aware of her every movement, every inflexion, every expression.
Leaves from the beech trees had piled in drifts and softly scrunched underfoot. Dominic paused to regard his feet, lightly covered with golden leaves. Then he shook his head, trying to rid it of the memory of curls sheening guinea-gold under candlelight. God! What was this? The onset of senility?
Determined to force his mind to sanity, he removed his hands from his pockets and straightened his shoulders. Ten long strides brought him to the fence, and he vaulted over to the pavement beyond. A few days, not to mention nights, of Elaine Changley’s company would cure him of this idiotic fancy. As his feet crossed the cobbles, he commanded his memory to supply a vision of Lady Changley as he had last seen her, reclining amid the much rumpled sheets of the bed he had just vacated. Of course, Elaine’s ambitions were on a par with her charms. But as he was as well acquainted with the former as he was with the latter he felt justified in ignoring them. A smile played at the corners of his fine lips as he trod the steps to his front door.
In the instant he raised his cane to beat a tattoo on the solid oak door, an unnerving vision in which Georgiana Hartley was substituted for Elaine Changley flooded his brain. So breathtaking was the sight that Dominic froze. The gold top of his cane, yet to touch the door, remained suspended before him.
The door opened and Dominic found himself facing his butler, Timms.
“My lord?”
Feeling decidedly foolish, Dominic lowered his cane. He sauntered past Timms, one of Duckett’s protégés, as if it were perfectly normal for him to stand rooted to his own doorstep. He paused in the hallway to draw off his gloves, then handed the offending cane to Timms.
“I’ll be leaving for Brighton early tomorrow, Timms. Tell Maitland to be ready about nine.”
“Very good, m’lord.”
Frowning, Dominic slowly ascended the gently curving staircase, pausing, as was his habit, to check his fob watch against the long case clock on the landing. Restoring his watch to his pocket, he reflected that, if nothing else could cure him of his disturbing affliction, the decadent amusements to be found within the Prince Regent’s pavilion at Brighton would.
BY THE TIME the Winsmere House ladies were handed into their coach for the drive home from King Street, Georgiana had had proved to her, over and over again, the truth of Lady Winterspoon’s dictum. If she enjoyed herself, then her partners seemed to enjoy her company. If she laughed, then they laughed, too. And, while such overt behaviour did not sit well with one brought up to the self-effacing manners expected of young Italian girls, it was a great deal better, to Georgiana’s way of thinking, than simpering and giggling. Her upbringing clearly had not conditioned her for English social life. Nevertheless, the unrufflable calm she had been instructed was a lady’s greatest asset certainly helped, allowing her to cloak her instinctive responses to some of those she had met—like Lord Ormskirk and his leering glances, and Mr Morecombe, with his penchant for touching her bare arms.
“The Sotherbys are holding a ball next week. Lady Margaret said she’d send cards.” Bella’s voice came out of the gloom of the seat opposite. “After tonight, I’ve no doubts we’ll be kept busy. So fortunate, your meeting with Brummel.”
The unmistakable sound of a smothered yawn came to Georgiana’s ears. She smiled into the darkness. Despite her tiredness, Bella seemed even more excited by her success than she was. She had originally found her hostess’s claim of boredom difficult to believe. Now she could find it in her to understand that, without any special interest, the balls and parties could indeed turn flat. Still, to her, everything was too new for there to be any danger of her own interest flagging before Bella’s did. Hopefully Bella would not feel too let down when she found a position and moved away. Into obscurity. Georgiana frowned.
If she had been asked, five days previously, whether she had any ambition to enter the ton, she would unhesitatingly have disclaimed all such desire. However, having now had a small sample of the diverse entertainments to be found amid the social whirl, she rather thought she might enjoy being able to savour these, in moderation, by way of a change from the quieter lifestyle she considered her milieu. A saying of her father’s drifted past her mind’s ear. “Experience, girl! There’s nothing quite like it and no substitute known.’
As the clop of the horses’ hoofs echoed back from the tiered façades of the houses they passed, Georgiana puzzled over her change of heart. Still, nothing could alter the fact that she would need to earn her way, at least to some extent. That being so, perhaps she should take this opportunity of experiencing the ton, of enjoying herself amid the glittering throng? According to Bella, she needed to be known to find a position. So, until she secured one, she could, and perhaps should, follow her father’s and Lady Winterspoon’s advice.
Bella yawned. “Oh, dear. I’d forgotten what it was like.” Another yawn was stifled behind one slim white-gloved hand. Then, “I wonder if Dominic has managed to convince Charles to sell the Place yet?”
The question jolted Georgiana out of her reverie. “Lord Alton wishes to buy the Place?”
“Why, yes. Didn’t I mention it?”
Her friend’s voice was sleepy, but Georgiana’s curiosity was aroused. “No. Why does he want it? From what I saw, it’s terribly run down.”
“Oh, it is. Run down, I mean. Even when Charles’s father was alive…And now…”
Georgiana waited, but Bella’s mind had clearly drifted. “But why does he want it?” she prompted.
“The Place? Oh, I keep forgetting you don’t know all that much about it.” Bella’s skirts rustled as she sat up. “Well, you see, the Place didn’t exist a hundred years ago. It used to be part of Candlewick. But one of my ancestors was something of a loose screw. He gambled heavily. One of his creditors was one of your ancestors. He agreed to take part of the Candlewick lands in payment. So that was how the Place came about. My spendthrift ancestor didn’t live long, much to the family’s relief. Ever since then, the family has tried to buy back the Place and make Candlewick complete again. But your family have always refused. I don’t know how long it’s been going on, but, generally, both families have always dealt amicably despite all. That is…” Bella paused dramatically; Georgiana sat enthralled “—until my father’s death. Although he had always talked of rejoining the Place to Candlewick, my father hadn’t, as far as Dominic could discover, done much about it. So when he inherited, Dominic wrote to your uncle to discuss the matter. But your uncle never replied. He was, by that time, something of a recluse. Dominic could never get to see him. After a while, Dominic gave up. When he heard of your uncle’s death, he wrote to Charles. Charles didn’t reply either. Mind you,” Bella added on a reflective note, “as Charles dislikes Dominic as much as Dominic dislikes him, I can’t say I was surprised at that. Still, from what you’ve said, the Place is falling down about Charles’s ears. I really can’t see why he won’t sell. Dominic’s prepared to pay above the odds, and Charles must know that.”
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