GEORGIANNA: A Regency Romance (Miss Wolfraston's Ladies Book 3) Read online

  Georgianna

  Miss Wolfraston’s Ladies Book 3

  Jenny Hambly

  Copyright © 2020 by Jenny Hambly

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  The moral right of Jenny Hambly has been asserted.

  www.jennyhambly.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events, other than those clearly in the public domain, are either the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, are purely coincidental.

  Dedication

  To Annie

  Thank you for all your encouragement and being part of my world. My life is richer for it.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Also by Jenny Hambly

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Georgianna left Cranbourne with mixed feelings. Although Marianne’s aunt, Lady Brancaster, had taken very good care of her, she had held her on a light rein. She had enjoyed more freedom and been afforded more amusement in the last few weeks than she had at any other time in her life. She had also developed a close bond of affection with Marianne; it had been quite a wrench to part from her. Lively, kind, and friendly to a fault, Marianne had the knack of making friends easily, something Georgianna found very difficult.

  Georgianna’s mother, if she had known Marianne’s history, would have called her a hoyden, she was sure. She would certainly not have encouraged their friendship, but Georgianna did not despair; Miss Montagu of Harwich Court may have been beneath Lady Westbury’s notice, but much might be forgiven a countess. If Marianne did not become Lady Cranbourne within a very few weeks, Georgianna would be most surprised.

  She was, of course, pleased that her brother had recovered from his illness, but she returned home to Avondale uncertain of her reception. She had told Marianne that Lord Wedmore’s letter to her father absolving her of all blame for failing to attach him, and Lady Strickland’s missive to her mother singing her praises, could leave her parents with very little to say. But she was not nearly so confident of this as she had intimated to her friend.

  She was even less so when almost as soon as she entered the carriage, her sour-faced maid said, “So this is what happens when you’re left to your own devices. Seems your manners have become a little easy, ma’am. I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw you hugging that young lady. Your mama will be quite shocked to hear of it; you know she don’t approve of shows of emotion. As if she isn’t worn down enough by Master Rupert’s illness. Not that she complains. She bears all her trials with such dignity.”

  Georgianna had been craning her neck to catch the last glimpse of Marianne before the carriage turned a bend in the drive, but at this she turned and raised her brows, her eyes glacial. “And I see that your manners are what they have always been, Stokes. Insolent.”

  Her maid gasped. When Lady Westbury had taken her on, she had made it clear that it was no part of her duties to befriend Lady Georgianna. She had informed her that she had been forced to turn the previous maid off for just such a breach of her trust. She had also made it clear that she was expected to give her regular reports on Lady Georgianna’s behaviour and activities, and if she found that she had been keeping anything from her, she would suffer the same fate. Lady Georgianna had always treated her with cool indifference, but she had never before spoken to her in such a manner.

  “As for Mama,” Georgianna continued, “if she has spent as much as five minutes by Rupert’s bedside, I will own myself astonished.”

  Stokes’ bosom swelled. “Lady Westbury will hear of this, my lady.”

  Georgianna gave a harsh little laugh. “Of that, I am in no doubt. You have ever been her informer. But think on this, Stokes; I am no longer a child, and once I either marry or find some other occupation, you will be superfluous to her requirements for you cannot expect me to take you with me. You may be my mother’s loyal spy, but do not expect to find that loyalty returned when she has no further use for you.”

  It was nine long hours spent in icy silence before they reached Avondale, which lay in a fertile valley not many miles distant from Bristol. Georgianna had plenty of time to contemplate the wisdom of alienating her maid in such a rash manner. But it was only now that she had witnessed the relationship of Nancy, Marianne’s maid, with her mistress, that she fully understood the perfidy and disrespect of her own.

  She felt her stomach tighten as they at last passed through the gates of her home. A large square edifice built from a warm honey-coloured stone, Avondale was a fine example of Elizabethan architecture. It was a shame Georgianna reflected, that very little warmth permeated its walls. Only when Rupert escaped the nursery was the austere, formal atmosphere that lay within the house disturbed.

  As the carriage pulled up in front of the impressive entrance, Georgianna was relieved to note that the flicker of a candle brightened none of the numerous large mullioned windows on the ground floor. It seemed she might escape an interview with her mama this evening, at least.

  A footman opened the carriage door and held out his hand to help her alight. She accepted it with promptitude, eager to at last escape the constant rocking of the coach and step onto firm ground once more. As she walked towards the house, it felt as if she was still swaying. Even when she paused in front of the grand pillars of the portico, the gravel seemed to be moving beneath her feet. She took a slow, deep breath, willing the sudden nausea that gripped her to subside.

  “Welcome home, Lady Georgianna.”

  She glanced up quickly at these softly spoken words, a genuine smile curving her lips. Adams had been butler at Avondale for twenty years. Although he performed his duties with all the cool haughtiness his master could desire, he and his wife, who was housekeeper at Avondale, had always had a soft spot for her. Adams had once taken the blame when she had accidentally broken one of her mother’s favourite vases. She had felt terribly guilty when Lady Westbury had berated him for his clumsiness and assured him the cost of the item would be deducted from his wages. Georgianna would have admitted the fault was hers if she had not known that the butler’s attempt to shield her would have been considered a far more serious misdemeanour. Mrs Adams had been just as kind, often managing to smuggle a slice of cake or pie to her on the many occasions she had been confined to her room when she had displeased Mama in some way or other.

  “Thank you, Adams,” she said, her smile sliding from her face as Stokes came up beside her.

  The butler’s dignified mask descended once more and he handed them both a candle.

  “Lady Westbury would like you to step up to her room,” he said to the maid in a frigid tone.

  He waited until the long shadows cast by Stokes’ candle had disappeared around the first t
urn in the grand staircase before saying softly, “You look tired; I suggest you go and lie down. Mrs Adams will send some supper up to your room.”

  “Thank you. I will go to bed, but I am not at all hungry. I feel a little queasy if the truth be told.”

  Adams frowned. “She asked cook to make your favourite plum cake, ma’am, and will be most put out if you do not try a little.”

  “That would never do,” Georgianna said. “Have her send some up by all means.”

  Mrs Adams brought the cake herself. She found Georgianna slumped in a chair by the empty fire, her drooping head supported by her hand.

  “You look fit to drop,” she said, shaking her head. “I will not pretend to understand why Stokes was granted the luxury of staying at an inn to break her journey when she travelled into Wiltshire, yet you were not afforded the same courtesy. I expect you have a headache.”

  Georgianna straightened and smiled. “Yes, but I’m sure a slice of plum cake will soon set me to rights.”

  “I hope so, ma’am. I have brought you a small glass of wine to wash it down with. It will help you sleep, and that’s what you need most I suspect.”

  “You are very kind, Mrs Adams.”

  “Nonsense. I’m not doing anything any decent Christian wouldn’t. Did you enjoy your time with your friend, my lady?”

  “Oh yes,” Georgianna said softly. “I have never enjoyed anything more.”

  “Well, that’s not saying much,” Mrs Adams said dryly. “But I can see you’ve put a little flesh on your bones, at last. I don’t know whether to be pleased or insulted. You don’t know how disheartening it is to try to tempt you with your favourite dishes only for Adams to inform me that you ate barely a mouthful of your dinner.”

  Georgianna sighed wearily. “You know how morbidly afraid of becoming fat Mama is. Having a fat daughter would mortify her nearly as much.”

  “There’s no chance of that in your case. You take after your father and it makes not a ha’p’orth of difference how much he eats; he still stays as thin as a reed.”

  Georgianna raised the cake to her lips and bit into it appreciatively. “Delicious,” she said. “I assure you, Mrs Adams, I shall eat every last morsel.”

  “Just make sure you do, Lady Georgianna, and then into bed with you.”

  When Stokes did not come to her, Georgianna made herself ready for bed. As she brushed out her long, ebony locks, she gave herself a critical glance in the mirror. Mrs Adams was quite right, she realised. Although she knew the combination of her dark hair and deep blue eyes to be striking, her face was too thin. Her glance dropped to her shoulders and she thought the delicate bones there jutted out a little too much. They became even more pronounced as she shrugged.

  What did it matter if her figure did not benefit from the softly rounded curves gentlemen seemed to so much admire? If her mother had her way, she would be married off to the next gentleman who showed an interest in her. Respectability and fortune would be all that would be considered on both sides. She stood and crossed to her bed. As she slipped between the covers she sighed, and her heavy eyelids clamped shut. Her thoughts scattered and within moments a deep sleep had claimed her.

  Georgianna awoke early. Feeling rather drowsy and lethargic, she made no attempt to rise. Her eyes wandered rather aimlessly about her chamber eventually coming to rest on a small chair tucked in a corner. Upon it lay a small wooden doll propped up on a cushion. It had once boasted bright red cheeks and lips, but they had faded to a pink smudge now. Her black painted hair had also lost its gloss, but most of it was hidden under a small lace bonnet. She was very finely dressed; Georgianna frequently replenished her wardrobe, sewing many small gowns from scraps of velvet or silk. The doll had been her companion and confidante for years. She had very much wished to take her to the seminary but had thought the other girls would laugh at her attachment to such a childish thing.

  “Good morning, Peggy,” she said softly. “I am very pleased to see you.”

  She pushed herself upright as she heard rapid footsteps on the landing. They came to an abrupt halt, and her door was suddenly thrown open. A small boy of about six years charged into the room, skidding to a stop beside the bed. Golden curls clustered around his head, a soft pink glow warmed his smooth, pale cheeks, and the eyes that rested on Georgianna were as blue as her own. He looked quite angelic, but he was already on his second nurse. Mrs Flannel had left in high dudgeon soon after his fifth birthday. She had stoically weathered his tantrums and disobedience but had drawn the line at frogs in her bed and spiders in her shoes.

  “Good morning, little devil,” Georgianna said, a small smile playing about her lips. “I am pleased to see you looking so well.”

  Her brother frowned and puffed out his narrow chest. “You should not call me devil,” he said, his nose in the air. “I shall be an earl one day and will walk in the footsteps of a long line of earls, unbroken for hundreds of years.”

  “Indeed you will,” Georgianna acknowledged, reaching out a hand and gently tweaking his nose, “if no one strangles you first.”

  Stokes chose that moment to enter the room. Her mouth puckered and she bristled with disapproval.

  “It’ll serve you right if Master Rupert tells your mother you said that. Lady Westbury wishes to see you just as soon as you are dressed.”

  She disappeared into the dressing room on these dour words.

  Rupert pulled a face. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell on you.”

  Georgianna’s brows winged up. Her brother had frequently run to their mother with tales about her. “Thank you, Rupert. I had not expected such consideration from you.”

  He shrugged and grinned. “I missed you, and I don’t like Stokes.”

  A high-pitched, harassed voice screeched down the landing. “Master Rupert! Master Rupert!”

  A petulant frown marred the young boy’s brow. “And I don’t like Mrs Tremlow,” he said in accents of loathing.

  “You don’t like anyone who crosses you,” Georgianna said dryly.

  Rupert stuck out his tongue and ran from the room. Georgianna sighed and threw her covers back. Rupert’s behaviour was disgraceful, but he was hopelessly overindulged. Although Lady Westbury never hesitated to punish her daughter for any perceived faults, she was ridiculously lenient with her son. But then, as she spent very little time in his company herself, she did not have to suffer his naughty ways. Georgianna felt sorry for Mrs Tremlow, his current nurse; how she was expected to exert any authority over her high-spirited charge when Rupert knew he would face no unpleasant consequences for his actions was beyond her.

  A shrill scream brought her quickly to her feet. She ran out onto the landing.

  “Lady Georgianna,” Stokes squawked from her doorway. “You are not yet dressed!”

  She ignored her maid and hurried to the top of the staircase. She gasped as she saw Mrs Tremlow sprawled in a heap on the half landing below. Rupert stood next to her, his face white.

  “I didn’t mean her to fall,” he said in a small voice as she hurried down the stairs. “I only wanted to go down to the stables, but she chased me and fell.”

  Mrs Tremlow groaned. “My ankle,” she gasped.

  “Rupert, go and find Adams. He will know what to do.”

  The little boy nodded and raced down the remainder of the stairs. Georgianna knelt beside Mrs Tremlow, her eyes widening as she saw the nurse’s foot was sticking out at a very odd angle.

  “I think it is broken,” she said softly.

  Mrs Tremlow opened her eyes and whispered bitterly, “I suppose I should be grateful it is only my ankle and not my neck!”

  As the nurse raised herself onto her elbows, beads of perspiration glistened on her waxy skin.

  “Lie still, Mrs Tremlow,” Georgianna urged her.

  One glance at the unnatural angle of her foot sent the poor woman into a swoon. Georgianna grabbed her shoulders as she fell backwards and lowered her more gently.

  “Don’t try and move h
er, ma’am,” Adams said, coming swiftly up the stairs.

  He took one look at Mrs Tremlow’s foot and turned swiftly to the footman who hovered behind him.

  “Pick her up very gently, Marcus, and take her to her room. Then you must fetch the doctor.”

  “Georgianna, return to your chamber and dress. You may leave Mrs Tremlow to me.”

  A very elegant lady stood at the top of the stairs. Golden curls peeped beneath her fetching lace cap. Her complexion was fair and still smooth, perhaps due to the regular applications of the juice of green pineapples that she treated it with. She was of average height but held herself very proudly. Her face was expressionless and her eyes chips of ice. Stokes hovered behind her.

  “Yes, of course, Mama,” Georgianna said, colouring, the presence of the footman making her conscious of her nightgown and bare feet.

  As she came level with her mother, Lady Westbury reached out and pinched her upper arm.

  “It seems you have been overindulging. There was no spare flesh there before you left. Come to my sitting room in half an hour; there is much I have to say to you.”

  On closer inspection, Georgianna noted that two fine lines had permanently etched themselves into her mother’s brow as if she had been frowning a lot of late. Perhaps she had been more worried about Rupert than she had given her credit for.

  Stokes brought out a plain, white muslin gown with short puffed sleeves. Feeling in need of something to bolster her confidence, Georgianna said, “I would prefer my sprigged muslin with the long full sleeves, Stokes.”