Page 76 of Counting on Love

“Miss Blanche?”

“Carte Blanche.”

Her expression, once she caught his meaning, must have been appalled because he burst out laughing. “Good Lord, Georgiana. What kind of books does the Duchess allow you to read?”

“I’m sure that’s not it,” she said, her heated blush scalding now. But she was sure it was. C.B. was the Earl’s mistress. Lucy Carter may have been so as well. Or they were one and the same. Her heart sank. When the Earl and Lady Iversley married, Bradwell hid Lucy’s name, and then—Good Heavens! Oh, she was too, too certain. Because when Lady Iversley began putting her own entries into the account books, all evidence of C.B. disappeared. Lest the Countess stumble upon it.

Oh. Her heart sank even further. The payments had continued.

She needed to have another look at the books. Had they been continuous throughout the Earl’s marriage? Could there have been more than one woman?

Did anyone besides Bradwell know?

“Georgiana, I am so sorry.” Crispin sounded concerned. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. What an oaf I am! Certainly, that is not what the initials mean in your novel. That is too scandalous. Please forgive me.”

“You needn’t apologize.” Her voice wavered. “There is assuredly another explanation in my book. But I’m not so priggish that you embarrassed me.”

“I didn’t mean that you are priggish. Only innocent.”

“Let us change the subject, if you please.”

She had gone from hot to chilled to hot again. She stood and moved away from the fire, unable to bear Crispin’s gaze. She wracked her brain for something to divert him. Suddenly, she recalled what Alice had said, and she turned back to look at him. “Is your valet a spy?” She forced a wry smile. “Alice thinks so.”

“Does she?” One eyebrow rose. Then fell. He cleared his throat, accepting the abrupt change in topic. “She’s in good company. But he is not.”

“Excuse me?” Now she was diverted.

“Not a spy. Merely a do-gooder who likes patching up bleeding men, no matter their nationality.”

“You don’t mean…Frenchmen?” Napoleon’s soldiers?

At that moment, Reginald and Olivia entered the parlor and Crispin stood up. Olivia had been crying. Reginald merely looked morose.

“Were you with Father?” Crispin asked.

Reginald nodded. “He isn’t any worse. Just no better. He’s going to crack a rib with that cough.”

Crispin muttered, “I hate that he’s suffering.”

“Mother is not coming down for tea. She suggested we go ahead and ring for it. Olivia can pour. Alice and the Duchess are on their way down.” Poor Reginald was forcing the words from his mouth. Georgiana made up her mind. She would not tell him anything except that the most recent three years were sound. Even if her suspicions were right, they were not important now.

*

Tea had been dismal. Dinner, with Jasper returned, was even worse. Georgiana thought he looked worn down. He was grim and barely communicative. He did make one announcement, which was that Dr. Haraldsen would be around later in the evening, not only to check on the Earl but also to see if it was feasible to have Jeremy and Jeffrey removed to their home in the morning. If so, he asked Crispin to escort them. He could, if he wished, take Adam along.

It was not tactfully stated, sounding less like a request than a command. Georgiana half expected a snide reply from Crispin, but he merely nodded and answered: of course.

After dinner, the Taverstons all slunk away. Mama shepherded Georgiana and Alice into the ladies’ parlor to sit with their embroidery and not bother anyone. Georgiana only did needlework for show and had been embroidering the same pillow slip for two years. But she had no heart to return to the library to confirm her suspicions. In fact, she’d had another inkling of something even worse and truly did not want to know.

They settled into the parlor’s armchairs and one of the maidservants lit the lamps for them. Embers still glowed in the fireplace, so Mama told the girl she needn’t rebuild the fire. Then they were alone.

At first, while they sewed, Mama read excerpts from a letter she’d received from Charles. Alice made appropriate noises in response, but Georgiana barely listened. Her brother was a dutiful but unenthusiastic correspondent. He listed for Mama and Father his recent activities, but not whether he enjoyed them. He named what he was studying but gave no indication of what caught his interest and what did not. It bothered Mama, but Father always laughed and said men of Charles’ age were naturally sparing with details when writing to their mothers.

Thinking of this now did not make Georgiana smile. Would Charles take a mistress? Had Father ever had one? She was certain he was faithful to Mama, but…

What about Jasper? Did he intend to follow in his father’s footsteps? Would Crispin? She felt a sharp ache in her chest. Would Reginald?

Mama laid the letter down. She, too, looked tired, heavy-lidded, with frown lines around her mouth. There was even a smudge of ink on her fingers.