“Miss, I’m done.”
Smith’s voice brought Georgie out of her reverie as the ornate marble and gold clock on the fireplace mantel struck the half hour. She rose. Smith placed a light pashmina wool shawl covered with images of colorful birds and flowers over Georgie’s shoulders and handed her a pale yellow reticule. “There you are, Miss Georgie. Your gloves are in the reticule with your pins, fan, and handkerchief.”
“Thank you.” The shawl made her happier. “I do not think we will be too late.”
“Not with as tired as her ladyship’s been recently.” Smith began straightening the toilet table.
Georgie really should have been in the drawing room before now, and she hurried down the stairs. Turley would be here soon, and she would rather be with Adeline when he arrived. As it was, just as Frits handed Georgie a glass of claret, the front door opened, and Turley could be heard greeting the butler.
“You look nervous.” Adeline’s tone was evidence of her concern.
“I shall be fine.” Or Georgie would if she could stop thinking about how his hands had seemed to burn through the cotton of her habit and her petticoats. Perhaps she should start wearing long stays. But wearing long stays while riding would not be comfortable. She took a long drink of wine and almost choked when Turley entered without being announced.
He greeted Frits and Adeline before making his way to Georgie, then took her ungloved hand and bowed, touching his lips to her fingers. “Miss Featherton, good evening.”
The warmth of his lips caused her fingers to tingle and she almost forgot to curtsey. “Good evening to you, my lord.”
He glanced at Frits. “Thank you for sending the coach.”
“You’re welcome.” Frits looked at Adeline. “It was my wife’s idea. She decided that walking would not do your dress pumps any good, and you’d probably not think to ask for the use of my mother’s carriage.”
Turley pulled a face. “And you were correct, my lady. I was about to set out on foot when the coach arrived. Thank you.”
“Better that than riding a horse.” Her nose wrinkled. “My mother once told me about an American who rode to a dinner party. She said he smelled of horse the whole evening.”
“That must have been unpleasant.” Georgie could not imagine such behavior.
Frits pressed a glass into Turley’s hand. “I have attempted to find out, but I still have no idea what or who we’ll find at Turner’s house.”
That reminded Georgie about the coach she and Turley had seen earlier. “Is there anyone who lives close enough that a visitor might get turned around on the back lane to Littleton?”
“Bottomley has a house in the area. I suppose that if he had a visitor they could have missed the turn to his estate and landed up on our road.” Frits cast a look at Adeline. “Bottomley isn’t usually here during the Season.”
“Perhaps he has come for the house party and invited a friend,” she suggested.
“Hmm. I suppose that might be the case.” Frits groaned. “Do you have any idea who it could have been?”
“I know exactly who it is.” Even earlier, Turley’s tone had not been so forbidding. “Lytton.”
Georgie almost rolled her eyes. Why couldn’t he have simply told her earlier instead of acting as if it was a great secret?
“Oh, dear.” Adeline set her empty glass of wine down. “I know that neither of you nor Exeter like him, but do you know anything that would make the man ineligible?”
Frits and Turley shook their heads.
Turley drained his glass and set it down. “Only that Lytton is said to have been involved in hurting a friend of Exeter’s and a lady.”
“That sounds rather ominous. Still, we cannot cut him if we do not have a reason.” Adeline picked up her reticule. “Shall we depart?”
“I’ll write to Exeter tomorrow,” Frits said. “I’d rather know what we are dealing with.”
Adeline smiled warmly at him. “That is exactly the proper thing to do.”
Georgie thought they were making too much of it. After all, the reason Exeter had helped a young lady last Season stay away from Lord Lytton was because she was waiting for the gentleman to whom she had been secretly betrothed to return. Now that she gave it some consideration, Georgie remembered dancing with Lytton a time or two, possibly more. If her memory served her, she had not been impressed by his conversation. He was too concerned with his own self-importance. She much preferred gentlemen—actually people in general—who did not take themselves too seriously. Or were secure in their place in the world. Still, she wondered what was meant by “hurting a lady.” That did not sound good at all. Perhaps he was one of those men who hid a dark side.
She turned toward the door only to find Turley waiting to escort her, and the instant she placed her hand on his arm, the sensations started. Even donning her gloves had not helped. “It will be interesting to see who the other guests are.”
“Hmmm,” he answered noncommittally.
