Stephanie Laurens - Impetuous Innocent

With another dazzling smile, Georgiana Hartley inclined her head in acceptance. At his intimation, she fell into step beside him, gliding towards the door on tiny, grey-slippered feet.

Still bemused, and with the feeling that events were suddenly moving rather faster than she could cope with, Georgiana could nevertheless find no fault with his arrangements.

Duckett met them in the hall with the information that the coach stood ready.

Dominic could not resist offering her his arm. With gentlemanly courtesy he conducted her to the coach, pausing while she exchanged farewells with Ben, surprising everyone, Ben included, by breaking off her words to give him a quick hug. Then Dominic handed her into the luxuriously appointed coach, wherein her maid was already installed, and stood back. Duckett shut the door firmly. The coachman, Jiggs, gave the horses the office. The coach pulled smoothly away.

Dominic Ridgeley stood on the steps of his manor house, his hands sunk in his pockets, and watched his coach roll out of sight. Then, when he could no longer see the swaying carriage roof, he turned to go inside, pausing to kick at a piece of gravel inadvertently, inexcusably resident on the steps. With a sigh and a pensive smile, as if some pleasant interlude had come to its inevitable conclusion, he went inside and shut the door.

NIGHT had descended by the time Lord Alton’s travelling carriage drew to a halt on the cobbles before the elegant town house of Lord and Lady Winsmere. Georgiana glanced up at the tiers of lamplit windows reaching high above the street. Beside her, Cruickshank sat silent, her lips set in a severe line. The groom swung down and trotted up the steps to jangle the doorbell before returning to help them to the pavement.

A portly butler appeared. One glance at the groom’s livery was apparently enough to effect instant entrance for Georgiana and Cruickshank.

Georgiana allowed the butler to remove her pelisse. Then she turned and, in a voice tinged with nervousness, said, “I wish to speak with Lady Winsmere, if you please. I have a letter of introduction from Lord Alton.”

Despite the butler’s gracious bow and solemn face, Georgiana was instantly aware of his avid interest.

“I will convey your letter to Lady Winsmere, miss. If you would care to wait in the drawing-room?”

Shown into a reception-room of pleasing proportions, Georgiana stopped and blinked. The door shut behind her. Cruickshank had dutifully remained in the hall. Georgiana scanned the room, then, finding nothing of greater moment to consider, gave her attention to a careful appraisal of the white and gilt décor. The room was well stocked with furniture, and every available flat surface sprouted at least one ornament. The rule seemed to be that if it wasn’t white it had to be gilded. Not even the ornate cornices had escaped. The effect was overpowering. With a sigh and a shrug for English fashions, Georgiana chose a stiff-backed, spindlelegged chair, heavily gilded and upholstered in white damask, and gingerly sat down.

Her gaze roamed the walls once more, but there was no Fragonard to provide distraction.

She folded her hands in her lap and tried to subdue the uncomfortable feeling of encroaching upon those whom she had no right to call on. But Lord Alton had seemed unperturbed by her request for help. Maybe, despite her misgivings, there was nothing so very peculiar about her predicament. At least, not to an English mind. Determined to be optimstic, she endeavoured to compose herself to meet Lady Winsmere’s questions. Doubtless, she would have a good few. What was she making of her brother’s letter?

Only then did Georgiana realise she had no idea in what light Lord Alton had presented her to his sister. The thick parchment had been fixed with a heavy lump of red wax, on which the seal of the Viscounts Alton had been imprinted. Georgiana frowned. A wave of tiredness rose up to envelop her. Not for the first time since leaving the comfort of Candlewick Hall, she wondered at the wisdom of her actions. She was too impulsive. Often she had landed herself in the suds by rushing headlong on her fate—witness her flight from Ravello. But it was too late to draw back now. She grimaced. The more she thought of it, the more clearly she perceived her inability to influence the course of events Lord Alton had charted for her. These, presumably, would determine her immediate future. Somehow she had placed herself in Lord Alton’s hands.

Georgiana stifled a despondent sigh. She hoped she looked more confident than she felt.

On the floor above, Bella, Lady Winsmere, was in the middle of her toilette, preparatory to attending the theatre. A knock on the door of her boudoir was followed by a whispered conference between her dresser, Hills, and her butler, Johnson.

Distracted from the delicate task of improving on nature, Bella frowned. “What is it, Hills?”

Her black-garbed dresser produced a folded parchment, inscribed to herself in her brother’s unmistakable scrawl. Intrigued, Bella immediately laid down her haresfoot. Bits of red wax scattered in all directions as she broke open the seal.

Five short minutes later, she was crossing her front hall in a froth of lacy peignoir, rendered barely respectable by a silk wrapper. Johnson, having anticipated her impetuous descent, stood ready to open the drawing-room door for her.

As the door shut, bringing her guest to her feet, Bella’s bright blue eyes, very like her brother’s, surveyed her unexpected visitor.

Unconsciously clutching her reticule, once again in a tell-tale grip, Georgiana beheld an enchanting vision, fashionably slender and no taller than she herself was. But there the resemblance ended. Lady Winsmere was dark-haired, her fine skin was alabaster-white. Her blue eyes Georgiana had seen before. And the elegance of her lacy gown made Georgiana feel awkward and abominably young.

For her part, Bella saw a girl on the threshold of womanhood. Her innocence shone beacon-clear. She was all honey and cream, from the top of her curls, tinged with the sun’s kiss, to her delicately tinted complexion. Her golden eyes contained a quality of unusual candour. And she had no more inches than Bella herself. Bella’s face brightened. A little sigh escaped her. With a generous and genuine smile, she floated forward, both hands outstretched to capture Georgiana’s cold fingers in a warm clasp.

“My dear! So you are Georgiana Hartley! Dominic has written me all about you. You poor dear! What a dreadful thing to happen, and you newly returned to England. You must let me help you.”

At Georgiana’s murmured, “My lady,” Bella broke her stride. But when Georgiana attempted to curtsy, Bella held on tightly to her hands, preventing it.

“No, no, my dear. You’re among friends here. You must call me Bella, and I hope you won’t think me terribly forward if I call you Georgiana.” She tilted her small head to one side, blue eyes twinkling.

Georgiana found her engaging manners difficult to resist. “Why, of course not, my…Bella. But truly, I feel as if I’m imposing dreadfully upon you.”

“Oh, pooh!” Bella pulled a face. “I’m always bored; there’s so little to do in London these days. I’m positively thrilled Dominic thought to send you to me! Why—” she paused, struck by a wayward thought “—just think. If you’d grown up at the Place, we would have been neighbours.” Bella waved Georgiana to the chaise and sank to the white damask beside her. “So, you see, there’s no need for you to feel at all bothered about staying with me.”

Georgiana’s head reeled. “Oh! But I wouldn’t dream of imposing—”

“Not at all! It’s the very thing. You have nowhere to go and we have plenty of room.” Bella gazed intently at Georgiana. “Truly, it’s no trouble at all.”