If only he were to stay a viscount! If only he was of some middling estate nobody expected great things from. If only he were not Lady Mendleton’s son.
He was as he was, though, and could there be anybody more wonderful than he was? She thought not.
Then, this evening, she’d begun to get the idea that he might also feel…
But it was wrong! How could it be anything but wrong? If Lord Langley did have some feeling for her, were they to only make themselves happy while disappointing absolutely everybody else?
That’s what it would be—nobody would look upon the match as brilliant, everybody would think the lord had wasted his prospects. Worse, Georgiana would be hailed as a schemer. A schemer who’d wormed her way into the house and somehow seduced the lord. A schemer who had betrayed the kindness and good faith of her benefactress. What was she, anyway? Only a charity case, sponsored by a group of ladies who wished to amuse themselves. A charity case who took advantage.
And that would be a fair assessment, she was afraid. What a poor choice of a sponsored daughter they had made.
Still, though there were so many reasons against it, if he asked, would she not say yes?
She knew very well that she would. She was a weak and craven person who would chase her happiness despite what anybody else thought of it.
“I was always so sensible,” Georgiana said softly. “What has happened to me?”
*
Perry settled intohis chair in front of the fire. It was not a large fire as the season was warm, but some sort of flames were always necessary to beat back the cold and damp of the basement’s thick stone walls. As the butler, he had been granted an apartment down the corridor from the kitchens that consisted of a bedchamber, sitting room, and even a small dressing room. Gone were the days of sharing a single cramped room with some other person. Gone were the days of being allocated a single candle. Gone were the days of sweltering in the attics.
He had even made a careful purchase of a finely carved cherry wood table. Upon it sat a polished silverplate tray and a glass decanter Lord Mendleton had given him for his own personal use, the decanter filled with Perry’s preferred brand of port. Sometimes, there was another tray filled with leftover cakes and biscuits. Of an evening, once the house had gone quiet, he quite enjoyed his London accommodations. But for the cook, he had the downstairs to himself. As the Frenchman slept like the dead in a room just off his kitchens, Perry was free to stroll un-harassed into that domain and help himself to a plate of cold ham or a chicken leg whenever he liked.
This particular evening should have been quite genial. The staff’s work had been light, as the family had gone out and had not required a sit-down dinner before going. Just a light repast set up on the sideboard and then off they went. All would have been well, had not Marcus insisted on aggravating him yet again!
In truth, it had gone beyond aggravation and proceeded into suspicion. There was something unnatural about Marcus’ obsession over the king’s condition. How many times would he question Jenny to discover if she had more to say about her encounter? The whole world must be able to divine that anything that went into that maid’s eyes came out of her mouth just as fast. There were no hidden recesses in Jenny’s mind, there were no hidden depths of cunning that might hold back any details. Still, the valet would go on with it.
But then, perhaps he was too suspicious these days. Perhaps considering what Miss Wilcox’s real purpose might be had awakened a natural distrust in everything he viewed. He still could not work out whether she was just a naturally un-talented young lady who was inept on a musical instrument, had a lowbrow reading habit, and was prone to flinging herself off horses, or whether her lack of accomplishments hinted at something more sinister. His conviction of her evil intentions had been a bit shaken when it appeared the queen herself was approving of Miss Wilcox. As an upright Englishman, he trusted the queen’s judgment in all things. Still, he must keep his eyes wide open when it came to that particular miss. Even a queen might be mistaken here and there, as anybody who’d had the bad judgment to marry Henry VIII had found out.
Now, on top of wondering about Miss Wilcox, Marcus struck him as suspicious. He was new, for one, and had been working in Germany of all places. Perry had oft indicated his disfavor regarding the valet’s ongoing speculations and questions about the king’s condition, so why did the fellow go on with it? Was he stupid, or was he up to something?
Perry took a long draught of his port. Only six months ago, his life had been very simple. His largest difficulties were managing the new chef’s outlandish French ideas, waking Mrs. Ripperton from her endless drunken naps, and hiding his despondency when yet another stray dog turned up at the door. Now, it seemed there were all sorts of other complications, and he did not know what he was to do about any of them.
*
Jasper sat inthe library, waiting for Perry to bring in coffee and rolls and the newspapers. It seemed as any other day, it was what he did on any other day, but it wasnotany other day.
The problem was, how to proceed? He must somehow encounter Miss Wilcox alone. But that done, what was he to say? It was his understanding that in these matters a gentleman must be prepared. He must say something monumentally flattering if he was to get anywhere at all.
Jasper sat back, having a sudden recollection. When Renninger had proposed to Miss Saviston, he’d even gone so far as to write a bit of poetry for the lady. The fellow had read it aloud at the club and been roundly mocked, though all in attendance were perfectly amenable to believing that Miss Saviston had adored it.
No, he could not write a poem, that was out of the question and would only end absurd. He’d best stick to straightforward flattery.
Of course, there was no end of flattering things to say about Miss Wilcox, but which would she prefer? Which would sway her to decide that he must be the right choice? If it had been another lady, he might have thought that becoming a countess someday might be seen in a positive light, but he did not think Miss Wilcox would be influenced by it. She had not seemed at all impressed with titles and had even handled herself with confidence in front of the queen. No, she would not be overawed by a title.
Perhaps he might indicate his lack of interest in musical ability? No, that was probably not right—she might not like to be reminded that she was in the habit of thrashing the pianoforte rather than playing it.
His thoughts felt very muddled and he supposed that was quite the usual condition. Once a gentleman had made up his mind, it seemed that happiness was within grasp. And yet, the lady knew nothing about it! In fact, the lady might have different ideas altogether. It was a very odd thing. In every other part of life, when he sought something, he simply took the necessary steps and it was done. None of those other steps filled him with this strange combination of anticipation and dread.
Still, it must be achievable. After all, how had all these people throughout time managed to get married? His own father had managed it, and so must he too.
Should he talk to his mother and father ahead of it? No, he thought not. Let it be a fait accompli and they would resign themselves to it. Miss Wilcox would not be his mother’s first choice, but then shewasvery fond of her charge. They had no need of a large dowry and they would not get one, but they would get a daughter-in-law filled with grace and intelligence, not to mention stunning looks. They could not be against it, once they got used to the idea.
There was a soft knock on the door and Perry came through. As he laid out the coffee tray and a footman came in behind with a pile of newspapers, Jasper resolved that he’d carry on as if it were any other morning. Then, he’d lurk round the house, waiting for an opportunity.
As he did so, he heard bustling in the hall and the front door open and close. He drifted to the window in time to see Miss Wilcox, dressed in her riding habit, get into the carriage. Carstares was on the coachman’s box, and two grooms rode the back. Another groom sat atop Minerva behind and yet another rode his mother’s horse, Biscuit. That was almost all the grooms they employed.
He had no idea what she was doing, but my God, she looked rather marvelous doing it.
