Chapter Nine
N aturally, the Duchess’ party had not been allowed to sneak in during the night like thieves. The long, twisting drive leading from the road up to Chaumbers had been lined by torches, with footmen to tend them. A bevy of grooms met the Duchess’ entourage and helped everyone to get where they needed to be. Mother, Georgiana, and Alice were met on the steps outside by the Countess and Lord Taverston. Thank goodness it was dark. Georgiana shuddered to imagine how disheveled she must appear.
They were not detained any longer than necessary but were taken swiftly to their chambers. Georgiana and Alice had a room to share, which pleased them both. The Duchess was placed just down the hall. Two large, north-facing windows promised a view, though nothing could be seen yet in the night. Floral curtains and bedlinens were a soft, comforting shade of yellow. Sandwiches, a bowl of fruit, and lemonade awaited them. Georgiana nibbled a sandwich, then gave up and let Jeanette undress her. Alice couldn’t even be tempted to eat or undress; she dropped onto the large featherbed and fell asleep at once. Georgiana thought she would follow. Instead, she lay staring at the ceiling, perhaps drifting to sleep but then startling back awake, time after time. Her mind was too active to let go, but too drained to think coherently.
She had not been permitted a good look at the Chaumbers’ property in the dark and could remember almost nothing about it from when she had been seven years old. That didn’t matter, of course. She would see it tomorrow. She had weeks to take it all in.
She had had a good look at Lord Taverston. He’d still been in his dinner clothes. He looked handsome, but…pallid. Torchlight never did one’s features any favors. And, it was true they were both exhausted. She was certain she’d looked anemic as well. Everyone was excruciatingly polite. But it had been a disappointing reunion if it could even be considered such, given they were strangers.
Georgiana did not believe in omens, but overall, it had not been a promising day. And it promised to be a worse night. So when the room began to brighten, she finally gave up attempting to sleep. She slipped out of bed and tiptoed into the antechamber where Jeanette had been settled for the night rather than being shunted off to the servants’ quarters at such a late hour. The maid woke at once.
“What may I do for you, my lady?”
Georgiana swallowed her apology, saying only, “It’s early, I know, but I slept so poorly I couldn’t lay abed any longer. I didn’t wish to wake Miss Fogbotham.”
“ Mon Dieu ,” Jeanette murmured, then sat up, pushing off her blankets. She wore only a shift, and her hair was down in a long braid on one side. “Would you like to dress?”
“Yes, but just something simple. I’ll go down to the breakfast parlor. I believe Lady Iversley said last night that cold fare would be out from dawn until whenever we all woke, and we could partake at our leisure. It is dawn, isn’t it?”
Jeanette laughed lightly. “ à peine . You should have finished your little bites last night.”
“I know. My stomach is so hollow it hurts.”
“Come,” the maid said, climbing from her bed, a narrow cot with a thin mattress. At least the blankets looked warm. And, to be honest, the servants’ beds at Sayles and Marbury were no better. “I’m sorry I have not unpacked all your trunks—”
“No, of course not,” Georgiana said.
“But I did put up a few things.” She opened a wardrobe and removed a pretty sprigged muslin. She frowned, considering, then said, “Yes, this should do. With your wrap. It is cold in the air.”
Georgiana agreed. It was attractive, fairly simple, and comfortable. A little dressier than what she would wear in the morning at home, but not outrageously so. Jeanette helped her into her things and buttoned the long row of buttons down her back. Then she brushed Georgiana’s hair until it shone and twisted it into a chignon.
“Simple now,” Jeanette said. “The better to stun him at dinner. I think the green gown tonight.”
Georgiana smiled weakly. “Thank you.”
Did she wish to “stun” him? If he acted besotted, would that be better or worse? Probably worse. She was not quivering with excitement; why should he be?
“Will there be anything else?”
“Oh, no. Just let Miss Fogbotham know where I am when she wakes.”
“In the library?” Jeanette asked, a twinkle in her eye.
“Maybe,” Georgiana admitted. “After I’ve eaten something. Unless the family is all up and I have to allow myself to be entertained.” She left Jeanette but suspected the poor girl would not return to bed. Rather she would finish unpacking and seeing to their clothes.
Georgiana crept downstairs and found her way to the breakfast parlor, relieved she remembered the directions she had been given last night. The ground floor was very quiet, but it was not as early as she feared. Fires had been started and there were servants moving about. The door to the breakfast parlor was ajar. She hoped there would be no one in it. Especially not the Countess or Lord Taverston. She took a deep breath and stepped inside.
At first glance, the morning room appeared very formal. The walls were papered with a dark blue design and the wood floor was nearly black. Food was laid out on a substantial Italianate sideboard. But a wall of windows, drapery tied back, brightened the space. Georgiana smiled to see the formality was softened by plump, somewhat worn, mismatched seat cushions on the chairs. Left on the bare-of-linen table, which could easily seat twelve, was an empty coffee cup and a plate containing crumbs. Her fellow early bird was already gone. Good.
After surveying the offerings on the sideboard, Georgiana scooped a few dried berries into a bowl and drenched them with cream. This was lovely. She was tired of jams. She also took a thick slice of bread and slathered it with butter. How delightful to be alone since she intended to gorge herself. She felt as though she hadn’t eaten for days.
She was thirsty too, but not for coffee. Her stomach was not yet settled enough for that. Instead, she took a half cup of tea and drowned that, too, with cream. She sat at the table, two seats from the detritus of the previous breakfaster. A folded newspaper lay on one of the chairs, but she didn’t bother to pick it up. She was tired, tired, tired.
When she finished her meal, she crumpled her napkin and laid it beside her bowl and cup. A maid came in and started. “Oh! Milady.” She curtsied. “I beg your pardon. May I bring you something?”
“No, thank you. Everything is lovely. I’m just finishing.”
“I’ll come back to clear.”
“You needn’t. I’m going now.” She stood. “Perhaps you might direct me to the library if the Earl permits visitors.”
“Oh, he never minded, milady. And I’m certain Lord Taverston won’t. I’ll show you.”
The maid led her away from the breakfast parlor, down a long corridor. She could hear a faint whistling of the wind outside, and it grew chillier the farther they walked. She pulled her shawl tighter. This might not have been such a good idea.
Near the end of the corridor, the maid stopped abruptly, curtsied again, and said, “That’s the door there. It won’t be locked.” She giggled. “Mr. Taverston says there’s nothing there to steal.” Then she gasped, looking mortified. “Beg pardon, milady. I didn’t mean…”
Georgiana smiled. She rather liked that the poor girl was a little gauche but trained well enough to recognize when she’d said something amiss. A lax household would be terrible, and she didn’t expect Lady Iversley would be lax. But Georgiana disliked households where the servants were all impeccable and all terrified.
“I’m just going to keep myself out of the way until the others wake.”
“Yes, miss,” she murmured, curtsying again and then hurrying away.
Georgiana opened the door. It swung soundlessly on its hinges. For all it was tucked away as an afterthought, the room seemed well maintained. It was even a little warmer than the hall had been. She glanced about and noticed a small brazier set near the wall, in front of a curtain that must be keeping out drafts, and a second curtain, parted only enough to let in a little light. Surely the brazier was not lit. That would be foolish, an unattended fire in a library.
Unless, she thought, nose crinkling with distaste as she looked around, they hoped to burn the room down. What a sorry excuse for a library!
The carpet was nice at least, thick underfoot and woven with the Earl’s coat of arms. There were two leather chairs with end tables in corners and an overstuffed kissing chair near the right wall. The left wall’s shelves held rows and rows of what appeared to be account books. Lord help her. She moved to the right wall and scanned. Hardly better.
Oh! For a moment, she didn’t dare breathe.
The Principles of Analytical Calculation .
She was dreaming. None of this was real. She was still in bed next to Alice.
She ran her fingertip down the spine. It felt real.
Timidly, she pulled it from the shelf and opened it. Then put it to her nose and breathed in the scent. It was real. Heavens, her fingers were trembling. She had never seen a copy before; it was not the sort of book her subscription library lent out. She hadn’t dared ask Father to purchase it. Oh! Her knees felt weak.
She stole a peek at the page she had turned to at random. But the words and notations swam before her eyes. She shut it quickly. She had weeks to pore over it. Perhaps a lifetime. She was not going to sully the experience by attempting to read a page when she hadn’t slept in two days.
When she replaced it, gently, onto the shelf, she saw Newton’s Principia . An old friend. Smiling to herself, she picked it up and took it to the kissing chair. Settling in, tucking her feet up beneath her, plumping up the pillows, wrapping her shawl tighter—though, in truth, it was warmer than she had first thought it would be—she opened the book. She would read the preface—again. That would require no great effort and, oh! She could think of nothing more soothing to her unsettled heart.
*
Reginald rubbed his eyes and realized he’d been staring at the same column for several minutes without actually seeing the figures. They would not add up. His scratch paper was covered with numbers, tallied, and crossed out. This was a waste of time.
In anticipation of the day’s festivities, he’d come early to his cubbyhole to work for an hour or two on the manuscript. It had been months since he’d sent any pages back to Bastion. The man had likely given up expecting more. But he couldn’t concentrate on the Greek when the ledgers lay there before him accusingly. If he pushed on through, he should shortly have the books finished and ready to present to Benjamin. Then he could get back to his Greek. But his brain was not working properly. He kept skipping numbers and adding wrong.
He needed a bit of fresh air. Unfortunately, the morning fog had not burned off and it was now starting to drizzle. Which meant—God only knew what—card games or poetry readings or, Lord help him, charades. The puzzles were always so obvious. He had to pretend to be stumped or else he would annoy his fellow players.
Hopefully, the bulk of the entertaining would be Jasper’s responsibility, aided by Olivia and Mother. It would be wearisome having to witness his brother courting. Wearisome and embarrassing.
Well. He could go have another cup of coffee, and take it out to the small terrace where it was roofed. He stood and rattled back the curtain.
A body sprang, with a startled shriek, from the kissing chair, and something thudded to the floor.
“Good Lord!” he exclaimed, his heart banging in his chest.
A lady stood before him. A houseguest. Lady Georgiana or Miss Fogbotham? Good God. He drew in a steadying breath.
Whoever it was, she moved her leg, her foot he supposed, with two quick jerks as if to nudge under the chair the book that she had dropped. They all read those silly novels. He didn’t know why they imagined it was a secret.
“I beg your pardon,” she said, pulling her shawl up over her shoulders like a surrogate dignity. “I didn’t know anyone was here.”
“Neither did I.”
She’d been exceptionally quiet. Asleep, obviously. Her hair was mashed to one side and her eyes were a bit puffy. Surely this was the cousin. He tried to set her at ease. She was, after all, a guest in their home.
“We have not been introduced, but at this point, the formality would appear to be moot. I am Mr. Taverston.” He bowed a little. “The youngest son. And you are Miss Fogbotham?”
“No, unfortunately. I am Lady Georgiana.”
He bit his lip. How awkward. “How long have you been here? In the library, I mean.”
She looked to the wall clock, then groaned, “Nearly two hours.”
Both their heads turned, as if connected by a string, to check the library door. It was firmly closed. A shiver ran down his spine. This was the fabled situation where a young man must go, hat in hand, to speak with a girl’s father and pray not to be shot.
Lady Georgiana turned back to face him, her eyes a bit wide. “This is not going well, is it? What should we do?” Her calm impressed him.
He considered for a moment, then said, “Jasp—that is, Lord Taverston is not generally an early riser. And Lieutenant Taverston, unless his habits have changed, will go for a long morning walk before breakfasting. Olivia sleeps late. So we really need worry only about my mother.”
“And mine.”
He nodded, feeling rather sick.
“I don’t suppose that window behind you opens?” she asked.
He turned and looked at the bay window. “Why?”
“Well, you could climb out, couldn’t you? Walk around the house. Approach from the front. Say you have been out walking? Like Lieutenant Taverston does?”
“In the rain? Without my coat?”
She frowned at him, and he realized he sounded rather missish.
“I could ,” he amended quickly. “But I usually work in the mornings and walk later in the day. My habits are well known. My brothers would be on me like terriers on a rat. And I’m not a good liar.”
“Generally, that recommends a man, but it doesn’t help now.”
“Can you li—um… prevaricate?”
She flushed. “Perhaps if we simply confessed? It is rather funny, don’t you think?”
Funny? They would not actually be forced to the altar. But Jasper would be annoyed that Reginald had put Georgiana in such an embarrassing position, even unwittingly. And Jasper wouldn’t blame her either, but he’d be peeved at the error.
“God,” he groaned. “You don’t know Crispin.” Only Crispin would find it amusing—he would never let them live it down.
“I could slip out. Return to my guestroom.”
“Would anyone ask where you’ve been? You can’t say the library. Wait! I know. The music room is three doors down the hall. You play the piano, don’t you?”
“Am I to go bang on the keys?” She sounded faintly amused.
“No, but there is sheet music on the piano and more in a basket on the shelf. Collect a few pieces and take them to the breakfast parlor. Someone is bound to be there. Say you’ve been poring over them for over an hour and hope for some advice on which ones Lord Taverston would prefer to hear.”
He thought it a clever suggestion, but her flush deepened and she frowned. “For someone who claims he does not lie, you have apparently mastered deceit.” She adjusted the shawl which had slipped down her shoulders. “You are not the only one with established habits, Mr. Taverston. My family will also notice something amiss if I behave out of character. And I am not a coquette.”
“I beg your pardon.” He made a short, apologetic bow, and felt himself flush at his own gaucheness. This was why he did not like to meet new people. Jasper charmed multitudes, while he could not…well, he could not.
The lady tilted her head then, her eyes peering upward as she tapped her finger on her chin. “Although…” she mused. “It would appease Mama to see that I have chosen to make an effort.”
An effort? To do what, exactly? “Excuse me?”
“Nothing,” she said. “Is the music room to the right or the left?”
“Left.”
“You do know that when we’re introduced later today, you’ll have to pretend it’s the first time. Can you prevaricate that much?” She looked at him with one of her eyebrows raised, as if she was skeptical of his ability to lie.
Prevaricate, rather. He drew himself up. “I believe I can muddle through a pretend introduction,” he replied, amused to think he and his sister-in-law would always have this little deception to smile about.
She smiled at him. “Thank you. I do apologize for upsetting your morning.”
“Not at all.”
It occurred to him that she was an exceptionally pretty woman. Though not at all in the way that Annie had been. Even disheveled as she was, Lady Georgiana was proper. She would be perfect for Jasper’s countess. Proper yet just addle-pated enough for him to mollycoddle. Reginald made a polite bow and let her go.
Then he went to the kissing chair to retrieve the novel she’d hidden. He knelt on the floor and reached for it. Bulky thing. He pulled it out.
Principia .
He looked at the closed library door and then back at his book.
Good Lord .