Page 131 of The English Wife

“I’ll just be going back to the house,” murmured David, and suited actions to words.

“Is that the sort of man for whom you would risk my son’s good name?” Mrs. Van Duyvil’s bosom had swollen to truly alarming proportions. Georgie had an image of the bodice bursting, scattering pearls and diamonds and wounded vanity.

“It’s not what you think,” said Georgie as she walked away, just away, because she didn’t have the patience to deal with Mrs. Van Duyvil, not on top of David, not on top of everything else.

“No. It’s worse than I thought.” Mrs. Van Duyvil’s voice rose as Georgie kept walking. “What do you think you’re doing? Come back here! Don’t you turn your back on me!”

Georgie could hear the slap of Mrs. Van Duyvil’s slippers on the frost-hardened gravel behind her.

And behind them, another pair of shoes, moving fast, as a male form burst onto the path between them.

“Mother?” Bay caught up with them by the overlook at the entrance to the folly, skidding to a stop between them. “What are you doing out here?”

Mrs. Van Duyvil looked down at Georgie, her elaborately curled wig adding an extra four inches to her height. “Ask your wife.”

So Bay did. “Is everything all right?” He took Georgie’s hands, chafing them to warm them. Georgie would have been amused at the look of consternation on Mrs. Van Duyvil’s face if she hadn’t been feeling so unsettled. “Someone saw you go outside. When I saw David come back without you … you don’t know who might be out here.”

Georgie pressed her eyes shut. “It’s all right, Bay.”

Mrs. Van Duyvil’s heavy skirts rustled behind them. “No,” she said shrilly, “it is not. This woman you married has no concept of propriety, no concern for your reputation, no respect for the family name. If I hadn’t intervened—”

“What?” demanded Georgie. “What would have happened? People would have whispered? They’re whispering already.”

“And why?” demanded Mrs. Van Duyvil. “Because you have carried on like a common trollop.”

“Mother—” Bay cast a pleading look at Georgie, but Georgie crossed her arms over her chest and took a step back.

“It’s bad enough,” said Mrs. Van Duyvil, the diamonds at her breast flashing in the light of the lanterns, “that I have to endure your cousin’s indiscretions. That actor and now this nonsense with Teddy. I would have expected better from a Newland. But at least I could take comfort in the fact that the Van Duyvil name, our name, was free of stain. And now this. Did you know that your wife was planning to run off with that architect?”

“No,” said Georgie, her eyes meeting Bay’s, “I’m not.”

“She isn’t, Mother,” said Bay, and Georgie rolled her eyes at him for the fact that his mother still had the power to reduce her husband to a schoolboy.

“Oh, no?” Mrs. Van Duyvil drew herself up to an impressive height, her wide skirts adding to her majesty. To Georgie, she said, “If you won’t have a care for my son’s name, at least think of your children.”

Georgie felt something snap. “I am thinking of my children. Do you think I’d let you have any hand in the raising of them after what you’ve done to yours? Your daughter is afraid to say boo to a goose, and your son … your son had to run halfway around the world to get away from you.”

“Bayard!” Mrs. Van Duyvil looked to her son, who looked as though he would rather be anywhere rather than where he was. “Bayard, I expect you to do something about your wife.”

“What?” demanded Georgie. “Lock me in a tower? Commit me to an asylum? On what grounds? Insufficient reverence for the Van Duyvil name?”

“Mother … Annabelle—” Bay strove for peace and got glared at by both sides. “Can we continue this discussion another time? Our guests—”

“Will all be extremely edified by the sight of your wife running off with her lover!” retorted Mrs. Van Duyvil.

Georgie spoke through clenched teeth. “Mr. Pruyn is not my lover.”

Mrs. Van Duyvil gave a short, mirthless laugh. “Don’t take me for a fool. I know what I see when I see it.”

“No,” said Georgie, feeling the cold biting through her dress, creeping beneath her skirts, making her skin crack. She was cold and angry, and she had had enough. Heaven only knew she had sinned, but she was sick of being blamed for sins that weren’t her own. “You don’t. Mr. Pruyn isn’t my lover. He’s your son’s.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Bay press his eyes briefly shut.

“What did you say?” Mrs. Van Duyvil was all indignation, rounding on Georgie with her scepter held like a spear. But Georgie didn’t miss the way her eyes flicked towards Bay. And then away again. “It wasn’t enough to cuckold my son; now you feel the need to malign him? If I ever hear you utter such nonsense, such ludicrous nonsense—”

“Mother!” Bay had to raise his voice to make himself heard. “Mother. It’s not nonsense. It’s true.”

Mrs. Van Duyvil made a noise like a bellows deflating. “No,” she said flatly.