“Very good, m’lord,” replied Duckett.
CHAPTER TWELVE
BEING TRULY ALONE again was worse than Georgiana had expected. Bella’s brother had come to fill a void in her heart she hadn’t even known existed. Until he was gone.
Idly plying her needle over the slippers she intended leaving as a parting gift to Arthur, Georgiana stifled a despondent sigh. The day outside was dull and grey, but no more dismal than the state of her heart. Bella, reclining on the chaise in the middle of the room, flicking through the latest Ladies’ Journal, seemed almost as subdued as she. But, in her friend’s case, there was a peacefulness in her quiet which Georgiana, in her tortured state, could only envy.
The Season had come to an end two days before. During the last ball, at Lady Matcham’s, there had been much talk of country visits and plans for the annual festivities. Georgiana had listened and tried to summon an enthusiasm she could not feel. To her, the future looked cold and bleak. She waited for Arthur’s decision on when they would leave Green Street, Bella and he bound for Candlewick, she for the Continent. He had asked her if she would stay until his business in London was completed, to keep Bella company. Naturally, she could not possibly refuse such a request. Particularly now that Lord Alton had left London.
He had sent a short note to Bella, simply informing her he had business in the country and would welcome her to Candlewick whenever she chose to quit town.
There had been no word to Bella’s protégée.
Casting another glance at Bella, Georgiana couldn’t help feeling guilty that she had not been able to satisfy her friend’s ambition, and, worse, would not be returning to London to continue their friendship. Arthur would have to find some other distraction for his wife next Season. Georgiana knew she would never return. She would never be able to face Lord Alton’s bride. He would eventually marry—an inescapable fate for one such as he. Already she felt a potent jealousy for the beautiful woman who would be his wife. Feeling despair weigh heavily on her shoulders, she forced away her unhappy thoughts and bent over her embroidery.
The door opened.
“A note for you, miss.”
Frowning, Georgiana reached for the white rectangle on Johnson’s salver, images of Charles and Lord Ellsmere in her mind. But one glance at the strong script emblazoned across the white parchment dispelled those weaker images, replacing them with a handsome, dark-featured face with warm blue eyes.
With the unnerving sensation of having her heart in her throat, Georgiana nodded a dismissal to Johnson and broke open the seal.
“What is it?” asked Bella, struggling to sit up.
Slowly Georgiana scanned the single sheet. Then, absent-mindedly, she said, “Your brother wants me to go down to the Place. His people want to know what to do with the furniture and so on.”
Bella, now sitting, nodded. “Yes, of course. You must tell them whether you want anything set aside.”
“But I don’t think there could possibly be anything I would want—” Georgiana began.
“You can’t tell that,” said Bella seriously. “Who knows? They might even stumble across those paintings of your father’s.”
Bella put her head on one side, the better to view her friend. To her mind, something was not entirely right between Georgiana and Dominic. Why on earth Georgie should fall into such a lethargy just because Dominic repaired to the country for a few days she could not imagine. As she saw it, it was only to be expected that her brother would want to see his affairs at Candlewick organised before he took his intended bride down for a prolonged stay. Despite the fact Dominic had apparently not as yet proposed, Bella was quite sure he would and that Georgiana’s plans for removal to Italy would never be realised. She knew her brother well enough to be certain he would view any interference with his schemes in a dim light. But, in this case, her confidence in the eventual outcome was supreme. Consequently, she was waiting with perfect equanimity for the time to come for them to leave for Candlewick.
“When are you to go?” Bella asked.
“He says he’ll come and fetch me tomorrow,” answered Georgiana, still struggling with conflicting emotions. The note was little more than a polite summons, its wording leaving no room for manoeuvre and even less for escape. Lord Alton would give himself the pleasure of fetching Miss Hartley at ten the next morning. He would undertake to return her to town that evening.
“Perhaps I should come down with you,” Bella suggested. “There’s nothing to keep me here, and I would like to see Jonathon.”
Georgiana readily agreed. In her present state, spending two hours and more in a closed carriage alone with Lord Alton was an undertaking too unnerving even to contemplate.
But when the subject was broached with Arthur that evening he surprised them both by vetoing his wife’s part in it.
“I’m afraid, my dear, that I would prefer you to remain in London for the next day or two. As Dominic plans to bring Georgiana back the same day, I really don’t think you should leave Green Street just yet.”
Put like that, it was impossible to argue the point.
Georgiana retired for the night, trying in vain to quell the entirely inappropriate leaping of her heart whenever she thought of the morrow. All was at an end between Lord Alton and herself. Why, then, did anticipation run in tantalising shivers down every nerve?
PRECISELY AT TEN the next morning, Lord Alton’s travelling chaise pulled up outside Winsmere House. Strolling unannounced into his sister’s back parlour, Dominic could not repress a smile at the picture that met his eyes. On the window-seat, his beloved sat, perfectly ready, fingers nervously twisting in the ribbons of her bonnet. Her gaze was fixed on the garden, a dull prospect beyond the glass.
His sister lay on the chaise, staring at the ceiling, a slight frown puckering her brows. It was she who first saw him.
“Oh!”
With that exclamation Bella sat up, putting up a hand to straighten the wisp of lace she had started experimenting with atop her dark curls. Dominic held out a hand to assist her to right herself, bending to drop an affectionate kiss on her cheek. Then he stood back and eyed her headgear.
Bella held her breath.
After a moment, Dominic’s brows rose. “Has Arthur seen that yet?”
“No,” said Bella.
“In that case, I suggest you burn it before he does.”
“Oh!” Spots of colour flew in Bella’s cheeks, eliciting a chuckle from her unrepentant brother. “If you’ve a mind to be disagreeable, I’ll leave you,” she replied haughtily.
But Dominic only smiled. “Don’t trouble yourself. It’s I who am about to leave you. If Miss Hartley is ready?”
Finding herself the object of his calm blue gaze, Georgiana nodded and rose. Within a matter of minutes her cloak had been gently placed about her shoulders and she was settled in the luxury of his carriage, a warm brick at her feet, a soft rug wrapped protectively about her knees.
Taking his seat beside her, and giving the order to start, Dominic turned and smiled. “The journey should not be too tedious, I hope.”
At his smile, all Georgiana’s fears dissolved. She smiled back.
They preserved a comfortable silence as the coach wended its way through the crowded streets. Once the outskirts of town were reached, and the power of the four horses began to make itself felt, Dominic turned to Georgiana. “Have you heard of Prinny’s latest start?”
She hadn’t, of course. Without effort, he entertained her with stories of the ton and other suitable anecdotes, until she had relaxed enough to ask some questions of her own. These, not surprisingly, were focused on the Place. Perfectly content with the topic, Dominic described the actual land attached to the Place, and how it related to his own far-flung acres.
“So, you see, the Place all but cuts my holdings in two, at least in that area. It has meant that my people constantly have to route all their movements around the Place, often tripling distances. Aside from being purely a nuisance, it has in
recent years become an eyesore—a blot on the landscape. It’s been irritating to me, as much as to my farmers, to see good land go to ruin.”
Georgiana nodded, the memory of the Place as she had last seen it vivid in her mind.
Dominic paused to glance once more out of the window. The one subject he was most assiduously avoiding was the weather. He had ensured that Georgiana was seated on the left on the carriage, so her gaze, should it wander, dwelt only on the relatively clear skies to the west. On his side the eastern horizon was obscured by slate-grey clouds of the peculiar quality which, to one country-bred, denoted but one outcome. Snow. By nightfall.
The temperature was starting to fall precipitate, even though it wanted half an hour to noon. He did not think Georgiana would notice, wrapped up as she was. Still, it wouldn’t do to become too complacent on that score. With a wicked grin, he turned to her once more, his brain making a rapid inventory of the latest on dits, selecting those suitable for his purpose.
By his order, the coach took them direct to the Place. It was well after noon when he alighted and handed Georgiana down. His steward, Jennings, and Duckett were there to meet them.
“I’ll leave you with Duckett, my dear,” Dominic said. “I’ll be with Jennings if you need me.”
Recognising Duckett, Georgiana was relieved to have his comforting presence beside her as she walked the old rooms of the Place. There was no piece of furniture she remembered with any particular affection. When appealed to, Duckett suggested the vicar’s wife, who managed the local charity, and promised to convey the furniture to her.
“There’s just one more matter, miss,” said Duckett, pausing at the top of the stairs.
Dominic, having finished his instructions to Jennings, approving the steward’s suggestion that the Place be made over as a single unit into a farm, came to stand at the foot of the stairs. Spying Georgiana and Duckett in the shadows at their head, he ran lightly up to join them.
“I was just telling Miss Hartley, m’lord, that when our people went through the attics they found one of them sealed up. An old cupboard had been moved across the door. Took three men to shift it. Then it was a struggle to force the door—looked to have been left locked for years. The room inside seems to have been used for painting—bits of rag and dabs of paint all over. There were lots of old paintings stacked by the walls. We didn’t know what to do with them, so we left it until you came. Would you care to take a look, miss?”
Her father’s paintings? His studio at the Place? Georgiana simply stared at Duckett.
Correctly gauging his love’s reaction, Dominic took her hand and drew it through his arm. “Lead the way, Duckett.”
Escorted in Duckett’s wake, Georgiana drew a deep breath. “Oh, Dominic! If only…”
He glanced down, smiling, inordinately pleased to hear his name on her lips. “Patience. A moment and we’ll see.”
He helped her up the narrow stairs to the low-ceilinged attics. A white patch on one wall of the first room showed where the old cupboard had been. Now the concealed door stood ajar.
Duckett pushed it open and stood aside to allow Georgiana to enter. Dominic released her and, when she hesitated, gave her an encouraging nudge.
Dazed, she stepped over the threshold, lifting her skirts free of the dusty floor. There was little doubt this had been her father’s eyrie. Long windows all but filled the outer wall. Now half covered with creeper, clear, they would have allowed light to flood the large room. An easel stood in the middle of the floor, empty; a paint-stained rag hung on a nail at one corner. Georgiana gazed about. The odd smell of old paints was still detectable, wafting like a ghost about the room.
For one instant, reminded so vividly of the life that had been, she felt the past threaten to engulf her. She struggled to keep back the tears. Then she heard a soft movement behind her and Dominic was there, his hands closing gently on her upper arms, comforting by his touch, by his solid warmth so close behind her. Like an anchor, he held her in the present, defying the past to claim her.
Georgiana drew a deep breath. Calm once more, she put up a hand to touch one of his. Her gaze fell on the canvases, stacked against the side-wall. She moved to touch them and he released her immediately, following her across the floor.
Without words, they set about the task of examining her father’s last legacy.
Most of the portraits were of adolescent youths. After a pensive moment, staring at one of a gentle-eyed young man with reddish tints in his hair, Dominic grinned. “Ah! Now I understand.”
Patiently Georgiana waited to be educated.
Dominic’s smile warned her. “Your father was clearly an astute man. He wanted to leave you something which was sure to retain its value, regardless of the vacillations of fashion. So he left you these.” Still Georgiana waited. Displaying the canvas in his hand, Dominic said, “This one’s William Grenville as a young man.” When Georgiana still looked blank he explained, “Grenville was one of our recent Prime Ministers. His family will pay a small fortune for this. And,” he continued, replacing the portrait and picking up another, “unless I miss my guess, this one is Spencer Perceval, another Prime Minister. That one,” he said, pointing to another study of an earnest young man, “could be Castlereagh, though I’m not certain.” He bent again to flick through the portraits.
There were sixteen in the series, and Dominic could put a name to nine and guess at the others. But the three portraits at the bottom of the pile, once they were uncovered, claimed his and Georgiana’s complete attention.
The first was of a young woman, with a sweet face crowned by masses of brown hair. Her eyes, startlingly clear hazel, shone out of the canvas, bright and clear. It was the portrait of Georgiana’s mother.
Leaving Georgiana to gaze on her mother’s face, Dominic pulled the next from the pile. A young baby rolled playfully on the grass beside the same woman. A gentle smile, full of love, curved the woman’s fine lips.
Wordlessly offering this picture to Georgiana, Dominic reached for the last. This showed a young girl, of six or so summers, long golden hair hanging in plaits down her back, honey-gold eyes alight with mischief. A dusting of freckles was scattered across the bridge of her pert nose. Dominic smiled. Turning to Georgiana, he put one finger under her chin and turned her face towards him. After a careful examination, which ignored her brimming eyes, he stated, “You’ve lost your freckles.”
Georgiana smiled tremulously, recognising his attempt to lighten her mood and grateful for it.
Dominic smiled back and released her, gently flicking her cheek with his finger. He glanced about them. “Now that this room has been opened again, I rather think these pictures should be removed from here.”
Georgiana looked blank.
“Shall I get Duckett to pack them up and take them to Candlewick? You can decide what to do with them later.”
Still dazed by their discoveries, Georgiana nodded her agreement. Duckett began to move about her, carefully stacking the paintings into smaller piles to be carried downstairs by his minions.
“And now,” Dominic said, coming once more to stand beside her, “you must be famished. I’ll take you to Candlewick, and Mrs Landy can feed us.”
Quite forgetting the long trip back to London, Georgiana, happiness filling her heart, and enjoying the novelty of having someone to share it with, allowed herself to be escorted downstairs and into the carriage.
Mrs Landy had a meal waiting. She scolded Dominic for keeping Georgiana so long in the cold, causing Georgiana’s brow to rise. But Dominic only laughed.
When they had eaten, he left her in Mrs Landy’s care while he went out to talk with his bailiff.
It wasn’t until, over tea and scones in the housekeeper’s rooms, she noticed the day drawing in that Georgiana started to become uneasy. As the hour dragged by and Dominic did not return, her sense of premonition grew.
The light had faded to a premature dusk when he finally appeared. He came into the drawing-room, where she
had retreated, stamping his feet to restore the circulation. He crossed to the fire and bent to warm his hands. Straightening, he smiled at her reassuringly, but his words dispelled the effect. “I’m afraid, my dear, that we won’t be able to return to town tonight. The weather’s turned nasty and the roads are freezing. There’s snow on the way, and I doubt we’d make the Great North Road before we were stuck in a drift.”
At the sight of his satisfied smile, Georgiana’s eyes grew round. He’d planned this, she was sure. But why, for heaven’s sake?
But her host gave her no opportunity to ponder that vital question. He challenged her to a game of chess, to which she had admitted fair knowledge, and, by the time Georgiana had conceded her king, Mrs Landy was at the door, smiling and waiting to take her to her room to freshen up before dinner. The clouds of worried questions that flitted through Georgiana’s mind seemed ridiculous when faced with the solid respectability of that worthy dame.
A sense of unreality hung over her during dinner, eaten in the large dining-room. The huge table, which Mrs Landy had informed her could seat fifty, had thankfully had all its leaves taken out, rendering it a suitable size for household dining. She was seated on Dominic’s right, and so attentive was her host that she had no time to question the propriety of the proceedings. The food was delicious, and the wine Dominic allowed Duckett to supply her with was cool and sweet. A discussion of the portraits her father had left her occupied much of their time, until, with the removal of the last course, Dominic pushed back his chair and rose, waving Duckett aside and coming to assist her to her feet. “Come. We’ll be more comfortable in the drawing-room.”
The presence of Duckett behind her chair had soothed her troublesome conscience, pricking with half-understood suspicion. Now, as the drawing-room door closed and she realised he was no longer in the room with them, her jitters woke afresh. Her nervousness spiralling upwards, she crossed the room towards the chaise angled before the big fireplace, conscious that he followed close behind.