Chapter 4 #2
Georgie turned by the door and headed back across the Turkey carpet she had discovered on a town ramble. “The man is already suffering the humiliation of his cousins’ folly. He shouldn't have to be shamed by his wife’s wealth.”
That even got Eddie’s attention. “There are men who would be shamed by being rich?”
Georgie plopped down on the plump sofa and licked cheese from her fingers. “This one would.”
“I know I shouldn’t have to tell you this,” Charlie reminded her. “But he has to marry someone.”
Georgie waved her off. Kicking off her shoes, she stretched out on the sofa, looking up at the ceiling medallion and thinking of a man who would humble himself for two frightened little girls.
A man with breathtaking blue eyes and an impressive line of scowls that could make a girl weak in the knees. “She has to be the right someone.”
Eddie motioned to the tome open before her on the desk. “Which is why we are going over Debrett’s.”
“Does he have to limit himself to Debrett’s?” Georgie asked no one in particular.
Charlie motioned to another piece of cheese, but the cousins shook their heads. “We don’t know anyone not in Debrett’s.”
“Of course we do.”
“I’m not counting the bastards, George.”
Eddie huffed in distress. “Don’t call them bastards, Charlie. It isn’t their fault.”
“But it is what they are. And we seemed to have had an inordinate number of them at our school, acknowledged or not.”
“Should we scratch them off the list?”
“Not if they’re rich.”
“But not too rich.”
All three girls shared rueful smiles.
“Which brings us back to the original problem,” Georgie said, still considering the ceiling. “How are we doing on convincing Prissy’s father, Eddie?”
Eddie sighed and turned to sharpening her quill. “Priscilla believes she can get him to the Halverson’s ball tomorrow night.”
Both Georgie and Charlie groaned. The Halversons threw the most stultifying entertainments in London. All pretense and no charm. And yet, mandatory for young ladies still on the market. Which, unfortunately, the Packham girls were.
“Eloise Chadwick,” Eddie suggested suddenly, flipping pages.
Georgie opened her mouth to say no, and then realized that there was nothing really wrong with Eloise. She was rich, quiet, nice, pretty, a baron’s daughter, and twenty-five. Which meant she could be amenable to suggestion. After all, no matter how nice you were, twenty-five was still twenty-five.
“Why isn’t she married?” she asked.
“Eloise?” Charlie asked. “She was promised to a Guardsman, wasn’t she?”
Eddie nodded. “He fell at Salamanca. She was devastated. They’d been childhood friends.”
Georgie waved a hand. “Put her name down. She needs a nice husband.”
“Coleford is nice?” Charlie asked.
Georgie scrunched up her nose. “Well, not...exactly. But he is honorable. And kind to little girls.”
“And handsome?”
Georgie closed her eyes, his face still before her. “Not that either. Striking, I’d say. Compelling. But any one of our brothers is more handsome.”
She opened her eyes to see Eddie considering whatever she’d written. “Then are you certain Eloise is right for him?”
Again, there was that catch in her chest. “Of course. Oh, and possibly Lilly Trent-Parker.” Georgie caught Eddie exchanging quick glances with Charlie. “What?” she asked.
“Nothing,” both answered a bit too quickly, which tipped her off quite neatly.
“No,” she said, sitting up, since it was difficult to be threatening lying down. “Definitely not. If I see my name anywhere on that list, blood will flow. I have things to do.” She waved at the list. “Put down Lilly. She is one of six and has four brothers.”
Charlie nodded. “Proven breeder.”
Eddie wrinkled her nose. “How complimentary.”
“I’m only thinking the way a man would who is looking to secure his succession,” Charlie protested. “If it comes to that, considering the size of our families, all three of us would fall into that category.”
“Well,” Eddie demurred. “Maybe you two. There are only Gabe and I for our branch.”
Charlie waved that objection aside. “That’s only because you lost your parents before they had a chance to add to the totals. And you do have Gabe, remember.”
“True,” Eddie mused. “We all have males in our families. That should be enough.”
“And I certainly have the hips for childbearing,” Charlie agreed with a grin, as she scooped up the rest of the toasting implements to put them away.
Eddie looked down at her lap. “I don’t suppose I do.”
Georgie grinned. “Women with less than you have managed quite nicely through the centuries. Look at Mother. And Grandmother, come to think of it.”
At the word, all three stopped, looking stricken. “Grandmother,” they all groaned.
None of them had managed to visit the old lady.
“Ooh,” Charlie spoke up. “I just thought of someone. If we want childbearing hips, Petra Vincent.”
The other two nodded.
“And she comes with vineyards,” Eddie agreed as she scribbled.
“Well, if that is a bonus,” Georgie said, “what about Margaret McEwan? She comes with a distillery.”
Charlie laughed. “I’ll marry her myself.”
“Which reminds me,” Eddie said, turning to face them. “We need an avowed rake.”
Georgie blinked. “For who?”
“Whom,” Eddie and Charlie corrected in unison.
Georgie waved them off. “Then why? And exactly how were you reminded?”
“Because Margaret McEwan didn’t finish her last season due to an unfortunate association with Lord Havers.
Her parents caught a whiff of, as they called it, ‘unacceptable behavior’ on her part—I believe she was sneaking out to meet him—and yanked her back to Scotland before Havers could cause further damage.
I suspect that as focused as Priscilla’s parents are about making the right match, any contact with a rake or real fortune hunter, they might think that it would be safer simply just to give her to her swain in the country. ”
“Brilliant,” Charlie said. “Who do we know who might fit the bill?”
“Someone who owes us a favor and wouldn’t hurt her in any way,” Eddie added.
“So definitely not Havers,” Charlie decided. “He has no scruples. And he plays for keeps.”
“And he smells,” she and Georgie finished together.
Georgie laughed. “The only good thing about that is that you can always tell when he’s closing in. Who else?”
But they drew a blank. Nobody could think of one real rake to approach. Certainly not one who would be considered trustworthy.
They were brought up short by the sound of scratching on the door.
“Come,” Georgie called.
It was the maid, Minta. “’Scuse me, m’lady,” she said, with a quick curtsy and a suspiciously bright grin. “You ‘ave a visitor.”
Georgie looked to the mantel clock to see that it was almost time for tea. “Good heavens. Who could be calling this late?”
“Says his name is Lord Coleford?”
Georgie froze on the spot. “Good God. Not at the kitchen door.”
Minta giggled. “Lawz, no. Right through the front door.”
Eddie and Charlie were already busy tidying their hair.
“Did he say what he wants?” Georgie asked.
The maid laughed. “Not to the likes o’ me, he didn’t. But yer lady mother joined him a few minutes ago.”
Georgie jumped up to check her own hair. “Disaster,” she groaned.
Charlie was laughing. “Don’t forget the list.”
“We don’t know that is what he is here for. Does he have two little girls with him?”
“No’m. All alone, he is. And lookin’ like a cat just landed on a griddle, if you pardon me sayin’ so.”
Georgie could just imagine. Throwing a shawl around her shoulders, she ran past the maid, her cousins on her heels.
They knew better than to arrive in such a hurly-burly fashion, of course.
The minute they reached the main staircase, the three abruptly slowed like skiffs caught in a cross current and floated down the rest of the way, the perfect embodiment of English womanhood.
Except for Charlie, who had limited capabilities for self-control.
“A crown says he runs after five minutes with your mother,” she predicted.
“Nobody is taking that bet, Charlie,” Eddie scoffed, smoothing her pastel-peach skirts.
“He withstood Marshall Soult,” Georgie reminded them.
Charlie chuckled at that. “Marshall Soult is not nearly as determined as your mother.”
No one could argue the point. But even as they stopped to collect themselves outside the South Salon door, they realized the situation had already developed into a full-blown disaster.
“And how did you meet my niece?” demanded a strident voice.
Charlie was already spinning back toward the stairs. Eddie and Georgie neatly caught her by the arms and turned her right back around.
“She’s your mother, Charlie,” Georgie hissed. “If we can stand it, so can you.”
“They don’t want to see me,” Charlie hissed. “They want to see you.”
Before Georgie could change their minds, Eddie and Charlie pushed her through the door.
“Who is not handsome?” was the last thing she heard from them as she tripped into the salon.
The first thing Georgie saw as she skidded to the edge of her mama’s blue-and-rose Aubusson carpet was Greyville, sitting as rigidly as a defendant in the dock, a cup of tea on his knee, his expression that of a person who had been tossed into a bear cage.
Trying to protect himself even as he struggled to decide what was going on.
Georgie could hardly blame him. Of course, no one just coming upon the scene would wonder why.
He was dressed for a call in a chocolate-brown Bath superfine and buff inexpressibles, his cravat tied in a simple knot.
Across from Greyville two absolutely identical women sat side-by-side on the cream settee, their aristocratic looks the mirror image of each other, from elegantly upswept blonde hair to commanding brown eyes to an attire of high-waisted, long-sleeve day dresses in identical soft periwinkle, adorned with just a touch of Brussels lace. It could throw anyone off.
Georgie quickly dipped a curtsy to her mother and her aunt, hoping the prompt arrival would gain her credit. “Mama, Aunt Berenice.”