Chapter 15
Having stretched propriety to its limits in demanding to accompany Elizabeth home, Georgina was astonished to find herself invited inside for a drink.
As Elizabeth procured her a port, Georgina stole covert glances at her.
One beautifully tapered arm reached across the tray as the Countess distilled the liquid into each glass.
The fine muscles beneath the smooth skin of her hand contracted as she placed the decanter back onto the table.
Georgina could imagine what it would feel like to be beneath that hand. A pulse throbbed deep inside her.
Elizabeth stood over Georgina, holding a glass out to her. “Are you well?”
“Yes.” Georgina grabbed the tumbler and took a generous sip.
As Elizabeth assumed the seat beside her, her divine scent once again intoxicated Georgina.
Forevermore, she would associate the delicate fragrance of orange blossoms with the racing of her heart and the sudden moistening between her legs.
Georgina cleared her throat. She needed to collect herself. “Did Mrs Gardner send you to find me tonight, or did you come of your own volition?”
“I sought you out of my own accord. I was curious to hear your side of the story, else I would conclude you must have committed all manner of sins to have garnered such ire.”
Georgina detected amusement in Elizabeth’s eyes. “Aside from my thievery, what did she say?”
“I am far too well-bred to repeat her particular phrasing.” Elizabeth winked. “It was quite a task to convince her you did not intend on murdering her in her sleep when you broke into her home.”
Georgina flinched. “That is not in my style. If I ever decide someone is worth murdering, they will certainly see it coming.”
“Now that I do believe.” Elizabeth paused to sip her port. “I took the opportunity to educate her about the impropriety of using fixed devices and other tricks to ensnare vulnerable patrons at her tables. Again.”
Georgina shifted slightly on the sofa so she could study Elizabeth better. “I hope that she heeds your advice, for if she continues in her current fashion, she will force my hand. I will not be as gentle as you.”
Elizabeth rotated her bracelet around her wrist and kept her eyes lowered.
“Some of her associates may make her compliance with your requests difficult. In fact, you should have a care about how you interact with that set. I have known them to … make problems disappear. I do not want them to consider you a problem, Georgina.”
A familiar indignation gripped Georgina’s chest. First Colt and now Elizabeth.
Why were good, respectable people suggesting she look the other way in the face of significant victimisation of honourians and vulnerable people?
Surely, the more dangerous and disreputable the villains, the greater the need to disband their business regardless of any personal risk.
“It is a shame no one provided such a warning to Arthur Coombes before he lost his fortune to Mrs Gardner and her friends,” Georgina countered.
A blush formed on Elizabeth’s cheeks. “I once went to great lengths to help Mrs Gardner find her way, but I never encouraged her to open Solitaires. Without consulting me, she accepted financial backing from Ellis and Montgomery, and they advised her to keep the establishment off the books. To someone with minimal business acumen, this seemed like a reasonable strategy, as she wished to make an income without delay. However, Mrs Gardner quickly learned that they would use this knowledge, amongst other things, to compel her obedience. Whether she feared being imprisoned by the Runners for tax evasion and illegal gambling, or more perilous outcomes, she dared not deny them.”
Georgina regarded her from beneath hooded lids, her lips compressed. “My heart truly bleeds for her.”
“She is not evil. I have known her for a long time, and she has only recently travelled off course. I try to assist her by patronising Solitaires. Even losing. But I do not agree with her recent conduct,” Elizabeth explained.
Georgina, who could be very black-and-white in her thinking, struggled to see how someone as upstanding as Elizabeth could still sympathise with Mrs Gardner, given her dastardly behaviour. “Well, perhaps she will develop some compassion and a conscience, and my intervention will not be necessary.”
Elizabeth sighed. “Why are you so set upon bringing about Mrs Gardner’s complete downfall?”
Georgina’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you so set upon protecting her?”
Elizabeth drummed her fingertips over her glass. “Can we not assume I am trying to protect everyone?”
As her breathing quickened, Georgina endeavoured to control her temper. She did not want to quarrel with Elizabeth. “Everyone except Arthur?” But not only Arthur. Henry’s tremendous smile flashed before her. “Arthur and other honourians like him are the real victims here.”
“I hope to protect Arthur too. You are right, no one should be victimised.” Elizabeth put her hand on top of Georgina’s. It covered hers almost entirely. “Or hurt.”
Georgina’s heart thrummed in her chest.
“I know this must be difficult for you, especially …” Elizabeth’s tone was as soft as cobwebs, yet it ripped through Georgina without mercy. “Especially given how your brother died.”
The loud, rhythmic beat of Georgina’s heart seemed to suspend in time with Elizabeth’s words. Had her heart stopped entirely? She swallowed hard, hoping to dissolve the lump that blocked her throat, making it difficult to breathe.
“That was a long time ago,” Georgina said eventually. “But I certainly wish to spare others his fate.” In a fluid movement, she drained the rest of her glass and stood. “Thank you for the drink, Elizabeth. I look forward to seeing you at eleven tomorrow.”
Georgina looked down into Elizabeth’s sympathetic gaze. She would not be pitied. Without waiting for the Countess to bid her goodnight, she departed.
On the street, Georgina hailed the next passing hackney and directed it to her home.
As she stared out the carriage window blankly, emotion welled in her throat. She attempted to suck back the tears, but they were determined to escape tonight.
It still felt strange to cry about Henry, when all he brought in life was joy.
She recalled his delight in making his darling little sister giggle.
And giggle she did when he was around. He may not have been the most sensible brother, but he brought her comfort.
And he taught her the importance of always saying sorry when she made the wrong choice—an area where she could still use improvement.
As the hackney jolted her from side to side, Georgina remembered the moment their lives changed forever.
Eight gruelling years ago. In contrast to the quiet passing of her mother, characterised by the inevitable peace that came at the conclusion of an extended period of terrible sickness, the loss of Henry had been brutal and unexpected.
Georgina had only just gone to bed after a particularly late night out when she heard the distant clang of the doorbell downstairs.
As she fumbled for her dressing gown, wondering who could be calling at such an hour, she heard the haunting echo of her father’s primal sob.
Even sitting in this musty carriage so many years later, Georgina could relive the visceral sensation of dread as she raced from her room and stopped at the top of the stairwell.
Her father, Silas, pale and broken, thrashed in the arms of a stranger.
“Henry,” he kept saying. But Henry was not there.
Others stood around him, glancing at each other helplessly.
Georgina had clenched her eyes shut tightly and covered her ears with balled fists, trying to block out his guttural keening.
Her fingernails had dug into her palms until they bled.
Nothing could have prepared her for the subsequent chaos that descended upon their lives as grief in its truest form ripped through them.
Even with the assistance of Bow Street and some of Henry’s repentant cronies, they pieced together little of what happened.
As with Arthur, people who feigned friendship with Henry had taken advantage of his unsuspecting nature.
With neither father nor sister there to protect him, these “friends” lured him away from safety, and he fell victim to a band of evil marauders.
He would have willingly given the shirt off his back to anyone who needed it, though this did not prevent a brutal assault from taking place, merely for the sake of his pocketbook and ring.
Henry’s frail body had not survived the attack.
Georgina and her father had yet to find peace after his death. In fact, Georgina could not always believe Henry was gone. How could it be true?
In the speed and savagery of the assault, the aggressors had overlooked Henry’s fob watch. Once this item had been restored to the family with a few other personal effects, Georgina carried it with her always. Henry would never leave her side.
She pushed a tear from her cheek, resenting Elizabeth for making her confront memories she preferred to leave dormant.
Difficult did not begin to describe Georgina’s feelings.
Once the carriage stopped and she paid the driver, Georgina hurried into her home—a sanctuary, yes, but also where all her hidden ghosts dwelled.