That was possibly because he didn’t care about the opinion of long-dead nobles. To be frank, he didn’t give much for the opinion of living ones either. The only person whose thoughts interested him in the slightest, at this moment, was Georgiana.
She was bound to be angry with him after the way they’d parted. Though at least this time he knew why she was angry with him and had a perfectly sound explanation to offer. At least, he intended to explain why he hadn’t called upon her before she’d left Bartlesham. He was tolerably certain she would understand his need to think things through. And that she’d forgive his earlier offence once he demonstrated his willingness to be her friend once more, if not her husband.
What he was not going to do, however, was offer any explanation as to why he hadn’t called upon her now that he was in Town as well.
A flush crept up his neck as he mounted the stairs, brought on by the recollection of the impetuous way he’d stormed out of Six Chimneys before he’d gathered all the information he needed. And then the difficulty he’d had attempting to track her down. By the time he had done so, it was far too late to simply pay her a morning call, since she was bound to have known exactly how long he’d been in residence at Ashenden House. Various newspapers regularly reported his movements, for reasons that remained a mystery to him. It would have looked as though he’d been too busy, or too indifferent to call before.
Besides, he’d reasoned, they wouldn’t have been able to converse privately anyway. He could just imagine the scene in her drawing room, with her shooting dagger glances at him, while he would have been unable to explain anything to his satisfaction. Not with her stepmother in earshot. For he was certain the woman could not have known about their meeting by the trout stream. If she’d been brought into Georgiana’s life to teach her how to behave, then one of the first things she would have taught her was the impropriety of meeting single gentlemen without a chaperon.
Once he’d come to that conclusion, he had then briefly wondered how Georgiana had managed to engineer the meeting at all. But only briefly. For she had been wearing a riding habit and there had been no sign of a horse. Somewhere close by there must have been a groom who had somehow been persuaded to let her out of his sight for a few minutes.
He shook his head. The stepmother must be completely hen-witted if she thought she could trust Georgiana out of her sight with only a groom to guard her. Didn’t she know what a wild, free spirit dwelled in that shapely body?
Which reflection made his heart speed up considerably.
Or perhaps it was simply that he’d just climbed several flights of stairs and would soon be walking into the reception room in which Georgiana must surely be by this time of the evening. He’d deliberately arrived late, telling Lord Havelock that he would ‘pop in’ on his way back from another engagement. ‘It would be best to commence my association in London with Miss Wickford by meeting as if by chance,’ he had explained, ‘at some event where we have mutual friends.’
‘If that’s the way you want to play it,’ Lord Havelock had said, raising his brows and grinning, blast him.
Edmund’s lips tightened. He’d provided Lord Havelock and his friends with a great deal of amusement when they’d discovered what he was about. But he hadn’t had much choice. Time had been ticking away and he’d been getting nowhere. Since Edmund hadn’t found a trace of Georgiana in the best circles, it made sense to assume her stepmother was making use of whatever connections she did have. Which, upon reflection, were bound to be from a less exalted sphere, into which he did not have the entrée.
Fortunately, there were a few members of his club who did have those connections and, more importantly, upon whose discretion he could depend. Both Lord Chepstow and Lord Havelock had married women from the gentry, and Mr Morgan—though immensely wealthy—had even more humble origins. Besides which, the four of them had put their heads together once before, when Lord Havelock had confessed his need to find a bride in a hurry.
Edmund had advised him to draw up a list of requirements, to help him focus his thoughts, and the other two had added both their own suggestions and practical help in locating Havelock’s perfect bride. Yet not a word of that night’s work had ever been revealed by any of them. Which said something about their integrity. Many men, having taken part in such an exercise, would have later made a joke of it.
And so Edmund had felt fairly confident about approaching them and sharing something of his dilemma.
‘One good turn deserves another,’ Havelock had said, as soon as he had broached the fact that he was in need of assistance. ‘In what way can I help you?’
‘I am attempting to locate a...certain young lady of my acquaintance, who has come to London. But discreetly.’
‘I can be discreet,’ Havelock had said, affronted.
Edmund had sighed. He had forgotten just how swiftly Havelock’s temper could be roused. And by the most innocuous of remarks.
‘I am sure you can be,’ he had said in a placating manner. ‘Now, to the nub of the matter. This young lady does not move in the circles we generally inhabit. Her stepmother is...’ He’d paused, briefly. He was loathe to speak ill of any lady, even though his opinion of Mrs Wickford had been getting worse by the day. But he had very nearly blurted out a most unflattering description of her character. ‘According to rumour, her father was a grocer in some nondescript town,’ he’d said, determined to stick to the facts of the matter, and only the facts. ‘Her first husband a mere tailor.’
‘The daughter ain’t trying to hide from you, is she?’ Havelock had leaned back in his chair and folded his arms.
‘Nothing of the sort! This...grocer’s daughter happened to marry the widowed master of the hunt, from Bartlesham, the village where I spent my boyhood, since my principal seat is located nearby. Now that he’s died, they have had to vacate their home, since it was entailed. She has brought her...daughters to London hoping to find wealthy husbands for them both. I simply wish to...to help them, if I can. And to do that, I need to know where they are living and with whom they are mixing.’
‘They sloped off without telling you their direction?’ Havelock was still frowning.
Edmund had felt his cheeks heat. ‘I meant to call on them before they left Bartlesham. I was...distracted by...other matters and left it too late. By the time I went to enquire after them, they’d already left. And I feel it would be remiss of me not to do something for them, behind the scenes, in a...disinterested sort of way, since they are in the way of being neighbours.’
‘Sounds like a hum to me,’ Havelock had persisted. ‘Why don’t you just tell us the truth?’
‘You are interested in this girl from your village, aren’t you?’ Unlike Havelock, Morgan appeared pleased that Edmund had inadvertently made it sound as though he was in hot pursuit of some innocent country miss. But then everyone knew he had a sister to marry off this Season, a sister he wished to keep away from anyone with a title, for some reason known only to himself.
Edmund had, he believed, shut his eyes at that point and swallowed convulsively at the choices he was going to have to take—either to let them go on believing they were abetting him in the pursuit of unwilling prey, or to confess that Georgiana’s proposal had rattled him so badly he hadn’t been able to think clearly for several days. Eventually, he’d come up with an answer that spared him the necessity of doing neither.
‘I am not...interested in her,’ he’d said, a little testily. ‘She is totally unsuitable. Apart from her background, she is a complete hoyden, besides being horse-mad and...fickle.’
‘Is she intelligent, though?’ Havelock had asked with a grin. ‘I seem to recall that was the only factor you insisted I should include on my own list of wifely qualities. So that you wouldn’t have to...what was it...forfeit your bachelor freedoms only to sire a brood of idiots?’
Morgan had slapped the tabletop at this point