Dorothy Elbury - The Major and the Country Miss

‘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 wasn’t such a dastardly creature really,’ said Georgianne, with a wan smile. ‘In fact, I would have been prepared to swear that his intentions were totally sincere. Sadly, however, it transpired that my—er, lineage—was not up to the standard that the gentleman required in a wife and he therefore felt himself obliged to withdraw his suit.’

‘But, that is ridiculous!’ exclaimed her friend, her eyebrows raised in astonishment. ‘Your lineage, as you call it, must be second to none! The Venables family history goes back hundreds of years—even the royals themselves could not claim a more distinguished pedigree!’ She paused, frowning in contemplation, then, drawing in a deep breath, she asked excitedly, ‘Was that it, Georgianne? Was your reluctant suitor a member of the royal family?’

‘Absolutely not,’ Georgianne hastened to assure her. Then, rising to her feet once more, she added, ‘It really would be better if you forgot everything that I have told you this evening, Steffi. Since the gentleman in question swore never to disparage my name, I feel that he too is entitled to assume that his identity will remain my secret.’

‘Hardly a gentleman, in my opinion!’ sniffed Stephanie. ‘Especially since you seem to have been carrying a torch for him all this time—’

‘Oh, no, Steffi!’ Georgianne interrupted hurriedly. ‘You may relieve yourself upon that score, at least! I ceased to think of his— him —in that particular way some time ago. Further to which, I understand that the gentleman has since found himself a wife who would appear to have all the necessary qualifications.’

But then, as she fixed a stern eye upon her friend, she added quietly, ‘Now that I have done my best to satisfy your curiosity, you must give me your promise that you will never refer the matter again.’

‘But, of course you have my promise,’ returned Stephanie, somewhat affronted that her friend should even consider otherwise. ‘Although, I must confess that I still find it hard to understand why the matter should have wrought such a change in you.’

‘I am bound to admit that the whole unfortunate business did have rather a sobering effect on me,’ returned Georgianne, with a shrug, as the two friends made their way down the magnificent oak staircase to join the rest of the countess’s guests. ‘Which was due, most probably, to my self-esteem having suffered rather a setback!’ At the foot of the staircase, she paused momentarily then, with a slightly rueful smile, added, ‘It certainly taught me that it does not do to take anything for granted.’