Chapter Eight
George’s problems with Mr Challenger’s truce began almost immediately.
Or was she to think of him as Frederick now that they were pretending to be happy? Somehow it did not seem natural. Perhaps not. It was rare to hear a wife be so informal as to use her husband’s given name, though her parents had never spoken with formality at home. The Christian names they’d exchanged were always passed with smiles of such warmth that she’d had no doubt of their love for her and each other.
But now, as she looked at the man next to her, she could not imagine ever calling him anything but Mr Challenger. Or perhaps Major Challenger, since he seemed intent on ordering her about.
His brief bout of reasonableness had hardly lasted until they’d left the breakfast room. She had responded eagerly to his suggestion of a ride. It was always a relief to throw off some of the strictures put upon her and have a good gallop. But she should have known that his idea of a ride would be nowhere near as exciting as that.
Now, as she stood in the mews at the back of the house, she stared at the horse he had chosen for her with disdain. ‘And what is the meaning of this?’
He had already taken to the saddle of a fine Arabian stallion, tugging at his riding gloves to be sure that they offered him a good feel for the reins. ‘It is the most appropriate beast that could be hired on short notice. There are few grown women in my family. I do not keep an appropriate mount for a lady.’
She compared the fine blood he was riding to the sad mare that had been chosen for her. ‘Are you sure she is strong enough for this? Perhaps I should be the one to carry her.’
‘I am sure she is quite up to the task of a ride around the park,’ he said, ignoring her sarcasm.
She looked enviously at his horse again, remembering all the times she had been allowed to take her father’s Turk out for exercise. ‘At least allow me to dispense with the side saddle. Perhaps if I am astride and not perched on her side like a decoration, I can coax some life back into her.’
‘Certainly not!’ It was not quite the shout he had released during their wedding, but it was bad enough.
She sighed. ‘Very well, then. If you insist, I shall ride like an old woman, on an old woman.’ She glanced at him as she was lifted up into the saddle and muttered, ‘Beside an old woman as well.’ Then, she gave her horse a quick nudge to pull in front of him.
‘What did you say?’
‘Nothing, my dear.’ She turned back to him, offering a dim-witted and adoring smile, then cantered towards the street.
He caught up to her easily, offering a polite dip of his head to the ladies crossing in front of them as they turned into traffic. They looked up at him and giggled before hurrying on. From each woman they passed as they rode, he received more simpering and blushes, and she saw obvious looks of envy at her marital success.
George could not deny he made an attractive companion. It was a shame that she did not share in the public enthusiasm for the man. As she glanced back at him, she could see his look of annoyance that she’d outpaced him again. In her opinion, he could have saved himself the irritation if he had been willing to keep a reasonable pace. She mentally crossed off the first day in the duration of the truce. It was going to be a long month.
He was smiling at her as if it caused him physical pain to do so. ‘Perhaps you should let me lead. The traffic near Hyde Park can be unnerving.’
‘Are you speaking to me, or the horse?’ she said and gave a gentle shift of the reins to increase the distance. ‘I assure you, a few people on the street and the odd carriage is in no way alarming.’
He spurred to catch up. ‘Then perhaps you should allow me to lead as a sign of respect,’ he suggested.
She nudged her horse to be one step ahead of his. ‘Perhaps, if you were to go faster, we would be walking side by side.’
‘I have no intention of racing through the streets to get to the park,’ he countered.
‘Racing?’ It took all her restraint not to show him what a race actually looked like. ‘I doubt that would be possible with this poor beast. If we were to trade mounts, you could best me with a display of superior horsemanship and not just by being larger and louder.’
‘I am not louder.’ Even as he’d said the words, his volume had increased. He paused to regain control of himself before speaking. ‘And I say again, there is no reason to rush, nor do we need to make a simple ride into a contest of wills.’
‘If you mean to dominate me in every small detail of my life, then you can expect many more such contests,’ she said, deliberately spurring her horse to a trot.
He increased his pace to match hers, riding at her side, as she suggested. ‘Do not think, because I yield to you now, that I intend to let you set the pace of our marriage for me.’
They had arrived at Hyde Park already and were turning onto Rotten Row. Even she had to admit that the middle of a crowd of gossipy riders was no place to continue the argument, so she gave him the same insincere smile he was giving her. ‘If I wish to set a faster pace for our partnership, it is only because I want it to be over as soon as possible.’ Then she turned deliberately away to admire the carriage that had just passed them.
It was smartest curricle she had ever seen. Balanced high on its two large wheels, it was a hundred times more interesting than the sensible barouche that had delivered them to the town house yesterday. She looked up to see a familiar face smiling down from the driver’s seat. ‘Mr Gregory?’
She shouldn’t have used such a questioning tone. There was no mistaking Oliver Gregory for anyone but who he was. His dark skin and dazzling white smile had set maidens’ hearts fluttering all over London. But like all the rest of the mothers, Marietta had forbidden her to make his acquaintance.
He is not our sort.
By that, George had assumed she’d been referring to his being Indian. But really, he was only half so. Since it had not diminished his manners and had improved his looks, it was a strange thing to bother about.
‘Mrs Challenger.’ He gave a respectful bow of his head and another especially pleased smile. Then he grinned past her, at his friend. ‘’Lo, Fred. Out and about already?’
Mr Challenger shrugged and smiled back, relaxing. ‘Satisfying the curiosity of the ton.’
‘But your bride is curious as well, I see.’ He had noticed her interest in his carriage.
‘Yellow wheels,’ she said in awe, reaching out to touch the rim that stood even taller than her horse.
‘I would settle for nothing less,’ Mr Gregory said.
‘And your horses are a right pair of steppers, aren’t they?’
He nodded. ‘The best I could find at Tattersall’s. I outbid the Regent himself for them.’
Perhaps it was an exaggeration. But they were the sort of cattle fit for royalty. She grinned. ‘How fast do you think they will go?’
‘I have been to Croydon and back in less than two hours.’
Her eyes widened. ‘I would love to take them out some day.’
He laughed. ‘You?’
‘Just a run down the coach road. No more than a couple of miles.’
Beside her, Mr Challenger cleared his throat. ‘Perhaps, when we retire to Richmond in July, I will buy you a pony cart. Once you have learned to manage that, we will see about a larger carriage.’
George turned to look at him, rolling her eyes. ‘Or you could get me a milk wagon pulled by dogs.’ She had been having such a good time talking to Mr Gregory that she had almost forgotten she was married. Leave it to Frederick Challenger to ruin everything. ‘I have been driving my father’s gig in the country since I was twelve. He says I am as good as a boy with the ribbons.’ Or at least he had until he had married Marietta and taken no more notice of anything she had done.
‘Do you seriously think you can handle a curricle?’ Mr Gregory said with admiration of his own.
‘Oliver.’
The signal word of warning from Mr Challenger put him on his guard again and he shook his head in regret. But he was looking at her with speculation, as if wondering just what she might be capable of if she could slip the tight leash Mr Challenger wanted to put on her. ‘Fred will have my hide if anything happens to you.’
She seriously doubted it. She leaned forward and said in a mock whisper that she was sure Mr Challenger could hear, ‘He need not know. It will be our secret.’
‘Georgiana!’ This time she was the one to receive the warning.
For a moment, she debated continuing to argue, then thought the better of it. While it did not matter to her what Mr Challenger thought, she did not think it fair to trap the charming Mr Gregory in the middle of their quarrel. She turned to her husband and smiled. ‘Yes, Frederick. I will behave.’
He should have known better than to believe her. But at the sound of his Christian name, his look of suspicion softened to confusion. Then he snapped back to being his usual difficult self. ‘We will discuss the wisdom of your carriage driving when we are home. At the moment, I wish to speak to Mr Gregory. It concerns the club.’ The look he gave her now indicated that they wished for privacy. He pointed down the path. ‘I see your stepmother just ahead. She will, no doubt, wish to speak to you.’
‘No doubt,’ George snapped, before remembering that she was supposed to be agreeable. Then she turned her horse and set off down the path at a walk so slow that even Mr Challenger could have kept pace with it. Why, of all people, did she have to talk to Marietta?
She had written a letter to Father after breakfast, to assure him that she was well. She had included a few gentle hints about her eagerness to see him soon. It was not like gentlemen to make social calls in the morning the way ladies did. But perhaps he might find a few minutes on his way to and from Westminster to stop for a cup of tea and admire his daughter’s new home.
But she had assumed, since she was marrying and leaving his house for ever, that the Lord would give her at least one day’s respite from the woman who had despised her since she was twelve. She already had to deal with the critical opinions of Mr Challenger. Was it so much to ask that only one person hate her at a time?
Nor did she need to be reminded again that her taste in clothing did not compare to the fashionable set in London. Her husband was wearing a bottle-green coat and immaculate buff britches. His friend, Mr Gregory, wore a red coat and his linen was white as snow. Marietta’s habit was as blue as a summer sky, topped with a high, plumed hat. She was also sitting aside the chestnut gelding that George had been riding less than a week ago.
And George was riding a nag and wearing brown twill. Again. Until now, she had been perfectly satisfied with her habit. It was new this Season, but was far more suitable for a rough country gallop than the parade that Londoners seemed to enjoy. On the sad mare that Challenger had chosen for her, she felt dowdy and out of sorts. Even the liveried groom that rode one pace behind her stepmother dressed in the Grinsted colours of blue and gold was more elegantly attired than she was.
Her husband had said nothing about her choice of clothing when they’d left the house. Perhaps he was waiting until they returned home to inform her that people had been staring at her for all the wrong reasons, when she’d been hoping that they would not notice her at all. If only the blandness of her dress could camouflage her, then maybe Marietta would ride on without noticing her. Or perhaps, now that they were not forced to share a household, her stepmother would simply cut her dead and pretend that they did not know each other.
Instead Marietta turned her horse to watch her approach and called, ‘Georgiana!’, welcoming her with an elegant wave of her hand as if, after years of hatred, she was suddenly overjoyed to see her.
George braced herself for the inevitable argument, before remembering Mr Challenger’s desire that they seem to be a loving couple. For once, she agreed with him. To be anything less than brilliantly happy with the match she had made would give her stepmother one more reason to gloat. ‘Marietta!’ She followed the greeting with her most brilliant smile.
Her stepmother leaned forward, kissing the air in her direction, as if only the inconvenience of the horses kept her from offering a warm, physical greeting. ‘It is such a surprise to see you out and about. And so early.’
‘It is nearly five,’ George replied. ‘The perfect time for a ride.’
‘But on the day after your wedding?’ Marietta’s eyes were wide with mocking amazement. ‘I thought you would be staying at home today.’
‘Is there some rule that requires I stay in the house?’ George asked sweetly, half wondering if it were true.
‘Not a rule, exactly. But I would think, with a husband as handsome as Frederick Challenger, a leisurely day at home would be preferable to riding...on a horse.’
George smiled again to hide her confusion, but gave no answer. What other kind of riding was there?
Now Marietta wore the satisfied smile of a cream-fed cat. ‘Most happy brides would not leave their husband’s side for weeks.’
‘She has not.’ Mr Challenger had ridden up to join them. His stallion stomped impatiently, but the man in the saddle was as suave and pleasant as she could have hoped. ‘It was my suggestion that we come out together. It is a beautiful day and even newlyweds benefit from a brief exposure to sunshine.’
‘And Georgiana is able to sit a horse,’ Marietta said, as if that was in some way unusual.
‘You know I can ride,’ George said, surprised at the odd statement. ‘And it is not at all difficult to sit the tired, grey mare that Mr Challenger has chosen me,’ she added, giving her husband an overly toothy smile.
‘It is, indeed, a very gentle horse,’ he responded, not even looking at her. Instead, he had locked eyes with Marietta.
In response, her stepmother gave a small, knowing nod.
George frowned. It was clear that something had passed in the exchange that she had missed. But she would rather die than to admit her ignorance to either of them, so she smiled and nodded as if to confirm what her husband had said.
Marietta sighed, but not with the happy contentment that the news warranted. ‘That is for the best, I suppose. And I assume you are enjoying your marriage?’
‘Of course, we are,’ Mr Challenger replied, his gaze never wavering. ‘Is there a reason we should not be?’
Marietta arched her eyebrows in surprise. ‘Just a few weeks ago, Georgiana showed no interest in matrimony.’ Perhaps Mr Challenger had been right about the need to prevent tattle. Marietta announced the truth with relish, as if she had come to the park for the purpose of telling everyone she knew that their wedding had been some sort of sham.
‘She was not interested in other men because she had already met me,’ Mr Challenger said with such insufferable confidence that George would have corrected him, had he been speaking to anyone else in the world.
Marietta persisted. ‘But before your offer, Georgiana made no effort to hide her dislike of you. In fact, she was most adamant that she would not so much as speak to you, much less dance with you.’
‘Marietta.’ George redoubled her smile and bit back the response she longed to give. Even if it was true, it was rude to throw the facts in Mr Challenger’s face. She had left home, just as her stepmother had wanted, and allowed the woman to win the battle for Father’s whole attention. There was no reason to continue to torment her.
‘Her obvious animosity towards me shows what a clever actress she is,’ her husband said, turning to George with a doting smile. ‘She was worried that, should our mutual affection become common knowledge, you would disapprove.’
‘Disapprove of an earl’s son?’ Marietta replied, suspicious.
‘A second son,’ Mr Challenger reminded her. ‘I am sure Georgiana could have aimed much higher. She is both a wit and a beauty.’
Apparently, he was a good actor as well. He’d given the compliment with such sincerity that George could not help but blush with pleasure. ‘You are too kind, my dear. And a title is nothing compared to good character and good looks.’ Then she smiled, more for herself than either of them, for she had managed to deliver a compliment without a single lie in it.
‘But you might have given some indication of your plans. This marriage was so very sudden.’
‘You said it was time that I was out of the house,’ George countered.
‘But Mr Challenger’s offer was a surprise, all the same,’ Marietta said. ‘After all, you did have an understanding with Sir Nash.’
‘There was no understanding.’ George could feel her limited patience dwindle to nothing.
Marietta sighed as if the news pained her. ‘He has gone from town, you know.’
‘Good riddance.’ Georgiana made no effort to conceal her feelings. If her stepmother wished to goad her to argument, then let it happen. She could not stand Nash Bowles and should not have to pretend to do so, just to keep the peace. Mr Challenger already thought her a foolish child. A tantrum in public would only cement his bad opinion of her, but it could not be helped.
‘What a horrible thing for you to say.’ Marietta said with a moue of displeasure. ‘He was never anything but kind to you and he left London the minute he heard of your engagement. I am sure his heart was broken by the news.’
Before she could reply, Mr Challenger spoke. ‘Then we will do our best to dispel the rumours already spreading about his departure.’
‘Rumours?’ Marietta prided herself on knowing all that was worth knowing in London. But by the look on her face, there was some story she had not heard.
Mr Challenger gave a self-conscious laugh. ‘My friend, Mr Gregory, said when last he saw your cousin, it was not his heart that had been broken.’ Her husband laid a finger at the side of his nose to indicate the location that had been damaged. ‘He was involved in a dispute at the Murder of Crows, the other night. That is a gaming hell in Mayfair,’ he added for George. ‘He was involved in a physical altercation that had something to do with an unpaid debt of his and markers that had not been honoured. They are not the most charitable people there, I fear. It is a very unsavoury place.’
Marietta’s eyes narrowed. ‘I am sure it is nothing more than a coincidence.’
‘Of course,’ Mr Challenger agreed. ‘I am simply repeating what I have heard. I would never share the tale about town. We both know how disturbing it is to spread harmful gossip.’ As they had when making cryptic comments about her horse, her husband and stepmother were talking past her, again. But this exchange was easier to understand. He was warning Marietta to keep her mouth closed about other people’s families if she did not want tales told about hers.
‘Of course,’ Marietta replied, then turned back to Georgiana. ‘I will not delay you further. I am sure you have places to be.’ Then she turned her horse and trotted away from them.
‘Send Father my love,’ George called to the woman’s retreating back, wondering if the message would be relayed. Perhaps, if he knew she was thinking of him, he would at least write to her so she might know that she had not been forgotten after her departure.
‘It appears that you were right in your assumption that Bowles wanted more from you than the obvious.’ Mr Challenger spoke with no preamble, startling her.
She turned to stare at him, surprised to find that he was addressing her without a trace of sarcasm. ‘The obvious?’
‘Your person,’ he said, giving her an appraising look. ‘Surely you knew I was not exaggerating when I remarked on your beauty just now.’
She had not thought his praise was an exaggeration so much as an outright lie. Now, the repeat of it caught her unprepared. ‘Th-thank you.’ The comment was hardly worth stuttering over. She knew that she was pretty and was modest enough not to dwell on the fact. But she had not thought he’d noticed. Then, she remembered their kiss.
He went on, unmoved. ‘It appears he wanted your inheritance, as well. Just as you thought,’ he said. ‘An impending marriage to an heiress was the only thing keeping the debt collectors at bay.’
‘Then I am doubly glad to have disappointed him,’ George said with an evil grin. ‘If ever a man deserved a good thrashing, it was Sir Nash Bowles.’
‘It is most unladylike for you to say so,’ he said with no trace of his usual frown. ‘But I think a lapse in decorum can be forgiven, just this once.’