Regency Society

‘No…’ Richard was thoughtful. ‘Who would inherit your fortune if you died unmarried? You have not made a will?’

‘No.’ Georgie screwed up her forehead. ‘My aunt did suggest it once, but I told her I had no intention of dying for years. I suppose my uncle is my nearest relative, though my great-aunt might also have a claim. There is no else.’ She held back a sob. ‘Surely my uncle would not try to have me killed for money?’ She had made just such a story up for Mrs Jensen, but the suggestion that it might be true was shocking.

‘He was willing to sell you into a marriage you disliked.’

‘Yes, but it was to clear a debt, and he was afraid of Raoul Thierry.’ Georgie looked at him, feeling slightly sick. ‘It might have been him—if Monsieur Thierry thinks that I can tell you something he doesn’t wish you to know.’

‘That would mean he knew who you were,’ Richard said. ‘You told me you saw him in the street in London. Could he have seen you—for long enough to know it was you?’

‘I don’t think so…though he might have seen me last night,’ Georgie said. ‘I saw him clearly in the inn yard, but the lights of the candles in the parlour were behind me. It is possible that he saw me. He might not have known it was me then, but he perhaps realised it later.’

Richard’s eyes went over her. ‘If I knew you before we met, I should not have been fooled for a moment,’ he told her. ‘To a stranger you might pass for a pretty youth, but to anyone who knows you…’

‘Then he must think I am with you for a purpose,’ Georgie said. ‘He may think that I can help you to recognise him…or something of the sort…’

‘Yes, perhaps,’ Richard said and looked thoughtful. ‘You are certain that no one else would benefit from your fortune other than your uncle?’

‘My father was an only child,’ Georgie said. ‘I have only my uncle and my great-aunt.’

‘Then we must assume it is either Thierry for reasons of his own or your uncle for money,’ Richard said. ‘When we reach the next posting inn I shall hire a closed carriage. If your life is in danger, I must protect you.’

‘But we cannot be sure the shot was meant for me,’ Georgie said, frowning. ‘Perhaps the rogue who fired at us thought you would be travelling alone and fired without being sure who he would hit.’

‘Yes, that is possible,’ Richard agreed. ‘But in future I do not intend to give anyone the chance to shoot at you again. We shall travel on by closed carriage.’

Georgie kept her silence. To drive with him in a closed carriage would do little for her reputation if it were discovered, but then she had already lost any claim to respectability and must hope it could be recovered when she reached her great-aunt’s home.

However, he winced as he moved and, glancing at him, she saw the blood spotting on his otherwise immaculate breeches. ‘Your wound,’ she said. ‘It must have opened when you moved so suddenly to grab the reins.’

‘Yes.’ He glanced down dispassionately. ‘It may be as well, for there was a little festering, which is why it was causing me pain. Sometimes it is better to open a wound and let the blood flow to cleanse it.’

Georgie felt doubtful, guessing that he was in far more pain than he would ever say. She made no comment; she knew that he would not thank her if she offered sympathy. He settled back into his seat, telling his groom to drive on, though she noticed a little pulse beating in his throat and sensed that he was having difficulty in holding back his pain as the carriage rattled over a particularly bumpy road.

At the inn, a bustling, busy place at a crossroads, Richard secured both a private parlour and a bedchamber. He left Georgie to herself in the parlour while he and Henderson went upstairs. They were gone for half an hour, during which time she amused herself by staring out of the window at the inn yard. Several private vehicles drew up during that time, their owners calling for refreshment while their horses were being rested or exchanged for fresh. She saw no one that gave her the least need for anxiety, her thoughts centred on what was happening upstairs, and she turned with pleasure as she heard the door open.

Richard had changed into fresh breeches, and there was evidence of a bandage beneath the clinging material. As he seemed to walk a little more easily she assumed that he was feeling better for his man’s attentions.

‘We may as well stay and eat,’ he told her. ‘I am sorry that this journey is taking longer than it ought, Georgie. Had we not been forced to break our journey again, we might have reached your home by this evening. As it is, I am afraid we may have to stay at an inn for one more night.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Georgie said. ‘It wasn’t your fault that we came so close to an accident. Besides, I shall be sorry when we part, sir.’

‘Shall you?’ Richard arched one eyebrow. ‘I thought you could not wait to get away from me when we were in London?’

‘Well, yes, I did think it would be better to leave, but…Jensen did not have a good opinion of me, you see. Mrs Jensen was kind, but she would not let me help her and I felt that I was in the way.’

‘I am sorry if you were made to feel uncomfortable.’

‘Oh, no, it wasn’t their fault, and Mrs Jensen was very kind, even though her husband obviously thought I was…no better than I should be.’ She bit her lip. ‘You must not blame him, for the circumstances were unusual to say the least.’

‘Yes, I suppose it was inevitable that he should have thought the worst,’ Richard said. ‘It might have been better if I had let them think you were my niece or something.’

‘They wouldn’t have believed you. No one would.’ Georgie pulled a rueful face. ‘I told Mrs Jensen I was in desperate trouble. I think she half-believed me, but I am very certain her husband did not.’

‘I have placed you in a difficult position,’ Richard said, eyes narrowed, thoughtful. ‘You stayed at my home without a chaperon and have had only my tiger and Henderson as our companions on this journey. I have, in fact, compromised you, Georgina.’

‘I did that for myself,’ she admitted, a blush in her cheeks. ‘Besides, you were only trying to help me when you took me to your home—and no one needs to know.’

‘Your great-aunt will know,’ Richard observed. ‘At least she will know that you have arrived at her house with a gentleman she does not know and no luggage.’

‘You are a friend of the family,’ Georgie said, ‘and my luggage was lost on the way. We were attacked by ruffians who stole our baggage and that is how you were wounded.’

‘You have a fine imagination,’ Richard said and he wasn’t smiling. ‘How much can I believe of what you say, I wonder?’

‘Everything!’ She sparked with indignation. ‘I did tell you a little white lie when we met, but I had to be wary, for you might have been anybody. Besides, it was not so far from the truth.’

‘But you have made up a string of lies to tell your great-aunt.’

‘Yes, well, I didn’t know what else to say. You talked of having compromised me and…and you must not feel obliged or anything.’ Her cheeks were deep rose with embarrassment. ‘I would not want you to feel that you had to marry me.’

‘Believe me, I don’t!’

‘Oh!’ Georgie glared. ‘Good, because I do not want to marry you. In fact you are the last man I would marry!’

‘Perhaps you would prefer to marry Thierry?’

‘No, of course I wouldn’t! You know I would rather die. I told you so…’ She understood that he was mocking her and threw him a fulminating stare. ‘I never know when you are funning! Of course you don’t want to marry me, and I shan’t expect it—even if my aunt says I am beyond the pale.’

‘Poor Georgie,’ Richard said and smiled. ‘You have got yourself into a pickle, haven’t you?’

‘Yes, I know it was a mad thing to do—but what else could I have done? My uncle meant to force me to marry that odious man and I did the first thing that came into my head. There was no one to help me.’

‘Impulsive,’ Richard murmured. ‘But brave too. I am not sure what else you could have done, but perhaps a little more planning would have had better results. You could perhaps have gathered enough money to hire a post-chaise to your great-aunt’s instead of taking the public stagecoach and getting robbed.’

‘Yes, it would have been better,’ she agreed. ‘I was afraid my uncle would lock me in my room, and then I was careless…’ She lifted her head, giving him a frank look. ‘I think I should have starved or ended up in prison if you hadn’t helped me. I am very grateful, you know—and sorry if I have caused you a deal of trouble.’

Richard looked into her eyes, which just now were soft brown, slightly moist and heart-wrenchingly appealing. He felt something stir inside him, an emotion he could not recall ever feeling before, something warm and tender, an urge to sweep her into his arms, carry her off and hold her for ever in his protection. In another instant he had quashed it. Love was foreign to his nature, an emotion he had long dismissed as being behind him, too dangerous to encourage. There had been women to share his bed, of course, but none of them serious and there had been no one at all for a long time. Perhaps that was why he had been experiencing these sudden swathes of hot desire as he looked at Georgie in her youth’s clothing. Something he felt disturbing and not to be indulged.

He did not want to face the notion that he might truly have feelings for this girl who had come into his life unasked. His work was too dangerous for him to think of marriage; he could be killed by an enemy at any time, and that would leave her a widow before she was a wife.

Besides, they hardly knew one another. It was ridiculous to even consider marriage. Neither of them truly wished for it! If he ever married it would be for an heir, as his sister never tired of telling him he ought to do, but never for love. His experience of these things was that they led only to pain. His mother had died in childbed, leaving his father distraught, a broken man. He had seen his uncle decline after Justin’s death, and the memory still haunted him. No, love was not something he wished to experience.

‘I am glad to have been of help,’ he murmured huskily and meant it. ‘Do not worry, Georgie. If your aunt should turn you away I shall think of something.’

‘I do not wish to be more of a burden than I have been already.’

‘You are not a burden,’ Richard said, his tone becoming harsh all of a sudden. ‘Excuse me, I must speak to Henderson. I trust you have no objection to his joining us in the parlour for our nuncheon as usual? He serves me, but I have been used to treating him as a friend rather than a servant.’

‘Of course not. Why should I?’ Georgie said, though she knew it was something that would not happen when their lives were back to normal. But when that happened she would not see Richard again, except perhaps as a casual acquaintance in town, if she should be fortunate enough to visit.

Georgie felt a hot burning behind her eyes when she realised that she had only a few hours left in his company. In the morning Richard would deliver her to her great-aunt’s home and go on his way, relieved to be rid of her no doubt.

When had she begun to think of him as Richard? And why did the thought of parting weigh heavily on her, making her breast feel as if it were being crushed? After all, he was merely someone who had come to her rescue when she needed him.

That was just it, of course. He had been there when she needed him, and insensibly she had come to think of him as her special friend, someone she could turn to in need. She must put that notion out of her mind. Richard had been considerate, kind and gentle towards her, but he must have found her a nuisance, especially at a time when he was wounded and in danger of his life.

She must not make him feel he owed her anything. He must be free to go on his way and forget her. Even as she made her silent vow, she knew that she would not forget him! Georgie sensed instinctively that this brief interlude would remain with her for a long time. Perhaps for the rest of her life. The thought made her want to weep.

What was she going to do with her life now? Georgie hardly knew what she wanted. Her great-aunt was elderly. It was not likely that she would entertain often, which meant that Georgie would be forced to spend long hours alone or with just her aunt for company. For a moment she sank beneath the weight of such a prospect, but then she put it behind her. If Great-Aunt Mary did not wish to take her to London or Bath she might know someone who would take it on for a consideration. There were bound to be widows of good family who did not have sufficient money for their needs.

And what then? Georgie wondered. It was usual for girls of good families to marry, settle down and provide an heir for their husbands. She did not know why the prospect of marrying an unknown gentleman did not appeal. When she was younger she had dreamed of falling in love, but as yet she had met no one who appealed to her…as much as Richard.

Oh, no! She was appalled at her thoughts. She must not even consider such a prospect. Richard had no desire to marry her, did not believe himself obliged to despite their circumstances these past few days. And she did not wish to be married simply to rescue her good name!

Georgie buried the renegade thoughts that told her she would not find it a hardship to marry Richard Hernshaw. She liked him despite his deplorable habit of mocking her—in fact, if she were truthful, she liked him a little too much for her own good.

Richard returned some twenty minutes later with his manservant, and the host followed almost immediately with their dinner. They were served cold beef, a dish of calves’liver in sweet sauce, chops and jugged hare with a remove of mashed potatoes and swede, carrots and baked onions. This was followed by a quince tart and an apple turnover with fresh cream.

She was pleased to notice that for the first time Richard did justice to his food, eating almost as much as Henderson and more than she could manage. He looked at her as she refused the apples and cream.

‘I ordered that especially for you. Did you not like it?’

‘I have eaten more than enough,’ she replied. For some reason she had lost her appetite. ‘I do not usually eat as much as I have recently. I think I was making up for having gone without for some days, but now I am back to normal.’

‘It is not because I teased you about getting fat?’

‘Oh, no, of course not,’ she said and smiled a little wanly. ‘I just do not feel hungry.’

‘Well, it is only a few hours since we broke our fast,’ Richard said. ‘I should not have stopped so soon had it not been necessary. However, we shall go on again shortly. If you are worried about getting to your aunt’s, we might see if we can get there. The carriage I have hired will make good time, I dare say.’

‘Oh, no, I am in no hurry,’ Georgie said. She frowned and looked down at herself. ‘I must try to find a dress before we get to my great-aunt’s house.’

‘I have thought of that,’ Richard said. ‘There are some things for you with my luggage and Henderson will bring them to you this evening before you retire. I shall order your breakfast in your room and we can leave immediately afterwards so that hardly anyone will see you.’

Georgie was silent. It would only need one person of quality to see her leaving the inn to ruin her reputation, but she would say nothing more on the subject. After all, it did not matter so very much since she had no real desire to marry. Perhaps she never would marry. If only she had some burning desire, something she truly wished to accomplish—like becoming an actress or a famous explorer, perhaps.

She wondered if she should do something of the sort once she had her inheritance. She could engage a companion and travel abroad. For a few minutes pleasant thoughts of all the countries she might visit filled her mind, but unfortunately she kept thinking that it would be much better to travel with a gentleman for company—and one particular gentleman would not stay out of her head.

It was most disobliging of him! She struggled to change her thoughts, becoming aware that his eyes were on her, mysterious and intent, the colour of wet slate.

‘What? Have I done something wrong?’

‘Nothing,’ he said and shook his head. ‘I shall pay the host and then we shall continue our journey—if you are ready?’

‘Yes, of course,’ Georgie replied, though her heart said something entirely different. ‘I dare say you will be glad to deliver me to my great-aunt so that you may go about your business in peace.’

‘It is true that I have business of my own in Yorkshire,’ Richard replied, his expression serious. ‘However, there is nothing urgent. I intend to make certain that you are settled and happy before I move on.’ He frowned. ‘It has occurred to me that I have no idea of our eventual destination. You have not told me the exact location of your aunt’s home or even her name.’

‘Did I not?’ Georgie pulled a face. ‘I am not certain of the location…I know it is near a village called Shrewsbury Morton and it is not far from York, for in her letters to me she talks of dining with friends at an inn in York. Her name…she is Mary, Countess of Shrewsbury and Morton. She is usually addressed as Countess Shrewsbury.’

‘Good lord!’ Richard stared at her, obviously shocked. ‘I know the lady well. She was a great friend of my late mother and my sister resided with her for a few years before she married.’

‘Oh…’ Georgie’s mouth made a little moue of surprise. ‘How strange that you should know Aunt Mary…’

‘Well, that makes things a little easier,’ Richard told her. ‘It is possible that she will accept the story of my being a family friend since she knows me and does not entirely disapprove of me.’

‘Yes…’ Georgie felt a sinking sensation inside. ‘I did not know that your family came from these parts.’

‘You know very little of me,’ Richard said, frowning. ‘I do not live in Yorkshire myself, but my sister does. She married a gentleman she met while living with the countess, and I visit her occasionally—though not as often as she would like. Jenny is a fond sister, though these days she has her hands full with her children.’

‘What are they—boys or girls?’ Georgie asked, because this was the first she had learned of his private life. ‘And how old?’

‘She has a boy and a girl, and hopes to have more,’ Richard replied, a little smile on his lips. ‘The girl is about the age of the girl you talked to at the inn we stayed at last night, and the boy is scarcely two.’

‘How lucky she is to have one of each,’ Georgie said. ‘I always wished that I might have had a sister or a brother, but Mama lost one baby and Papa would not risk her health again. He loved her too much…’ She sighed, her smile dimming. ‘It was terrible to lose them both as I did, but I do not think that either of them could have supported life without the other.’

‘But you were left alone,’ Richard said. ‘My parents also died when I was still young, but at least I still had my sister—and I have her family when I am in need of some of the comforts of home. You have no one who truly cares for you, I think?’

‘Aunt Agatha was not unkind at first,’ Georgie said. ‘But her life was difficult. My uncle was for ever gambling and there were times when money was short. I am sure it was he who wanted to settle his debts by selling me to Monsieur Thierry. My aunt was shocked, but could do nothing but obey her husband.’

‘Will the countess be prepared to stand against them for guardianship?’ Richard asked. ‘Have you considered that your uncle may have the right to force you to return to his house until you are older?’

‘Papa’s will states that I should be free to live as I please once I come into my fortune,’ Georgie said. ‘There are two lawyers applying the terms of the trust, and I think they might support me if I tell them what he tried to do.’

‘Yes, perhaps,’ Richard said. He hesitated, then, ‘My sister can always reach me if she needs me. I shall furnish you with her address and you may apply to me if you are in trouble.’

‘Oh…’ Georgie looked down because her heart had begun to thump madly in her breast, feeling as if it would burst free of her ribcage. ‘Surely you would not wish to have the trouble of such things?’

‘I would help you if need be,’ Richard said and his eyes held hers. ‘Can you doubt it?’

At that moment Georgie would have believed anything he told her. She felt as if she were drawn to him, bound to him by invisible threads and her mind sought for something to say that would make him understand how she felt, but at that moment someone came in to announce that their carriage was waiting.

Georgie turned, preceding the others as they all went outside. She hoped that Richard had not noticed her confusion, because she did not want him to see that he had set hope flaring inside her. His promise that he would help her made her feel that perhaps she might see him again after the morrow.

Their journey that afternoon was uneventful, perhaps because Richard had hired grooms to accompany them. His young tiger had stayed behind with his master’s horses and rig, and would wait at the posting inn until he was told what to do next. Richard sat opposite her.

He made conversation for a while and then leaned back, his eyes closed. She thought that he was sleeping and felt pleased, because she knew he had had little sleep the previous night. If he could relax now, it must mean that his wound was feeling a little easier.

At the next inn they were shown to their rooms, and shortly after Georgie had washed and made herself comfortable she heard a knock at the door. She opened it to find Henderson standing there with a valise, which he handed to her with a smile.

‘Can you manage, miss?’ he asked. ‘I could ask the innkeeper’s wife to send a girl up to help you.’

‘No, thank you. I am sure I can manage,’ Georgie said. ‘I shall not come down this evening. I think it best if no one sees me—and I am not hungry.’

‘I’ll ask for a light supper to be sent up, miss,’ Henderson promised as he left.

Georgie smiled and closed the door, locking it once more. She carried the valise to the bed and opened it, taking out a gown of primrose muslin. It was the fashion of two seasons previously with a high waist, puffed sleeves and a white sash, which she could tie at the front or the side. It was a little creased, but she shook it out, laying it over the back of a chair as she examined the rest of the clothes. There was a shawl of white silk, some dainty white leather half-boots, which were a little too large for her, but wearable once she had laced them, silk stockings and garters, a fine silk petticoat—which, considering the cold weather of the past few days, she thought it advisable to wear—and a heavy pelisse of dark blue for travelling. She pulled everything out of the valise to make sure, but there were no pantaloons. Of course some fashionable ladies did not wear them under their clinging gowns, but Georgie had been accustomed to such items of underwear and felt that it would be very daring of her not to do so. However, as there were none, she would simply have to brave it.

No one would know, of course, but she felt it a little shocking. However, it might have been even more shocking if they had been there for her bag must have been packed by Henderson, who was more used to serving a gentleman.

She considered dressing in her finery just to see how she looked, suddenly keen to be a young lady again. However, the hour was late because Richard had wanted to make up for time lost earlier in the day, and she decided that it could wait for the morning. When she undressed she placed the youth’s clothing into the bag, apart from the shirt that she had used as nightwear the previous night and would use again.

The Countess of Shewsbury and Morton would no doubt think it very odd when she arrived with no baggage, but they must hope that she was prepared to believe Georgie’s story of having lost it on the road. She would have to send for her things, or wait until she had her money and could buy more, though that would be awkward.