‘Well, that just goes to show what a fool you are when it comes to women! If only you moved about in society a bit more, you would have so much more experience. And I don’t mean the kind you get with your bits of muslin,’ she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. ‘They are different. But when it comes to a girl like that...’ She shook her head. ‘For God’s sake, Edmund, I didn’t go to all that effort to see you fall prey to her wiles in the end.’
All that effort? What could she mean? Though the remark had roused his curiosity, he did his best not to reveal it. In fact, he lowered his eyelids and regarded her steadily, though his mind was racing. He’d already detected an anomaly of some sort regarding his past dealings with Georgie. Was he now about to discover that his mother had played some part in it? She was so angry that she was already being highly indiscreet. Hopefully he could goad her into losing her temper altogether. It wouldn’t take much, by the look of her. She always ended up like this if she didn’t get her own way. If tears and pleading failed, she worked herself up into a fury. It was one of the reasons his subordinates found it so hard to defy her, even when they knew it would mean disobeying his orders.
But he was made of sterner stuff. And hadn’t been scared by one of her tantrums since he’d been a very small boy.
Which made it almost a pleasure to say the very thing most likely to infuriate her.
‘Georgiana does not need to employ any wiles,’ he said, with what he hoped was a smile she’d take for that of a besotted suitor. ‘She is far too beautiful to need to bother. Besides being by far the most interesting conversationalist...’
‘Interesting? Interesting! That girl knows nothing about anything except hounds and horses! How can you...lower yourself to that level? But it is all the same with you...men,’ she said scornfully. ‘You may claim to be intelligent and care for intellectual pursuits, but deep down all any of you can think of is the bedroom.’
He gave her a mockingly innocent smile. ‘Is that so? The bedroom? Why, madam, whatever can you mean?’
‘Don’t give me that innocent act,’ she screeched. ‘I know all about your proclivities. And hers. Why do you think I let Dr Scholes remove you from Bartlesham in the first place? You were just at the age to start noticing the difference between male and female, and there she was, climbing into your bedroom at all hours of the day and night. Romping in your bed, in her undergarments...’
He frowned. ‘Romping?’ They had never romped. He’d barely started noticing that she was becoming a young lady. And wondering whether she really was as pretty as he thought, or if he liked her looks so much because he liked her so much. Every single one of her features had appeared perfect to his inexperienced eyes. Especially her lips. He’d become fascinated by the way they moved when she talked. The way she pressed them together when she was thinking hard. And, yes, he might have wondered, once or twice, what it would be like to kiss her, when they grew up, but that was as far as it had gone.
‘Yes, romping! I knew all about it, from the very first. Because Mrs Bulstrode came straight to me and told me the whole, the very day she caught that bold little piece in your bed.’ Lady Ashenden clasped her hands so tightly the knuckles went white. ‘I knew the only way to save you from getting embroiled in a sordid scandal was to send you away. Somewhere she couldn’t reach you. Though, what it cost me—’ Her voice hitched. ‘You were my boy. My only boy. I knew I’d never have another, not with your father—’ She pulled herself up. Gulped. ‘And you never came back. Not to me...’ Her voice faded away. The sheen of moisture in her eyes welled completely naturally this time. And then to his surprise, her whole posture changed. She looked as though she was actually shrinking.
Until that moment, he’d never thought of her as old. Because her personality was so forceful. Her mannerisms so vibrant.
But beneath all the bravado, and the fashionable clothes, and the jewellery, and the gossip and the brittle laughter, he could now see there lurked a sad and lonely woman who was well past her prime.
He cleared his throat. ‘You are telling me that was the reason you sent me away? Because Mrs Bulstrode came to you with some tale about Georgie and I getting up to no good?’
‘It was for the best,’ she said in a hollow voice. ‘By the time you came back, you’d...grown out of the infatuation.’
‘Firstly,’ he said, ‘Georgie and I were never more than friends, in those days.’
His mother snorted. ‘She was in your bed, with her dress hitched up to her waist.’
‘Because she had just climbed up to my room with a dozen jam jars full of specimens she’d collected for me. Good God, woman, she was only twelve. And completely innocent, most particularly because she’d been brought up more like a boy than a girl. She had no notion that showing her legs was indecent. Her skirts hampered her ability to climb, so she simply hitched them out of the way.’
‘Trust you to try to defend her. But don’t forget, Mrs Bulstrode heard the pair of you giggling. Behind closed bed curtains. And when she twitched them away, the pair of you were the picture of guilt.’
‘Of course we were the picture of guilt. She knew she wasn’t supposed to be there. You had forbidden all visitors lest they bring some infection to my room, hadn’t you? It was no more than that. Nothing—’ he slammed his open palm on the desktop so hard the inkwells rattled ‘—absolutely nothing improper ever crossed either of our minds.’
‘Well, it does not matter now.’
‘Doesn’t matter? Doesn’t matter? Have you no idea how unhappy I was when you sent me into exile?’
For the first six months, he’d been in daily torment, waiting for letters that never came. And when Dr Scholes had given him the explanation about women being fickle creatures, he’d absorbed that lie to the extent that he’d based every interaction, with every person he’d ever met since then, male or female, on the premise that if he was fool enough to believe a word they said, if he trusted them, then they’d let him down.
‘Well, I’m sure you were. As was I, to have to do it. But it was worth it, in the end, wasn’t it? You came home strong, and well, and free from...’ She trailed away at the look of fury he was sure must be blazing from his eyes.
‘Sending me away was not all that you did though, was it? It wasn’t enough to physically part us, you did your utmost to kill our friendship, by preventing us communicating at all. Somehow you prevented my letters from reaching her, didn’t you? You made sure she thought I’d forgotten all about her the minute I left Bartlesham.’ He got to his feet. ‘And I thought she’d forgotten all about me, too, but now I wonder. Did she write to me? And did you prevent her letters from reaching me?’
She lifted her chin. ‘It was for the best.’
He could scarcely believe it. He didn’t think he’d ever had a hypothesis proved correct in such short order.
‘How did you do it? No, wait...’ He stalked to the window, then turned back. ‘It would have been remarkably simple.’ The man who came up to the house with the letters always handed them to Dr Scholes. ‘You ordered Dr Scholes not to permit me any communication from her. What did you tell him, that she was an undesirable connection? A corrupting influence?’
She sat as though turned to stone. But he did not need her to say a word. Dr Scholes had done his work well. He’d known the truth, yet had no scruples about tarnishing Georgiana’s image by spouting
