Dominic grinned. “I’m sure it will. How useful to be able to turn your talents to something other than politics.” His grin broadened into a smile. “And no wonder you’re so invaluable in your present capacity.”
Arthur smiled and inclined his head. “As you say.” For a moment he regarded the younger man intently. Then, almost imperceptibly, he shrugged. “I’ll speak to Georgiana in the morning. It would be wise, I suspect, to ensure she has no opportunity to take the bit between her teeth.”
“THANK YOU, MY LORD.” Georgiana curtsied and watched young Lord Mortlake mince away across the floor. Still, at least he had danced well.
She flicked open her fan and plied it ruthlessly. The large, sparsely furnished rooms which were Almack’s were crammed with bodies dressed in silks and satins of every conceivable hue. The day had been unseasonably warm, and the evening, initially balmy, had turned sultry. The air in the rooms hung oppressively. Ostrich feathers wilted. As a particularly limp pair, dyed puce, bobbed by, attached to the head-dress of an extremely conscious beauty, Georgiana hid her smirk behind her fan.
Her eyes scanned the company. Other than Bella, standing by her side, engaged in a low-voiced conversation with an elderly matron, Georgiana knew only those few people Bella had thus far introduced her to. And, she reflected, none of them needed a companion.
As her eyes feasted on the spectrum of colours mingling before her, she spared a smile for her sartorial elegance. By comparison with many about her, she was underdressed. The pattern of Fancon’s amethyst silk robe was simple and plain, with long, clean lines uncluttered by frills and furbelows. Her single strand of pearls, inherited from her mother, shone warmly about her neck. Originally uncertain, she now felt smugly satisfied with her appearance.
Thoughts of dresses brought her earlier discovery to mind, together with the subsequent argument with Bella. How on earth could she accept the sea-green gauze and topaz silk dresses from Bella, to whom she was already so deeply indebted? Yet it was undeniable that Bella could not wear them. Both dresses were presently hanging in the wardrobe in her chamber. She had been quite unable to persuade Bella to repack and return them. What was she to do about them?
The idea that, if she had been wearing the topaz silk gown that evening, Lord Alton would have paid more attention to her flitted through her mind. Ruthlessly, she stamped on the errant thought. She was here to find employment, not ogle lords. And what possible interest could Lord Alton have in her—an unremarkable country lass, not even at home in England?
Depressed, by that thought and the lowering fact she had not yet made any headway in finding a position, Georgiana determinedly looked over the sea of heads, pausing on the occasional powdered wig that belonged to a previous generation. Maybe, beneath one, she would find someone to hire her?
“Here, girl! Georgiana, ain’t it? Come and help me to that chair.”
Georgiana whirled to find Lady Winterspoon beside her. The old lady was leaning on a cane.
Seeing her glance, Amelia Winterspoon chuckled. “I only use it at night. Helps me get the best seats.”
Georgiana smiled and obediently took her ladyship’s arm. Once settled in a gilt chair by the wall, Lady Winterspoon waved Georgiana to its partner beside her.
“I can only take so much of this place. Too much mindless talk addles the brain.”
Georgiana felt the sharp grey eyes assessing her. She wondered whether she would pass muster.
A wry smile twisted Amelia Winterspoon’s thin lips. “Just as I thought. Not in the common style.”
The old lady paused. Georgiana had the impression she was reliving long-ago evenings spent under the candlelight of ballroom chandeliers. Then, abruptly, the grey gaze sharpened and swung to her face.
“If you’re old enough to heed advice, here’s one piece you should take to heart. You ain’t a beauty, but you’re no antidote either. You’re different—and not just because you’re fair when the current craze is for dark. The most successful women who’ve ever trod these boards were those who were brave enough to be themselves.”
“Themselves?”
“Themselves,” came the forceful answer. “Don’t put on airs, nor pretend to be what you ain’t. Thankfully, you seem in no danger of doing that. Don’t try to ape the English misses. Don’t try to lose your foreignness—use it instead. All you need to make a go of it is to smile and enjoy yourself. The rest’ll come easy.”
“But—” Georgiana wondered whether she should explain her situation to Arthur’s sister. Maybe she could help her find a position?
“No buts, girl! Just do it! There’s no point in wasting your life away being a wallflower. Get out and enjoy yourself.” Lady Winterspoon used her cane to gesture at the dance-floor. “Now go on—off you go!”
Despite the conviction that she should feel piqued at such forthright meddling, Georgiana found herself grinning, then laughing as Lady Winterspoon nodded encouragingly. Rising, Georgiana swept a curtsy to her ladyship, now comfortably ensconced, and, a smile lingering on her lips, returned to the throng. She made her way to where she had left Bella.
But Bella was no longer in sight.
Perturbed, Georgiana stood still and wondered what to do. She could go back and sit with Lady Winterspoon, only she would probably drive her off again. English social strictures were not Georgiana’s strong suit. Still, she rather suspected she should not wander about the rooms alone. Suddenly she realised she was frowning.
Lady Winterspoon’s strong voice still echoed in her mind. “Enjoy yourself!”
Georgiana lifted her head. She had been introduced to Italian society at the age of sixteen. Surely, at the ripe old age of eighteen, she could manage such a simple social occasion as this? Consciously drawing about herself the cloak of social calm her father’s female patrons had impressed on her was the hallmark of a lady, she stepped out more confidently to search for Bella—not hurriedly, in a frenzy, but in a calm and dignified way, smiling as she went.
As she moved slowly down the room, truly looking about her for the first time that evening, she heard snatches of conversation wafting from the groups she passed.
“Did you see that Emma Michinford? Making such sheep’s eyes at…”
“Well, we all know what he’s after!”
“She’s really rather pathetic, don’t you agree?”
“Not that it’ll come to anything, mark my words. The likes of him…”
Waspish, biting, cutting gibes…The comments blurred into a melody typical, Georgiana suspected, of the place. Her smile grew.
“Oh!” Her elbow jogged that of another stroller. “I’m so sorry. Pray excuse me.”
“Gladly, my dear, if you’ll tell me what could possibly be so amusing in Almack’s.”
The languid tones of the gentleman bowing before her were, Georgiana judged, devoid of menace. He was very neatly and correctly attired, soberly so. His blue coat was well cut, his satin breeches without a crease. Brown hair, stylishly but not rakishly cut, framed a pleasant face. There was nothing one could put a finger on to account for the air of elegance which clung to him.
As he continued to look at her with mild curiosity, Georgiana, Lady Winterspoon’s dictum still fresh in her mind, answered him truthfully. “It was merely the conversation, caught in snippets as I walked about. It’s—” she put her head on one side as she considered her words “—rather single-minded, if you know what I mean.”
A