Bella’s face suggested she did not look fine, but, instead of harping on the subject, Bella started chattering about the events that would fill the next week and bring the Little Season to an end. Georgiana listened with half an ear.
As Bella’s catalogue ran its course, Georgiana realised she could not just up and flee to Italy tomorrow, much as she might wish to. She had made a bargain with Arthur, who had stood her friend when she had been in need. She could not shrug off her indebtedness. So she would have to see out the rest of the Season with what interest she could muster, trying not to dampen Bella’s enjoyment with her own unhappiness.
She apparently returned sufficiently accurate, if monosyllabic, responses to Bella’s opinions, for they rose from the breakfast-table in perfect amity.
“Oh, Georgie! I nearly forgot. Dominic noticed you looked a bit peaked last night, so he’s coming to take you for a drive this afternoon.”
Bella had preceded Georgiana through the door, so did not see the effect her announcement had on her friend.
“It’s really a great honour, you know. I can’t even remember the last lady Dominic took up for a drive in the park. He doesn’t normally do so—says it’s too boring. You must wear your new carriage dress; it’ll be just the thing.”
Reaching the parlour, Bella turned expectantly.
Georgiana had had enough time to school her features to a weak smile. “I really don’t know if—”
“Oh, nonsense!” said Bella, dismissing whatever megrim Georgiana had taken into her head. “Some fresh air is just what you need to blow the cobwebs away.”
Sinking on to the window seat and taking up her embroidery frame, Georgiana could not think of any reasonable excuse to decline Lord Alton’s invitation. At least, not without explaining a great deal more of the situation to Bella. And that she was definitely not up to doing. Quite clearly, Bella was still in the dark regarding the state of affairs between her brother and her protégée.
Throughout the day, Georgiana formulated and discarded a string of plans to avoid the afternoon drive. In the end, her schemes became so wildly far-fetched that her sense of humour came to her rescue. What on earth did she imagine he’d do to her in the sanctity of the park? Besides, she knew him too well to believe he’d do anything scandalous—at least, not with her. She spent a moment in dim regret over that point, then determinedly stiffened her spine. She would go with him and hope to impress on him that she did not wish to see him again. Perhaps, with one major effort, she could avoid having to live with the dread of dancing with him at every evening entertainment, of being held in his arms, with his blue gaze warming her.
With a despairing sigh, she went upstairs to change.
Cruickshank was waiting with the carriage dress laid out. Having seen the sudden change in her mistress, and having more than a suspicion of the cause, Cruickshank fretted and snorted over every pleat in the elegant brown velvet dress with its snug-fitting jacket. Georgiana, knowing she could hide little from her maid’s sharp eyes, was thankful to escape her chamber without a lecture. As she descended the curving staircase, the villager hat she had chosen dangling by its ribbons from one hand, Georgiana imagined such a scene, and what Cruickshank might actually say. The possibilities brought a smile to her face, the first for the day.
A sudden tingling brought her head up. Her eyes met blue—bright blue. Lord Alton was standing in the hall below, Bella by his side, watching her. For an instant she froze. Then, drawing what courage she could from knowing she looked as well as might be, Georgiana descended to the hall and placed her hand in his, curtsying demurely.
He raised her and carried her hand to his lips, and there was no doubt of the warmth in his gaze. Georgiana blushed vividly; her heart fluttered wildly. She had forgotten how devastatingly charming he could be.
She turned to Bella, who remained rooted to the spot, an arrested look on an otherwise blank face. But before Georgiana could make any comment, Dominic said, “We’ll be back in about an hour, Bella.” And, with a nod for his sister, he firmly escorted Georgiana outside.
Handed into a curricle of the very latest design, Georgiana quickly tied her hat over her curls. The breeze was brisk, stirring the manes of the two black horses stamping and sidling between the shafts. A small tiger held their heads. Dominic climbed up beside her and, with a flick of the reins, they were off, the tiger scrambling for his perch behind.
As he threaded his team through the traffic, Dominic realised that his supposedly straightforward plan to have an hour’s quiet conversation with his love had already run off the tracks. For a start, there were no horses which could be described as docile in his stables. Until the present, this had not proved a problem. The pair he had unthinkingly requested be harnessed to the curricle were Welsh thoroughbreds, perfectly capable of stomping on anyone or anything they took exception to. And they had not been out for days and would willingly run a hundred miles if he would just drop his hands and give them their heads. Stifling a sigh, he gave them his undivided attention.
Once the park gates were reached, he set the horses to a trot, letting them stretch their legs at least that much. They tossed their heads impatiently, but eventually responded to the firm hand on the reins and accepted their lot. Only then did he turn to view his second hurdle. What on earth had possessed her to wear that hat? He knew perfectly well that the outfit she wore—the very latest in carriage wear—should have been completed by a tight-fitting cloche, perhaps with a small feather or cockade on the brim. The temptation to tell her as much burned his tongue, but he left the words unsaid. At the moment, he did not think a demonstration of his familiarity with feminine apparel was likely to further his cause.
“Someone is waving to you.”
Dominic looked about and returned the salutation, ignoring the invitation to draw up his carriage by Lady Molesworth’s barouche.
Georgiana’s fingers were clutching her reticule so tightly that she could feel the thin metal brim twisting. She wished he would say something, or that she could think of a safe topic to discuss. Finally, sheer desperation drove her to say, “I believe the weather is turning more cold…” only to hear her voice clash with his.
They both fell silent.
Dominic glanced down at the top of her hat and grimaced. Without being able to see her face, he felt he was groping in the dark. He dropped his voice to a softer tone. “Georgiana, my dear, what’s wrong?”
His experience with his sister, on top of his extensive expertise in related spheres, enabled him to get the tone just right, so that Georgiana felt that if he said another word in such a gentle way she would burst into tears in the middle of the park and shame them both. She waved her small hands in distress. “My lord… Please…” She had no idea what to say. Her mind wouldn’t function, and her senses, traitorous things, were too much occupied with manifestations of his presence other than his conversation. “There’s nothing wrong,” she eventually managed in a very small voice.
Swallowing his frustration, Dominic wondered just what he had expected to achieve with a question like that in the middle of the park. He should have guessed that whatever it was that had upset her would prove too distressing to discuss reasonably in such surroundings. The situation wanted improving, and he would get rid of that hat, too.
Without the least effort, he instituted a conversation on recent events, none of which could be construed as in any way disturbing. Gradually, he won a response from Georgiana.
Grateful for his understanding, and believing the worst was behind her, Georgiana set about recovering her composure, and her wits, eventually contributing her half of the conversation. As they bowled along, the horses’ hoofs scattering the autumn leaves, the breeze whisked past her cheeks, bringing crisp colour to hide her pallor. Bella had been right: fresh air was just what she needed. By the time they had completed their first circuit, she was chattering animatedly when, to her surprise, the curricle headed for the gates. They had been out for less than half an hour. “Where are we going?”
“Back to Green Street,” came the uncompromising reply. “I want to talk to you.”
The ride back to Winsmere House was, not surprisingly, accomplished in silence. Georgiana stole one