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8
Georgina stood facing the mirror, clad only in her chemise, and pulled down the cotton over the tiny rise of her stomach. It was no more noticeable than when she’d been unexpectedly visited by a duke. She was generously curved. Rounded. Had she been reed-thin, her condition might be more readily apparent.
She had sat alone in the garden for a long time after the Duke of Averell had left her, mulling over his generous offer of assistance, which she had accepted because she wasn’t sure what else to do. Harold would be told only that the duke and his uncle had been old friends and because of that friendship, Averell had extended an invitation for Georgina to stay at one of his remote estates so that she might grieve in private. Georgina didn’t wish to stay in London with so many memories nor at Beechwood Court. She craved a change of scenery and absolute solitude after Masterson’s horrible death. Harold would never protest nor contradict the Duke of Averell as he might if Georgina simply requested the use of the hunting lodge.
Harold had been shocked after the duke had asked to speak to him. Suspicious.
I didn’t realize my uncle’s death affected you so, Georgina.
But Averell, bless him, had made it clear Georgina was under his care until she returned to London. He would take it much amiss, he told Harold, if she was disturbed while grieving.
Harold had no choice but to acquiesce. One didn’t deny a duke.
How she wished she could tell Averell the truth. But there were too many tangled threads. Leo. Harold. Her family. Her future as a pariah for bearing a child out of wedlock. She didn’t dare tell anyone.
Her hand caressed the small bump of her belly. She would do whatever necessary to protect the life growing within her. From the entire world, if necessary. Georgina had been sent help in the form of Averell before she’d even known she needed it. So she pushed down the guilt over not telling the duke the truth and focused on the future ahead of her. Averell was providing her safe haven, but Georgina still had to get her child out of England, as far away from Harold as she could.
She refused to think of Leo. He assuredly wasn’t thinking of her. He was far too busy collecting shiny baubles to be bothered with a child he didn’t want. Or her.
Georgina’s hand pressed against her chest. She thought in time the pain might fade. Hoped it would.
As she’d sat in the far corner of the drawing room yesterday, pretending to read, one of Clarissa’s callers had mentioned Welles and referred to Leo asthat handsome mongrel.Georgina had immediately gone still, keeping her breathing even as she turned the page of her book.
Welles and Leo, it seemed, were competing over the affections of an opera singer. In a rare departure, it seems the opera singer wasn’t Italian, but French. Stunning. Sophisticated.
Georgina had nearly torn the page, she’d turned it so ferociously.
“My lady.”
Her stout Irish maid, Stella, interrupted her thoughts, slipping into the room. Stella, close-mouthed and loyal to a fault, had been Georgina’s maid for only a short time when her marriage to Masterson was announced. The maid had nodded in her no-nonsense way upon being informed her mistress was bound for England and had assured Georgina she had no intention of seeking other employment. She didn’t want to return to her parents’ house in the Bowery. Stella had ten siblings and things were a mite crowded at home. And she’d always wanted to go on an adventure.
“I overheard Ingrid speaking to Lady Masterson,” Stella said, keeping her voice low. “She’s poking about in your business again. Asking all sorts of questions.”
Ingrid was Clarissa’s maid. Nosey and as superior as her mistress. She’d taken a keen interest in Georgina’s health of late. Fortunately, Georgina and Stella had hidden the worst symptoms of Georgina’s pregnancy. The maid had found a tea that helped with the nausea. Georgina stayed away from eggs and claiming her grief along with the need for solitude, took most of her evening meals upstairs.
Whenever Clarissa or Harold questioned why she mourned so deeply for a man she hadn’t even liked, Georgina launched into a detailed recitation of Masterson’s final moments, complete with blood and excrement. Georgina didn’t have to pretend to be horrified.
Clarissa had eventually stopped asking. Harold had merely watched with his pebble dark eyes and said he hoped seeing such a thing hadn’t permanently harmed Georgina’s mind.
A trickle of fear slid down her spine. She couldn’t wait to leave this house.
“Your courses. That’s what Ingrid was wanting to know. Whether you’ve had them or not. Even asked me if you’d had relations with your husband before he died and how often.”
“The very idea is offensive.”
“Says her mistress is just wanting be certain of your welfare due to the tragedy you’ve suffered so that she can properly care for you.Concerned.” Stella gave a wiggle of her brows. “That’s what she is.”
Georgina snorted. “I’m sure she is, especially given her own state.” Clarissa, it appeared, might be barren.
“Don’t worry. I have the situation well in hand.” Stella gave her a determined look. “Pig’s blood. Took a small bottle from the butcher when he was busy flirting and boasting about how fine his shop was. I’ll make sure Ingrid sees me launder your underthings. Might ruin something.” She frowned.
“I’m more concerned you flirted with Mr. Simon so you could steal pig’s blood,” Georgina whispered. “His wife is known to be jealous.”
“Mrs. Simon was right around the corner and didn’t seem the least concerned. I think she’d appreciate it if I took him off her hands for a bit.”
Under no circumstances could Clarissa or Harold suspect what Georgina was about to do. The pretense she still had her courses was one that must continue until she left for the country. In a few days, Georgina and Stella would be leaving for a small, very remote estate in Cumberland belonging to the Duke of Averell. A forgotten piece of property that he assured her no one had been to in years. He only ever remembered he owned Green Glen when his solicitor reminded him of the property’s existence.
“Do you think he’ll try to find you? His lordship?” Stella asked.
