her granddaughter’s upbringing. And, even though she had taken extreme measures to ensure that the girl was shielded from the more unsavoury aspects involved in overseeing the welfare of the continual stream of those young ladies who were housed in the west wing of the building—referring to them only as “our guests”—it would have been difficult, if not downright impossible, for an inquisitive child, such as Stephanie had always been, not to have learned the real truth of the situation.
Owing to the fact that Georgianne’s aunt, Lady Letitia Gresham, served on Lady Highsmith’s board of trustees, the two girls had been acquainted since early childhood. Having both been orphaned at birth, it was hardly surprising that they should have forged the bonds of friendship, even though their temperaments could hardly have been more different.
Not long after the two girls were out of leading-strings, it had been arranged between their guardians that Stephanie would take her lessons with Georgianne, in the schoolroom at Gresham Hall, and this she had done until both girls had turned eighteen. Georgianne’s subsequent departure to London to make her formal début into the high society to which her family belonged, had filled her lifelong friend with both envy and rage, since Lady Highsmith had flatly refused to countenance the countess’s very generous offer to bring the two girls out together.
Her grandmother’s inexplicable refusal to allow her to accompany the Greshams to London had come as a bitter blow to Stephanie for, as with a certain amount of resentment, she had quickly pointed out to her friend, it was not as though the old lady was short of funds. ‘It is all part and parcel of her refusal to admit that I have a good deal more common sense than any of those pathetic creatures to whom she devotes so much of her time!’ she had complained at the time.
‘I hardly think that sense has had a lot to do with any of your grandmama’s ladies’ falls from grace,’ Georgianne had mused. ‘I am rather inclined to the belief that they simply allowed their hearts to overrule their heads.’
‘Allowed themselves to be totally taken in by some mendacious philanderer, you mean!’ Stephanie had retorted scornfully, ignoring her friend’s pained expression. ‘Well, I for one, find it extremely galling to discover that my own grandmother appears to labour under the misconception that I am going to throw myself into the arms of the first man who crosses my path!’
‘Stranger things have happened,’ Georgianne had pointed out, with a smile and a shake of the head. ‘Especially if you were to fall in love.’
‘Fall in love!’ her friend had scoffed. ‘You do talk such nonsense at times, Georgianne! I have no intention of ever indulging in such a feeble-minded activity! Why limit one’s favours to just the one gentleman when there is so much more satisfaction to be gained from having several of them at a time vying for one’s attention?’
‘Well, if the various routs and assemblies we have attended this past year have been anything to go by,’ the laughing Georgianne had then replied, ‘there have certainly been more than enough of them queuing up to vie for yours!’
‘Local squires’ sons and impoverished preachers!’ Stephanie had sniffed disparagingly. ‘Just think how many earls and viscounts I might have added to the list had not Grandmama been so adamant in her refusal.’ Then, having extracted herself from her friend’s sudden but heartfelt hug of sympathy, she had added, somewhat despondently, ‘By the time this Season is over, Georgianne, I predict that you will have netted a peer of your own and will be all set for your big society wedding, while it seems more than likely that I shall be stuck in this boring backwater for the rest of my days. Life is so unfair!’
Three years had passed since she had made that prediction, however, and, as the Gresham carriage rolled up the winding drive towards the Hall’s front door, Stephanie found herself recalling how very astonished she had been when Georgianne had, in fact, returned from her sojourn in town not only quite unattached but, as it happened, several weeks earlier than had been anticipated. Short of a rather brief and terse account of her presentation at Clarence House, and, despite Stephanie’s eager questioning, Georgianne had proved strangely unwilling to satisfy her friend’s curiosity as to the success or otherwise of her London début. In addition to which, there had been no further talk of any future Seasons for Lady Letitia’s niece.
Stephanie had been forced to deduce that some distressing event must have occurred to change the formerly positive and fully self-confident Georgianne from the girl that she had once been to the much quieter and far more reserved female that she was today. Whilst it was true that rare glimpses of her friend’s once quite infectious sense of humour might still be occasionally observed, it saddened Stephanie to think that the girl whom she had always regarded as her soulmate no longer chose to confide in her.
Later that same evening, as she sat on Georgianne’s bed, watching her friend brushing back her soft brown waves into the rather severe chignon that she favoured nowadays, a small frown marred Stephanie’s smooth brow, as she pondered over the fact that Georgianne had surely had more than enough time to get over the unexplained mystery surrounding her London début.
‘How is it that you never let your maid see to your hair, Georgianne?’ she asked, fingering her own bright locks. ‘Emily always thinks up such clever arrangements.’
‘Too true,’ nodded Georgianne, as she jabbed another hairpin into place. ‘The trouble is that she chooses to ignore my specific requests and will insist upon arguing for “just the odd little tendril here” or for “softening the line just there”—to use her expressions—while I myself prefer this much less troublesome and, to my mind, far neater style.’
‘I recall a time when your ringlets were even longer than my own,’ Stephanie reminded her. ‘We used to measure each other’s every month, to see whose had grown the most, do you remember?’
‘Yours always seemed to grow far more quickly during the summer months, as I recall,’ said Georgianne, a little smile playing about her lips. ‘My own hair, for some obscure reason, appears to favour the springtime.’
‘Am I right in thinking that it was after you came back from London that you decided upon this particular style?’ asked Stephanie, adopting a deliberately casual tone whilst, at the same time, appearing to give her full attention to a minor adjustment to the low-cut bodice of her dinner gown.
A slight frown flitted across Georgianne’s brow and a wary expression crept into her eyes. ‘You probably are,’ she murmured, as she reached for her gloves and rose from her seat. ‘I really cannot recall the exact occasion.’
‘Well, I can, Georgianne!’ retorted Stephanie crossly, as she leapt to her feet and planted herself squarely in front of her friend. ‘It’s been over three years now—surely we have been friends long enough for you to trust me with whatever happened then to change you so!’
Georgianne let out a deep sigh. ‘Honestly, Steffi,’ she protested, ‘I swear you are like a dog with a bone over this matter. No sooner do I think that I have cast it all out of my mind than you insist upon bringing up the whole beastly affair once again.’ Then, after a moment’s hesitation, she gave a resigned shrug, lowered herself down on to her bed and motioned to her friend to join her. ‘What happened was really nothing so very dreadful,’ she began tentatively. ‘I fancied myself in love and so was over the moon when he—the gentleman concerned—petitioned my uncle for my hand in marriage. But then, on the very day that our engagement was due to be announced in the Post, my suitor begged to be excused!’
‘Oh, how truly ghastly for you!’ cried Stephanie, instantly reaching out to clasp her friend’s hand in sympathy. ‘But, did the dastardly creature give you no reason for his craven withdrawal?’
‘He
