Page 29 of The Cornish Lyon

Georgiana greeted the elderly, no, decrepit, butler with a smile. “Good afternoon, Drummond.”

He seemed equally pleased to see her, his rheumy old eyes moist with what might have been unshed tears. “Miss Georgiana, a good afternoon to you, too. Most delightful to welcome you back to your old home. Your aunt is in the blue drawing room.”

Here, at least, was someone who was fond of his new wife.

They followed the doddery old fellow up a dark oak staircase to the first floor, where he opened the door into the drawing room. “Captain and Mrs. Carlyon, Miss Frampton.” And departed.

Aunt Patience was seated bolt upright on what looked like an uncomfortable, high-backed chair that must date from well back in the previous century. She was, as far as he could tell, a woman of more than average height in possession of hair that might once have been of the same hue as her niece but now was predominantly a dull gray. Her face was thin and ascetic, with winged brows sweeping across a wide forehead. A prominent nose resembled the beak of a hawk and thin lips were pressed together in a forbidding expression. Not the most welcoming reception Fitz had ever received. And he was used to not being approved of by older ladies.

Fitz made a flamboyant bow. “Miss Frampton.” And by his side, Georgiana effected a curtsey. “Aunt.” Her voice zinged with tension.

Miss Patience Frampton laid the book she’d been reading down on the table beside her and fixed a pair of gimlet eyes on first Georgiana and then Fitz. He had the distinct impression she could see right through him to his very soul. “Good afternoon, Captain Carlyon. Georgiana. Won’t you be seated?” Her voice matched her appearance in being frosty and formal.

A slight tremble in the hand resting in the crook of his left arm alerted Fitz that all was not well with his wife. Without thinking, his free hand went automatically to cover hers as they took a seat together on a chaise longue, Georgiana sitting as bolt upright and tensely as her aunt.

For a long moment, no one said anything.

Fitz decided he’d better break the silence. He prided himself in what one of his old schoolfriends, a young Irishman, had called “the gift of the gab.” “My wife has told me a lot about you, Miss Frampton. You were most kind to take her in after her father died.”

Fingers dug into his arm, but he didn’t look at her. Did she think he was laying the charm on too thickly? Probably.

“It was my duty,” Miss Frampton said. “She had no one else.”

“She’s a credit to you.”

He gave Georgiana’s hand a squeeze, willing her to speak. She needed to break the ice here and return to speaking terms with her aunt. After all, the old lady had invited them here so she must want to do just that with her only living relation. Didn’t she?

Georgiana cleared her throat. “You were indeed very kind to me, Aunt, and I am most grateful. And now that I am married, I would like to invite you to the ball my husband’s sister is holding for us at her house in Cavendish Square. Next week.”

Fitz was watching the old lady’s expression. Those gimlet eyes had already softened as she gazed at her niece and was that the glimmer of moisture in their corners? He was generally good at reading people—unless you counted Georgiana—and it didn’t take a genius to pick up that the old lady was unhappy. Did this childless spinster love her niece like the daughter she’d never had? He rather thought she did.

She pressed her lips together for a moment. “That is very thoughtful of you, Georgiana, but I do not go out to social events, as you know.”

He felt Georgiana sag a little beside him as though defeated.

Fitz to the rescue. “The celebration of our marriage will be a hollow one without my wife’s only relative present. We would both of us be delighted if you would come, even if only for a short period. A mere hour or less.” He bestowed the smile he knew to be his most charming on the old lady. A sure way to any woman’s heart.

He was not wrong.

Miss Frampton’s mouth softened into the hint of a smile. Her gaze flicked from Fitz’s face to Georgiana’s and back again. “Perhaps I might come for a short while.”

“Splendid,” Fitz declared, determined not to let her change her mind. “You will be our most honored guest, as my dear wife’s father is obviously unable to attend. And I will of course demand a dance from you.”

Miss Frampton bridled, for a moment resembling the coy young lady she must once have been. “Oh no, Captain Carlyon, I fear I must disappoint you. I have not danced in the last forty years or more and don’t intend to do it now.” But from the look of pleasure in her once hard eyes, it was not going to be an outright refusal.

He smiled at her again and was rewarded by the color that rose to her pale cheeks. “I will not take no for an answer, Miss Frampton. It would be my honor to lead you onto the dance floor.”

Not many women existed who could resist his charms when he put himself out to exert them. Georgiana was in a company of zero other women. Only of course, he would dance with her as well. The thought of holding her in his arms in a waltz was more intoxicating than he’d expected and a shiver ran through him.

Miss Frampton cleared her throat. “I will consider it, Captain Carlyon.”

So that was a yes.

Georgiana’s head turned, her eyes wide perhaps at his success with her aunt, and he pulled himself together in a hurry and gave her the same smile he’d given the old lady. Let her be as easily won over as her aunt, please.

But she wasn’t. He had a feeling it was going to take a lot more than a charming smile to persuade her into his bed.

Chapter Fifteen