‘Of course,’ Marietta replied, then turned back to Georgiana. ‘I will not delay you further. I am sure you have places to be.’ Then she turned her horse and trotted away from them.
‘Send Father my love,’ George called to the woman’s retreating back, wondering if the message would be relayed. Perhaps, if he knew she was thinking of him, he would at least write to her so she might know that she had not been forgotten after her departure.
‘It appears that you were right in your assumption that Bowles wanted more from you than the obvious.’ Mr Challenger spoke with no preamble, startling her.
She turned to stare at him, surprised to find that he was addressing her without a trace of sarcasm. ‘The obvious?’
‘Your person,’ he said, giving her an appraising look. ‘Surely you knew I was not exaggerating when I remarked on your beauty just now.’
She had not thought his praise was an exaggeration so much as an outright lie. Now, the repeat of it caught her unprepared. ‘Th-thank you.’ The comment was hardly worth stuttering over. She knew that she was pretty and was modest enough not to dwell on the fact. But she had not thought he’d noticed. Then, she remembered their kiss.
He went on, unmoved. ‘It appears he wanted your inheritance, as well. Just as you thought,’ he said. ‘An impending marriage to an heiress was the only thing keeping the debt collectors at bay.’
‘Then I am doubly glad to have disappointed him,’ George said with an evil grin. ‘If ever a man deserved a good thrashing, it was Sir Nash Bowles.’
‘It is most unladylike for you to say so,’ he said with no trace of his usual frown. ‘But I think a lapse in decorum can be forgiven, just this once.’
CHAPTER NINE
All in all, Fred considered it a successful day. They had ridden. He had written letters in the late afternoon and she had gone shopping on Bond Street, like all the other females in London. Dinner had been quiet, but cordial. When he had left the house at eleven, his wife had already retired for the evening behind her locked bedroom door. But tonight, it had not been slammed, nor had flowers or any other objects been thrown at his person.
Now, he sat in his favourite leather armchair in the owners’ suite at Vitium et Virtus, enjoying an excellent brandy and contemplating their meeting with his wife’s stepmother. He had not liked Marietta Knight, even before he had married Georgiana. She always seemed to be sticking her nose where it didn’t belong, gathering and sharing gossip. Far too often, the stories she had spread involved the Challenger family.
Thus, he had taken pains to avoid her and her stepdaughter. But he had begun to wonder if he had been fair in associating Georgiana with the actions of Lady Grimsted.
On their meeting in Hyde Park she had proved what an odious woman she actually was. What sort of mother quizzed her daughter in such detail about the activities of the wedding night? He had not sensed the curiosity to be prurient, so much as it was a test to prove the new bride was either still ignorant of the marital act, or miserable in her choice of partners. It was as if Marietta Knight had been eager to see her daughter unhappy.
Georgiana was still every bit as naïve as she had been when she had got herself into the muddle that had required his proposal. She’d had no idea what the woman was asking her about. It was fortunate that he had been there to guide the conversation. Even more so that he had rented such a tame mare so he might spin the choice to make it seem protective of his wife’s intimate person, as opposed to the display of general caution he had intended.
Lady Grimsted’s continued obsession with Bowles spoke volumes as well. The man was family and deserved some support. But she’d kept hammering away at a union that was impossible now that George had married. She seemed to want Georgiana to argue with her, just to put the girl in a bad light. She had behaved the same way before the wedding, causing a needless delay and then blaming it on the bride.
It made him wonder how many of the faults he had found with the girl before their marriage were the result of her stepmother’s dislike of her. He knew from experience how continual rebellion against family could change the shape of one’s character until one became the very thing one abhorred in others. Before the army, he’d very nearly become the worst sinner in the family. And yet, he’d never stopped blaming the others for their scandalous reputation.
‘Challenger!’ Oliver appeared in the doorway and took the briefest stop at the side table to fill a glass before cuffing the back of Fred’s head as he had done when they were in school together. The gesture was intended as one ofbon ami, but tonight it was delivered with such enthusiasm that it nearly knocked the glass from Fred’s hand.
‘Gregory?’ He raised his glass in a toast of greeting, before draining it and setting it aside.
‘I must right a wrong.’ Oliver pulled a chair up beside him and sipped his own drink. ‘I offered you congratulations at your wedding and again today. But I fear they were half-hearted.’
‘In what way?’ He could not remember any hesitation on the part of his friends. Perhaps because he was too absorbed in his own feelings about the event.
‘Your marriage was so very sudden,’ Oliver said, with a shake of his head. ‘You, of all people, would know your own mind and think before making such a momentous decision. But I feared…’
‘Me, of all people?’ Fred raised an eyebrow.
‘Well…’ Oliver shrugged and pointed to the bottle and Fred poured him another class. ‘You have always been conscious of society’s opinion of you.’
‘Too conscious, you usually say,’ Fred reminded him.
‘There is no pleasing the world,’ Oliver said. ‘Once it has formed a negative opinion, it will not see reason. I see no point in trying to change its collective mind, especially when conformity to the norm interferes with my pleasure.’
Fred nodded in sympathy. Because of his Indian blood, many people turned their back on his friend before they’d even met him. Yet, the Challenger family was accepted into the best homes, no matter what awful thing they did. There was no fairness in it. ‘I do not behave as I do just to please society,’ he replied. ‘Having seen the alternative, I prefer order and moderation.’
‘In public, at least,’ Oliver said, glancing towards the main rooms where naked women posed on daises for the admiration of the guests. ‘I can remember many nights here at the club where moderation was the last thing you would have suggested.’
‘Not in quite some time.’ It had taken just one particularly horrible incident to sour him on the games they’d played at Vitium et Virtus. Now, he could walk past a line of dancers wearing little more than grease paint and feathers and think of nothing more scandalous than his desire to hole up in the office with a book and a bottle. But he had never shared his reason for drawing away from the entertainment with his friend and did not plan to do so tonight.
Instead, he smiled. ‘Perhaps, I am just getting too old to be dancing drunk on top of the tables.’
