Laura Martin - Courting The Forbidden Debutante

‘And this one found its way to England.’

‘I must have left it in a pocket.’

Georgina was no stranger to gifts from her suitors. Many of the men came armed with huge bunches of flowers, or expensive delicacies, sometimes even intimate items such as a new pair of silk gloves, but most were extravagant, aimed at showing their wealth and status. This was a much more thoughtful gift, a little insight into a world Georgina would never know.

‘I love it, thank you,’ she said, looking up into his eyes. They were startlingly blue, a vibrant dash of colour in his tanned face. For a moment she forgot Mr Wilcox was in the room with them, so mesmerised was she by the man in front of her. She felt a hot flush take over her body as she imagined him wrapping those strong arms around her and not for the first time she felt her eyes flicker to the crisp white of his shirt, imagining once more what his body looked like underneath.

‘I’m sure your mother will be back shortly,’ Mr Wilcox said, with a polite little cough. He looked pointedly at the position Georgina and Mr Robertson were in on the sofa, far too close for propriety, and hurriedly Georgina moved away. She felt hot and bothered. Mr Robertson only had to look at her and she felt her pulse quicken, and Georgina didn’t like not being in control of her own body.

‘I hope whatever called your mother away is nothing serious,’ Mr Robertson said, not acknowledging Mr Wilcox’s pointed stare. ‘Is your father at home?’

It was a nonchalant enquiry, slightly too casual, and immediately it sparked Georgina’s interest. Men often wanted to see her father to curry favour with one of the most influential men in England, or, on the more worrying occasions, to ask for her hand in marriage, but she hadn’t expected Mr Robertson to want either of those things. Perhaps she had misjudged him, perhaps he was looking for a boost up the social ladder and was hoping an acquaintanceship with her, and by extension her family, would help him on his way.

‘Father rarely comes to London these days,’ Georgina said. ‘He prefers to stay in the country, unless his commitments demand his presence in the city.’

She watched Mr Robertson’s face intently, but could see no hint of disappointment. Either he was a talented liar, or he had only been enquiring about her father for politeness’ sake.

‘He remains in Hampshire?’

‘Yes, for the foreseeable future at least. He will come up once the Season is properly underway I’m sure, to attend to his political commitments, but he doesn’t like to arrive too prematurely.’

Lady Westchester hurried back into the room, noting Mr Robertson’s new position on the sofa with a frown, but given there was a respectable distance between him and Georgina there was nothing she could say.

‘What are your plans while you are in London, Mr Robertson?’ Lady Westchester asked.

Georgina nearly rolled her eyes at her mother’s abruptness. She might as well have asked if Mr Robertson had come to the capital to search for a wife. No doubt her mother would soon begin hinting at the perfect pedigree they expected in any suitor for Georgina’s hand.

‘A little business,’ Mr Robertson said, seemingly unfazed by Lady Westchester. To stay calm and collected in the face of her mother’s unwelcoming demeanour was not an easy feat and Georgina felt her admiration grow for the man. ‘I also wish to reconnect with some people from my past. Having been out of the country for so long I find myself eager to be reacquainted with those I have been thinking about over the years.’

‘Out of the country?’ Lady Westchester’s tone was mild, but Georgina had to suppress a groan. It was entirely the wrong thing to say. Her mother didn’t trust foreigners and she included anyone who chose to spend any time away from England in that category, unless for some necessary and noble purpose in her eyes, such as fighting in a war.

‘The benefactor I mentioned lived in Australia. He passed away recently, so it seemed like the right time to return to England.’

‘Australia,’ her mother gasped.

‘Mother,’ Georgina murmured, glancing at Mr Robertson, before realising that he looked more amused than offended.

‘It’s a beautiful country,’ he said, ‘You should visit one day.’

‘Mama is not keen on foreign travel,’ Georgina said quietly. For her part she’d always dreamed about seeing the world. It was an abstract dream for a woman of her class and upbringing. If she was lucky she might find herself honeymooning around Europe, but that would be the extent of her travels. Well brought-up young ladies did not go any farther afield than Italy. Despite that Georgina had always paused on the pages of books with pictures of exotic locations, places like Egypt and India, or the wilds of Africa.

‘I understand,’ Mr Robertson said. ‘It isn’t for everyone.’

He glanced at her then, as if seeing whether Georgina shared her mother’s view on travel. She felt her heart beat a little harder in her chest and had to concentrate to stop her face betraying her emotions. It wouldn’t do to let her mother even glimpse the slight fascination she had for this man. Georgina knew it was just because Mr Robertson was different and perhaps because of those dazzling blue eyes and rather captivating smile, but she couldn’t help wanting to get closer to him, to learn more about him. Of course she knew that could never happen; the differences in their stations in life meant they couldn’t even easily become friends. Nevertheless she hoped she would see Mr Robertson again.

‘I must take my leave,’ he said, standing. ‘Thank you for receiving me, Lady Westchester, Lady Georgina. I do hope we see each other soon.’

He’d behaved perfectly, ensuring he did not overstay his welcome, and despite her mother’s obvious reservations about the man Georgina did not think she could complain about his behaviour, just his origins.

‘You mentioned the Hamiltons’ music evening,’ Georgina said smoothly. ‘Perhaps we shall see one another there.’

It was bold, far too bold, but she wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye to Mr Robertson yet. She wanted to hear more about Australia, hear more about his background, so she’d decided to drop a hint as to where she’d be later in the week and see if he took up the invitation.

‘Drowning your sorrows?’ George Fitzgerald asked as he clapped Sam on the back, flopping down into the free seat beside him. ‘Did the beauteous Lady Georgina turn you away?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Difficult types, these daughters of the nobility.’

‘She didn’t turn me away.’

‘Why the long face then?’

‘The Earl is in Hampshire and there’s not much chance of him making an appearance any time soon.’

‘Ah. I see.’ Fitzgerald drummed his fingers on the table before motioning to one of the serving girls for two more jugs of ale. ‘I take it you’re not giving up.’

‘No.’ Giving up was the furthest thing from his mind. ‘I’ll have to go to Hampshire, that’s all.’

He’d hoped to avoid returning to his home county. There were painful memories back in his childhood home that he didn’t wish to confront. The last time he’d been there, his mother and two younger sisters had been alive. Now he had no close relatives left in Hampshire, but the memories of his childhood and all he’d lost were based there and he had planned on leaving those ghosts to sleep.

‘You’ll struggle to even catch a glimpse of the Earl if you just turn up. You need an invitation.’

‘To go to Hampshire?’

‘To infiltrate the Earl’s estate.’

Sam tapped his fingers on the table and considered for a while. For years he’d sworn one day he would return to England and make Lord Westchester pay for stealing his childhood and ripping him from his family. As a young lad his fantasies of revenge were elaborate and often involved the old Earl falling to his knees, begging Sam for forgiveness. Now, older, and more worldly wise, Sam knew it was unlikely Lord Westchester would even remember the day he carelessly wrongfully accused a young boy of stealing. But he wanted the older man to at least acknowledge the wrong he had done and perhaps suffer in some small way, too.