suddenly broke off. “Oh—are you imagining she must be some encroaching mushroom?” Her ladyship leant forward slightly and fixed her big eyes on her husband. “Truly, Arthur, it is not so. She’s the most engaging little thing. So innocent and green and so…so trusting.”
Lord Winsmere’s fine brows rose slightly.
Abruptly Bella dropped to her knees, draping her silkclad arms over her husband’s knees. She smiled, impish and seductive all at once. “Please, Arthur. Please say she may stay. You know how bored I am. She’s perfectly presentable, I give you my word. I could take her about and present her to the ton…Oh—I’d have such fun! The balls and parties are so tame, if one’s not part of the game. Please, my love. Say she may stay.”
Lord Winsmere smiled down into his wife’s upturned face while his mind canvassed the possibilities presented by her unknown guest. Their son and only child was ensconced in the country, happily growing out of short coats. Jonathon’s constitution was not sickly but did not cope well with the stale air of the capital. But his own work necessitated his presence in London. Bella, torn between the two men in her life, had chosen to remain by his side. As he doubted he could live without her, he would willingly make any sacrifice to alleviate the boredom he knew she found in the predictable rounds of tonnish entertainment. But an unknown girl? And, if he knew his Bella, she meant to fire the chit off with all flags flying. Not that the expense worried him. But was the girl truly as innocent as Bella, herself not much more experienced for all her matronliness, believed?
He reached out a finger to trace the graceful curve of his wife’s brow. Impulsively, she caught his hand and kissed it, then continued to hold it in a warm clasp, her eyes on his face.
“You needn’t worry about the cost. Dominic said to charge everything to him.”
“Did he, indeed? How very magnanimous, to be sure.” Lord Winsmere’s mobile lips twitched. Dominic Ridgeley had inherited a fortune of sizeable proportions and could easily afford to underwrite the launching of an unknown damsel into the ton. The question that exercised Lord Winsmere’s mind was why his hedonistic brother-in-law should wish to do such a peculiar thing.
“I think perhaps I should meet this paragon before I allow you to take her under your wing.”
Bella’s eyes grew round. “Are you thinking she is one of Dominic’s paramours? I must admit, I did, too, at first. Well, whoever would imagine him having any contact with an innocent young girl? But I assure you she’s just what Dominic says—young and innocent and…and hopelessly lost. I dare say she’ll have no idea how to go on, having lived in Italy all this time.”
Lord Winsmere’s face remained impassive. The possibility that his brother-in-law had sent Bella a lady needing help to cover some lapse of acceptable conduct had certainly occurred, only to be immediately dismissed. Few knew better than himself that, despite Viscount Alton’s reputation as a well heeled, insidiously charming and potentially dangerous rake, underneath, Dominic Ridgeley adhered most assiduously to a code of conduct that, if it were more widely recognised, would see him hailed as a pillar of society. But it was the veneer society saw—a façade erected to hide the boredom of a man who had never had to exert himself to win any prize. Born with the proverbial silver spoon tightly clamped between his jaws, and with the compounding assets of a handsome face and an athletic frame, there was little Dominic Ridgeley needed in life. And what he did want came easily. Society adored him. His well born mistresses fell at his feet. With ready charm, Dominic moved through it all, and with the years his boredom grew.
“What, exactly, did Dominic say?”
Bella smiled and shifted to sit at his feet, her hand still holding his, her shining blue eyes turned lovingly on him. “Well…”
Fifteen minutes later, Lord Winsmere felt he was in possession of all the salient facts. The only puzzle remaining was his brother-in-law’s motives. A whimsical start? Dominic was hardly in his dotage. Nevertheless, young and girlish and innocent was assuredly not his style. The spectre of Elaine, Lady Changley drifted into Lord Winsmere’s mind. Involuntarily, his face assumed an expression of distaste. Lady Changley was definitely not young and girlish, and not by the remotest stretch of the most pliable imagination could she be described as innocent.
Bella saw the disapprobation in her husband’s face. Her own face fell. “You don’t like the idea?”
Recalled, Lord Winsmere smiled and confessed, “I was thinking of something else.” At his wife’s fond smile, he continued, “If the girl is all you and Dominic seem to think, I have no objections to your taking her under your wing. Aside from anything else, she’ll have to be terribly innocent to swallow this yarn of yours about the way to securing a position being to make a splash in society.”
Bella met his sceptical look with a bright grin. “Oh, I’ll manage it—you’ll see.”
Five minutes later Lord Winsmere returned to his desk to tidy his papers away for the night. The memory of Bella’s bright eyes remained with him. She was more animated than she had been in months. Perhaps Dominic’s damsel in distress was an angel in disguise. He smiled fondly. All in all, he was looking forward to meeting his wife’s protégée.
THE SHARP CALL of the orange sellers woke Georgiana. Bemused, she stared about her, then remembered where she was and how she came to be there. Despite the evidence of her eyes, reality retained the aura of a dream. She was lying propped in her pillows, still wondering, when Cruickshank came bustling through the door with her early morning chocolate.
Georgiana waited silently for her maid’s comment. No one could size up an establishment faster or more accurately than Cruickshank.
No sniffs were forthcoming. Not even a snort.
As she accepted the tray across her knees, Georgiana was taken aback to hear the dour maid humming.
Catching sight of her mistress’s startled look, Cruickshank smiled. “A right proper place they keep here, Miss Georgie. No need to teach them anything. Mrs Biggins, the housekeeper, is a tight old bird, but fair, mark my words. Runs the place just as she should. And Johnson—he’s the butler—and her ladyship’s dresser, Hills, are everything they ought to be. A relief, it is, after the Place.”
“So you’re comfortable here?”
At the wardrobe, Cruickshank nodded emphatically. She drew out a violet morning gown trimmed with fine lace and laid it ready across a chair, then went to search for the accessories.
Georgiana sipped her chocolate. As the sweet warmth slid down her throat and heat seeped through her body, she sighed. So wonderful—to have real chocolate again. She closed her eyes and was immediately back on the terrace at Ravello, her father opposite, across the breakfast-table. Abruptly she opened her eyes, blinking rapidly. Enough of that! She had shed all the tears she possessed long ago. Her father had wanted her to get on with her life. He had warned her not to grieve for him. He had had a good life, so he had said, and wanted his daughter to have the same. That was why she was to return to England and the bosom of her family. Some bosom Charles had turned out to be. At the thought, Georgiana wriggled her toes. The idea of Charles scouring the countryside for her, only to return, dusty and beaten, to the damp and musty Place, brought a glow of satisfaction to her honey-gold eyes. Serve him right.
“How long are we staying here?”
Cruickshank came to draw back the covers. Georgiana slid from the bed, busying herself with washing and dressing while she considered how best to answer. She had not discussed her plan to get a position with either of her servants, sure they would
