Page 28 of The Cornish Lyon

“True. So it’s really your aunt’s fault for keeping you locked up like Rapunzel in her tower.”

Georgiana frowned, but inside she liked the idea that it was all her aunt’s fault. Not that she was going to ever say that to her face. But it bolstered her confidence.

The carriage came to a halt outside Mrs. Bean’s establishment. Georgiana leaned in closer. “But I cannot say that and neither must you. You must promise to be tactful.” It hadn’t escaped her notice that he was inclined to say what he thought more often than not, as though the feelings of others didn’t matter a jot to him.

He squeezed her hand. “I promise. I shall be the soul of discretion. And now, let us go and see what this so oddly named lady has to offer in the way of day dresses and evening wear. I intend my wife to be the best dressed lady in society. You shall rival the princess herself.”

Later that afternoon, Georgiana penned a letter for her aunt. This task proved harder than she had expected and led to a bin full of screwed up attempts to word it correctly. Eventually, she gave up trying to be tactful and went with the first version she’d penned.

Dear Aunt Patience,

You will know by now that I have married Captain Fitzwilliam Carlyon. My husband’s sister, Marianne, Lady Fortescue, is holding a ball at her house in Cavendish Square for us and we would very much like it if you would grace us with your presence.

My husband and I would like to call on you tomorrow afternoon to personally deliver your invitation.

Cordially, your niece Georgiana, Mrs. Fitzwilliam Carlyon

She read it through again then wrote it out in perfect copperplate handwriting and before she could change her mind, sealed it and sent for a footman to deliver it to her aunt.

Once he’d departed, missive in hand, she immediately regretted having sent it. What was she doing trying to make peace with a woman who despised her for her foolish behavior? This would only give her aunt further fuel for her dislike. If she even allowed them to call on her that was. Or if she even opened the letter when she realized who it was from. Most likely she’d just throw it on the nearest fire without reading it.

The reply, however, came within the hour.

Dear Georgiana—she’d used ‘dear’ and her first name—

I shall be pleased to welcome you and your husband tomorrow afternoon at three o’clock precisely.

Cordially,

Miss Patience Frampton

Short and to the point, but at least not thrown in the fireplace. She went in search of Fitz, whom she found in the library, and showed him the letter.

He read it through. “Well, that sounds positive. She is, after all, your only living relative and it would be a sad thing for you to have no further contact with her.”

He was being sensible. And yet…she couldn’t help but quaver. “She is a stickler for manners and perhaps she feels beholden to agree to our visit.”

He shook his head. “Look at it from her position. As much as she is your only living relative, so you are hers. Perhaps your revelation about your condition came as a great shock to her—why wouldn’t it? She was entrusted with your care by your father and she might well have thought she’d failed in it. She might be horrified by her own lack of care of you.”

Georgiana bit her lip. She hadn’t thought of that possibility. He could be right. She took the letter back and read it again. “She does call me by my first name.”

He nodded. “She does. If she wished to shun you entirely she would probably not have even replied. Or if etiquette had seemed to demand that she had to reply, she would have called you simply Mrs.. Carlyon.” He tapped the page. “And she addressed you as ‘dear’.”

“I noticed that.”

“Then we will visit her and hold out the olive branch, shall we not?”

His was the voice of reason. “I suppose so. I would rather be on good terms with her than not.”

He nodded with vigor. “Then that is settled.”

They took the carriage round to Fitzroy Square the following afternoon, paying particular attention to being on time. “My aunt is a stickler for promptness,” Georgiana had confided in Fitz before they left. “And she also doesn’t like guests to turn up earlier than invited.”

So accuracy was called for with this lady. Fitz filed that information away in case it came in useful at a later date.

A light drizzle was falling as they descended from the carriage at their destination, and Fitz noted that Miss Frampton’s butler, who must have been stationed awaiting their arrival, must be as much a stickler for guests being on time as his mistress, for he already had the front door open. Fitz, ignoring the feeling of trepidation trying to elbow its way into his heart, took Georgiana’s arm and hurried her into the house, not giving her any pause for second thoughts. He had enough of those of his own.

The hallway was not large and the day had rendered it gloomy and in need of extra illumination, but he could see how it was furnished in a somewhat old-fashioned manner, perhaps dating back to when Miss Frampton had been a young woman.