Chapter Twelve
I t is a good thing that we decided to leave the chickens at the Black Sheep,” Georgina said as she stared up at the imposing Doric columns of the Falcondale townhouse. Somehow the stately edifice made even Algernon’s fashionable city home appear slovenly. The blood-red bricks contrasted sharply with the brilliant white trim. The edifice was painfully symmetrical and austere.
Nervously, Georgina reached up and patted her hair. The gown that she’d borrowed from Calliope’s sister felt tight, even though it had fit just fine during the carriage ride. But she was thankful for it. The ones she’d brought with her to Estbrook House were hopelessly outdated.
Alexander shot her one of his ever-present smiles. Even with Calliope and Charlotte flanking her, Georgina’s whole body tingled. Goodness, how did Alexander manage to have such an effect?
“You look perfect,” Alexander promised. “But I must disagree about leaving the flock at the coffeehouse. When visiting my parents, one must seek any possible source of levity.”
Georgina managed a half smile at what she assumed was his attempt at a joke. When he turned and lifted the knocker, she took a steadying breath. She was so shaky it was as if she were actually visiting her future groom’s parents. Silly, really. Yes, she and Alexander had kissed—and quite vigorously at that—but neither of them intended to marry the other.
Yet his parents were the Duke and Duchess of Falcondale. His mother was a legendary hostess. Even for someone like Georgina, who cared little for Society, it was daunting to burst uninvited into Her Grace’s home, despite having the peeress’s two children in tow.
Almost as soon as Alexander let the brass ring fall against the backplate, the door swung open. In the frame stood a butler dressed in a stiff, exceedingly formal uniform. His long, aquiline face matched the grand home.
When his crystalline blue eyes fell on Alexander, they hardened with an even more profound haughtiness. The sight took Georgina aback. Although she did not exactly expect the dignified man’s countenance to soften at the sight of the heir apparent, she had expected some degree of welcome, however stilted.
“The Duke and the Duchess are not hom—” the butler began to intone.
“I have my sister, Miss Harrington, and Lady Calliope with me,” Alexander interjected with his typical jovialness. “I assume that their presence has caused my parents to miraculously return to their lovely abode.”
The manservant’s cool eyes flicked behind Alexander’s right shoulder to where Georgina stood with the two other women. When his gaze alighted on Calliope, he finally showed the deference that Georgina would have thought he’d direct toward his employer’s son.
“Pardon. I did not see you ladies. Please step inside for a reprieve from the summer heat. You can wait in the drawing room while I check if their Graces are back from their outing.” The butler spoke in formal tones—not too soft, not too loud. Stiffly, he retreated into the foyer and gestured for them to enter.
The four of them were ushered into a finely appointed room that would have made Anne writhe with envy. It wasn’t just the silk wallpaper dyed in the most popular of blue hues or even the plaster ceiling with its reliefs of Athena emerging from Zeus’s head and turning Medusa into a Gorgon. It was the couches with their gilt wooden trim. They were art pieces themselves—long and sinuous with carvings of grapes, apples, and pears interspersed with flowers. They also looked deuced uncomfortable to sit upon, but that wasn’t the point. In fact, they might even be intended to make the sitter feel slightly discomforted as they paid homage to the master and mistress of the house.
When the butler shut the door, Alexander gave a low whistle of appreciation. He turned to Calliope and bent slightly at the waist. “I must bow to your social clout, Lady Calliope. Mother never has me escorted to the blue drawing room. I’m always shoved away into the green one.”
“Is that the family one?” Georgina asked in confusion, sensing there was something important behind Alexander’s cavalier words.
“Mother and Father do not believe in intimate rooms for familial gatherings. Everything is always a grand show.” Alexander’s words were bitter, but the tone was not. He sounded exactly like his normal, cheerful self. But something was different, forced even. His entire demeanor had changed in some indefinable way as soon as he’d entered the foyer.
“Oh,” Georgina replied, not sure what else to say. She sorely wished that she had not pressed him on the matter, especially with their audience.
Alexander’s smile only widened as if he was trying to put her at ease even though she’d inadvertently made things awkward. “Mother’s desire for perfect aesthetics is why she rarely has me ushered into the blue salon. In her view, my cane clashes with the décor, although I disagree. Hercules fits perfectly with the Greek theme.”
Georgina barely stopped herself from blinking. Why did Alexander seem so blithe when speaking about such cruel rejection? Was he serious?
Quickly, she thought back to when she’d met his parents. Had there been tension then? She had been so focused on her own plight that she’d barely paid attention to anything. It was odd, his father being so keen on marrying Alexander off to a near nobody. What had Algernon said that day in his office when he’d been arranging the betrothal? He’d mentioned her bloodlines and connections to William the Conqueror. How had the other speaker responded, the one who she now assumed was Falcondale? He’d been waxing on about Alexander’s prowess in sports. But wasn’t misfortune mentioned too?
My cane clashes with the décor. Misfortune. Did Alexander’s own parents condemn him due to his clubfoot? The idea chilled Georgina even as it made sense—a horrible, cruel sense, yet one that was all too common in a society that valued appearance and perfection above all else.
This certainly was not the time nor the place for questions, though. Not only did they have the audience of his sister and Calliope, but his parents could enter the room at any moment. And Georgina had the distinct sense that this very building put Alexander at ill ease. For the first time, she wondered if his constant joviality could be a protective mask to retreat behind. The thought brought another bolt of pain to Georgina’s heart.
Before any of them could respond to Alexander’s statement, his mother glided into the room. She moved like a royal swan on a clear, glass-surfaced lake. Her expression was as elegantly tranquil as her movements. She exuded no warmth as she regarded her children, although there was a slight defrosting when she glanced at Georgina and especially at Calliope.
“What an unexpected visit.” The duchess fixed her son with a penetrating look. Then as if dismissing him, she turned fully toward Calliope. “If I had known you were coming, I would have had the cook prepare your favorite seedcakes.”
“How kind of you to remember that I love them as well, Mother,” Alexander said cheerfully, even though it was obvious that the duchess had not been addressing him.
Although nary a muscle twitched in Her Grace’s smooth countenance, a faint shimmer of displeasure radiated from her. She gestured for them all to sit with an elegant sweep of her hand. Georgina sat between Charlotte and Calliope on one of the large sofas while Alexander took up a chair adjacent to them and farthest from his mother. As he adjusted his cane, his mother glanced at the object as if he’d brought a rotting cylinder of dung into her house rather than an exquisitely made walking stick.
No sooner had they all sat than the duke strolled into the room. Unlike his wife, he did not school his expression. Annoyance seeped from him. He managed the barest of greetings, only sparing a modicum of warmth for her and a bit more for Calliope. His own issue barely received grunts. He plopped down with an undisguised sigh and immediately began to drum his fingers against the gilded arm of his chair.
“To what pleasure do we owe this visit?” the duchess queried Alexander as she somehow acted both polite and disdainful at the same time. Georgina resisted the urge to shiver at the woman’s easy coolness toward her son. Although Georgina had never been close to her half brother, she’d enjoyed a warm relationship with her dear papa. She remembered how she used to curl up in his lap as a child while he read her Greek stories and even his own essays.
“Since you both are so keen to have Miss Harrington and me marry, we thought it best to spend time as one happy family.” Alexander managed to make the words sound not just sincere but hearty. He was utterly brilliant at obfuscating his sarcasm, but was he hiding something more? Pain, perhaps?
“I came to chaperone them on the carriage ride,” Charlotte added, her tone just as bright as her brother’s. “It is a wonderful benefit of being married—the ability to lend propriety to a situation by my mere presence.”
Charlotte’s father scowled openly, and his fingers moved even more rapidly against the abused wood. That tattoo sounded rageful now, instead of merely annoyed. Not a muscle of the duchess’s face moved, but she somehow conveyed the impression of wincing. Perhaps she had squinted her right eye ever so slightly. The air had a decided chill about it.
Alexander was right. Georgina should have brought Crinitus Legatus for levity.
“And I accompanied them because you, Your Grace, are always a consummate hostess.” Calliope’s guileless look almost rivaled the duchess’s. Still, the older woman studied Calliope for a beat or two, clearly trying to determine if she was being mocked. Calliope’s expression remained absolutely serene.
“Thank you,” Alexander’s mother finally said.
“But do you know what I would like even more than seedcakes?” Calliope asked.
“Tea?” The duchess suggested.
“No. I feel so dreadfully listless today. I need something even more invigorating.” Calliope followed her weary statement with a long, laborious sigh.
“Coffee?”
“Even that strong brew won’t cure my low spirits. What I really desire is snuff. I have heard that you have managed to find one of the best blends in England.” Calliope turned to address the still-glowering duke. “My father mentioned how much he enjoyed the bit that Your Grace shared with him the last time you were together.”
Calliope was truly a marvel at social manipulation. Despite her overly sugary words, she managed to make the flatteries sound real. The barest hint of a smile even touched one of the corners of the Duchess of Falcondale’s mouth.
“I do not indulge in the pastime myself, but I ensure that any goods that enter my household are of the utmost quality.” The duchess gracefully waved her hand toward her husband. “Please, Your Grace, would you be so kind as to share some snuff with Lady Calliope?”
“I wouldn’t mind some myself,” the duke grumbled as he pulled a silver box from his pocket.
Georgina barely prevented herself from leaning forward. She mustn’t show too much interest in the object, at least not straightaway. From a distance, it did look similar to Lord Henry’s. She thought she spotted the colorful stone lining, but she couldn’t be certain.
When the duke took a healthy helping of powdered tobacco, Georgina resisted the urge to glance away. Although Algernon and Anne both indulged in the practice, she had always found it slightly revolting. She could not fathom why anyone would want to snort something up their nose—no matter how finely ground it was.
The duke handed the box to Calliope. She held it out from her body, most likely to give Georgina a good view. At the sight of the lid’s colorful interior, a jittery, almost sickening excitement swelled inside Georgina. It certainly looked like the gemstone that she’d kept digging up in her pit. The swirls of pink were the same startling hue as the rosy streaks in the helmet’s mustache. The aquamarine shone like the Mediterranean Sea on a bright, cloudless day, contrasting against the pitch-black bands. The purple was the shade of the sky at dusk when the sun had just vanished over the horizon.
Calliope took only a small bit of the snuff. When they had schemed together on the way from Estbrook House, Calliope had confessed that she didn’t much care for any tobacco products, especially after learning about their ties to the slave trade. But she had taken snuff before learning about its origins.
Georgina, though, was about to try it for her very first time. For a brief moment, she took her eyes off the box’s lining to stare at the dark powdery contents. It looked like a sinister potion from a fairytale.
Think of Percy. If this is in any way connected to his disappearance, you can survive a bit of tobacco up your nose. You’ll simply blow it out into your handkerchief later on.
“I would love to try some.” Georgina attempted to sound nonchalant, but her request came out a bit too loud and a bit too bright.
“Oh, of course! It gives you the most marvelous jolt of energy!” Calliope immediately handed the container to Georgina. As soon as Georgina’s fingers closed around the cool metallic lid, the duke cleared his throat.
“I did not take you for a snuff user. Your brother described you as a retiring miss from the countryside.” The man’s hazel eyes, more brownish-green than golden, flicked over her. There was a bit of surprise in those swampy depths and maybe even a hint of consideration.
Georgina suppressed a shiver. She much preferred his bored, lackadaisical greeting over this inspection. If he was anything like Algernon, attracting this man’s attention boded nothing good.
“Do you mean to imply that it is unseemly for a woman to consume tobacco?” Georgina asked. “Queen Anne herself enjoyed snuff.”
The duke’s mouth hardened. Clearly, he had not expected her to refute him.
“I am certain that he does not think that, Miss Harrington.” The duchess reached over and gently pulled on her husband’s sleeve. She appeared to tug in the general direction of Calliope as she obviously warned her husband not to insult their well-connected guest.
“I was only expecting you to be more provincial.” The duke was studying her now. Perhaps Georgina should have been more judicious with her response.
“Scholarly is the descriptor for Miss Harrington.” Alexander’s jovial voice burst through the room and thankfully drew his father’s attention away from her. As the man turned toward his son, Georgina ran her fingers over the stone. It certainly felt like the same material that she’d been digging up.
When she touched the inner lid, she detected a few spidery indentations. Curious, she glanced at it closer. To her surprise, she saw that a single word had been etched into the gemstone: Merlin.
A chill tore through her. Why did everything circle back to a man who never existed? It seemed much too whimsical of a description for the staid duke. Yet, even though the lettering was a bit hard to read in the colorful mineral, Georgina knew she hadn’t made a mistake.
“What are you looking at?” the duke barked in an imperious tone.
Georgina was so flustered that she nearly dropped the container. It bobbled dangerously to the side, but thankfully Charlotte reached over and helped steady it.
“I asked you a question,” the duke snapped as he rose from his chair.
Some instinct informed Georgina to stay silent about what she had just seen. “I—I was just smelling it. Your blend gives off a very… um… pleasant smell.”
It did not. It smelled like decomposing leaves in the fall.
“Have you actually partaken of snuff before?” The duke started to stride toward her.
“Oh yes. Most definitely.” To prove her lie, Georgina grabbed a pinch of the tobacco. Holding it to her nose, she inhaled. Deeply.
That was a mistake.
A tickling sensation seized her right nostril. Desperately, she tried to contain the sneeze. It only made it worse.
Her whole body jerked back and then forward. Her eyes squeezed shut. Tobacco and goodness-knew-what-else flew from her nose. She might have also spat a little. Or a lot. It was difficult to determine exactly what was being expelled from her, the explosion was so violent.
She heard the duchess gasp. Calliope snorted. Charlotte made a little squeak that sounded like a smothered giggle. Alexander laughed openly. And the duke… the duke gargled something unintelligible.
Georgina cautiously opened one eye and dimly saw the duke frozen before her. She almost squeezed it shut again but realized avoidance would not make the situation go away. Slowly, she forced herself to focus her full gaze on the Duke of Falcondale. His face… glistened—that is, where it wasn’t covered in dark flecks of wet tobacco.
The duke’s mouth twitched violently, as if he was about to growl again. Given the rather drippy state of his face, he must have decided it might be prudent to keep his lips firmly pressed together. His body vibrated with suppressed rage, but he otherwise did not move. Disgust, ire, and shock had apparently rooted him in place.
“I suppose this snuff is not to my liking after all. It tickles my nose,” Georgina said. Taking inspiration from Alexander’s own approach with his parents, she made her voice as bright as possible.
Alexander absolutely roared with glee. Another suspiciously amused sniff escaped Calliope. The duchess tsk ed. Charlotte averted her gaze.
The duke simply did not move.
“But the case is very exquisite and unique. May I ask where you procured it? I would like to purchase one for Lord Alexander.”
Falcondale pulled out his handkerchief and unfurled it with a snap of his wrist. With efficient strokes, he wiped his face, his glowering stare never leaving Georgina. Then with excruciating dignity, he folded up the cloth and returned it to his pocket.
He plucked the snuffbox from Georgina’s hand. She desperately wanted to tug it back, but she didn’t dare attract more attention to her interest in the item.
The duke straightened with great dignity, finally unlocking his gaze from Georgina’s countenance. His entire bearing even stiffer than before, he regarded the room.
“I have a meeting with the steward of my property in the Lake District.” Falcondale’s words were clipped. With the precision of a soldier on drill, he turned and fairly marched from the room—presumably to change his sodden shirt rather than to actually discuss accounts.
“I do apologize.” Georgina turned toward the duchess, who exuded a faint aura of exasperation. “That was the first time I have ever reacted that way.”
It wasn’t precisely a lie. She had never sneezed snuff before.
The duchess’s lips tightened ever so slightly, but otherwise she showed no emotion. “I do purchase a more potent blend than most.”
“It was exceedingly strong,” Calliope chimed in, her voice remarkably free of laughter despite the amusement dancing in her eyes.
“Mother, I bought the most exquisite pocket-book the other day,” Charlotte said, referring to the black and white pamphlets showing the latest fashions. The mention of the publication instantly steered the conversation away from the properties of powdered tobacco into the world of ruffles and bows.
Relieved to no longer be scrutinized, Georgina sank against the couch. Its straight back did not easily permit slouching, but Georgina didn’t care. She’d take a bit of shoulder pain if it meant letting her tight muscles relax for one blessed moment.
The new information buzzed in her head along with the old conversation between Alexander’s father and her brother. She had some pieces, but there were still so many missing. Perhaps she should try to write down the known facts as she did when trying to understand the disparate objects that she was unearthing in the pit.
Just then, Charlotte surreptitiously reached over and squeezed Georgina’s hand while Calliope bumped her shoulder. Georgina lifted her chin and her gaze met Alexander’s. He gave her an encouraging wink. His perennial cheer injected a hope deep inside her.
Georgina wasn’t alone anymore. She had friends—people whom she’d sought out to help her find Percy. Perhaps it was time that she shared her whole story with them.