Georgiana found herself surrounded by the ladies as they made their way in, feeling very like a princess who must be guarded against rogues. She smiled to herself and did not let it go to her head—she was favorednow, but always cognizant of the idea that what went up eventually would come down again.
Still, as she gazed at all these ladies, she could not forget what efforts had been made on her behalf. She had been nobody with no means, living quietly in the country, and there she would be still if not for their care. Whatever her attraction might be to Lord Langley, she could not let them down. She would not allow herself to go too far.
Georgiana scolded herself for her own ridiculous pride. Why was she worried about going too far? It was not as if Lord Langley had any ideas in that direction. At least, she did not think so. He was a kind and affectionate son and had taken her supper to please his mother and her friends. That was all, and she’d better remember it.
The following halfhour was extraordinary. It would even have been comical, had Georgiana been able to view it from afar, rather than find herself in the middle of it. The ladies of the society, all powerful in their own right, were an unstoppable force when they came together. They seemed to gather courage from one another, though no courage had been lacking in the first place, and became an insurmountable obstacle to any gentleman not deemed up to snuff.
Lord Bertridge, as Lady Easton’s nephew, handily gained access to Georgiana’s card. Mr. Vance and Lord Asturt, both of whom she liked very much, did not. Those two gentlemen, and some others, were turned round firmly. She assumed Mr. Vance’s family was not long enough in history, as it was Georgiana’s understanding that his grandfather had been a gun maker. Lord Asturt must be considered odd from his long residence in Ireland and mishmash of an accent.
The strategies the ladies used were amusing and forthright, generally consisting of the duchess leading the way with: “Miss Wilcox is fully engaged, but see here, it appears Miss So and So across the ballroom seeks your attention. Do be a dear and see what she wants.”
Georgiana felt very managed but there was nothing to do about it, so she resolved to remain unbothered. There was, in any case, a certain charm to it. It was as if she were a lone cygnet guided by five terrifying swans.
The first dance had been taken by Lord Bertridge and Georgiana found she liked him better on further acquaintance. He seemed to have thrown over some of his stiffness and was rather approving of her for befriending the queen’s dogs. He was very fond of his own dogs, particularly a bull mastiff that had the run of his house, and he had a respect for their instincts. It appeared that a couple of Pomeranians had vouchsafed for her far better than her ability to solve Lord Ryland’s mystery.
The second set ended up taken by Lord Asturt, though the society of ladies had initially chased him off. It ought to have been Mr. Damian, son of a baron and exceedingly rich, but he had been called away unexpectedly. Lord Asturt claimed that Mr. Damian had an old aunt staying in his house who had suddenly taken a bad turn and the gentleman had asked him to step in while he left to attend to her.
Georgiana was not sorry for it, though she wished the best for the gentleman’s sick aunt. Mr. Damian had seemed exceedingly serious and Lord Asturt was generally not. As they moved through the changes, they had talked of this or that and Georgiana had launched one of her very reliable questions—did the gentleman have any hobbies?
She favored the question, as it invariably went in one of two directions. Most usually, she would hear of horses, or hunting, or some other common pastime. But every so often she would be told of something delightfully odd.
In her old neighborhood, she’d discovered that Mr. Brent was in the habit of going out in the rain to collect earthworms who’d stranded themselves on gravel. It seemed they could get themselves on it but not off again. He would carefully collect them and relocate the creatures to his garden. He was convinced that his large population of worms accounted for his superior roses. He also named the creatures and gave most of the credit for his roses to Reginald, a very large specimen he’d found one rainy afternoon, moments before it was to be obliterated by a peddler’s wagon wheel.
Then, of course, there had been Lord Frederick, an aging viscount who had spent his entire adult life experimenting with different materials for their ability to retain heat. This had, at first, sounded dreadfully scientific and scholarly. That was, until she was informed that all this effort was to accomplish keeping his tea warm in a jar in his coat when he rode into the village. His current solution was a glass jar wrapped in fashioned tin and then wrapped again in wool. He was still working on the problem, though.
Lord Asturt’s response to her question about hobbies was not precisely usual, but it was not odd either. It was altogether interesting.
“I have, for some years, been researching and writing a tome on English kings—the twists and turns of history and how each came to ascendency,” he said. “I find the past fascinating, 1066 and all that, you know. Though, it really is only to amuse myself and I very much doubt anybody will ever read my scribblings.”
“I must think you are wrong about that,” Georgiana said. “Certainly, if you have been researching for years, you must have come upon a thousand interesting facts.”
“Ah, yes, indeed I have…”
Lord Asturt had trailed off and Georgiana got the distinct impression that he’d be delighted to share some of his discoveries. If only he were pressed.
They had returned to their beginning place as another couple took their turn. “Do tell, Lord Asturt,” she said, hoping to nudge him on.
The lord seemed pensive. Then he said, “I am not certain I should, actually. The information I came upon recently is of such a nature as to…well, as to perhaps create instability.”
“Certainly not,” Georgiana said playfully, “but now that you have so intrigued me, you cannot deny me the story no matter how outrageous.”
“Very well,” Lord Asturt said in a low voice. “It seems that the current king’s grandfather was once whisked away to Hanover and stayed there for some months.”
“As would be usual, as they are Hanoverians,” Georgiana said.
“Yes, that is indeed why the destination was chosen, but not why a destination was needed in the first place. It appears that the fellow suffered a bout of madness and his courtiers sought to hide the condition. Fortunately, it did not last and it did not come again.”
Lord Asturt looked at her intently, as if to divine what she would make of the story. She could not say she was overly shocked. If one were to look back on the history of English kings, what was widely known was shocking enough. She supposed they had all sorts of secrets. After all, what excuse could Henry VIII have for killing off wives, or King John managing things so badly that he found himself signing the Magna Carta? Were they not all a bit mad in their way?
“Do you see what I hint at, Miss Wilcox?” Lord Asturt said, with a note of urgency in his voice. “The madness is in the Hanoverian blood; it has been inherited and passed down. Naturally, some have always suspected it, but if the British public were to know it as a fact, well…I do not see how the Hanovers would carry on.”
“Goodness, Lord Asturt,” Georgiana whispered, “do not say such things! It borders on…treasonous.”
“Though it is the truth,” Lord Asturt said. “I suspect Lord Langley knows it well enough, being privy to the queen and involved in the king’s care.”
“I would not know what Lord Langley may be privy to,” Georgiana said.
“Certainly, he must drop hints here and there?” Lord Asturt asked.
