Page 31 of Counting on Love

Chapter Nine

Naturally, the Duchess’ party had not been allowed to sneak in during the night like thieves. The long, twisting drive leading from the road up to Chaumbers had been lined by torches, with footmen to tend them. A bevy of grooms met the Duchess’ entourage and helped everyone to get where they needed to be. Mother, Georgiana, and Alice were met on the steps outside by the Countess and Lord Taverston. Thank goodness it was dark. Georgiana shuddered to imagine how disheveled she must appear.

They were not detained any longer than necessary but were taken swiftly to their chambers. Georgiana and Alice had a room to share, which pleased them both. The Duchess was placed just down the hall. Two large, north-facing windows promised a view, though nothing could be seen yet in the night. Floral curtains and bedlinens were a soft, comforting shade of yellow. Sandwiches, a bowl of fruit, and lemonade awaited them. Georgiana nibbled a sandwich, then gave up and let Jeanette undress her. Alice couldn’t even be tempted to eat or undress; she dropped onto the large featherbed and fell asleep at once. Georgiana thought she would follow. Instead, she lay staring at the ceiling, perhaps drifting to sleep but then startling back awake, time after time. Her mind was too active to let go, but too drained to think coherently.

She had not been permitted a good look at the Chaumbers’ property in the dark and could remember almost nothing about it from when she had been seven years old. That didn’t matter, of course. She would see it tomorrow. She had weeks to take it all in.

She had had a good look at Lord Taverston. He’d still been in his dinner clothes. He looked handsome, but…pallid. Torchlight never did one’s features any favors. And, it was true they were both exhausted. She was certain she’d looked anemic as well. Everyone was excruciatingly polite. But it had been a disappointing reunion if it could even be considered such, given they were strangers.

Georgiana did not believe in omens, but overall, it had not been a promising day. And it promised to be a worse night. So when the room began to brighten, she finally gave up attempting to sleep. She slipped out of bed and tiptoed into the antechamber where Jeanette had been settled for the night rather than being shunted off to the servants’ quarters at such a late hour. The maid woke at once.

“What may I do for you, my lady?”

Georgiana swallowed her apology, saying only, “It’s early, I know, but I slept so poorly I couldn’t lay abed any longer. I didn’t wish to wake Miss Fogbotham.”

“Mon Dieu,” Jeanette murmured, then sat up, pushing off her blankets. She wore only a shift, and her hair was down in a long braid on one side. “Would you like to dress?”

“Yes, but just something simple. I’ll go down to the breakfast parlor. I believe Lady Iversley said last night that cold fare would be out from dawn until whenever we all woke, and we could partake at our leisure. It is dawn, isn’t it?”

Jeanette laughed lightly. “À peine. You should have finished your little bites last night.”

“I know. My stomach is so hollow it hurts.”

“Come,” the maid said, climbing from her bed, a narrow cot with a thin mattress. At least the blankets looked warm. And, to be honest, the servants’ beds at Sayles and Marbury were no better. “I’m sorry I have not unpacked all your trunks—”

“No, of course not,” Georgiana said.

“But I did put up a few things.” She opened a wardrobe and removed a pretty sprigged muslin. She frowned, considering, then said, “Yes, this should do. With your wrap. It is cold in the air.”

Georgiana agreed. It was attractive, fairly simple, and comfortable. A little dressier than what she would wear in the morning at home, but not outrageously so. Jeanette helped her into her things and buttoned the long row of buttons down her back. Then she brushed Georgiana’s hair until it shone and twisted it into a chignon.

“Simple now,” Jeanette said. “The better to stun him at dinner. I think the green gown tonight.”

Georgiana smiled weakly. “Thank you.”

Did she wish to “stun” him? If he acted besotted, would that be better or worse? Probably worse. She was not quivering with excitement; why should he be?

“Will there be anything else?”

“Oh, no. Just let Miss Fogbotham know where I am when she wakes.”

“In the library?” Jeanette asked, a twinkle in her eye.

“Maybe,” Georgiana admitted. “After I’ve eaten something. Unless the family is all up and I have to allow myself to be entertained.” She left Jeanette but suspected the poor girl would not return to bed. Rather she would finish unpacking and seeing to their clothes.

Georgiana crept downstairs and found her way to the breakfast parlor, relieved she remembered the directions she had been given last night. The ground floor was very quiet, but it was not as early as she feared. Fires had been started and there were servants moving about. The door to the breakfast parlor was ajar. She hoped there would be no one in it. Especially not the Countess or Lord Taverston. She took a deep breath and stepped inside.

At first glance, the morning room appeared very formal. The walls were papered with a dark blue design and the wood floor was nearly black. Food was laid out on a substantial Italianate sideboard. But a wall of windows, drapery tied back, brightened the space. Georgiana smiled to see the formality was softened by plump, somewhat worn, mismatched seat cushions on the chairs. Left on the bare-of-linen table, which could easily seat twelve, was an empty coffee cup and a plate containing crumbs. Her fellow early bird was already gone. Good.

After surveying the offerings on the sideboard, Georgiana scooped a few dried berries into a bowl and drenched them with cream. This was lovely. She was tired of jams. She also took a thick slice of bread and slathered it with butter. How delightful to be alone since she intended to gorge herself. She felt as though she hadn’t eaten for days.

She was thirsty too, but not for coffee. Her stomach was not yet settled enough for that. Instead, she took a half cup of tea and drowned that, too, with cream. She sat at the table, two seats from the detritus of the previous breakfaster. A folded newspaper lay on one of the chairs, but she didn’t bother to pick it up. She was tired, tired, tired.

When she finished her meal, she crumpled her napkin and laid it beside her bowl and cup. A maid came in and started. “Oh! Milady.” She curtsied. “I beg your pardon. May I bring you something?”

“No, thank you. Everything is lovely. I’m just finishing.”

“I’ll come back to clear.”