Chapter 21
Georgie gasped as Peter’s cabriolet crested the hill and she saw Avondale Hall up close for the first time.
It was surprisingly new for the most part, large portions of it having been torn down due to rot and re-built in the Palladian style. It must have cost a fortune to have the materials brought to this corner of Yorkshire, and she felt a twinge of intimidation.
She was to meet Peter’s family today, and she was not prepared.
The house became grander the closer they came, until it loomed over them as Peter rounded the curve of the drive to bring them to the front door.
Servants swarmed out, two footmen coming to hold the horse as Peter jumped down. Another footman moved to help Georgie down, but Peter waved him away.
“There’s no need. I shall assist my wife.”
Gazing up at the house, Georgie felt the veriest country bumpkin. Visitors to this magnificence would be expected to don the latest fashions from London, and here she was in her green sprigged muslin and coordinating spencer made by the best modiste in York.
Peter drew her hand through his arm. “Ready?”
“No,” she said, and he laughed.
“They will love you. Well, except for my mother, but do not worry about her. She dislikes everyone.”
They mounted the steps and the doors opened to reveal a tall, dignified butler, who bowed deeply first to Peter, and then to Georgie.
“Lord Peter. Lady Peter. You are expected. Come this way.”
As they mounted the sweeping curved staircase, Georgie did not know where to look first. At the marble carvings? At the magnificent paintings? At the thick, rich carpets under her feet?
The more luxury she saw, the more she wanted to be back at the rectory in their comfortable armchairs, discussing politics and philosophy and otters.
But she pressed on, knowing this was important for Peter and for their future.
As the butler opened the doors of the drawing room of Avondale Hall, Peter gave Georgie’s hand one last reassuring squeeze. She swallowed hard and pasted a smile on her face.
The room was more full than she had expected, and as the buzz of conversation faded, the women inside turned to look at her.
It was the Ladies’ Auxiliary, all dressed in their finest afternoon gowns to call on a duchess.
Georgie could not help but beam at each of them as her heart swelled.
It was not only Mrs. Moxon and Mrs. Clarke and Miss Welburn.
It was Mrs. Kilvington and Mrs. Dinsdale and—to her surprise—Miss Dinsdale as well.
Her friends had come to support her.
Three of the women in the room were unfamiliar to her, and the eldest of them seemed likely to be the dowager duchess. From her seat in a large armchair by the fireplace, she all but radiated discontent wrapped in silk and a not-so-subtle frown.
The other two women sat side-by-side on a settee across from the dowager, and both half-turned to look at Georgie and Peter as they entered the room.
One was a beautiful dark-skinned woman in primrose yellow whose tight black curls formed a froth around the edge of her fashionable lacy cap.
Georgie felt sure this must be the wife of Peter’s twin brother Philip.
The other woman was a plump, light-skinned brunette in pink who had very much the look of Peter—one of his sisters, Georgie presumed.
Peter led Georgie to stand in front of his mother despite her sour expression. “Mother, this is my wife, Lady Peter Avondale.” His own expression was pleasant, but Georgie could hear the warning to his mother under his words. “Georgie, this is my mother, the dowager Duchess of Livesey.”
He bowed low as Georgie curtsied, hoping she had remembered the right depth for a duchess.
“Hmph,” his mother said.
Clearly not expecting anything more, Peter introduced Georgie to the ladies on the settee, who indeed proved to be Lady Philip, his brother’s wife, and Lady Catherine, Peter’s youngest sister. Both of them beamed at Georgie as she curtsied, and nodded to her in return.
“We are so pleased to meet you, Lady Peter,” Catherine said, and Georgie burst into giggles. There was only a small edge of hysteria to it as she wiped her eyes.
“I am sorry. It is difficult to accustom myself to the new name.”
“I understand completely,” Lady Philip said, her dark eyes twinkling. “For at least a month after we married, I kept thinking people were talking to Philip and not to me.” Intriguingly, her warm voice still held some of the soft accents of her American birthplace.
“We are family now,” Peter’s sister said. “You must call me Catherine.”
“And you must call me Junia,” Lady Philip said with a friendly nod.
Georgie smiled back at them, relieved that at least some of Peter’s family members were welcoming. “Please call me Georgiana. Or Georgie.”
“Sit down, young woman,” the dowager said. Junia and Catherine made room for her on the settee as Peter moved to stand against the mantel of the fireplace.
“So you are the daughter of Sir George Morland.”
“Yes, your grace.” Clearly, no warm invitation to use the dowager’s Christian name would be forthcoming.
“And what do you bring to the Avondale family?”
“She has her otters,” Miss Welburn piped up, only to be shushed by her friends. “Well, she does!”
“Ah, yes. You share your father’s interest in natural philosophy and brought wild animals into the family.” The dowager’s icy tone was unmistakable. Clearly, she did not care much for otters.
To her own surprise, Georgie’s spine straightened, and she looked the dowager in the eye. “Yes, your grace. They were entrusted to my family by the Prince Regent himself. We have cared for them ever since.”
The mention of the otters’ royal connections made the dowager duchess subside, but only for a moment. “And your dowry?”
“Is in the process of being transferred,” Peter cut in smoothly, directing a nod to Georgie.
“We have at last succeeded in freeing it from her cousin’s grasp.
I do believe he planned to embezzle it once he had run through the rest of the estate’s funds, but your father’s solicitor was able to keep it safe. ”
“Oh. Thank you.” With everything else happening, she had not even thought of that. He smiled back at her and, for a moment, the rest of the room faded away.
Next to her, Catherine cleared her throat, and Georgie blushed. She turned back to the dowager duchess with a bright smile as Junia hid her giggle behind her handkerchief.
The dowager frowned at this interruption before returning her attention to Georgie. “And where did—”
Even as she spoke, the drawing room door was flung open and Olivia, Duchess of Livesey, strode across the threshold, wiping her hands on a paint-streaked cloth that she handed to the nearest footman.
“I apologize for being late. The light was at just the right angle and I did not wish to miss it.” She looked around the room and nodded cheerfully as all of the visitors, Georgie included, rose to their feet and curtseyed. Her gaze landed on Georgie and her expression brightened.
“You must be the new Lady Peter.”
“Yes, your grace. And these are… these are my friends.”
Olivia nodded to each member of the Ladies’ Auxiliary, taking a moment for a low-voiced conversation with Mrs. Kilvington. To Georgie’s surprise, the stern woman laughed.
“Lady Peter is an artist as well, your grace,” Mrs. Clarke said, and Olivia turned to Georgie, her expression delighted.
“How wonderful! What do you paint?”
“Er … my otters, for the most part. I do scientific illustrations.”
The duchess clapped her hands in glee. “Oh, I do wish I had the patience for that sort of work. Everything must be so meticulous. Do you use watercolors?”
From the corner of her eye, Georgie could see a footman whisper in Peter’s ear. Peter stiffened, then nodded. He faced his mother.
“I must go. Philip and Paul are back from their ride, and Paul is asking for me.” Peter bowed to each lady in turn, and kissed Georgie’s hand before striding out the drawing room door.
Georgie watched him go, then looked to where Mrs. Dinsdale and Miss Dinsdale sat.
As was now usual for her, Miss Dinsdale looked a little sulky, and Georgie recalled what Peter had told her about Miss Dinsdale’s romantic troubles and their connection to getting the necessary slate for the church’s roof repairs.
Perhaps there was something she could do to help.
She circulated through the room a bit and stopped in front of the Dinsdales.
“May I sit and converse for a moment? I feel it has been an age since we talked.” Georgie was unsure if either of them had spoken to her directly since her marriage.
With ill grace, Mrs. Dinsdale nodded, and Georgie sat, smiling at both of them.
“Are you looking forward to the Harvest Supper tomorrow?”
“I suppose,” Miss Dinsdale said with ill-grace, and her mother elbowed her with a frown.
“Dear Celeste had a... disappointment at last year’s Harvest Festival,” Mrs. Dinsdale said smoothly. “It is no longer her favorite event.”
Georgie nodded. “It really is one of the few in the area, is it not? The few large ones, that is.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” Mrs. Dinsdale said. Miss Dinsdale toed at the carpet with her slipper, her face downcast.
Cautiously, Georgie said, “Perhaps you might wish to expand Miss Dinsdale’s social horizons a bit with a season in York, or even Bath. She is a pretty and charming girl”—when she was not sulking—“and would likely take quite well.”
“Oh?” Mrs. Dinsdale said coldly as Miss Dinsdale turned eager eyes on her mother. “And where did you have your season, Lady Peter?”
“In Bath,” Georgie said promptly. “It was abbreviated due to my grandmama’s death, but I had a lovely time and still have friends I made there.”
“Please, Mama?” Miss Dinsdale said.
Georgie suppressed her smile of satisfaction. “There are many worthy gentlemen in both places. Even if Miss Dinsdale does not make a match immediately, it can only do her good to get out of her current social circles.” And away from everyone who knew she had been jilted.