Chapter 2
Moments later, the front door to the street opened, and the midday sun cast its unforgiving light over Georgina.
She recoiled from its welcome, head down and eyes in full squint, and leaned on the railing at the top of the stairs for a moment.
Mem Lavigne’s impressive drapes had effectively blocked out the light and preserved the darkness within.
Georgina had successfully lost all sense of time.
Edmund tucked his hand under her arm and guided her down the few steps onto the footpath below.
The daylight splintered into her skull, and the fresh air made her head reel, though she would be damned if she would admit that to Edmund.
She had been back in London for less than twenty-four hours when her dear friend had dispatched an urgent communication, inviting her to meet him.
Aware that if she did not agree, he would pursue her at home on Half Moon Street anyway, she had accepted without hesitation.
She had then stumbled across Lady Victoria Dawson, an old friend of hers, which had resulted in her running partially naked down Albemarle Street in the middle of the night.
Once she had located her groom, she had asked him to set her down at Mem Lavigne’s for some light entertainment.
Though how the entire night had escaped her, Georgina could not fathom.
On the footpath, Edmund flagged down a passing hackney carriage, and they both climbed in. He directed the driver to an unfamiliar address on Mount Street.
“What is going on?” Georgina finally asked, unable to tolerate the ambiguity.
Edmund was a youthful man of only one and twenty, who aspired to dandyism and regularly attempted to execute styles made modish by Brummell himself.
He wore his stiff collar unnecessarily high, making it challenging for him to turn his head far in any direction.
His noticeable cravat, tied with perfect accuracy, showcased a multitude of intricate lace ruffles.
The well-tailored coat and fitted pantaloons complemented his slim form, and his boots glinted from every angle, thanks to the efforts of a much-praised valet.
Sensitive and na?ve, Lord Edmund fell in love often.
Over a decade his senior, Georgina had long ago developed into a sister-figure for Edmund.
Their families owned neighbouring estates in Yorkshire, and she had enjoyed spending time with the little fellow from when he was still in swaddling-cloths.
As a youngster, she’d witnessed many of his milestones, including his first ride on a pony and his first tumble.
She had wiped his dirty face with her handkerchief countless times and kissed his scratches, and as an only child, Edmund often applied to her for advice and instruction on matters he knew nothing about.
As the years passed, Georgina had stayed more often in London with her family. After Edmund departed his home for boarding school, he developed a strong penchant for letter-writing and maintained frequent correspondence with her.
In fact, she regularly received imperative letters asking such things as: ‘Does it mean he likes me if he allows me to walk first into a room?’ and ‘Is it a positive sign if he sends me a note of gratitude in reply to a posy I sent him?’ Georgina’s fondness for Edmund enabled her to handle these requests with more patience than she typically showed others.
She advised him that a smile, a dance, or a leisurely stroll did not always guarantee romance would ensue.
Georgina understood that Edmund’s zeal stemmed from an overwhelming desire to form a long and abiding attachment to someone, and while she did not aspire to such an outcome for herself, she respected his ambition.
“I’m in a scrape, George,” Edmund announced at last, his eyes downcast.
Georgina, intimately familiar with this opening phrase, registered no surprise. “Oh, yes? What has happened this time?”
He glanced furtively around, as though someone might hear something confidential.
“It started a couple of weeks ago,” he began.
“I felt rather low after Michael Chiswick cleared off to Brighton for a tryst with that new beau of his. Oh, how Michael deceived me.” He patted his chest to emphasise his broken heart.
“To brighten my spirits, I passed the hours with my old friend Arthur. Mr Arthur Coombes, you know the fellow.” Edmund rubbed his face as though to wipe away something most distasteful. His flawless peaches-and-cream complexion flushed. “He really is the most amusing, amiable chap.”
Georgina arched an enquiring brow at him.
“Good gracious, nothing like that, George. We are merely friends. Arthur is very much attached to a young lady already. But as he often relies on his parents or that silly sister of his to take him out, I felt it was to our mutual benefit to escort him to see the sights and introduce him to some clubs. Well, Solitaires. Mrs Gardner’s establishment in St James’s Square, to be precise. ”
Georgina wrung her hands. Edmund struggled to handle his own fortune and reputation at gaming houses, let alone taking responsibility for someone else’s. She doubted this story would end well for anyone.
Arthur was one of the most likeable fellows in London.
When Georgina first had the pleasure of meeting him some years ago, he beguiled her with his cheeky smile and affectionate manners.
Arthur was an honourian, a person who navigated the world with some measure of assistance.
More specifically, he had been born a miris, like Georgina’s older brother, Henry.
Thus, Arthur possessed a set of physical characteristics and personality traits that Georgina knew well, including a natural sweetness and naivete that meant he needed extra help to govern his affairs.
Georgina’s heart sank. She would never leave Henry in Edmund’s charge. One might as well ask the fox to guard the henhouse.
“Have you been there before?” Edmund asked.
She shook her head. “Not my sort of venue, frankly.” She could think of nothing more tedious than sitting in the gaming room of some social-climbing nobody, whose idea of a good time consisted of a few dull games of faro and whist, while drinking a glass or two of indifferent wine.
“It’s all the crack, George, I promise you.”
She let out a long sigh. “I’m sure it is.”
Edmund turned on the coach seat and placed his hand on -Georgina’s wrist. “Mrs Gardner herself sits on the fringe of society. However, that does not stop the cream of the ton from patronising her rooms, as well as many hardened gamesters. Everyone knows her den is raucous, but the suppers are simply divine. She also runs an amusing betting book, which promotes daily wagers of a most creative and outrageous nature.”
Suspecting that the longer Edmund allowed himself to be -distracted by irrelevant details, the greater the drama, Georgina’s eyes narrowed. “Ah, yes, I recall hearing Mrs Gardner betting against young Lord Gillingham being able to acquire the corset of a particular damsel within only two hours?”
“That’s the one. The odds naturally favoured his lordship, as he’s quite the rogue.
Though, as fortune would have it, a footman spied Lord Gillingham being hurried up the attendants’ stairs by the daughter of the house.
Instead of returning with her corset, Lord Gillingham found himself at the end of a thrashing and returned with a shiner across his eye.
” Edmund chortled at the memory. “On another occasion, Mrs Gardner challenged two rather foxed patrons to race each other around St James’s Square, wearing only their shirts.
This incident led to a spot of unwanted attention from a passing night watchman, and Mrs Gardner subsequently restricted her bets to more discreet activities. ”
Georgina peered desperately out of the carriage window and wondered if he would soon reach the point of his extended narrative. Solitaires had never interested her, and she only entertained this conversation now because of the implication that something nefarious had occurred to poor Arthur.
“Yes, but what about Arth—”
“She started opening a book for the outcome of duels and curricle races,” Edmund interrupted, his eyes shining with glee. “Even who could swallow a full glass of wine in the shortest time. Occasionally, some madcap would nominate a risqué bet, but not often.”
Georgina lifted an inquisitive brow. Perhaps Mrs Gardner’s gaming den offered some prospect for amusement, after all. “What sort of risqué bet?”
He blushed. “Competitions between patrons racing each other to achieve sexual climax the fastest.”
“Scandalous.” Georgina endeavoured not to roll her eyes. The ridiculous lengths people went to appear interesting astonished her. “Pray, how does Arthur fit into all this gaiety?”
The carriage had by now pulled into Mount Street and come to a stop outside a charming residence, which boasted fresh paint, iron railings, and flower boxes brimming with fragrant blooms. She recalled that the Coombes family resided in Mount Street, and a sense of foreboding crept over her again.
Edmund asked her to wait as he sprang down from the carriage. He skipped to the front door, spoke to a grim-faced butler, and rushed back, breathlessly instructing the driver to hold the horses for a moment or two longer.
“Can we discuss this another time, Edmund? I think I should return home. Whatever it is can surely wait.”
“No, I must tell you the whole.”
“Well, do get on with it!” Georgina snapped. Her head craved for nothing more than her pillow.
“Arthur enjoyed the company at her establishment and took great delight in learning the various card games and discovering new wines so much that he asked to return. Well, he is so droll, one simply cannot deny him.”