.
Three Weeks Later
With Georgiana on his arm, Thomas felt as if he held a beautiful cat the entire world wanted to pet and coo over. Everyone wanted a moment of his sister's time, whether to marvel over her dress, her beauty, or her wit, and she shone under the attention. He escorted her around the floor at Almack's, keeping a genial smile on his face and trying to prevent the boredom from becoming visible in his eyes.
"Dear God, how in the world do you stand this without going utterly insane?" he murmured to Georgiana.
She smiled at him sweetly. "By remembering that most of the people here aren't worth a button, but that some are quite splendid. I suppose you would be happier if there was a faro table in the center of things with a scarred one-eyed dealer overseeing it all."
"I think it would be a slightly more entertaining evening than watching you subtly make fun of Lady Wilmot right to her face without her ever noticing."
"Oh, she noticed," said Georgiana with a small smile of satisfaction. "She just doesn't think she has the power to object, poor cow."
Thomas’ shudder was only half pretended. "You are making the stews look warm and welcoming."
"The stews where you like to game are more honest than this place, I think," said Georgiana quietly. "At the very least, the stabbings are less metaphorical."
Thomas started to ask her what she meant by that when the majordomo announced his grace, the Duke of Parrington, accompanying Miss Blythe Dennings.
"Oh, the little heiress," Georgiana said with a bit of interest.
Thomas was so swamped with feelings about seeing Blythe again that he barely heard her words at first. "Who? What little heiress?"
"Oh, do you not keep up with anything, brother? It's all the ton has been talking about for well on a week now. Blythe Dennings, the Carrows' charity case, was settled with some fantastic property up in the north.”
“Don't call her a charity case,” Thomas said without thinking. When his sister looked at him curiously, he cleared his throat. “It shows poorly to pick on their relatives when the Carrows themselves are such easy targets.”
Georgiana gave him a quizzical look. Thomas had never before cared who she taunted or cut. “Keep my claws sharp for better targets? If you like, Thomas, though she is going to have to get used to far worse.”
“Why is that?”
“Because the property was settled on her by the late Duke of Parrington, George Carrow. Apparently, he kept the entire place a secret from his own heir and his own solicitor, and the ones managing it only came forward after his death.”
“So, he thought well of the girl and wanted to see her set up. Hardly a cause for scandal.”
“When the property produces in excess of nine thousand pounds a year, one imagines that he did a little better than think well of her. I was at Lady Maybury's salon a few days ago, and the rumors range from her being the late duke's secret lover to her being his bastard daughter, and those were just two of the ones I heard.”
“Keep them to yourself. Having feathers in your mouth doesn't become you, Georgiana,” said Thomas shortly. His sister looked at him in surprise, and he wondered if there was even a trace of hurt in her gaze.
“Thomas, really. It's just gossip.”
He was saved from having to respond by a Society matron's approach. She wanted to talk to Georgiana and subtly ascertain whether Thomas was there looking for a wife or simply to escort her. His sister fended her off with an expertly noncommittal answer, and Thomas was thankful that she dropped the matter of Blythe Dennings as they continued to make their rounds.
He had almost convinced himself that they were two different people—the brave girl he had met in one of the worst parts of London and the Carrow cousin. When he thought about it, he had heard little of her, and everything he could remember spoke of a sanctimonious young lady who pinched her lips as tight as a miser's purse and saw dancing and fun as some kind of invitation to the devil.
Surely, there had been some kind of mistake, some case of mistaken identity. Thomas resolved to put the entire matter out of his mind, because family history and experience had taught him that Martins tangling with Carrows or vice-versa invariably led to trouble. The most recent generation of both families had largely given each other a wide berth, a tradition Thomas was more than happy to keep up.
Of course, it was easier said than done when he and Georgiana came around a corner and found Blythe Dennings clinging to Tristan Carrow's arm as if he had hung the moon.
Thomas felt as if the entire room fell away. There was cotton muffling the chatter of the assembly hall, and he could barely feel Georgiana's hand on his arm.
There was no doubt at all that Blythe Dennings, the erstwhile poor little heiress, was the same Blythe who had saved him from having his head staved in on the doorstep of one of London's more notorious gambling hells.
Instead of gray and brown, Blythe was dressed in a fashionable gown of blue and cream, her hair curled expertly in the Greek style. She looked like a fashion plate in miniature. With the current fashion being for statuesque blondes like Georgiana, small and slender Blythe, with her dark looks, seemed fey and entrancing in the crowded halls of Almack's.
“Oh, well, she cleans up well,” said Georgiana in tones of genuine surprise.
Tristan Carrow was talking to an older gentleman, but Blythe flinched a little. She had obviously heard Georgiana's assessment, and Thomas was only grateful that it had not been worse.
The wise thing, the smart thing, perhaps even the kindest thing to do would be to turn around and venture for company elsewhere in the hall. With the Season just getting its start, the hall was lively with socialites, debutantes, and young lords looking to make a good match. There was plenty of company to be had, and some of it had to be at least a little entertaining.
“Georgiana, can you introduce us to Parrington and Blythe?”
Georgiana looked annoyed, and Thomas thought with some amusement that whether Blythe was a la mode or not, she recognized another beauty and did not necessarily like it. “Is this truly the beehive you want to stick your hand in this evening?”
“Well, they say to live dangerously while you can.”
“Oh, I'm not going to say that the Carrows are dangerous. More like deadly dull and wrapped up tight with fustian and nonsense maybe, but not dangerous.”
Georgiana lifted her chin and led Thomas toward Blythe and the Duke of Parrington. Briefly, Thomas thought it was a bit of a shame that Georgiana had been born a first daughter rather than a second son. If they had sent her against the French, they'd have won the war in a matter of weeks.
“Your grace!” said Georgiana, her voice as bright and brittle as glass. “I do not believe that I have had the pleasure of seeing you at Almack's for quite some time. I was beginning to fear that you'd caused some scandal and won the ire of the patronesses.”
For a moment, Thomas thought that the duke was actually going to give Georgiana the cut direct, ignoring her entirely and turning away. That would have been a slight past bearing, and though Thomas did not want to get ejected from the social hub that was Almack's Assembly Rooms, he also wasn't going to let Parrington get away with insulting his sister.
“Lady Georgiana. No, I have not been caught in any sort of scandal that would necessitate my being barred from the door. I imagine that as they continue to let you and your brother attend, I'm still quite safe.”
Thomas bristled, but Georgiana laughed. When she was a young girl, Georgiana had learned to fence while Thomas was taking lessons. Eventually, their father had put an end to that, and it seemed as if she’d transferred all that quickness and viciousness to her tongue.
“Why, imagine you having any imagination at all. I'm afraid I cannot imagine that myself. But I can at least imagine a world where we are civil enough to make introductions for each other, can't you? I'm not sure you've properly met my brother, Thomas Martin, Marquess of Amory. Thomas, this is Tristan Carrow, his grace the Duke of Parrington.”
Thomas smiled thinly, extending his hand to Tristan. Tristan didn't bother even trying to smile as he shook Thomas’ hand. Thomas noted that the scrape Tristan had suffered from their fight was almost completely healed over. His own lip no longer ached as abominably as it had before.
“We've not had the pleasure of being formally introduced before this. Lady Georgiana, Lord Amory, this is my cousin, Miss Blythe Dennings.”
Thomas finally allowed himself to look at Blythe, and when he looked into her eyes, he felt a tugging deep inside him. She wasn't hanging on to Parrington as if he were her lover, she was hanging on to him because, otherwise, she might have drowned. She was beautiful in her gown, perhaps the most beautiful young woman in the entire hall, but for some reason, she looked utterly miserable, and not all the silk and muslin in London could hide it.
“I'm pleased to formally make your acquaintance, Miss Blythe. It feels long overdue.”
Blythe seemed to gather up all of her strength before nodding to him, offering her hand first to Georgiana, who clasped it lightly and then let it go, and then to Thomas. He took her hand gently, wondering why he had never quite understood how small she was. She’d seemed as fierce as a feral cat when they were walking together in London, and now she seemed shrunken. It was wrong.
Thomas lifted her hand, bowing over it. Yes, it was all wrong... and that was because she was faking everything. The faltering looks, the flinches from Georgiana's casual barbs, all of it.
“Miss Blythe, the dancing looks to start in just a few moments. Will you honor me with a dance, perhaps Parson Hollis? It'll be halfway through the set.”
Blythe stood as straight as she could, and Thomas remembered what his sister had said about lips pressed as tight as a miser's purse. She looked as if she would rain down pious brimstone on him for even suggesting it. She might have even refused if Parrington hadn't spoken.
“My cousin is not familiar with the dances at Almack's,” he said. “She will be sitting out for this evening, at least until we can find her a dancing instructor.”
“As a matter of fact, Tristan, I know a few dances. I do not hold with dancing as a rule; I find it vulgar and unseemly, but if I must be here, I might as well show off the fact that I am no country bumpkin. Lord Amory, I reluctantly consent to dance Parson Hollis with you.”
Georgiana stared at Blythe, and Thomas could tell that she hadn't seen through Blythe's act. Why would she? Blythe was apparently as skilled as his own sharp sister at social interactions, just in a different way. Where Georgiana drew people in with her beauty and charm and left them bleeding on the floor, Blythe wore spines like a hedgehog's and stopped them from coming close.
“I am pleased to have your reluctant consent,” Thomas said cheerfully. “I will come and find you when it is announced.”
Georgiana looked slightly stunned by the sheer rudeness of the Carrow clan as they walked away. “My God, how did they ever manage to get in the door?”
“Wealth and blood as blue as ours, I would think,” said Thomas, still thinking of Blythe. Her eyes had flashed with something when he'd asked her to dance. Perhaps she would even tell him what that was.
“And why on earth did you ask her to dance? She looks like she would just as soon choke you with her prayer book as look at you.”
“I suppose I just like trouble.”
That, at least, was true. After all his years at high Society gambling tables and in the worst neighborhoods that London had to offer, Thomas was good at detecting when trouble was on its way. Whether she was a street cat or a prim missionary, Blythe Dennings was pure trouble, and he couldn't wait to dance with her.