Chapter Five
Ellis brought the missive into the parlor where Georgiana was reading a book, albeit a page she had been forced to read and reread over and over again, and which still had not imprinted itself into her brain.
She’d been far too preoccupied with thoughts of what Mrs. Dove-Lyon had offered to do for her, even though she’d been trying her best not to think about it.
Ellis offered her the silver tray bearing the neatly folded letter and, when Georgiana had taken the letter, stood back with his hands behind his back.
Georgiana looked up at him with a little frown. “That will be all, thank you, Ellis. I shan’t need you for a while.” No doubt he was curious about the contents of a letter received so soon after her change of domicile.
She waited until he’d closed the door behind himself, then broke the seal on the letter and unfolded it. It was short and to the point.
My dear Miss Frampton,
You will be happy to discover that I have been able to find you a young gentleman who is willing to accede to your wishes.
He is agreeable to all your terms as regards what we discussed and as the matter is of the most urgent, I have taken the liberty to acquire a Common Licence for you both.
I have conferred with the incumbent clergyman, the Reverend Andrewes, at the Church of St James on Piccadilly and we have set the date for tomorrow at eleven of the clock in the morning.
I shall attend myself as witness, and you are at liberty to bring a friend if you so wish.
The name of the gentleman concerned is Captain Fitzwilliam Carlyon.
Until tomorrow,
Elizabeth Dove-Lyon
A captain. How unusual that his first name was the same as the surname of her dearest friend.
A happy coincidence that could be seen, perhaps, as a good omen.
Despite her rapidly fading memories of poor Alexander, she cherished a hope in her bosom that she would find some degree of happiness in her hastily arranged marriage.
And surely Mrs. Dove-Lyon would not pair her with someone she considered unsuitable?
She reread the letter, taking in more of it this time, and wondering at the efficiency of her savior.
Not for a moment had she thought Mrs. Dove-Lyon was a miracle worker, but it seemed she was.
What she had promised just one short day ago, she was providing, although it might have been nice if she’d included a description of the captain in the note.
However, she had said “young,” so that was a blessing.
She was well aware that in her somewhat unnegotiable position, she might have found herself shackled to someone old enough to be her father.
Or her grandfather. There must not be that many men in London who would be willing to give their name to someone else’s child.
It hadn’t occurred to her before to wonder what sort of man might do that, but now it did.
The possibility that he might not be very nice arose, to be pushed away with resolution, as she repeated to herself the conviction that Mrs. Dove-Lyon would not have paired her with someone like that.
However, it was too late for regrets and nerves now, and besides, she was in no position to argue.
Whoever he was, she would have to make the best of it.
She got up, banishing those worries to where they belonged and embracing hope.
The one person she intended to take with her needed informing about this.
Out in the hallway she spotted Ellis near the front door, as though he expected further callers.
“Can you send Havers up to my room please?” And she ran up the stairs on light feet, for the first time feeling that there might be a light at the end of a rather dark tunnel.
Havers arrived within minutes. She was a thin, plain young woman some seven or eight years older than her mistress, who’d begun her career as a housemaid and progressed to lady’s maid when Georgiana reached fourteen, seven years ago.
She was London born and bred with the natural canniness of a native and an unquestioning devotion to her young mistress.
She bobbed a curtsey and raised hopeful eyes to meet Georgiana’s.
“It is arranged,” Georgiana said, realising as she spoke how final this was going to be. Once she was married, she would be stuck with whoever it was who had been willing to marry her. A man she had never met. You couldn’t dismiss a husband as you could a servant.
She’d be tied to him forever.
The one consolation she was nurturing was that with her fortune, so long as she was safely married, she could make life for herself and her child very much more than just tolerable.
And, as she was an optimistic person at heart, she also nurtured the fancy that she could bring herself to like almost anyone.
Except, perhaps, Aunt Patience. She’d never been able to like her aunt, no matter how she tried, although that might have been more due to the fact that Aunt Patience had always made it so obvious she didn’t like her.
The revelation of her condition had just vindicated her opinion of her only niece.
“Lawks, Miss Georgiana!” Havers exclaimed, reverting back to her native cockney for an instant, as she was wont to do in times of stress.
“So quick an’ all. Quicker’n I was expecting.
” Her brow furrowed as she realised her lapse of etiquette.
“Begging your pardon, Miss Georgiana. I was forgetting myself.” She’d spent a long time learning to speak “proper,” as she’d at first called it, with Georgiana’s willing help, but her roots were inclined to make inadvertent reappearances.
“That’s quite all right, Maggie,” Georgiana said, making an effort to smile in fake confidence.
While they were alone, she always used Havers’ first name as they’d almost grown up together as lady and maid.
She very much valued Havers’ advice in all things, and it had been invaluable in the present situation.
“I quite feel like saying ‘lawks’ myself. I didn’t think anything like a marriage could be arranged so quickly. ”
Havers smiled back, but her smile was as guarded as her mistress’s. “Who’s the lucky gentleman then?”
Georgiana sat down on the upholstered stool in front of her dressing table with a thump. “That’s just it. I don’t know who he is. At least, I know his name and his rank, but Mrs. Dove-Lyon hasn’t told me anything more. Here.” She waved the letter at her maid. “Read it.”
Havers, who had learned to read as a seven-year-old at Thomas Cranfield’s free school on Kent Street, near London Bridge, had improved her skills enormously once she’d made Georgiana’s acquaintance, and had no trouble perusing Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s letter.
She looked up when she’d finished, her brown eyes alight with excitement.
“A captain, no less. I wonder if he’s a military gentleman or a sailor?
It’ll be into the unknown, Miss, for both of us.
That’s what this is. But I’m certain you and I can make the best of it.
” She paused. “Captain and Mrs.. Carlyon. Sounds proper good, does that. A nice ring to it.”
Georgiana nodded, determined to make the best of what life had presented her with.
“You are quite right. It sounds perfect. It’s no use at all me harboring nerves about this wedding and whatever may follow.
” She rested both hands on her stomach. “Nothing that can happen now can in any way compare with what would befall me were I not to marry.” She remembered her aunt’s expression when she’d told her.
After the initial silent shock, she’d been most descriptive of the fate awaiting her now despised and reviled niece.
“Now, we, that is you and I, for you must of course come too, have a wedding to attend in less than a day, and we must decide what to wear. Although this is to be a trifle clandestine, I must look my best so that my betrothed does not thing he has been duped into marrying a Plain Jane.”
“No one could ever say that of you, Miss Georgiana,” Havers said with asperity.
“But one of your plain gowns that your aunt liked you to wear will not do. We have to give a touch of occasion to whatever you choose to wear.” She went to the wardrobe where she’d so lately unpacked Georgiana’s belongings.
“Let’s take a look, shall we? There must at least be one of the old gowns your papa bought for you.
I don’t think you’ve changed size at all in the last four years. ”
At his rooms in Curzon Street, Fitz was still in bed when his own missive arrived, nursing a pounding headache that was part of the worst hangover he’d ever had.
What on earth had been in that brandy? Surely, he hadn’t drunk so much that he should now feel so ill?
The light peeping in around the heavy curtains both indicated that the morning was well on and hurt his eyes.
A slight tap on the door heralded the arrival of Thewlis, his valet, who also doubled as his soldier-servant. Or was it the other way around? His brain was far too addled by pain this morning to even think about such things.
“A letter has been delivered for you, Captain,” Thewlis, po-faced, said.
Fitz shot him a frown, which hurt his head more than he’d expected.
He was fully aware of how much his servant would be disapproving of him still being in bed at this time of the morning.
And also of having come home last night, or was it this morning, so drunk he’d had to be physically put to bed.
Thewlis, complacent now, handed the letter to his master. Without being asked, he crossed the room and drew back the curtains, flooding the room with light and making Fitz screw his eyes shut and wince. He’d definitely done that on purpose.
Fitz gave a grunt of discomfort. “Make yourself useful, can’t you, and go and get me some strong coffee. Lots of it. Black, and don’t stint on the sugar.”