Chapter Seven
“Has our guest come down?” Damian asked Charles as he descended.
“Miss Georgiana is in the parlor. Lord and Lady Wyndham have not yet come down,” the butler responded.
“Thank you, Charles.” Damian turned and entered the parlor to find Georgie standing at the front window, looking out.
Her back was to him, but he first noticed that she was in a lavender dress, and second, her hair was no longer in braids but twisted and pinned at the back of her head.
“Does your father know where you are?” he asked.
She slowly turned and nearly smiled. “As in the Earl of Wyndham’s home? No, he does not.”
That was how she looked in a dress! How the bloody hell had he not noted the fullness of her breasts before now.
He had carried her like a sack of grain and they had been against his back, but they were fuller than he realized and the cut of her simple, serviceable gown, though modest, emphasized her perfect frame.
Of course, the style of clothing that women wore did not allow for a man to know her shape below the bodice but given he had seen her in male clothing, he knew that what lay beneath the fabric was perfection.
“England!” Damian bit out.
“Yes,” she answered simply. “He does not know that I snuck onto a ship. I had promised that I would book passage and write to him often.”
“Your father let you go off on your own?” Outrage caused his voice to rise.
“He trusts my judgment. He has always allowed his daughters far more freedom than most fathers.”
Bloody hell!
Damian strode to the sideboard and opened a bottle of wine.
How had he not realized she was a woman and not the girl he had assumed?
It was because of her blasted braids that made her appear too young for him to appreciate. Not even when he was eight-and-ten did he pursue women of a similar age. His tastes had always been for an older, mature women with full breasts.
It wasn’t just her dress either, but her chignon, which brought attention to her long slim neck, high cheekbones and bow-shaped, crimson lips and large, brown eyes framed in thick dark lashes.
While she had possessed the same previously, it had been the styling of her hair that likely kept him from noticing that she was a mature woman, who was not simply pretty, but bordering on beautiful.
Bloody hell!
He turned to her and tried to focus on her eyes and not her breasts. “Would you care for a glass of wine?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
He drew in a deep breath and blew it out as he poured wine for the two of them.
Maybe if he could channel anger or frustration, he would be able to ignore how enticing she appeared. “What of your mother?” he demanded while he tried to ignore that Georgie was, in fact, a desirable woman. “Was she not concerned?”
“Yes,” Georgie answered simply.
“Did neither parent think to send a chaperone or guard with you?”
Georgie chuckled. “I do not need a chaperone. I am practically on the shelf.”
“You are not even near the shelf!”
“I assure you that I am.”
“You are not!”
Georgie smirked. “How old do you think I am, Damian?”
This was one of those questions that could see him damned no matter how he answered, and especially if he was wrong.
“I would wager you are perhaps twenty years.”
Georgie chuckled and accepted the glass of wine. “I am three-and-twenty, which is certainly old enough to travel and mature enough to make decisions without the guidance of a father.”
Damian shook his head before he pushed his fingers through his hair. Three-and-twenty?
Impossible!
Yet, dressed as she was now, and hair arranged with delicate curls about her face, if was very much possible.
Blast! How could he have been so blind?
“I still cannot believe your parents allowed you to go off on your own.”
“Neither my mother nor father could be away from Accetta Panetteria so it fell to me to find my sister.”
He frowned again.
“If you must know, not that it is any of your concern, Father had at first forbidden me while my mother stood by not certain if she should give me her blessing or keep me home since one daughter might already be lost. I reminded them that I was old enough to make my own decisions on the matter and that I would find Grace and bring her home, hopefully before it was too late.”
“At least they showed some sense unlike their daughter,” he grumbled before he took a drink of wine and wandered to the window.
“You know nothing about me, Damian. Nor do you know my parents, who had been fretting, my mother becoming ill, after Grace had disappeared. Someone needed to find my sister and it fell to me. They know where I am and I have promised to write to my parents and keep them informed of my progress, even though there will be a delay in my news reaching them due to the distance.”
Damian slowly turned, not certain what he could say, but prepared himself to face her again only to find her frowning, eyebrows drawn together, mouth pursed.
“What is wrong?”
“I must write a letter to them before I set out for London. Where might I post it?”
Damian pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head.
“Daughters are certainly raised differently in Italy than they are in England,” he grumbled.
“I am certain that they are raised the same. It is my parents who are different,” she assured him.
“Likely because there are no sons and since I am the eldest, I am allowed more freedom and carry more responsibility. Protection breeds ignorance. When mistakes are made, learn from them, and do better.”
“Is that your philosophy?” he asked.
“My father’s.” She smiled at him. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have a letter to write. When I return, you can tell me where I might post it for delivery to Italy.”
Except, instead of leaving the parlor, she paused at the threshold and turned. “Would you have a quill and ink that I might borrow? I failed to bring the necessary items with me because I could not travel with my writing desk and did not want to risk spilling ink on my belongings.”
He pointed to a small desk near a window. “I am certain Caroline will not mind. It should have everything you need.”
At least her parents had argued with her, yet Georgie had still gone off on her own.
If he had such a headstrong daughter, he would keep her locked in her room.
Except, Georgie wasn’t a child.
Was she really three-and-twenty?
He studied her, seated at the smaller desk, designed for a woman based on the height and carved scrolling, far more delicate than what his brother used in the library. She’d found everything she needed and was quickly scratching out a message to her parents.
She did carry the maturity of someone beyond the age he had assumed she was, but those braids, that pert nose, freckles…He shook his head.
She was probably writing that she had arrived in Southampton safely without giving details of how she had gotten here, and what she knew of where Grace could be found. Would she mention America?
He would not because such news could send her parents into a panic. It would be better to tell them only when it was confirmed or there was no longer a choice.
Georgie tilted her head and studied the parchment before her, reading what had been written, her lips pursed and eyes narrowed as if she were contemplating what else she might say or if her words were enough.
No, she may not look like she was three-and-twenty years, but that did not mean that she was not pretty. He liked pretty.
Usually, he was drawn to women who one could describe as a classic beauty with artfully arranged hair, clothing designed to make a man entertain wicked thoughts, and just a touch of cosmetics added to cheeks and lips to invite a kiss—just as Sterling had reminded him.
Georgie was naturally pretty. More importantly, genuine, and he liked that.
She set the parchment back on the desk then sanded it so that the ink would not smudge.
“Do you even have a plan or know where you are going?” he asked
“I am going to London, or have you forgotten?” She arched a dark eyebrow with her question.
“Yes, but how do you plan to travel there?” Damian crossed his arms over his chest and waited for her response.
“I must walk, of course, unless I can find someone kind enough to let me ride in the back of a wagon,” she answered simply. “I have already consulted the maps, calculated the distance of each road, the number of towns along the way and have decided on the best route to take.”
Damian pinched the bridge of his nose, his frustration mounting. “I assume you plan to travel dressed as a man again and believe that nobody will see through your disguise.”
“You did not until I lost my hat and you saw my braids,” she reminded him with a grin.
“Ah, there you are wrong.” He matched her smile. “A seven-year-old noted that you were a female from the top of the building as you walked away.”
Her smile faltered as Georgie eyed him with suspicion.
“I did not believe her at first, because no women are allowed on our merchant ships, until I lifted the spyglass to get a better look.”
“How could you tell?” she asked. “What gave me away so that I can correct the error in my disguise.”
“It was several small things and too many for you to fix.”
Georgie stood and walked toward him, determination in her brown eyes. “Such as…”
“Your walk for one. You do not stride like a man.”
“I shall alter my gait. What else?”
His face heated further and no doubt his cheeks likely matched his auburn hair. Did she not recall what Livia had said so boldly in the office of Trade Wynd? Must he remind her?
“It was your bum, Georgie.” Caroline announced as she glided into the parlor. “Just as Livia stated this afternoon and what my brother-in-law is too embarrassed to tell you.”
Except, her bum had not been revealed because her coat had been long, not that he would tell her so because Georgie needed to understand that her plan was dangerous. He had not even gotten a look at it until he had flung her over his shoulder.
“Then I suppose I will need to make certain my suitcoats cover what nobody should be looking at.” With a huff, Georgie turned on her heel and returned to the desk where she folded the parchment, then heated wax to seal her missive.
“Were we discussing bums?” Sterling asked as he came down the stairs.
“Yes, but I believe the topic is now closed,” Caroline answered with a smile.
*
Her bum! Yes, a child had made such an announcement earlier today, but Georgie had not truly believed her.
“Dinner is served,” the butler announced, and Georgie barely acknowledged his words.
Lord and Lady Wyndham turned and strolled out of the parlor, Damian moved to follow.
She had thought her suitcoats were long and big enough to hide any part of her anatomy that may reveal that she was a woman, yet they hadn’t.
Damian paused in the entry and gave her a quizzical look. “Are you not coming to dinner.”
At his words, her stomach grumbled.
“Yes, of course. Thank you.”
He waited at the threshold then allowed her to pass, offering direction to the dining room, though it was easy to find. When she entered, a footman waited to pull out a chair, which she took and found herself seated next to Damian and across from Lady Wyndham.
After wine was poured, soup was placed before them, and she nearly moaned as veal, cream, almond, and eggs mingled and tantalized her tongue. While she tried not to eat too quickly, ladylike decorum disappeared over her desire to fill her belly.
“Georgie plans on walking to London,” Damian announced.
“Walk!” Lady Wyndham exclaimed.
“That could take you days,” Wyndham added.
“There is little choice, Lord Wyndham, for I can think of no other way to travel.” If it were possible, she would run the distance since Grace was nearly a week ahead of her and the longer it took to reach her, the further away she would get from Georgie.
“A mail coach,” Wyndham suggested to which Georgie frowned.
“A mail coach?”
“Yes. They travel from town to town, are quick, and often take on passengers for a nominal fee. Do you not have the same in Italy?”
“I have never heard of passengers being delivered along with the mail.” And it would be so much better than walking, and more efficient. “Where would I find a mail coach?”
“They usually stop at coaching inns,” Wyndham answered. “There are two that I know of in Southampton.”
This was even better. The walk into town would not be so long. She would visit the coaching inns to inquire after a mail coach to London. “How long does it take a mail coach to travel from Southampton to London?”
He frowned for a moment. “No more than twelve hours, I suppose.”
That was much shorter than she feared, and riding was far more comfortable than walking such a distance.
“Thank you. Might I have directions to these coaching inns? I would like to go there following dinner so that I can book passage as soon as possible.”
“You cannot travel on a mail coach!” Damian argued. “It is not safe.”
“If it were so dangerous, Lord Wyndham would not have made the suggestion,” she returned. “Besides, nobody will know that I am a woman.”
The empty soup bowl was removed and then replaced with a plate of roasted chicken, potatoes, warm bread, and asparagus. Her mouth watered for the second time since she sat at the table.
“Anyone sitting next to you or across from you, if you are lucky enough not to be stuck on the top of the coach, will know that you are a woman,” Damian insisted.
Georgie narrowed her eyes, stubbornness rising within. “I disagree.”
“He is correct, Georgie,” Lady Wyndham offered. “Your disguise will not fool the most discerning of individuals, which you will likely encounter on a mail coach, especially when they are sitting so close and have nothing else to occupy them other than studying their fellow passengers.”
“Which is the reason Damian will accompany you,” Wyndham declared before he took another bite of chicken.
She glanced over at Damian to note his blue eyes widen, auburn hair falling across his forehead and looking at his older brother as if he had lost his mind.
“That is not necessary,” she insisted.
Georgie refused to allow him to accompany her.
She’d had enough of him today, and for a good long while, with his chasing her down, endless questions, then trying to make her stay put. He hadn’t even asked her where she intended to spend the night but decided the matter for her when he brought her to Wyndview Hall.
He was controlling and Damian Wynd was the last person she wanted as a companion.