bullet wounds and saber cuts! That hardly makes you an expert.”

“He wants to die. He’s miserable.”

Jasper glowered and looked as though he would say more, but Reginald tried to inject a little hopefulness.

“When he recovers a bit more, he might…”

Crispin shook his head. “He said he’s made his peace with God and is ready to go.”

“He said that last night? To you?” Jasper scoffed. “Why?”

“I asked.”

Both Reginald and Jasper looked upon him with horror. They had been told not to alarm Father and Crispin’s first words had been to ask him if he was ready to face God?

“The Earl has been stripped of the last vestiges of his authority. This is the only thing left that he can control. He doesn’t want to be cosseted and lied to. He wants to prepare himself. And to let us know that he is prepared.”

Jasper still looked mutinous. “Then why not tell that to Reg, who has been reading Bible passages to him for a fortnight?”

“Yes, well, Reg is a little heathen, isn’t he, really? Father isn’t going to meet Zeus.”

He started juggling again, then challenged Jasper to a game. Reginald was not in the mood to watch one of their bouts. They generally ended up throwing the balls at each other’s heads and he’d been caught one too many times in the crossfire. He left to find something to eat, then returned to his bedchamber and his manuscript until it was his turn to sit with Father. Thankfully, Father slept the whole time.

The family, except for the Earl, all came together for dinner, once Mother determined that dinner would finally have to be served without the anticipated guests. They arranged themselves back in their regular places: Mother to the right, then Crispin, Jasper to the left, then Olivia, then Reginald—with no one to his left or across from him, he felt he was hanging off the family’s tail. Father’s chair at the end of the table remained unoccupied. His absence had been heavily sensed the whole time, but it was ten times worse with Crispin home. Perhaps it felt more glaring to have the entire family gathered without him. Or perhaps it was the fact that they were all gathered because he was not able to be there. It made his absence seem final.

Mother asked Reginald to say grace, which he did. She always asked him, and he was generally able to say a decent prayer without giving it overmuch thought. This time he hesitated over the words. Crispin’s heathen comment had stayed with him. There was too much truth in it for it not to.

Mother directed the opening conversation to Olivia, who looked a little livelier today.

“Where did you go?”

“Oh, all the old places.” She beamed at Crispin. “We rode out to the lake and halfway around. Then visited the Crofts.”

“She played with the puppies,” Crispin said. “We may end up with another dog. Ugly things those pugs.”

Olivia made a face at him.

So Crispin had taken her riding, even though he’d likely spent most of the last several days in the saddle and could have used a respite. Yet he had seen at once what needed doing. Whereas Jasper and Reginald, wrapped in their own concerns, had not bothered—had not even thought to bother.

Olivia chatted happily about the puppies and the fact that she had beaten Crispin in a race.

Crispin merely shrugged. “I was overconfident after having so convincingly trounced Jasper at billiards.”

Mother said, “I’m sure that Lady Georgiana and Miss Fogbotham both ride. If the weather remains fine, you will have to arrange an outing, Jasper. And Olivia, you may take them shopping in the village. It’s not London, I know, but there are a few charming shops. And I suppose the church can be visited. Mr. Brindle enjoys showing off the windows.”

Crispin yawned. “Oh. I beg your pardon, Mother.”

Mother slanted a suspicious look at him, then continued as if he had not interrupted. “I thought perhaps a tea. Not immediately, of course, but in a few days. We’ll invite the Brindles and Sir Crawley and his wife. Do you think, Jasper, that Mr. Leighton could be persuaded to come?”

“Robert? To a tea?”

“Don’t give me that look. I’m sure he drinks tea. And he may well do for Miss Fogbotham. She’s a pretty girl with good breeding, but can’t hope to look very high.”

“Yes, well, Robert’s a fine chap, but can’t string three words together in a room containing females. He would show very poorly at a tea.”

“A hunt then. Surely you can manage to bring a few local gentlemen to Chaumbers one morning.”

“Yes, do!” Olivia said, her enthusiasm making it all too plain how neglected she had been. “And have the archery targets set up, Jasper.”

“That would do very well for you,” Crispin laughed. “But what about Lady Georgiana?” He pinned Jasper with his gaze. “What does she enjoy?”

Jasper returned his look. “All the usual things, I’m sure.”

“We will discover her particular favorites,” Mother put in smoothly. “I understand she plays the piano and sings exceedingly well. We’ll have music one night. Quiet music. Reginald, perhaps you and she might give us a duet. Jasper’s voice would send her running back to London.”

The boys all laughed at that, mainly because Mother was not joking. The conversation shifted to other things: the villagers, unimportant news from London, if the weather would hold. The modiste Mother had requested to come to Chaumbers for Olivia had sent her regrets; the local seamstress would have to do. Reginald listened with half an ear, his mind straying to a sticky point in his translation. His eyes drifted across the table to Crispin’s plate.

What now?

Crispin had not taken wine with dinner. He never drank, had not done so since his Oxford days. He had also waved off the bread. Had he eaten the soup? Reginald hadn’t noticed. As their guests had not arrived, it was not an elaborate dinner. Mother dispensed with the fish course altogether and had the servants just bring the meat. But it appeared Crispin had cordoned off his beef and gravy and was eating nothing but peas and potatoes. Reginald hoped their mother would refrain from commenting, though she must have noticed. He was intrigued.

Jasper filled them all in on gossip he had collected over the past couple of days, visiting the villagers. The names were familiar, and Reginald did have fond connections with a few families, but—and this was another reason why he should not be a vicar—he was content to hear about their doings from afar.

The servants cleared their plates and brought out trays of biscuits, cheese, and sliced fruit. Crispin took only fruit. Mother’s forbearance gave way.

“Crispin, eat something. For Heaven’s sake. You can’t afford to get any thinner.”

Crispin’s face darkened. When he spoke, his voice was deceptively mild. “I eat what agrees with me, Mother. And we will not discuss it further.”

“If you do not care to eat what is served,” she said, ignoring his warning, “at least inform Cook of your preferences. I won’t have you starve.”

He put an apple slice in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed, before answering, “I won’t starve.” Then he added grudgingly, “We simply do not eat so richly on campaign. Adam will make a list for Cook if it isn’t too much trouble.”

Mother’s expression softened into concern. “Of course, it isn’t any trouble, Crispin. I wish you would—”

“Who the devil is Adam?” Jasper interrupted.

“My batman. Or, for now, my valet.”

“What happened to Richard?” Olivia asked with a giggle. Richard had been a charity case at best, and shifty at worst. But Crispin had claimed he was level-headed and fair with his pistols, which was more important than knowing which cuff buttons went with which shirt. Then her eyes widened a little. “He’s all right, I hope.”

“Richard is perfectly fine. He went home to his sweetheart, I believe.”

“And where did you pick up this ‘Adam?’” Jasper asked. “He must be half decent. Your boots are shined, and your neckcloth is sufficiently well knotted.”

Crispin smiled. “Thank you, dear brother. I knotted it myself.” He dropped the smile. “Adam came to me by recommendation. He suits.”

“Where have you been hiding him?”

“I expect he’s been with your Alfred and Reginald’s Barclay, learning what he needs to know about working in this old pile. Don’t look so skeptical. He has strict manners and is exceptional at making himself scarce. Your houseguests will never see him.”

Jasper shrugged. “He’s your valet, not mine.”

Reginald decided he had nothing to add, so kept quiet. But he did wonder how Crispin’s valet was going to tackle Cook. Handing her a list? He’d like to see the woman’s face.

When dinner drew to a close, Mother and Olivia excused themselves to sit with Father. The boys retired to the study. Jasper poured himself a brandy, cast a look at both his brothers in turn, then stoppered the bottle as they took their seats, Reginald plunking himself onto the davenport and Crispin perching on its rolled arm.

Jasper drained his glass and set it down before focusing his scowling attention on his middle brother.

“We are trying not to upset Mother. Couldn’t you have simply put a bit of gravy in your mouth?”

Crispin responded, “What exactly do you intend to do about Vanessa?”

A long silence followed. Neither bent an inch.

Finally, Jasper looked toward the wall and said, “Did you know I’ve put Reg in charge of the accounts?”

“Reg?” Crispin gave a mock horrified start. “The accounts? I suppose old Bradwell has been slacking?”

“He’s dead.”

That wiped the smirk from Crispin’s face. “Damn.” He considered a moment. “What about Benjamin Carroll?”

“Still in Canada. Won’t be here until July. I decided Reg could take first crack at it.”

“Damn.” Crispin laced his fingers together and stared at the ground. After a minute had passed, he looked up. “I’m going to bed. I’m spent. Tomorrow, tell me what you need for me to do.”

“You’ll just do it, I’m sure, before I realize what to ask. Thank you for taking Olivia out.”

Crispin’s mouth tightened. “She’s my sister too.”

Reginald said, “Well, there will be houseguests.” He echoed Jasper. “Just try to make yourself pleasant.” Then he stood. “Long day. I’ll look in on Father, then I’m going off too.”

They left Jasper pouring himself another glass of brandy.