Chapter Eight
Georgiana
The Duke of Marlow certainly made an impression.
I followed a step behind him as we walked toward the house.
I’d forgotten how tall and broad he was.
A towering, shadowy figure in the evening.
He wore a dark brown velvet jacket over an emerald-green waistcoat and tan trousers.
His top hat matched the darker shade, contrasting with the light, sandy color of his hair.
Everything about him was clean-cut and crisp like a fresh note from the bank.
Young and handsome and titled. The man was undoubtedly the catch of the Season, if he wanted to be caught.
But just a man, I reminded myself as we passed through the open front door.
Eyes were upon us as soon as we entered the Waymonts’ grand foyer. Dozens of them.
Despite my intentions, how well I’d trained myself to behave, I felt entirely unprepared.
I hadn’t entered a house so fine in ages, and certainly not with a duke at my side.
I was decidedly out of practice. I needed a real friend.
An ally. Preferably an old acquaintance no longer set against me.
I made a quick glance around the room, but I did not recognize anyone. Yet.
Painfully slowly, we made our way down the line to greet our hosts.
I am not alone, I reminded myself, despite how I felt standing next to the duke.
I wouldn’t let my fears get the better of me.
I steeled my resolve. I would encourage the ladies of the ton in friendship.
Secure their friendship now and get invitations later.
That was the plan. Once they saw me with the duke, they’d be interested.
I made sure to stand apart from him, so no one would think us too friendly, but close enough to warrant a connection.
Close enough to inhale notes of oranges and expensive leather from his side.
We thanked our hosts, who led us farther into the house, into a ballroom where a small orchestra played a slow melody.
Familiar faces from last year mixed with newcomers, but I saw no one I had formed a particular acquaintance with previously.
I had no idea if any of them recognized or remembered me, but I knew as soon as they heard my name, they’d remember from the papers.
Everyone knew Sir Ronald. He was almost too well-connected.
Too friendly and good-natured. The rumors had taken off like wildfire—
Did you hear what happened to Sir Ronald?
That woman . . . Miss Georgiana Wood. I heard she kissed him! Right there, in the middle of the ballroom, and then he looked at her like she was some sort of crazed animal!
No man of any sense will go near her now.
If she’d act that way toward poor Sir Ronald, what else has she done? What else could she do?
I focused on my breathing, in and then out again, trying to push past the memories as the duke led me to the far wall of the room.
There, to our left, stood Miss Fiona Ferndale with a glass of red wine in her hand.
I’d once paired off with her in cards, and though we’d lost, we’d laughed all night.
Now, she did not spare me a glance. Next to her was Miss Colette Quincy, newly engaged so I’d heard; she’d promised to invite me to her family’s estate.
That invitation had obviously expired, judging by the way she frowned and looked away.
Perhaps, if I had spent more time strengthening those friendships instead of following Sir Ronald like a pet, I’d have a chance at regaining their trust.
I could only pray the duke felt social tonight. Without him at my side, I did not stand a chance at recovering these women’s good graces.
The cousin—Mr. Gabriel Brennan, a curly-headed blond who looked like a younger, wilder version of the duke—whispered something fiercely in his sister’s ear a few paces to our left, but whatever he was saying was lost on her. She gave him one last look, then scowled at me before stalking off.
She hated me on principle, but I would not let it bother me. Mrs. Maggie Drexel was not on my list of necessaries.
There were three people I hoped to see tonight; or rather, I hoped they saw me.
Lady Diana, whose opinion mattered most to the young ladies of the ton; Lady Jersey, who, if I played my cards right, might admit me into Almack’s; and last, but certainly not least, Mrs. Johns, an old widow with enough wealth and influence in matchmaking to convince worried mamas that I was no threat to their daughter’s prospects.
The latter connection might be the most important of all.
I kept a careful facade as gentlemen approached the duke, hopeful for any sign of the three ladies, until a woman rounded his side, grasping his arm fiercely.
She looked about middle-aged, her eyes wide and severe, not unlike the duke’s. His lips parted as she took us both in, head to toe, like we were renderings that needed to be studied.
“Is this the woman?” she asked over her shoulder. Mrs. Drexel—Maggie—appeared behind her. She nodded once, smile tight.
“Good evening, Mother,” His Grace said.
The woman—the duchess?—stepped between us. She was dressed like a queen in gold and blue, her figure slim but strong, and eyes fierce. She leaned in before lowering her voice. “Are you quite serious?”
“Mother, may I introduce my friend Miss Georgiana Wood? Miss Wood, my mother, the Duchess of Marlow.”
“Good evening, Your Grace,” I said with a low curtsey. The duchess sighed, and I wondered if I’d done it wrong.
Her Grace looked at me straight on, and it was the challenge of a lifetime, but I met her gaze as I rose. “Miss Wood, do you have any untoward intentions with my son?”
Her question drew me up short. Then I remembered Maggie’s reaction. What she’d read about me in the papers. And from the duke’s mother, the question was warranted. “Not in the least, Your Grace.”
“Heaven above, let that be true. We have more pressing matters to worry over. Come with me.” She turned on a heel toward the door.
The duke followed obediently, without a thought to me, and I hesitated. Would he truly leave me to stand alone and be sized up by the wolves? Well, I would not be left. Like it or not, he’d signed our contract, and I meant to hold him to it. A night at his side.
I hurried behind him.
We rounded two bends, then Her Grace stopped us in a secluded corner. She did not hesitate when she saw me, but spoke gravely, “She’s here.”
“Who?” In an instant, the duke’s countenance changed. His usual seriousness turned dark as a winter’s night.
His mother lowered her chin as though delivering a fatal blow. “Miss Newbury.”
And I would swear to it in front of a magistrate that I felt as though I was living out an Ann Radcliffe novel. Miss Newbury, the duke’s intended who’d broken his heart, was here.
“She’s Mrs. Winston now.” The duchess swallowed hard. Her hard edges seemed to soften with concern and compassion for her son. “I shall never forgive the Waymonts for not warning us. I suppose they believe the rumors that you supported their union, but I—”
“Is he here too?” the duke bit out. “Her . . . husband.”
“Yes.”
The duke lifted a hand to the back of his neck and closed his eyes.
Everyone had already seen him arrive. The whispers were likely already spinning. His Miss Newbury would have heard, and if he left now, how would that look?
It would look like he cared. And clearly, for whatever reason, my good friend the duke did not want that.
I, of all people, however, knew how important appearances were.
“What can I do?” I found myself asking. If I was right, if he did care and wish for a way out of this mess, perhaps I could help him. And a combined effort of any kind meant more time in the spotlight with him. “Shall I spill my wine on her dress?”
The duke’s eyes opened, and he surprised me with the slightest twitch of his lips. “Would you?”
Pleased that I had humored him, I shrugged. Clearly, I’d done worse. “If you asked me nicely.”
His mother pinched the bridge of her nose.
“Everyone will be watching you tonight. They will inject meaning into your every move. Darling, I know you hate the public eye, but with your efforts this evening aimed at matchmaking, I had to warn you. You must show them how you support Miss Newbury and her new husband. It would not do to start a new courtship under the shadow of your last.”
The duke was looking for a wife. That was his business? No wonder he treated me like such a burden. I had barnacled myself to him at the absolute worst time.
“No, it would not,” I agreed.
The duchess turned her attention to me and sighed. “I thought at first you would be my biggest problem this evening. I hope you prove me wrong. I must hurry back before they wonder where we’ve gone. Follow slowly. And remember—they feed off your reactions.”
And with that, she nearly flew around the corner. A loving mother who cared about her son in the aftermath of his heartbreak—how must that feel? Mine hadn’t so much as written her condolences after I’d scandalized myself.
The duke stood quietly, watching the empty space where his mother had stood.
We were, for the second time in our acquaintance, alone.
I liked interacting with him better this way.
I could say exactly what I wanted, without that annoying level of pretense, and he could throw it right back at me.
Though, perhaps, being a duke, he never felt the need for pretense.
Why should he need to change his face, his voice, his tone to suit another person?
I know you hate the public eye, his mother had said. I wondered why.
“She is sweet,” I mused, if only to break the silence.
“My mother?” He blinked at me, monotone and unfeeling.
He was still reeling from the news, swiping at his neck, a million thoughts racing behind his eyes.
I wondered of what, and from when, and why.
What had that girl done to him? “She is sweet only because she feels sorry for me. My mother could kill you with a glance, make no mistake.”
Without his usual terse, god-above-men haughtiness, I almost felt sorry for him too.
Almost.
“You did not say you were looking for a wife.” Not in so many words.
He sighed, irritated. “My endeavors are none of your business, Miss Wood.”
Harsh words, but without his usual bite. A despondent duke. Only a man after all.
Laughter carried in from the distance. And we were missing it. Missing the party. Which meant I was missing my opportunity! This man needed to come back to his senses. He needed to pull himself together.
If not, I would have to do it for him.
First, I needed to know exactly what I was dealing with.
I hedged, “On the contrary, I believe we ought to know at least some of each other’s business. For instance, what exactly happened between you and Miss Newbury? As your dear friend, how much should I hate her?”
He frowned. “A full wine glass down her front ought to do.”
Ah. Quite a lot, then. He must have loved her very much. A problem, indeed.
He shook his head. He looked utterly miserable. More so than usual. “Of all the parties in all of London . . .”
Heaven’s sake, seeing her could not be as dramatic as all this. Not for a man, a duke, like him! “Can’t you simply pretend she isn’t here? Avoid her?”
He gave me a sharp look. “Contrary to the ton’s belief, we did not part amicably. No, it will not be pleasant to see her. The woman makes me feel so . . . so—”
“Ridiculous?” I offered, hurrying him along. “Because that is how you are behaving at present.”
Again, with the look. “Then I suppose we are quite the pair because you look like a blossoming apple tree with all that mess in your hair.”
Maybe it was the way he said it—with absolutely no conviction—or perhaps the way his eyes flicked to my hair and then softened with regret, but I laughed, surprised. “And now you’re just being cruel.”
Again, his lips twitched ever so slightly. The Duke of Marlow had a bad temper and a terrible way with words, but somewhere, deep down in his depths, he also had a heart.
What he needed was a stiff drink and a pinch under his arm to get moving. I looked around. I could not leave him here in this state, but if I could get him to the ballroom—
He huffed out a breath of resolve, arms tight at his sides. “No. This night cannot be borne. I shall call the carriage at once.”
My desperate heart rose into my throat.