Page 43 of Prince of Scandal

The other man snorted. “Of course she likes my strudel. There is none better outside of Prussia. However…”

Ashton went still. “If you have something to say, out with it. But be warned I’ll tolerate no slander of Mrs. King.”

“We may have a far more significant issue than your neighbor. As you know, I was in Norwich earlier, visiting Tommy.”

“A most proper activity for your afternoon off.”

Franz actually wrung his hands. “One of our theater friends just returned from London. A small inheritance from a deceased great aunt who resided in Cheapside. But he had news that you need to hear with the utmost urgency.”

Ashton sat forward, uneasiness now churning his belly. “Go on.”

“Major Lord Rupert Osbourne is on his way to Norfolk.”

Shock jolted through him. What the bloody hell? No. Surely that couldn’t be correct. The major abhorred rural life. It was hard to think of any circumstances where he would willingly leave London, especially for a remote county like Norfolk.

“Are you sure?” Ashton replied carefully. “I do not wish to cast aspersions on your friend’s information, but knowing Osbourne’s character and preferences, I find it difficult to believe.”

Franz nodded. “I know. I scarcely believed it myself. But one important detail changes the matter somewhat. The major is being escorted here. By a young lord, because of some incident involving his sister. A Viscount Northern or Northman or something like that.”

Ashton’s fists clenched. “Now that sounds very much like something that bastard Osbourne would be tangled up in. Is he looking for wife number four? Surely all the women in England know by now it is an exceedingly unlucky position.”

“I thought so, Your Highness, but perhaps a younger lady might not be aware. Especially if she is a rebellious sort. You know how he is with, ah, troubled ton women...lures them in like a fisherman.”

Oh yes. Poor, wild Virginia had been ripe for the plucking.

Guilt tore through him. Unable to sit a moment longer, Ashton stood and began pacing the length of the parlor. “Where in Norfolk? Do we know who the family is? The father? I must warn them. Osbourne cannot be permitted to ruin anymore lives.”

“I’ll ask around,” said Franz. “Someone must have a copy of that English society bible. Debrett’s? The one that lists all the peerages and heirs?”

Ashton clapped his hands. “I do! Quite old, certainly years out of date, but a starting point at least. Franz, we have some investigating to do. If we look up all the viscounts with a name like Northern or Northman, we can find out the family and go from there.”

His manservant clicked his heels together, his whole face brightening. “At once, Your Highness.”

* * *

The first carriage of doom had arrived.

Resting her forehead on the cool glass of the bedchamber window that happened to overlook the stables, Georgiana watched with dull resignation as her grandmother stepped out of the crested Kingsford carriage. Even in the torchlit gloom of rapidly approaching dusk, it was easy to see the expression of acute disdain on the elderly woman’s face. Rose Cottage was not a location she would ever choose to set foot in; the Dowager Countess of Kingsford insisted on luxurious accommodations, an army of staff to see to her every comfort, and close proximity to tasteful entertainment and appropriate blue-blooded companions.

None of which she would find here.

That Grandmother travelled alone was unsurprising; either she would have insisted upon it, or Xav and Papa would have both volunteered to escort Rupert, a slightly more palatable option than two days in close confinement with an icicle and enough luggage for a full year abroad. Either which way, the devil’s handmaiden had descended on Brundall, which meant any joy, contentment, or pleasure, would immediately cease.

Georgiana rubbed her aching temples. Of course, she’d not even received the boon of a good night’s sleep before the invasion. No time to dream of Ashton or even properly consider a plan to extract herself from the monstrous scheme her grandmother thought to inflict upon her youngest granddaughter. Lilian had outwitted Grandmother by falling madly in love with the duke of her arranged marriage, finding her mettle, and birthing an adorable baby girl. Pippa had demonstrated rather admirable gumption in entering into a pretend betrothal with her best friend, Finlay, then marrying him for real, instead of Grandmother’s choice, the Duke of Devonshire.

But Georgiana didn’t have either of those options. Ashton didn’t even know her real name, for God’s sake. And what man would marry her if the possibility remained that she carried another’s child? There might be women out there who would cross their fingers and swear a babe was the husband’s heir, but she couldn’t do it. Not to Ashton. Not when he’d been so wonderful.

“Excuse me, Mrs. King? There is a Lady Kingsford downstairs who says she is your grandmother, and if we do not let her in, prepare a tea tray, and pack away her belongings, we will all be cast out into the night with nary a penny.”

Georgiana attempted to smile at Mary, who looked uncharacteristically flustered and uncertain. A very common response to interactions with Lady Kingsford; even those related by blood and vastly experienced in the poisoned arrows that flew from the dowager countess’s lips struggled with her.

“I apologize for Lady Kingsford’s behavior. She is indeed my grandmother. Please order a tray of tea, with lemon and sugar cubes. Also a small slice of ginger cake or plain bread and butter. Put her in the front parlor and her belongings in my chamber. I shall move to another.”

The maid frowned. “Are you sure?”

“Very sure.”

It is not worth the battle. Trust me. She will wage all-out war and pay no heed to the casualties.