Page 52 of Prince of Scandal

“Let’s not waste time with niceties,” Miss March burst out. “Why aren’t you already on your way to London?”

“Now, Blossom,” said Sir Alan. “We might not have all the facts. Give Latimer a chance to explain.”

“We have Gigi’s letter. That is enough.”

Ashton went still. “She sent you a letter? May I read it?”

Miss March glared at him, but rifled through her reticule then handed him a folded note. “Here.”

Smoothing out the paper, he began to read.

Dearest Phoebe,

Forgive this hasty note, I know my handwriting is appalling. But I do not have much time. My family is forcing me to return to London and marry Major Lord Rupert Osbourne, a man I do not love. For you to fully understand my desperation I must confess to several lies, and I offer my humblest apologies for them. I’m not a widow nor old enough to forge my own path. My real name is Lady Georgiana Nash and I’m nineteen years old. I wished to escape my grandmother’s tyranny, so behaved very foolishly and indiscreetly with Rupert because he promised a way out: marriage. But he’s not a good man. Not worthy of polishing your Sir Alan’s boots, or Mr. Latimer’s for that matter.

Even though you may be cross with me, the friendship we share is very, very real. That is why I’m begging you for help, as a direct note to Mr. Latimer might be intercepted. Please go to his estate and show him this. I have not left any of you willingly. The happiest time of my life was these past few weeks in Brundall.

Your affectionate friend,

Gigi

“Damnation,” Ashton bit out.

“See?” said Miss March. “You must be on your way at once.”

“It’s not as simple as that.”

Sir Alan frowned. “Why not? Out with it, Latimer. I know you have feelings for the chit. Heard it from your own lips.”

Ashton slumped into a chair, gesturing for them to do the same. Never in a thousand years had he thought to confess his darkest secrets to a country baronet and a vicar’s daughter, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Besides, he actually liked these two. They’d always seemed trustworthy and more broadminded than most.

“You recall, Dunmore, back in the church hall when I revealed my unfortunate past?”

“Yes,” said the baronet, before turning to his betrothed. “Poor Latimer had his heart broken; his lady broke their engagement, married a complete cretin, then passed away six months later. Made him quite averse to marriage.”

Miss March’s glare softened slightly. “Understandable. But what has that got to do with Gigi?”

Once again, rage flared through Ashton. “The complete cretin was Major Lord Rupert Osbourne. After Virginia—my former betrothed—he married and was widowed twice more, each within a year. Georgiana would be his fourth wife.”

“Hell,” muttered Sir Alan.

“Three dead wives?” said Miss March, her face paling. “All within a year? Was it childbirth?”

“No. No pregnancies. Or fevers. Or chills.”

“Then that seems…excessively unlucky.”

“Isn’t it just,” said Ashton grimly. “Before you ask, there were no complaints or charges laid. Everyone sympathized with him. Two mornings ago, I went over to Rose Cottage to warn Georgiana that Osbourne was coming to Norfolk. But he’d already arrived, escorted by her brother. Osbourne recognized me and we had…words. Then he outlined a bargain. As long as I stayed away from London and paid him five thousand pounds each month, Georgiana would remain unharmed and he wouldn’t reveal my true identity.”

Sir Alan abruptly stood and walked over to the brandy decanter, before pouring himself a drink and gulping it down. “Forgive my poor manners, but damn, I needed that. Do you want one, Blossom?”

“Yes,” said Miss March starkly.

Once they were fortified with brandy and seated once more, Ashton took a deep breath. “What I’m about to tell you, no one else here knows. I would appreciate it if the news didn’t go anywhere outside these walls.”

“Go on,” said Sir Alan, sitting forward in his seat. “Best we know everything, I think.”

“I’m not English gentry, but Prussian royalty,” said Ashton bluntly. “My real name is Prince Wilhelm Heinrich Ashton von Hagan. My father was a Prussian diplomat who came to England in 1805 as a special envoy to King George’s court.”