soberly so. His blue coat was well cut, his satin breeches without a crease. Brown hair, stylishly but not rakishly cut, framed a pleasant face. There was nothing one could put a finger on to account for the air of elegance which clung to him.
As he continued to look at her with mild curiosity, Georgiana, Lady Winterspoon’s dictum still fresh in her mind, answered him truthfully. “It was merely the conversation, caught in snippets as I walked about. It’s—” she put her head on one side as she considered her words “—rather single-minded, if you know what I mean.”
A quirky grin twisted the gentleman’s lips. “I do indeed know what you mean, Miss…?”
Having embarked on her course, Georgiana dispensed with caution, “Hartley. Georgiana Hartley. I’m staying with Lady Winsmere. I seem to have lost her in the crush.”
“Ah, the lovely Bella. I think I saw her over by the door, in earnest conversation with Lady Duckworth. Permit me to escort you to her.”
With only a single blink, Georgiana laid her gloved hand on the proffered sleeve. If she was going to be escorted by any gentleman tonight, she was quite content that it should be this one. He hadn’t told her his name, but he seemed thoroughly at home.
“From your comment, you seem almost to laugh at the purpose of this great institution. Yet surely you propose to avail yourself of its services?”
This was the sort of conversation Georgiana had cut her social eye-teeth on. “I most certainly intend to avail myself of its services, but not, I think, as you might assume.”
Her companion digested this riposte, before countering, “If that means you are not here to snare a title, or a fortune, what possible other use for this place can you have found?”
“Why, that to which I was putting it when you met me.”
A pause developed, followed by a great sigh. “Very well. I confess myself stumped. What is it you’ve discovered within these faded grey walls?”
Georgiana smiled, eyes dancing. “Why, enjoyment, of course. I was enjoying myself.” To her surprise, she realised this was true. She turned to glance into her companion’s grey eyes. In them, she saw thunderstruck amazement.
“Enjoyment? In Almack’s?”
Georgiana laughed. “Of course. I’m enjoying myself now. Aren’t you?”
Her gentleman stopped stock-still, a ludicrous mixture of horror and humour in his face. “Dreadful! I’ll never live this down.” Then his face cleared and he smiled, quite genuinely, at Georgiana. “Come, Miss Hartley. Let me restore you to Lady Winsmere. You’re clearly too potent a force to be let loose for long.”
Perfectly content, Georgiana strolled by his side through the crowd, who, she now noticed, seemed to part before them. Even before she caught sight of Bella’s surprised face, she had started to question the identity of her escort. But she was determined not to worry. And, thankfully, whoever he was, her escort seemed to find nothing amiss.
Bella curtsied and chatted animatedly, but Georgiana still heard no name. With a final, sotto voce, “Enjoying oneself in Almack’s. Whatever next?” the very correct gentleman withdrew.
Georgiana turned to Bella, but, before she could utter her question, Bella was exclaiming, albeit in delighted whispers, “Georgie! However did you do it?”
“Do what? Who is he?” Instinctively, Georgiana whispered too.
“Who? But…don’t you know?” Bella stared in disbelief, first at her, then at the elegant retreating back.
“No. No one introduced us. I bumped into him and apologised.”
Bella fanned herself frantically. “Heavens! He might have cut you!”
“Cut…? But who on earth is he?”
“Brummel! George Brummel. He’s one of society’s most powerful arbiters of taste.” Bella turned to survey Georgiana appraisingly. “Well! Obviously he’s taken to you. What a relief! I didn’t know what to think when I saw you with him. He can be quite diabolical, you know.”
Georgiana, conscious now of the envious eyes upon her, smiled confidently. “You needn’t have worried. We were just enjoying ourselves.”
Bella looked incredulous.
Georgiana laughed.
“GOODNIGHT, Johnson.”
“Goodnight, my lord.”
The door of Winsmere House shut softly behind Dominic. The night continued mild, but the low rumble of distant thunder heralded the end of the unseasonal warmth. Still, Alton House in Grosvenor Square was only five minutes away. Dominic set off, swinging his slim ebony cane, his long strides unhurried as he headed for North Audley Street.
The evening had left him with a sense of dissatisfaction which he was hard put to explain. He had broken his journey to Brighton to check on Miss Hartley, although, to be precise, it was more to relieve his mind over whether Arthur and Bella had been put out over her descent on them. Thankfully, all had turned out for the best. Arthur’s scheme would undoubtedly pave the way for Georgiana Hartley to spend the upcoming Little Season with Bella, after which it would be wonderful if she had not received at least one acceptable proposal. The girl was not a brilliant match, but a perfectly suitable connection for any of the lesser nobility who made up the bulk of the ton. He had checked on her antecedents and knew them to be above reproach. Yes, Georgiana Hartley would very likely soon be betrothed. Which was far more appropriate than being a companion.
As he swung south into North Audley Street, Dominic grinned. How typical of Arthur to concoct such a perfect solution to the girl’s troubles. And Bella’s. Everything seemed set to fall smoothly into place. Which, all things considered, should leave him feeling smugly satisfied. Instead, he was feeling uncommonly irritated. The grin faded. A frown settled over his features.
A watchman passed by unobtrusively, unwilling to draw the attention of such a well set up and clearly out-of-sorts gentleman to his activities. Dominic heard him but gave no sign.
Why should he be feeling so disillusioned, so disheartened? He’d been living this life for the past twelve years. Why had it suddenly palled? The circumstances that had driven him to seek the peace of Candlewick drifted into his mind. All the glamour and glitter and laughter associated with the doings of the Carlton House set. And the underlying vice, the predictability, the sheer falsity of most of it—these were what had sent him scurrying for sanctuary. But even Candlewick had failed to lift his mood. While its serenity had been comforting, the huge house had seemed lonely, empty. He had never noticed it before; now its silence was oppressive.
The corner of Grosvenor Square loomed ahead. Dominic swung left and crossed the road to the railed garden. The gates were locked at sunset, but that had never stopped him strolling the well tended lawns by night. He vaulted the wrought-iron railings with accustomed ease, then turned his steps across the lawns in the direction of his town house on the south side of the Square. Tucking his cane under his arm, he thrust his hands into his coat pockets and sank his chin into the soft folds of his cravat. Doubtless, if he were still in the care of his old nurse, she would tell him to take one of Dr James’s Powders. The blue devils, that was what he had.
A vision of honey-gold eyes crystallised
