Chapter 13
After Georgina extricated herself from Brooks’s, she returned home and spent the remainder of the afternoon managing her accounts and discussing arrangements with the housekeeper. As evening fell, she sat down to dine with her father.
Ensconced in his chair at the head of the impressive oak dining table, Mr Silas Pace wore a well-fitting coat of mustard and superfine silk evening breeches.
Having consigned his corsets to the fire several years ago, Silas now accepted his stout figure and relished his abundant lifestyle, void of the silly diets propagated by folk who preferred to maintain a leaner frame.
His dark hair tended towards gray, and his kind blue eyes displayed creases at the corners from a lifetime of smiling.
He heaped a generous spoonful of mint jelly on top of his roasted lamb, and the attendant served him extra vegetables.
“Are you staying in this evening?” Georgina asked him, pushing the food around on her plate with her fork.
His rosy cheeks brightened. “Ah, no, I shall go to my club or the theater. I have not decided.”
“Would you like me to join you?”
“Oh no, you would not enjoy it,” he insisted.
Georgina opted not to press him on the subject. She suspected he may have an interest in a lady friend. It would be easy to tease him, but she refrained. He deserved a little joy.
Her parents had loved each other deeply and raised her and her older brother well.
Like many honourians, Henry had needed help to get along in the world, which was no problem in itself; their parents found pleasure in looking after him.
But the tragic loss of their mother after complications from influenza set in motion a most unfortunate chain of events for their family.
When their mother died, their father lost his way.
He struggled to manage their affairs and took little happiness from life.
Georgina was only fifteen at the time. She contrived to care for her family and perform the many responsibilities of a house manager, but when they took up lodging in town, Georgina found the new diversions around her rather distracting.
She lost some of her levelheadedness and fell into reckless ways.
If Mother was alive, so many things would be different now, Georgina thought wistfully.
“You are not eating?” Her father paused his meal.
Georgina looked up and saw that his eyes were on her fork, which she had been raking in delicate circles across the plate but had not put near her mouth.
“Are you well?”
Georgina speared some lamb and raised it to her lips. For his benefit only. “Of course.”
Yes, he deserved happiness. And she would do all she could to ensure it.
She had taken over the management of the estate since she came of age, keeping their fortune in check.
She even negotiated some lucrative business transactions to improve their situation.
She had done her best. Georgina told herself this, swallowing the knot in her throat.
After dinner, her father referred to his watch and sprang to his feet with a sudden urgency. Georgina gave him an indulgent smile and watched him leave. After so many years without her mother, she hoped he did have a lady friend. The notion warmed her.
Jarvis came into the dining room with a note for her on a tray. She recognised Lady Mortimer’s seal and accepted it gingerly.
Dear Miss Pace,
I am bereft to learn you have difficulty attaining -nocturnal fulfilment. I do not doubt you will elaborate when we next meet. Hopefully, that will be soon.
Warmest regards,
Lady Elizabeth Mortimer
Georgina inhaled sharply and read the note once more, this time closer to the candlelight, in case she had mistaken the implications.
Carelessly, she rubbed her head, paying no mind to the ribbon that held her hair in place.
A few curls became dislodged and fell about her face.
Georgina stood up and headed for the dining-room door but came back to the table and picked up her glass of port.
A swarm of butterflies had taken flight in her stomach.
***
Georgina retired to the library. At her desk, she glanced at the missive from Lady Mortimer once more and loosened her cravat.
Georgina lifted the paper to her nostrils and detected a hint of orange blossom.
This really was the most distracting woman alive.
She hid the note in the hutch with the others, determined not to let her mind wander.
Reaching into a drawer and retrieving the stolen faro box, she examined it, looking at the hinges and panels to see how a dealer might load it.
On initial inspection, she could not see how it might have been modified, so she procured her own deck of cards from a nearby cabinet to test how it functioned.
She placed it on the desk and set the cards into the box, scrutinising it with a frown.
After some trial and error, Georgina discovered the box had two levels that allowed for dual dealing. Presumably, this permitted the operator to select when to release cards fairly and when to distribute cards that would benefit the dealer and bank.
Georgina sat back and turned the faro box over in her hands, a satisfied smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. She wondered what Mrs Gardner would think when she discovered it missing and hoped it would cause her at least as much discomfiture as she had caused poor Arthur.
She could use the artifact to ply Mrs Gardner around to her way of thinking.
Withdrawing some parchment and her quill, she penned a brief letter to the owner of the faro box.
Dear Madam,
The nib scratched along the thick paper.
I happened upon a unique item which, I presume, must be of considerable value to you.
I would have the pleasure of giving this back to you if you might see your way clear to returning Mr Arthur Coombes’s promissory notes.
You received these notes by mistake, and I am convinced you would wish to rectify this situation promptly and without involving Bow Street.
Once he confirms to me that you have restored the notes, I will return your item.
Regards,
Miss Georgina Pace
She folded the paper. Even if she had chosen not to sign the letter, she was confident that Mrs Gardner would guess who had written it.
Georgina picked up a stick of dark red wax and held it to the candle.
As it bubbled and melted, she trickled the thick ruby liquid onto the join and, while still soft, pressed down on her stamp, observing with satisfaction the scarlet wax swelled around the signet.
She scribbled the direction on the outside and commissioned her footman to deliver the letter to Mrs Gardner in St James’s Square.
Georgina then strode up the staircase, taking the steps two at a time in a rush to get changed. She needed a distraction, something to divert her thoughts from the weight of what she had become involved in.
Within half an hour, she descended the stairs once more, looking elegant in a black velvet evening coat, black breeches, and top hat, her glossy curls tumbling over one shoulder.
She collected her gloves and walking cane from Jarvis and advised him she would spend the evening at Mem Lavigne’s club in Pall Mall.