The Greatest Lover Ever (22 page)

Georgie was a hardier creature, and he’d often looked out for her, galloping her mare over the meadows, but since that morning they’d visited Cloverleigh, she’d never appeared.

Today, to escape a proposed game of charades, he’d ridden out into the drizzle with Hardcastle and Lydgate. However, part way through the afternoon a stiff breeze had blown the rain clouds away, bathing the landscape in sunshine. They were just returning when he spied a party of three riders up ahead.

Like most members of her family, Miss Margo deVere looked as if she’d been born in the saddle. With her was Miss Violet Black, and …

Beckenham’s jaw tightened. “What the hell is he doing here?”

“Who is he?” said Hardcastle, craning his neck to see.

Lydgate merely said,
“Ah.”

Beckenham shot him a furious glance. “What do you mean ‘ah’?”

Lydgate straightened in his saddle. “My dear fellow—”

“Don’t you bloody
my dear fellow
me. You knew, didn’t you?”

But the parties met then and there was no further opportunity for conversation.

“Lord Beckenham.” Removing his hat, Lord Pearce made an elegant bow, his thick, waving hair tousling romantically in the breeze. He greeted the other gentlemen in turn.

One glance at the ladies told Beckenham they were impressed. Miss Violet’s blue eyes sparkled and her cheeks were prettily flushed. Miss deVere emitted a rather gauche giggle.

Beckenham only gave a curt nod in response. “Miss Black. Miss deVere. Misplaced your groom, did you?”

Smoothly, Lydgate interposed before the ladies could reply to the abrupt accusation. “Were you returning to the house? May we join you?”

Without waiting for a response, Lydgate performed some magical equestrian maneuver whereby Beckenham found himself riding with Pearce, Lydgate partnered Miss deVere and Miss Violet and Lord Hardcastle brought up the rear.

“What charming young ladies,” murmured Pearce. “I believe they stay with you at this house party of yours?”

“Those ladies, charming or no, are not your concern,” said Beckenham. He’d have to tell their chaperones to keep a closer eye on them if Pearce was in the vicinity. “What are you doing here? Just happened to be passing, I daresay.”

“Why, no,” said Pearce, his brows lifting. “I’m the new tenant at Cloverleigh.”

Beckenham silently cursed Lydgate. He’d wager his cousin knew all about it. Why the hell hadn’t he told Beckenham instead of letting him discover it this way?

“Oh? I’d heard someone by the name of Sanderson had taken the house.”

“That would be my man of business,” said Pearce.

So the cur had deliberately concealed his identity. Had he thought to meet Georgie in secret while she was here?

“Actually, I have yet to inhabit the place, truth be told,” Pearce said. “I’ve spent most of my time in Bath.”

“Toadying to your aunt.”

“Protecting her, rather. My dear Beckenham, you would not credit the things people will do when such a large sum of money is involved.”

Mendacious rubbish. Pearce would eat all his avaricious relatives for breakfast. He’d certainly sell his own mother for the chance at such a prize. Beckenham didn’t doubt he’d prevail, by fair means or foul. Foul, most likely.

“Well, I’m sure I wish you joy of your inheritance,” said Beckenham. “But don’t imagine Miss Black will fall into your arms whether you win a fortune or no.”

Pearce turned his head. “You wound me, my lord. Do you think I don’t know her better than that?”

“What I think doesn’t bear repeating when there are ladies present,” Beckenham bit out. “Stay away from her, Pearce.”

“Loath as I am to appear to obey your commands, I fear I shall be obliged to do so for the present.” Lord Pearce gestured in the direction of Cloverleigh. “I merely came to see that the household was in order before I return to my relative’s deathbed. I cannot afford to be absent for too long. Her health is rapidly deteriorating.”

“If you value your own health, you will not come back here.”

Pearce’s green eyes glinted with malice. Softly, he said, “Do I scent a challenge?”

The gall of him, to bring that up! “I only duel with gentlemen,” said Beckenham. “I’m afraid you no longer qualify.”

A nasty smile curved Pearce’s lips as they reached the crossroads. “Has she never told you what happened that night? Do you really think I was scared to meet you all those years ago?”

“Strangely, Pearce,” Beckenham said, “I don’t think of you at all.”

With a touch to his hat brim, he led his party in the direction of Winford.

*   *   *

After the persistent showers of the past week, to Georgie’s pleasure, the weather suddenly turned. The day was so fine, in fact, that the proposed jaunt to the village led to some exclamations about the heat and the injurious sunshine. However, once Lord Beckenham chose to accompany them on the excursion, the ladies braved the elements gladly.

After this abrupt change of face, a flurry of activity ensued as they all donned bonnets and gloves, armed themselves with parasols and reticules.

“We shall buy ribbons and lace,” said Georgie. “Our hats could do with a new touch.”

“You are forever giving our hats a new touch,” said Violet with a chuckle. “Too many times I have planned what to wear only to find I don’t recognize my own bonnets anymore.”

It was some sort of compulsion, Georgie admitted as they all set off in a giggling, fluttering phalanx to explore the village.

Beckenham, Georgie saw with satisfaction, strolled with Violet on one arm and Miss Priscilla Trent on the other. Miss Trent appeared to be monopolizing his attention, however, while Violet’s attention seemed miles distant.

Georgie frowned. If Violet couldn’t hold her own against
one
of these ladies, how would she stand out in the crowd?

Miss Trent paused in her discourse then, and Beckenham turned his head to address a remark to Violet. The darling girl turned her head to smile up at him in the sweetest fashion. If that did not make him melt on the spot, she didn’t know much about men.

A voice beside her said, “They make a handsome couple, do they not?”

She saw who accosted her. “Lord Lydgate. Yes, indeed they do.”

He offered her his arm. She took it, a little surprised at the hard strength she felt beneath his dandified blue coat.

Lydgate slowed their pace—deliberately, she thought—until they were still in sight of the other members of the party but out of earshot.

Hoping to forestall anything he might say, she forced out, “I hope they make a match of it—Beckenham and Violet, I mean. The earl could search the length and breadth of England and never find a lovelier girl.”

When she glanced at him, his face wore a pleasant expression, but his eyes quizzed her.

“Do you disapprove?” she asked.

He tilted his head. “The match seems eminently suitable. It may interest you to know that Beckenham rejected the notion at first.”

Indignation bridled within her. “What? He thought Violet beneath him?”

“Pray, come down off your high horse, ma’am. Of course not. Is that likely?”

She shook her head. “Then I don’t understand.”

He spread his hands. “Out of consideration for your poor hurt feelings, of course. How galling to have a mere sister supplant one as Countess of Beckenham.”

Her hand tightened on her parasol. “Did he say that?”

“Not in so many words. But you know how he is. A gentleman to the core.”

Beckenham pitied her! She’d been afraid that would happen. Good God, she could sink into the ground with embarrassment. She could light up the sky with incandescent rage.

She controlled her emotions. “The match has my wholehearted support. I told Beckenham as much. Not only do I wish to see Violet happily settled, but I desire to see Cloverleigh Manor in good hands.”

“None better than Beckenham’s.”

“Precisely.”

“Then I take it I can assume you will not do anything to scupper your sister’s chances?” said Lydgate.

“I’ll be as obnoxious to the earl as you could wish.”

Lydgate nodded in satisfaction. “That should do it. Oh, and you might consider setting up a flirt while you’re here.”

She wrinkled her nose at that. “I could pretend to flirt with you.”

Lydgate laughed. “Heaven forbid! You are so charming, my dear, and I am so susceptible. I should undoubtedly lose my heart to you.”

“What nonsense, Lydgate. It is well known you do not have a heart to lose.”

“Try Hardcastle,” he recommended.

She looked ahead, to where Lord Hardcastle bent to listen to Lady Charlotte’s prattle.

“But he is just a boy,” she protested.

“Your senior by one or two years, I fancy,” said Lydgate. “And he was making your sister the object of his gallantry only yesterday. A fine chap, but he don’t have a feather to fly with, more’s the pity. Looking for an heiress to tow his estate out of the River Tick.”

She recalled her fear that Violet might be pining for Lord Pearce. She hadn’t entirely shaken off that suspicion, so it was with mixed emotions that she contemplated a new romantic interest on the horizon.

Surely Georgie would have noticed if Violet showed any preference for the young man. Whatever the case, Hardcastle would not do for Violet.

“Well,” said Georgie. “I am glad you pointed him out to me. I shall certainly do my poor best to detach him from my sister.”

They reached the village outskirts then, and the group clustered around Beckenham, who was pointing out various attractions. “The King’s Head is reportedly haunted by a lady who waited for her lover so they could fly to Gretna Green. The lover never appeared and the lady took her own life in the attic room. On the anniversary of her death, she walks and wails for her lost love.”

The female contingent gave a collective sigh.

Georgie drawled, “Heavens, Lord Beckenham, I’d no notion you were such a romantic.”

She arched a brow at him, then moved past him to take Hardcastle’s arm.

Addressing her new captive, she said, “Now, my dear sir, you must advise me on a purchase I need to make.”

A little startled, as well he might be, the young man said, “Oh. Yes. Yes, of course, Miss Black. Happy to oblige. A matter of importance, I apprehend?”

“Of
vital
importance, sir.”

She turned to wave Beckenham on. “Pray continue, my lord. You won’t mind if I skip the lecture, will you? I’m a native of these parts myself, you know.”

Beckenham’s expression darkened, if that were possible, but he inclined his head and turned back to the rapt attention of his audience.

Black looks from Beckenham. How that brought back the past, Georgie thought as she walked toward the draper’s shop with Hardcastle in tow.

“Ma’am, I confess to the liveliest curiosity,” he said. “What is this matter of vital importance?”

“Ribbons,” she said, thrusting thoughts of Beckenham from her mind. “I need to purchase ribbons and lace. You shall help me decide.”

He laughed, and his lingering smile lit his frank gray eyes in the most attractive way. He was not handsome, precisely, but he had a pleasant countenance that could be called handsome when animated. That engaging look made her think,
Lydgate was right. You are dangerous.

Harmless flirtation was good for the soul, Georgie thought as she and Hardcastle exchanged witticisms and pleasantries.

“I forbid you to buy this,” he said, holding a length of white lace out of her reach. “Appropriate for a spinster’s cap. Not for the adornment of the divine Miss Black.”

She reached for it, grinning. “Give it to me! How did you become the arbiter of lace, pray? And might I remind you that I
am
a spinster?”

He laughed at that. “A less spinsterish lady I’ve yet to meet.” He lowered his tone. “You ought to be decked in exotic silks and emeralds, not white lace. No, never lace.”

“How silly.” She was about to continue the argument when the shop bell tinkled and Hardcastle looked up, past Georgie’s shoulder.

His pleasant, teasing expression vanished, swiftly succeeded by the look of a starving man at a banquet.

She turned to see Violet enter the shop.

Georgie glanced back at Hardcastle. Oh, dear Lord. She ought to have known. Lydgate’s instincts were never wrong.

Whether or not Violet returned Hardcastle’s regard was impossible to tell. She was certainly animated in his company, but Georgie could not fault her sister’s manner, nor her conversation.

Not a creature of reticence, Hardcastle couldn’t keep the light of longing from his eyes. Such helpless devotion could be seductive in its own right. He was a personable young man and might well win his way into Violet’s affections if nothing happened to prevent it.

Rather sorry for him, but seeing no help for it, Georgie redoubled her efforts and managed to monopolize Hardcastle for the rest of their visit to the village. She kept him fully occupied the entire way home, too.

From her salad days, she had learned and refined upon the arts necessary to hold a man’s attention. She employed every single one of them to keep Hardcastle by her side and laughing.

Several times, she was aware that Violet observed her with a puzzled, almost wary expression.
You will thank me one day, my dearest love. He is not the man for you.

Equally, she noticed that Beckenham sent her one hard, disapproving stare before he turned back to his conversation with Violet.

By the time they reached the house, Georgie was exhausted, and wished for nothing but a hot bath to cleanse her soul.

*   *   *

Flirting! The woman whose lips had been locked with his only days before was now smiling her cat-in-the-cream-pot smile up at young Hardcastle, as if her whole happiness depended upon him. So much for his concern that Pearce might worm his way into her good graces once more.

If she so much as let Hardcastle touch her hand, Beckenham would …

He stopped himself. This kind of thing was precisely what had caused all the trouble in the first place. He ought to be glad she no longer held any power over him, that her rash behavior no longer reflected on him as her betrothed.