Page 23 of The Cornish Lyon

Georgiana seized the initiative. “At the house we own in Bedford Square. I inherited it from my papa. It’s quite large, and I suppose it would suit.”

Marianne’s eyebrows shot up. “Bedford Square? One of the new houses there?” She sounded surprised at the location. “They are large and undoubtedly splendid, but not large enough, I fear, for the sort of gathering I intend to hold.” A glint shone in her eyes. “I insist on holding the ball here for you both. That will be my wedding gift to you and it will be easier for me to organize if it’s to be held here. We have a more than adequate ballroom and plenty of space for supper and retiring rooms and even a card room for the gentlemen.” She held up an imperious hand. “Do not protest.” Not that Georgiana had been about to. “I insist. I will enjoy doing so, and it will make life easier for you two newlyweds.”

Was that an appraising look in her sharp eyes? Did she suspect something?

“But I would very much like to learn how a ball is organized,” Georgiana finally managed to put in, pushing her spectacles back up her nose from where they had slid towards the tip. “I have led a sadly sheltered life since my father passed away as my aunt didn’t believe in even going to social events, let alone holding one. And before then, I was too young for anything like that.” She didn’t add that when Papa had been alive she’d been more interested in her horses than in attending balls. Marianne did not look the sort who would approve of that.

Marianne, carried away by her own obvious enthusiasm, nodded. “And so you shall, my dear, but you will have to come here every day to do so. Then you will know just how to do it yourself the next time.” A beatific smile covered her face. “I’m sure there will be many next times in the future.”

Clearly it had been a wise idea of Fitz’s to engage his sister to organize a ball for them. And it seemed to have deflected any curiosity Marianne might have had about Georgiana’s origins. For now.

Marianne clasped her plump white hands. “This will be quite splendid, Fitz. I shall present you and your pretty little wife to society. It will be my pleasure.”

Praise indeed. At the moment. Georgiana looked from Fitz to his sister and back again. Fitz was looking more than a little smug that his idea had worked, and his sister’s eyes glinted with enthusiasm. Possibly because holding a ball would force her own daughter to attend.

And that, it seemed, was that.

Chapter Twelve

Miss Harriet Fortescue, Marianne’s unmarried daughter, executed an elegant curtsey and extended a hand in greeting to Georgiana. “Delighted to make your acquaintance, Aunt.”

Considering she was two years older than her putative aunt, this sounded odd to Georgiana’s ears. “Do please call me Georgiana,” she said, smiling at the rather plain girl standing in front of her. “It would make me feel so much more at home.”

Harriet’s eyes, somewhat enlarged by the spectacles Georgiana had been pleased to find she wore, crinkled at the corners in a smile. “I should like that very much indeed. Georgiana.”

They were facing one another in what Marianne had called the Blue Parlor, but in reality, was not very blue at all. Certainly neither the seating nor the curtains were blue, and the walls were a pale apricot in color. Perhaps a long time ago it had been blue and no one had thought to change its name. Although why she was fixating on the color, Georgiana had no idea. Perhaps it was nerves making her think such random thoughts.

It was two days after their initial visit to Cavendish Square, and Georgiana had called around by herself today in order to help with the arrangements for the ball. However Marianne, her manner that of one of the schoolmistresses Georgiana remembered from her school days, had, after a short consultation on what was required for the projected ball, hustled her guest into this parlor with the instruction that she was to meet and make friends with her daughter. The implication being that this was the most important task she had to complete. Marianne had left the two of them, having made a brief introduction and closed the door behind herself with a rather forceful bang. A lady far too used to getting her own way. As was her brother.

Harriet, evidently pleased with their first overtures of friendship, pulled her new aunt gently over to a chaise longue, then patted it so invitingly Georgiana, despite the fact that she’d called for a totally different reason, dutifully sat down. It would be nice to make a friend near to her own age. She hadn’t seen Fanny since the wedding and was feeling a little deprived of female company. Havers was nice, but she was just a lady’s maid, after all, and knew her place.

“We are of an age to be sisters,” Harriet said, as they took their seats, her face slightly flushed. “I have always wanted one and now, at last, Fitz has given me one. To say I am happy would be a lack of hyperbole. I am ecstatic, and was so from the moment Mama informed me my uncle had at last found himself a bride.” She squeezed Georgiana’s hand, which she had not released. “And I cannot tell you how relieved both Mama and I are that you are not either some rich old widow or an actress from one of the playhouses.”

Despite her bluestocking appearance with her plain gown, tight bun and glasses, it seemed Harriet was not to be taken at face value. Georgiana smiled. “I too have grown up in want of a sister, so it will be a delight to me to have one. And as to your relief that I am not what you expected Fitz to marry, well, I too am relieved.”

Harriet’s wide mouth broke into a matching smile. “Splendid. Although because Mama has taken it into her head to hold a ball in your honor, I fear she is expecting me to attend it.” She pulled a face to indicate her disgust and let her shoulders sag.

Georgiana raised her eyebrows. “Do you not like balls? I’ve never had the opportunity to attend one and I’ve always longed to do so.” She paused, struck by the possibility that she might not like a ball herself when it came to it. “What is wrong with them?”

Harriet wrinkled her nose again. “The trouble with balls is that they are attended by young men requiring husbands and that is not something I strive to. Although Mama thinks I should. She constantly tells me I am a trial to her, as I am unmarried at three and twenty. Although why she thinks being married is such an important thing, I have no idea.” She bit her lip. “And now I’ve said too much. You are just married and in that state of euphoria I am told attends all newlyweds. Don’t listen to me. I have been reliably informed I’m not what you would call an average debutante. Probably because I hate and abhor being included in that description.”

Georgiana swallowed. She’d been imagining that a trip to Cavendish Square would have involved time spent learning how a ball should be arranged from Marianne. Not for a moment had she thought she would be put in a difficult situation by Marianne’s daughter, who seemed to think she was deeply in love with Fitz.

“I am not offended,” she volunteered, trying to be as tactful as possible and endeavoring not to give herself away. Not too much, at any rate. “Everyone is entitled to their own opinion. And if you don’t wish to marry anyone, I don’t see why you should. We may differ on this matter but still be friends.” If only Harriet knew the real reason for her marriage to Fitz.

“Exactly.” Triumph edged her new friend’s voice. “I wish that you would tell Mama that as she never listens to me. Instead, she makes me attend balls and routs and dinner parties and thrusts the most unsuitable men in front of my nose expecting me to swoon at their feet. She doesn’t understand me at all. I do not require a man in my life in order to function properly. In fact, I would find one a positive hindrance. She thinks young ladies should not be scholars, but only mothers and supports for their husbands. As if that is all we are good for. She doesn’t understand me at all.” She ended on a deep huff.

This was ground Georgiana understood. “My Aunt Patience, with whom I had to live for four years after my poor papa unexpectedly passed away, didn’t understand me, either. I sympathize with your predicament, although mine was of a different nature. My Aunt wanted to keep me immured at her house and refused to allow me to come out into society as she thought I was too young for the adventure of marriage. Or even of having fun. Probably because she had never married herself.”

“And yet you are married! Not that I aspire to that situation, of course. But how did you escape her clutches? In case your story offers me inspiration for escaping Mama’s. It is so difficult for a dutiful daughter to effect an escape. I am dependent on my parents for my pin money and would have no hope of setting up my own establishment, and they know it. I am almost a prisoner here, although Mama would dispute the fact.”

Her escape from Aunt Patience, if you could describe her forcible eviction in such a way, might be a bit difficult to explain. She’d best keep it simple. “I came of age and inherited my father’s fortune. My aunt no longer had control of me. So I left.” Which was quite true.

Harriet’s eyes shone, if not because Georgiana had married then perhaps because she had escaped the rule of an iron rod. “Do tell me. Did you elope?”

“No… Not exactly.” She hesitated, wondering how much she could tell this strange conundrum of bluestocking and excitable young lady. “We had a common licence and married in St James’s Church in Piccadilly.”

Harriet pushed her spectacles further up her nose just as Georgiana did the same. “Almost as good as eloping. You might think that because I don’t espouse to the idea of marriage that I have no romantic bones in my body, but I do. I very much like to read romantic novels. In fact, I am in the process of writing one of my own. I would like to become a writer, like Miss Austen. And she has never married, I believe.”