Page 36 of Much Ado about a Widow

The remains of a loaf of fresh bread and crumbles of what had been a hunk of light, white cheese lay on the table between Georgie and Clara. As the dinner hour had approached, with no notion of food forthcoming, Clara had ventured to the galley and returned with what would have to suffice for the evening’s meal. The maid had been complaining ever since. “I’m sure the cook and the rest of them are attending to his lordship, but that’s no reason to let the other passengers starve.”

Georgie leaned back in her chair, stifling a burp. “Well, I for one am quite sated. Bread and cheese is as good as a feast if one is hungry enough.” She snatched another crumb of the soft, nutty-flavored cheese. “This is delightful. I wish I knew what it was exactly. Something local to St. Just’s home, I assume.” She tossed the piece to Lulu, who snapped it up. “There you are, my girl. We’ll have better rations in the morning.”

Lulu yipped, then turned around in the corner before lying down, curled into a ball on the piece of toweling Clara had dried before the fire.

“Well, it’s good enough, I’ll grant you, but a little meat to go with it would not have been amiss.” Clara tore off a wedge of the dark bread and used it to wipe up tiny morsels of the cheese from the plate. “Something to drink would have been even nicer.”

“If you call for Ayers, I’m sure he will accommodate us.” Georgie stretched and yawned. The combination of the stress of today’s excitement plus the comforting food had left her yearning for her bed. She had half hoped to see St. Just again before retiring, a whim that she understood, though wanted to deny. The man had likely taken to his bed and was fast asleep. She would follow suit shortly.

The close proximity of those two thoughts brought warmth to her cheeks. She must stop this silliness about Lord St. Just. She’d never given the man a second thought before yesterday. Once she was back on dry land and on her way to Blackham, she would forget all about him in the bustle surrounding her wedding. In the excitement of the day, she’d completely forgotten about Lord Travers, and he was the man she was going to marry. It should be far easier to forget a man she would never see, never speak to, never have contact with again. An inkling, lurking in the back of her mind, however, said she would never forget the Marquess of St. Just, if she lived to be a hundred years old.

A sharp rap on the door startled her, and brought Clara out of her chair and Lulu to her feet, growling. “Who is that?” the maid whispered to Georgie.

“If you open the door you’ll find out sooner, I’m sure, Clara.” Georgie tried to act aloof, all the while her heart raced and her blood sang in her veins. It wouldn’t be St. Just, but one of his men come to check on them. Clara could then ask him for some wine, perhaps. Georgie would like a glass of Madeira at the moment.

With a withering glance at her, Clara opened the door a crack. A low murmur of voices ensued, and Georgie slumped back in her seat, disappointment stealing through her. Fool that she was, she’d hoped again to find St. Just at the door. She hoped Clara secured a full bottle for them. For perhaps the second time in her life, spirits would be required to get through the night.

The maid shut the door and turned toward Georgie, her eyes mere suspicious slits.

“Are they bringing the wine?” Georgie held out her hand to Lulu, but the dog settled back on her spot once more. Even Lulu had abandoned her this evening.

“Yes, Mr. Ayers said they’d be bringing my supper to me shortly, including wine.”

How exceedingly odd. Georgie raised her eyebrows. “Am I being punished and sent to bed without my supper then?”

Clara held out a folded piece of paper. “I suspect this will explain everything, my lady.”

Perplexed, Georgie took the note and unfolded it.

My dear Lady Georgina,

May I request the pleasure of your company at dinner this evening? The table will be laid in my cabin at half eight, if that is convenient.

Yr ob’t servant,

St. Just

Post Scriptum—Please do come

Excitement welled up in her; a rush of delight spread a smile over her lips that she could not deny.

“Well, I suppose you are not to go hungry after all?”

“I am to dine with Lord St. Just at half-past eight. Good Lord, what is the time?” Snatching up her jewel case, she hunted through it until she found her watch and breathed a relieved sigh. It was only half-past seven. Time enough to become presentable to the marquess.

“What gown should I wear, Clara?” The blue she’d worn earlier was out of the question, of course. “I was thinking the green with the lace overlay. You always say it—”

“Deepens your eyes, yes. It does.” Working swiftly, Clara had removed the nightgown and was rummaging for another pair of stays. “So are you now friends with Lord St. Just? This morning you wanted nothing more than to push him out the door.”

“At one point I wanted to push him off the ship, but having more or less done that, I find I am more pleased with the marquess now than then. He did rescue Lulu at the very real risk of his life. The least I can do is act cordially toward him.” Stays in place, Georgie ducked her head as the maid drew her gown over her head.

“You had best not act too cordially toward him. It’s very easy to become overly attracted to gentlemen who do you some heroic service.” Clara sniffed as she tied the gown closed. “I’ve seen such things happen before, my lady. The next thing you know you’ll be looking into his eyes and he’ll be taking you into his arms, and who knows where it will lead.”

Hastily, Georgie stepped away from Clara. The woman had come much too close to the truth to let her see her face. Instead Georgie bent her head over her jewel box, searching for the emerald earrings she always wore with this particular dress. Clara was likely right about the possibility of mistaking gratitude for a more intimate emotion. However, that would not keep Georgie from dining with the marquess this evening. She was on her guard, and forewarned was forearmed, so they said.

“What are you looking for, my lady?”

Hoping her cheeks had sufficiently cooled, Georgie raised her head. “My emerald earrings. I can’t seem to find them.”