Chapter Sixteen
At breakfast Aunt Emily raised her eyebrows when Hetty told her Guy was escorting Lady Georgina to a ball.
Aunt Emily buttered her toast. “I shouldn’t worry about Guy’s feelings for you,” she said. “Judging by the state you were in last evening.” She made a clucking sound with her tongue and shook her head. “Perhaps I should be more diligent as chaperone.”
Hetty frowned. “Lady Georgina is an earl’s daughter, and she’s pretty.”
“Lady Georgina is young and caper-witted. She has been kept in cotton wool and is a trifle spoiled.” Aunt Emily reached for the jam. “Guy speaks ardently of his plans to make improvements to his estate. I suspect he intends to get his hands dirty in the process. He would want a wife who wished to spend a good deal of the year in the country. He has too much sense to marry a young lady who would prefer a coxcomb for a husband.”
“Sense doesn’t always feature into one’s decision to marry,” Hetty said, stirring her tea.
Her appetite had deserted her after a restless night. An ominous feeling seemed to hang over her. It was what Guy hadn’t said that worried her most. But she’d seen no evidence that Guy wished to become a fashionable leader of society. She’d begun to understand him, his faults as well as the finer points of his character. He would seek to protect her, something she valued but also annoyed her. He would be a stalwart friend to the last, but he was unequivocal in his demand for loyalty from others. She suspected Guy would never forgive Eustace for doubting him even if he was proved innocent of any crime. Guy had come into her life shattering her dull existence. Sometimes lying in bed at night, it all seemed like a dream, from the moment she first saw him lying on the road.
She loved his passion, his humor, his masculine pride and would trust him with her life. What would the future hold for her without him? It seemed a dreary prospect.
*
The valet put down his brush. “All done, my lord.”
“Thank you, Hobson.”
Guy had borrowed John’s valet to ensure he was suitably attired. He was grateful for all Strathairn had done and continued to do for him. But Guy hated being watched. He was confident he could handle himself well in a crisis. It galled him that he was seen to be an enemy of England and that John acted on instructions from Sidmouth, the Home Secretary.
Guy left the bedchamber and made his way down the staircase to the salon. He was glad of his decision not to enlighten Hetty about the cloud which now hovered over his head. It would be impossible to reassure her, she’d want to know every detail, and he refused to have her involved.
He’d hoped the Bow Street runner would unravel the mystery; but as yet, he’d turned up nothing, and the mystery of the Frenchman who wanted him dead only deepened. Was this to do with Forney’s letter?
John awaited him in the salon. “Care for a whiskey to fortify you? These affairs seldom offer spirits.”
“Thank you.” Guy took the proffered drink.
“There’s a gentleman I hope will offer marriage to Georgina,” John said. “It’s my hope that she’ll realize the great advantages that come with it.”
“Isn’t she a little young?”
“She turns eighteen soon. Many marry at that age.”
Guy thought her too silly for marriage, but he wouldn’t dream of saying so.
“I’m playing it down,” John said. “If I endorse him, she may think I’m manipulating her and dig in her toes.”
“Are you two talking about me?” Georgina hurried in, tucking a scrap of lace into her reticule.
“Yes, in endless fascination,” John said, cocking a brow.
She giggled. Her maid hurried in with her evening cloak. “Shall we go?” She slipped an arm through Guy’s and fluttered her lashes at him.
“You shall have all the male guests at your feet tonight,” Guy said.
“And will that be you, too, Guy?”
He laughed. “What is this occasion?”
“Beatrice Taylor’s eighteenth birthday ball, of course.” She rolled her eyes at him as if he should have known.
“But of course. How did I come to overlook it?” Guy grinned at her.
More than half an hour later, they arrived at the mansion in Hampton, the gardens alight with lanterns.
As soon as they were announced and entered the ballroom, a crowd of hopeful young blades came to crowd around Georgina to beg a dance. It was not surprising, for she looked quite lovely in her silky white gauze gown, flowers and ribbons in her dark curls. “Promise me a dance, Guy,” she whispered before a gentleman led her to the dance floor for the quadrille.
Out of respect for Hetty, Guy had decided not to dance. He planned to move amongst the guests to test society’s mood. He steeled himself for variations of the cut direct. Any whiff of scandal and the ruthless ton would turn their backs on anyone of whom they disapproved.
Fortunately, no one gazed accusingly at him. A couple of the older gentlemen remembered his father and spoke of the tragedy that befell him with regret. No one even hinted at Guy being a dangerous spy. But then, he shouldn’t be surprised. Spying was a secretive business.
John danced with Lady Sibella Winborne, an enchantingly beautiful dark-haired young woman, daughter of the Marquess of Brandreth. How interesting that the few times he’d seen Strathairn enter a dance floor it was with Lady Sibella on his arm. They were deep in conversation and smiling at each other. Friends of long standing? From what Guy had come to understand, John sought ladies from lower down the social scale. When they’d talked together in the evenings, nursing brandies by the fireside, he’d insisted he had no intention of marrying for years.
John laughed at something Lady Sibella said and lowered his head to hers. Guy smiled to himself. A lady as lovely, and apparently as amusing as Lady Sibella, might change his friend’s mind.
Guy leaned against a pillar. A man should ask one of the ladies without a partner to dance. But if he did, Georgina would put up a good argument as to why he didn’t dance with her. Hopefully, her dance card was filled.
The dance ended. John was immediately drawn into conversation with someone. Guy was tossing up whether to join them. He was yet to find a comfortable balance in this company and feared he might be de trop.
When a waltz was called, Georgina approached him. “I have kept this dance free,” she said.
Guy groaned inwardly. He should have made himself scarce. He bowed. “May I have the pleasure of this waltz, Lady Georgina?”
“You may, Lord Fortescue.” She smiled and rested her hand on his arm.
As the first notes of a Handel waltz were struck, he swung her into the dance, guiding her over the crowded dance floor.
“You might have danced with any number of eager young bucks,” he said as he reversed her.
“I prefer to dance with you.”
“I don’t see why. My dancing is in no way superior to your last partner. The Duke of Broadstairs, wasn’t it?”
She gave Guy a fierce look. “You are the one of the few men who doesn’t bore me. You are interesting. You have lived!”
“Are you flirting with me, Lady Georgina?”
She flushed and lowered her eyes.
“You do recall that I am betrothed to Miss Cavendish?”
“Of course. I quite like her. But I would make you a better wife.”
“Let us enjoy the dance,” Guy said, concerned they might be overheard. “If I talk when I dance I get short of breath.”
“Ho! You cannot fool me, Lord Fortescue. I am the right girl for you. If only you would admit it.”
“Shouldn’t you like to be a Duchess? The duke is one of your admirers, is he not?”
“He’s too young.”
“Nonsense. He cannot be far off thirty.”
“He’s not…sophisticated.”
“That is in his favor. You don’t want to marry a rake. That way leads to heartache. Broadstairs could prove to be an excellent husband. You should consider it.”
“You’re not a rake.”
“This is not about me.” Guy raised an eyebrow. “You should talk to the duke. You might find you like him.”
“I have. And I shall talk to him when we dance again.”
“You may not get the chance. He seems charmed by the pretty young woman he’s dancing with.”
“Is he?” Georgina turned her head. She shrugged her slender shoulders. “Oh, that’s just Amabel Gilliam.”
“Amabel is amusing him. See how he laughs?”
Georgina raised her eyebrows. “So?”
He noticed her take another peek when they turned. “Could you make him laugh?”
“Of course, I can.”
“Are you sure he will invite you to dance again?”
“As a matter of fact, he has requested the next waltz,” she said airily.
“Then I shall watch and see if you make him laugh.”
“I’ll accept the bet. If I win it, what will you give me?”
“My compliments.”
“Pooh!”
An hour later, Guy stood and watched Georgina dance with the Duke of Broadstairs. She flirted shamelessly. The poor man appeared to be lost. Guy hoped that if they married, Broadstairs would stand up to her. Georgina respected her brother for that reason.
The duke gave a loud guffaw, and Georgina’s triumphant gaze sought Guy’s. He nodded, then went to find John. Unable to locate him, he strolled out onto the terrace.
The Taylors’ mansion was some miles from Mayfair. The estates were more generous, and this one had a large park bordered by a high brick wall. A fresh spring breeze ruffled the trees, and a full moon hung, a golden penny suspended in a cloudless sky. What a perfect night to share with Hetty. If he hadn’t lost his papers, they might have been wed by now and living at Rosecroft Hall. He wandered down the steps and strolled beyond the flaming torches into the shadows. At the sound of rustling in the bushes behind him, he spun around expecting some night animal to emerge.
Something struck him hard on the side of the head. He saw flashes of bright light, heard a laugh, and sank into darkness.
*
“It is not like Guy to be late,” Hetty said for the fifth time.
“No,” her aunt repeated.
Hetty walked to the window and back, her skirts swirling around her legs.
“Do sit down, Hetty. I declare you have worn a path in my carpet.”
Hetty sat but remained on the edge of her chair, listening for the sound of horses clattering over the cobbles.
An hour passed.
She rubbed her arms. “I’m afraid something has happened, Aunt.”
“What can befall his lordship in a short carriage ride through Mayfair?”
“What if he’s been hurt?”
“Someone would send word.”
“What if Lady Georgina has beguiled him?”
“Beguiled by two different women within a few days? I doubt he’s that susceptible,” her aunt said.
Another hour passed with little said. Only the ticking of the longcase clock broke the silence.
It was after midnight when Hetty finally consented to retire. She lay stiffly in bed while jumbled thoughts crowded her mind. Guy might not tell her everything, but she’d never caught him in a lie. Nor was he a coward. If he’d decided he’d rather court Lady Georgina, he would tell her so. She thought about his passionate kisses and his declaration that she was the only one he would consider marrying. He could not have changed his mind within a few days, could he?
She punched her pillow and rolled onto her side as worry turned to anger. She’d asked him several times about his past, but he’d evaded her questions. Perhaps she’d been fooling herself and didn’t know him at all. She turned over and tucked her hand under the pillow, staring blindly into the darkness. That wasn’t true. She did know him, and the realization made her shudder with fear.
After hours of anguish, Hetty dropped into an exhausted sleep only to wake again before dawn.
Light filtered through a gap in the curtains and traffic rumbled through the streets. She heard the servants moving about.
Hetty sat up. Someone had knocked at the door.