Chapter Two
“Madhouse?” Georgina erupted from the armchair, her hands fisting at her sides. She could not have heard right. “But they can’t. They simply can’t.”
“I did warn you,” the widow murmured, seemingly unmoved by Georgina’s outburst.
With a valiant effort, Georgina reined in hot emotions and resumed her seat. “So you did. I’m all right. Please continue.”
“Very well,” the widow said, then sipped her tea.
Georgina gained the distinct impression she did so for her benefit, to give her another moment to settle.
After a few moments, she set her cup and saucer down on the table beside her and fixed Georgina with a steady gaze.
“Let me be very clear, Lady Belfry. So long as Lord Arlington is not himself, his parents have every right, not to mention the money and the clout, to lock their son away for as long as they deem necessary.”
“Do you know when they mean to…to…?” She could not say the word.
“He will be transported within the next few days.”
“Days,” Georgina echoed. Her dear Teddy, incarcerated in a home for the mentally deranged? The very notion was unthinkable.
“There is one person who could feasibly countermand the earl’s decision.”
“Wh-who? I must reach out to him. Beseech him to intervene.” Her voice was going shrill. She closed her eyes and ordered herself to calm down. Now was not the time to fall apart.
“I refer to his wife.”
Her eyes snapped open as her heart seemed to lodge in her throat. “His wife? But—but… he is not married.”
“No, he isn’t. Am I wrong to assume you wish to marry him, Lady Belfry?”
Did she wish to marry him? Did she wish to be Teddy’s wife? Only with every fiber of her being, for as long as she’d known him.
“I must warn you,” the woman continued as if she considered Georgina’s assent a foregone conclusion. “It will be difficult to arrange, being that he is a future earl—not to mention, extremely costly.”
“I do not wish to marry him, madam,” Georgina blurted, then added in a gratifyingly composed tone, “I thought I made it clear I came here for answers, only.”
“That is what you said, yes,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon replied smoothly.
Georgina frowned. What an odd turn of phrase. It was almost as if the woman did not believe her.
But she’d spoken the truth. She had no wish to be married to a man she loved with every ounce of her strength who saw her as nothing more than his friend’s pesky little sister.
Somehow she doubted the widow would understand.
She could explain that everyone who knew Teddy knew he meant to marry Lady Catherine.
And why wouldn’t he? Catherine was the daughter of an earl and stunningly beautiful.
She and Teddy, standing side by side, appeared made for one another.
And though Catherine had never treated her with cordiality, she had always doted on Teddy in a manner that grated on Georgina’s nerves like the sound of feral cats fighting.
Yes, she could explain, but why bother? None of it All that mattered was Teddy.
“If you’re certain—”
“I am.”
“In that case, I do not think you can hope to help him.”
That made two of them.
“I suppose you could kidnap him, assuming he’d go with you,” the woman mused aloud. “That is something your heroine, Lady Celine, might do.”
Georgina managed a feeble smile, though she was unable to take any real pleasure in Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s obvious familiarity with her work, as she would normally would. “Do you know the name of this establishment, by chance?”
“Brook Haven. It’s a private hospital located in Surrey. Very expensive. Very exclusive. But still, nowhere I would want to find myself.”
“Nor I,” Georgina agreed, her voice stronger now.
She would come up with something, she told herself. When faced with imminent disaster, she always managed to salvage the situation. Why should this instance be different? “You’ve no idea what this so-called damage entails?”
The widow pursed her lips. “No. I confess learning the precise scope of…” she paused, and one corner of her mouth crooked upward, “your brother’s friend’s problem was not of paramount importance to me. But the rumors I heard mentioned a tendency toward violence and self-harm.”
Violence? Self-harm? Teddy? Georgie conjured an image of him in her mind’s eye, as he’d looked the last time she’d seen him, the day before he and Drake left to join the war effort.
Hale and golden skinned from time spent in the sun at Hampstead Heath, and so very beautiful, smiling his devil-may-care smile, his caramel-colored eyes twinkling with mischief and that ever-present glint of humor, as if he were privy to a punch line when no one else had yet picked up on the joke.
She recalled to mind that last conversation, before he and Drake left to join the war…
“I’ll write to you every week,” she’d avowed. “To both of you,” she’d hastened to add, fearing her profession might betray the depth of her feelings for him.
“Every week, pet? Even though I’m the selfish bas…bloke who talked your brother into joining up?”
Then he’d reached across as if to smooth one of her escaped curls behind her ear and everything in her went still with exquisite anticipation.
“Teddy, what on earth are you about? Come here and feed me grapes.”
His arm dropped and a crooked grin curved his mouth as he turned to gaze on Lady Catherine, lounging on a picnic blanket in the shade.
Without another word, he headed to do her bidding.
Georgina looked on, her heart in her throat, unaware she had an audience until her brother’s compassion-filled murmur sounded in her ear.
“Ah, George. It’ll be good for you to be away from him. It’ll give you a chance to realize who you are—the belle of the ball, and any bloke who can’t see that isn’t worth having on your dance card.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” she’d replied, mostly just to reassure him, her beloved brother, on today of all days. “I shall take society by storm in your absence. By the time you return, you won’t even recognize me.”
But she hadn’t. Instead, she’d pined and brooded, and penned another five novels which she’d submit to be published despite the many rejections she’d received.
At least that last bit had proven inaccurate.
“You’re quite sure you do not wish to marry him?” The matter-of-fact query from the widow tore Georgina from her bittersweet reverie.
“Quite,” she answered.
“In that case, is there anything else I can do for you, Lady Belfry? I have a casino to run.”
“No. You have been more than accommodating and I am profoundly grateful. What do I owe you? I brought cash.” She unsnapped her reticule.
“There is no fee. Consider it a gift of thanks for your work that entertains so many—and, in its way, stretches the boundaries for women, everywhere.”
Now, she did smile, if fleetingly. She did, through subtle strokes of her pen, strive for just that. “That is most generous of you, ma’am.”
Their business concluded, she expected Mrs. Dove-Lyon to rise.
Instead, the woman hesitated. “If I may, I have one piece of advice I’d like to offer, unrelated to this matter, though you may not welcome it.”
Georgina could not imagine what advice the woman might wish to impart. “By all means, madam.”
“There is no way to sugar coat this: Your father’s gambling is out of control.”
Georgina heaved a sigh. “I’m aware.”
“Considering the amount of money you dole out every month to cover his losses, I’m not surprised to hear you say that. I recommend you cease buying his vowels.”
Georgina blinked. Of course the woman would know she paid his debts.
She seemed to know everyone’s business. “Why? I can afford it and…” She bit her lower lip and stopped short of finishing her thought.
It was not simply out of the goodness of her heart that she paid his inordinate losses.
Doing so kept him from suggesting the unthinkable—that she marry.
He would never risk having his funds cut off by her husband’s edict—and what sane man would allow his wife to pay her father’s gambling debts?
“And I do not see the real harm,” she finished lamely.
“You may think you can afford to feed his habit, but I assure you, you cannot. This sort of thing does not improve with time. Quite the opposite. He will become a bottomless pit, Lady Belfry. He is reckless and undisciplined, and his losses will drain you dry. I, myself, will not accept his patronage any longer. It is, unfortunately, unconscionable for me to do so.”
Georgina digested the woman’s diatribe, a vague sense of guilt washing through her at her own culpability in fostering her father’s weakness. “I see. I will give your advice serious thought.”
A grim smile curved the widow’s mouth, and she rose from her chair. “You will do what you feel is right. My conscience is clear.”
One week later
Clutching her reticule before her, Georgina stood a moment in the graveled courtyard and studied the Georgian mansion, taking in its high, sparkling windows and gray stone walls. Birds chipped overhead, a breeze whispered through the leaves of the massive yews surrounding the property.
A beautiful prison, but a prison, nonetheless. She shivered, despite the sunlight bathing her face. How could Teddy’s father have resorted to this?
Trembling—whether from nerves over what awaited her beyond the ornate front door, or the prospect of finally seeing Teddy after over two years—she climbed the broad front steps, and grasped the iron knocker, banging it once.
A moment later, a friendly faced, gray-haired, liveried porter opened the door. “Good afternoon, madam. How may I help you?”
“I am here to visit one of your patients,” she said, her voice gratifyingly composed though she struggled to draw a steady breath.
His smiled never faltered. “Very good. Do come in.”
So far, so good. She entered, blinking to aid her eyes in adjusting to the relative darkness of the paneled foyer.
The porter helped her from her pelisse. “I assume you have an appointment, madam?”