Lord Winsmere smiled down into his wife’s upturned face while his mind canvassed the possibilities presented by her unknown guest. Their son and only child was ensconced in the country, happily growing out of short coats. Jonathon’s constitution was not sickly but did not cope well with the stale air of the capital. But his own work necessitated his presence in London. Bella, torn between the two men in her life, had chosen to remain by his side. As he doubted he could live without her, he would willingly make any sacrifice to alleviate the boredom he knew she found in the predictable rounds of tonnish entertainment. But an unknown girl? And, if he knew his Bella, she meant to fire the chit off with all flags flying. Not that the expense worried him. But was the girl truly as innocent as Bella, herself not much more experienced for all her matronliness, believed?
He reached out a finger to trace the graceful curve of his wife’s brow. Impulsively, she caught his hand and kissed it, then continued to hold it in a warm clasp, her eyes on his face.
“You needn’t worry about the cost. Dominic said to charge everything to him.”
“Did he, indeed? How very magnanimous, to be sure.” Lord Winsmere’s mobile lips twitched. Dominic Ridgeley had inherited a fortune of sizeable proportions and could easily afford to underwrite the launching of an unknown damsel into the ton. The question that exercised Lord Winsmere’s mind was why his hedonistic brother-in-law should wish to do such a peculiar thing.
“I think perhaps I should meet this paragon before I allow you to take her under your wing.”
Bella’s eyes grew round. “Are you thinking she is one of Dominic’s paramours? I must admit, I did, too, at first. Well, whoever would imagine him having any contact with an innocent young girl? But I assure you she’s just what Dominic says—young and innocent and…and hopelessly lost. I dare say she’ll have no idea how to go on, having lived in Italy all this time.”
Lord Winsmere’s face remained impassive. The possibility that his brother-in-law had sent Bella a lady needing help to cover some lapse of acceptable conduct had certainly occurred, only to be immediately dismissed. Few knew better than himself that, despite Viscount Alton’s reputation as a well heeled, insidiously charming and potentially dangerous rake, underneath, Dominic Ridgeley adhered most assiduously to a code of conduct that, if it were more widely recognised, would see him hailed as a pillar of society. But it was the veneer society saw—a façade erected to hide the boredom of a man who had never had to exert himself to win any prize. Born with the proverbial silver spoon tightly clamped between his jaws, and with the compounding assets of a handsome face and an athletic frame, there was little Dominic Ridgeley needed in life. And what he did want came easily. Society adored him. His well born mistresses fell at his feet. With ready charm, Dominic moved through it all, and with the years his boredom grew.
“What, exactly, did Dominic say?”
Bella smiled and shifted to sit at his feet, her hand still holding his, her shining blue eyes turned lovingly on him. “Well…”
Fifteen minutes later, Lord Winsmere felt he was in possession of all the salient facts. The only puzzle remaining was his brother-in-law’s motives. A whimsical start? Dominic was hardly in his dotage. Nevertheless, young and girlish and innocent was assuredly not his style. The spectre of Elaine, Lady Changley drifted into Lord Winsmere’s mind. Involuntarily, his face assumed an expression of distaste. Lady Changley was definitely not young and girlish, and not by the remotest stretch of the most pliable imagination could she be described as innocent.
Bella saw the disapprobation in her husband’s face. Her own face fell. “You don’t like the idea?”
Recalled, Lord Winsmere smiled and confessed, “I was thinking of something else.” At his wife’s fond smile, he continued, “If the girl is all you and Dominic seem to think, I have no objections to your taking her under your wing. Aside from anything else, she’ll have to be terribly innocent to swallow this yarn of yours about the way to securing a position being to make a splash in society.”
Bella met his sceptical look with a bright grin. “Oh, I’ll manage it—you’ll see.”
Five minutes later Lord Winsmere returned to his desk to tidy his papers away for the night. The memory of Bella’s bright eyes remained with him. She was more animated than she had been in months. Perhaps Dominic’s damsel in distress was an angel in disguise. He smiled fondly. All in all, he was looking forward to meeting his wife’s protégée.
THE SHARP CALL of the orange sellers woke Georgiana. Bemused, she stared about her, then remembered where she was and how she came to be there. Despite the evidence of her eyes, reality retained the aura of a dream. She was lying propped in her pillows, still wondering, when Cruickshank came bustling through the door with her early-morning chocolate.
Georgiana waited silently for her maid’s comment. No one could size up an establishment faster or more accurately than Cruickshank.
No sniffs were forthcoming. Not even a snort.
As she accepted the tray across her knees, Georgiana was taken aback to hear the dour maid humming.
Catching sight of her mistress’s startled look, Cruickshank smiled. “A right proper place they keep here, Miss Georgie. No need to teach them anything. Mrs Biggins, the housekeeper, is a tight old bird, but fair, mark my words. Runs the place just as she should. And Johnson—he’s the butler—and her ladyship’s dresser, Hills, are everything they ought to be. A relief, it is, after the Place.”
“So you’re comfortable here?”
At the wardrobe, Cruickshank nodded emphatically. She drew out a violet morning gown trimmed with fine lace and laid it ready across a chair, then went to search for the accessories.
Georgiana sipped her chocolate. As the sweet warmth slid down her throat and heat seeped through her body, she sighed. So wonderful—to have real chocolate again. She closed her eyes and was immediately back on the terrace at Ravello, her father opposite, across the breakfast-table. Abruptly she opened her eyes, blinking rapidly. Enough of that! She had shed all the tears she possessed long ago. Her father had wanted her to get on with her life. He had warned her not to grieve for him. He had had a good life, so he had said, and wanted his daughter to have the same. That was why she was to return to England and the bosom of her family. Some bosom Charles had turned out to be. At the thought, Georgiana wriggled her toes. The idea of Charles scouring the countryside for her, only to return, dusty and beaten, to the damp and musty Place, brought a glow of satisfaction to her honey-gold eyes. Serve him right.
“How long are we staying here?”
Cruickshank came to draw back the covers. Georgiana slid from the bed, busying herself with washing and dressing while she considered how best to answer. She had not discussed her plan to get a position with either of her servants, sure they would veto the idea as soon as they heard it. Come what may, she was determined to keep them with her. They were all that remained of her parents’ happy household.
So, standing patiently as Cruickshank laced her gown, she answered airily, “I’ll have to discuss the matter with Lady Wins… Bella. She seems to wish us to stay for a while.”
Cruickshank snorted. “So I gathered. Still, she seems a real lady; none of your hoity-toity airs about that one.”
Georgiana grinned, remembering Bella’s fussing the night before. It had been a long time since anyone other than Cruickshank had fussed over her.
After Cruickshank had settled her curls in a knot on the top of her head, Georgiana tentatively made her way downstairs. Johnson found her in the front hall and, gracious as ever, directed her to the breakfast parlour overlooking the rear gardens.
“There you are, my dear!”
Georgiana had the feeling Bella had been waiting for her to appear. Her hostess surged across the Turkey carpet in a cloud of fine-figured muslin. Georgiana returned her smile.
“Are you sure you’ve recovered from your ordeal?”
Georgiana flushed slightly and nodded. A man, somewhat older than Bell
a, had risen from the table to watch them, an affectionate smile on his thin lips. She felt forced to disclaim, “It was hardly an ordeal, ma’am.”
“Ma’am? I thought I told you to call me Bella.” Bella smiled mischievously. “And of course it was an ordeal. Fleeing from horrible Charles was always an ordeal.”
Georgiana stopped and stared. “You know Charles?”
Bella’s big blue eyes opened wide. “But of course. Didn’t I mention it last night?”
When Georgiana shook her head, Bella tucked her arm in hers and drew her guest to the table.
“But we were neighbours; you know that. Of course, Charles came over to play sometimes. But he never got on with Dominic and the other boys, mainly because he was younger and always tried to show off. He used to tease me unmercifully. At least, he did if Dominic wasn’t around. So, you see, I know just what it feels like to run away from your cousin Charles. And I can’t think he’s improved with age.”
Standing by the chair beside her new friend, Georgiana shook her head. “I expect you’re right.” She looked expectantly at the man. He smiled and bowed slightly.
“Permit me to introduce myself, my dear. I’m afraid, if we wait for Bella to remember my existence, we might not be introduced until dinner.”
“Oh, fustian!” said Bella, catching his hand and giving it a little shake. “My dear Georgiana, allow me to present my husband, Arthur.”
Georgiana dropped a demure curtsy, hiding her surprise. She had not thought about Bella’s husband at all, but would never have imagined the youthful Bella married to a man so much older. As she straightened, her eyes met his, grey and kindly, and she had the feeling of being read like a book. But then he smiled, such a sweet smile, and suddenly it no longer seemed so odd that Bella should be his wife.
“Miss Hartley. Might I say how pleased we are to welcome you to our home?”
Georgiana murmured her thanks.
Over breakfast, Lord Winsmere made little comment, but contented himself with listening as Bella and she discussed feminine interests.
“I see you are out of blacks,” said Bella. “So fortunate.”
Georgiana hesitated, then explained, “Actually, it’s only four months since my father died, but he made me promise that I wouldn’t go into mourning for him. But—” she shrugged slightly “—I thought greys and lilacs were a reasonable compromise.”
Bella’s candid gaze assessed her dispassionately. “I must say, if your father was a painter, I can understand why he was so insistent you stay out of black. With your skin, it would certainly not suit.”
Georgiana grinned. “I’m not certain that wasn’t at the back of his mind when he made his request.”
As she turned her attention to her piece of toast, she was conscious of his lordship’s grey eyes resting on her with approval.
In fact, Lord Winsmere was pleased to approve of his wife’s prospective protégée. Georgiana Hartley, he decided, was a neat little thing. His eye had seen too many beauties to class her as one, but her features were pure and, with the gloss of a little animation, presently lacking, she could lay claim to the appellation of attractive with ease. She was petite, but her figure was full and delicately curved, not unlike Bella’s curvaceous form. And, more important than any other quality, the girl from Italy was not missish. Which was just as well, if she was to deal with his forthright Bella. All in all, Bella’s assessment had been accurate. Miss Georgiana Hartley was eminently acceptable.
When the ladies left him to his coffee and the morning’s news-sheet, he spent some time in a blank study of the parlour door. Undoubtedly, Dominic had done right in sending Georgiana to Winsmere House. There was little hope such an attractive miss could find decent employment without subjecting herself to dangers he, for one, did not wish to contemplate. Dominic’s plan to introduce her into society was a wise one. Thus far, the young lady seemed of a most amenable disposition. And, although not highly born, her lineage was not beneath consideration. He had checked for himself in the Register of Landowners. The Hartleys had been an unremarkable family for generations, but they were nevertheless of good stock. She would make some young squire an unexceptionable wife.
However, more importantly from his point of view, her presence would ease Bella’s boredom. His darling had talked non-stop since rising this morning, a sure sign of happiness.
With a smile at his own susceptibilities, Lord Winsmere rose and, taking up his unread news-sheet, retired to the library. For once, Dominic seemed to have bestirred himself for purely philanthropic reasons. His scheme was in the girl’s best interests and would keep Bella amused. There was no reason to interfere. Bella could entangle herself in the chit’s life to her heart’s content. Neither would take any ill. As his shrewd brain began to sort through the potential ramifications of his brother-in-law’s plan, Lord Winsmere’s brows rose. His lips curved slightly. In the end, who knew what might come of it?
“NOW, GEORGIE, promise me you won’t put me to the blush,” said Bella, firmly drawing on her gloves as the carriage drew to a standstill. “I couldn’t endure it in front of Fancon. The woman’s a terror. Lord only knows what damage she could do to your chances if she heard you asking about the price of a gown.”
Georgiana blushed. The slight frown on her friend’s face told her Bella was not yet convinced she had won their last battle. Georgiana simply couldn’t see the necessity for new gowns for herself. Surely it was not a requirement for a companion to be fashionably dressed? But Bella had been adamant.
“Just wait until you are a companion before you start dressing like a dowd.”
At Georgiana’s instinctive and forlorn glance at her demure grey gown, Bella had been instantly contrite. “Oh, I don’t mean that! Your gowns are perfectly acceptable, you know they are. It’s just that for going out into society you need more…well, more society clothes. This is London, after all.”
Finally, worn down by Bella’s arguments, strengthened by the defection of Cruickshank, who had deciphered enough of their conversation to give her a hard stare, Georgiana had consented to accompany Bella to the salon of the modiste known as Fancon. It was her third day in London, and she was beginning to feel at home in the large mansion on Green Street. Lord Winsmere was all that was kind. And Bella, of course, was Bella. Georgiana was overwhelmed by their kindness. But not so overwhelmed that she would consent to Bella’s buying her new gowns.
“If I must have new gowns to go about and become known, then of course I’ll pay for them.” Her calm statement had caused Bella to look at her in concern.
“But, my dear Georgie, gowns, you know…well, they’re not all that… I mean to say…” The garrulous Bella had flustered to a halt.
The drift of her thoughts had reached Georgiana. “Oh! Did you think I have no money?”
Bella’s eyes widened. “Well, I thought you might not be exactly flush, what with your trip and expecting your uncle to be there to help at the end of it.”
Georgiana smiled affectionately. They had thought her a pauper but had still wanted to help. She knew enough of the world to appreciate such sentiments. “Not a bit of it. My father left me reasonably well to do—or at least, that’s how my Italian solicitors described it. I don’t know what exactly that means, but I have funds deposited here on which I may draw.”
To her relief, Lord Winsmere had insisted on accompanying her to the bank her father had patronised. She had little doubt it was his lordship’s standing that had resulted in such prompt and polite service. There had been no difficulty in establishing her bona fides through papers she had carried from Italy.
While waiting for the carriage to stop rocking, Georgiana glanced at Bella’s profile. They had taken to each other as if each were the sister the other had never had. “Only two gowns, mind.”
Bella turned, her eyes narrowing. “Two day gowns and an evening gown.” She stared uncompromisingly at Georgiana.
With a wry grimace, Georgiana acquiesced. “All right. And an eveni
ng gown. But nothing too elaborate,” she added, as the groom opened the door.
Together they entered the discreet establishment of Fancon. A woman dressed in severe black glided forward to greet them. Her black hair was pulled back and, it appeared to Georgiana, forcibly restrained in a tight bun. Black eyes, like gimlets, sharp and shuttered, assessed her. This, she soon learned, was the great Fancon herself. Imbued with suitable awe, Georgiana noted a certain restraint in the woman’s manner and was careful to give no cause for offence.
Half an hour passed in the most pleasant of occupations. Fancon had numerous gowns to choose from. Georgiana tried on a great many. There were fabrics, too, which could be fashioned to any style she wished. Georgiana found Bella’s interest infectious. And she could not resist the temptation to indulge in Fancon’s elegant creations. However, true to her word, she chose only two day dresses, one in softest lilac, the other a deep mauve. Both suited her well, their high waists outlining her youthful figure. She feared that Fancon would be irritated by her meagre order, particularly after the woman had been so insistent she try on such a great number of gowns. Yet nothing but the most complete equanimity showed on the modiste’s stern face.
Much discussion went into the creation of an evening gown. The styles which favoured her were easy enough to decide. Yet there was nothing suitable made up.
“Your colouring, Miss Hartley, is less pale than the norm. It is no matter. We will decide on the fabric, and I will have my seamstresses work up the gown by tomorrow.” With a calm wave of her hand, Fancon summoned her underlings. They brought bolts of fine cloth, in mauves and lilacs. While Georgiana stood, wreathed in fabric, Bella and Fancon studied her critically. Georgiana, too, watched proceedings in the mirror.
“It must show you off to your greatest advantage,” declared Bella.