Then, as there seemed nothing further to say, Georgiana rose, bringing the men to their feet.
“One moment, my dear,” came Lord Winsmere’s voice. “It’s as well to know all the facts.” He smiled at Georgiana and then turned to ask, “You mentioned capital placed in the funds. What is the current balance?”
The elder Mr Whitworth beamed. The figure he named sent Lord Alton’s black brows flying.
An enigmatic smile played on Lord Winsmere’s lips as he turned to a stunned Georgiana. “Well, my dear, I’m afraid you’ll have more than your earnest suitors to repel once that piece of news gets around.”
ARTHUR’S REACTION was echoed by Bella when, over the luncheon table, she was regaled with the entirety of Georgiana’s fortune. Arthur told the story; Dominic had declined an invitation to join them, pleading the press of other engagements.
“There’s no point in thinking you can hide it, Georgie,” Bella said once she had recovered enough to speak. “You’re an heiress. Even if the Place is all to pieces.”
Georgiana was still trying to recover her equilibrium. “But surely, if we don’t tell anyone, no one will know.”
Bella felt like screaming. What other young lady of quality, with her way to make in the world, when informed she was a considerable heiress, would act so? Inwardly, Bella railed again at the unknown who had stolen her friend’s heart. Dominic had not yet found him; that much was clear. After his successful rescue of Georgiana the evening before, he had stayed to partake of a cold supper. She could well imagine what he had done to Charles, even without the tell-tale handkerchief she had seen him quickly remove from his hand and stuff into his pocket before he thought anyone had noticed. She was more than ready to believe his assertion that Charles would not trouble Georgiana again, and would in all probability not remain over long in England. But, after arranging for Arthur to accompany Georgiana and himself to her solicitors’ this morning, her brother had merely bestowed a fond pat on her cheek and left…left her to struggle with the herculean task of convincing Georgiana to forget her hopeless love and choose between her lovesick beaux.
Sudden inspiration blossomed in Bella’s mind. “Georgie, my love, we will really have to think very carefully about how you should go on.” Bella paused, carefully choosing her words. “Once it becomes known you’re an heiress, you’ll be swamped. Perhaps it would be better to make your choice now.”
Georgiana’s gaze rose from her plate to settle on her friend’s face. Bella’s attempted manipulation was unwelcome, but, seeing the wistful expression in the blue eyes watching her, and knowing that she only meant to help, Georgiana could not suppress a small smile. But, “Really, Bella!” was all she said.
Abashed, Bella retreated, but rapidly came about. “Yes, but seriously, Georgie, what do you plan to do?”
“I’m afraid, my dear,” put in Arthur, “that for once Bella is quite right.” Bella grimaced at his phrasing. “Once it becomes common knowledge that you have such a fortune, you’ll be besieged.”
With a sigh, Georgiana pushed her plate away. They had sent the servants from the room to give free rein to their discussion. She rose to fetch the teapot from the side-table. Slipping once more into her chair, she busied herself with pouring cups for both Arthur and Bella before helping herself. Only then did she answer Bella. “I don’t know. But please promise me you’ll say nothing to anyone about my inheritance?”
Arthur bowed his acquiescence. “Whatever you wish, my dear.” His stern eye rested on his wife.
Bella pouted, but, under her husband’s prompting, she gave in. “Oh, very well. But it won’t help, you know. Such news always gets around.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE ACCURACY of Bella’s prediction was brought home to Georgiana before the week was out. Shrewd assessing glances, condescending and calculating stares—the oppressive, smothering interest of the ton made itself felt in a dozen different ways. She could only conclude that the clerks in Mr Whitworth’s office, or, perhaps, the Mr Whitworths themselves, were less discreet than she, in her naïveté, had supposed.
Bella, of course, behaved as if all the attention was only her due. Her friend continued to hope she would succumb to the blandishments of one or other of her insistent suitors. In fact, thought Georgiana crossly, the entire charade was enough to put anyone off marriage for life. How could she ever hope to convince herself any gentleman was in earnest, that he truly loved her for herself, rather than for the financial comfort she would bring him, when everyone behaved as if her new-found fortune was of the first importance?
With a disgusted little snort, she turned over on the coverlet of her bed, kicking her legs to free her skirts from under her. She had retreated to her room to rest before dressing for dinner and the Massinghams’ rout. For the first time since Georgiana had come to Green Street, Bella had also retired for a late-afternoon nap. While she studied the details of the pink-silk-draped canopy, Georgiana considered her friend. Bella certainly seemed more tired these days, though the bloom on her skin showed none of the subtle signs of fatigue. Still, Georgiana couldn’t understand how she kept up. Or why. For her own part, the glamour of the balls and parties was rapidly fading, their thrills too meaninglessly repetitive to hold her interest. Now she had no difficulty in understanding Bella’s plea of boredom with the fashionable round.
Her eyes drifted to the wardrobe, wherein resided all her beautiful gowns. Bella was always so thrilled when she wore her latest acquisitions. They were worth every last penny just for that. Georgiana grinned. She could hardly deny Bella such a small pleasure when all her friend’s energies were directed towards securing her, Georgiana’s, future. Nothing seemly likely to turn Bella from her purpose. Her beloved Georgie must marry into the ton.
As an errant ray of sunshine drifted over the gilded cords drawing back the curtains of her bed, Georgiana wondered again at the oddity of having a virtual foster-sister. She was fast learning that receiving care and concern laid a reciprocal responsibility on the recipient. But, despite Bella’s yearnings, this was one aspect of her life on which she was determined to hold firm. She would marry for love, or not at all.
Just the thought of love, the very concept, brought a darkly handsome face swimming into her consciousness. Vibrant blue eyes laughed at her through a mask, then turned smoky and dark. Resolutely she banished the unnerving image. Dreams were for children.
In truth, if it had not been for Lord Alton’s support, she might well have turned tail and fled back to Italy the first day after their discovery at Lincoln’s Inn. The puzzle of Charles and his machinations was now clear. Fiend that he was, devoid of all proper feeling, he had decided to marry her before she found out she owned the Place. That way, Dominic had explained, she would likely never have known the extent of her fortune; as her husband, Charles would have assumed full rights over her property.
Dominic. She must stop thinking of him like that, in such a personal way. If she was to preserve her secret, she must learn to treat him with becoming distance. Unfortunately, this grew daily more difficult.
When he had appeared before her at the Walfords’ ball the evening after their momentous visit to the Whitworths’, she had offered him welcome far in excess of what might reasonably be excused on the grounds that he was her patroness’s brother. She hoped he had put it down to a gush of girlish gratitude, no matter how the very thought irked her. But the warmth in his blue eyes had left her with an uncomfortable feeling of no longer being in control, as if some hand more powerful than hers was directing her affairs. Dominic—Lord Alton!—continued to rescue her from the worst of her importunate court. In fact he was now so often by her side that the rest of her admirers tended to fade into the background, at least in her eyes. Georgiana frowned at the wandering sunbeam which had moved to light the bedpost. Now she came to consider the matter, it was almost as if Lord Alton himself was paying court to her.
Another unladylike snort ruffled the serenity of the afternoon. Ridiculous idea! He was merely being kind, giving her what protection he could from the fortunehunters, knowing she did not like her prominence one little bit. He was her patroness’s brother, that was all.
Nothing more.
THE HUM of a hundred conversations eddied about Georgiana, enclosing her within the cocoon of the Massinghams’ rout party. The bright lights of the chandeliers winked from thousands of facets, none more brilliant than the sparkling eyes of the débutantes as they dipped and swayed through the first cotillion. Laughter tinkled and ran like a silver ribbon through the crowd. It was a glittering occasion; all present were pleased to be seen to be pleased. The ballroom was bedecked with tubs of hothouse blooms, vying with the ladies’ dresses in splashes of glorious colour, perfuming the warm air with subtle scents. A small orchestra added its mite to the din, striving valiantly to be heard above the busy chatter.
Newly entered on the scene, Georgiana had taken no more than three steps before being surrounded by her intrepid admirers, all clamouring for the honour of setting their name in her dance card. With a charm none the less successful for being automatic, she set about her regular task of ordering her evening.
“My dear Miss Hartley, if you would allow me the supper waltz I should be greatly honoured.”