If I require anything from you, I will contract your man of business to handle the matter, or relay the message. You may reach me the same way, or by leaving word with Mrs Pimm.
Georgiana
As she suggested, he consulted both the housekeeper and his man of business to find that her plans for the future were as carefully arranged as they would have been had he set out to take care of her. She had rented rooms and arranged an economical budget for herself that would not deplete her allowance. She had moved all clothing and personal possessions out of both his houses and was not planning a return.
There would be no need to communicate over details and no awkward social meetings. She had split the invitations they had received into two different schedules so that they might not accidentally run into each other at a rout or ball. She had done everything in her power to reduce the scandal of their parting and render it as innocuous as he had described when they’d first decided to marry. He could not have done it better himself.
She had left his home without a trace. His life would run just as efficiently as it had before she arrived, except for the bird, who was still sitting in a brass cage in the library. And it seemed even he did not approve of the change. Though she had managed to train him out of his exotic cursing, he now refused to whistle the snatches of song he’d learned in their place.
If Fred’s days seemed suddenly joyless, he must remind himself that he had been satisfied with this life only a few weeks ago. He took to carrying her note around in his pocket so he might read it during those moments when his satisfaction wavered.
She had not begun by calling him dearest, nor had she ended by promising to be his always. He smiled weakly. She had never been the sort to couch interactions in false compliments. While some might have thought it rude, he could not fault her for a lack of clarity.
The note was what it was. It lacked the flowery sentiments of farewell letters he had received from lovers in the past. Their time together had been delightful. But such things did not last. It was foolish to pretend they could.
Marriage, however, was a permanent union. It was best to behave as adults in public and private, just as she suggested. If, when he read the words, he felt bitterly disappointed? Desperate? Ready to take up the pen and scribble a hurried apology, accompanied with jewellery and flowers. And to follow the lot with bended knee begging for another chance?
That was how romantic liaisons often ended. Not for him, of course. Not in a very long while. The last time he had felt so raw, he’d been at Oxford. His heart had still been young then, tender and largely untried. He’d thought the world was ending.
He must remember not to care. After a little time to grow used to her absence, he’d grow numb to the change. Lovesickness was easily cured with brandy, the company of fellows who had been similarly abused by the fair sex and, most of all, women. Lots of them. Pretty, fast, loose. The sort who were not precisely as heartless as men, but who could be paid to be sympathetic without forming foolish attachments on either side.
If she did not want him, there was no point in being faithful to her. And the idea that he had not trusted her was ludicrous. He had wanted to keep her out of the club so she might never grow as corrupt or jaded as his mother and Caroline. Let her assume the worst of him, if it kept her from seducing his friends the moment she grew bored.
If she meant to avoid him for the rest of their lives, then Vitium et Virtus was the one place in London where he was guaranteed peace. She would not dare come there again, even masked. He would go there and behave as he used to, sampling all the pleasures the place had to offer.
After less than a day in Richmond, he instructed his valet to pack for a move back to London. The town house was smaller and therefore might not feel so empty. The city after the Season ended was relatively free of crowds. In the lethargy of high summer, invitations slowed and there were fewer people who might ask him what he had done to ruin what had become a surprisingly successful marriage.
When the carriage had been packed with clothes and servants he’d mounted his horse, choosing at the last minute to ride beside it and let the fresh air clear his head. As his valet, Biggs, came out of the house with the last portmanteau, Sargent pushed past him, racing to the carriage, getting under feet of the horses, and howling as if his life was about to end.
‘Halt!’
Georgiana’s efforts to spoil the beast had not ruined all his training, for the bloodhound stopped immediately, ran to his side, and looked up at him, waiting for the next command. But the expression on his drooping face was even more pitiful than usual.
He stared down at his friend. ‘London is no place for a dog.’
The floppy jowls began to shake and a keening whine escaped.
‘It might be different if you were a terrier, but you are too big to travel.’
Now, the whole dog was trembling as if he might collapse in a puddle of tears on the ground like an Italian diva.
‘Show some dignity, man. And why am I speaking to a creature which cannot understand me?’ Fred wiped his brow as if it were possible to clear the frustration in his mind with a swipe of his hand. ‘Biggs! Put him in the carriage. And get the damn bird as well. Never mind common sense. Let us all go to London.’
* * *
The move did not help.
On the nights it was open he went to the club, just as he’d planned, ready to throw himself into the festivities with abandon. But though there were more than enough women to tempt him, in the end, he chose no one. He returned to the private suite, just as he always had, and drank far too much, though the spirits did not seem to affect him. It was almost with relief that he left as the club closed in the hour before dawn and returned to his rooms to fall into a fitful sleep.
The next morning proved that the brandy had been strong enough after all. His head seemed to throb with each movement. His body ached from clutching the pillow to him, as if he expected it to escape, just as Georgiana had done. When he went down to breakfast, he had no appetite for it. He felt the same at lunch and supper. Everything put before him seemed flavourless and unappealing.
He felt no better the next day, or the next. He spent far too much time at Vitium et Virtus, lurking there even on days that it was not open. When he bothered to go home, he sat in the library with a book open and unread, staring out of the window as if expecting a guest that would never come. It got so bad that Biggs all but forced him from the house, hoping that the sun would burn away some of the demons tormenting him.
Perhaps the valet was right. It felt marginally better to walk down Bond Street, especially now that thetonhad moved on to more interesting places. And he could not fault the weather on this excellent late summer day. The sun was out, the sky was clear, and it was neither too hot nor too cold. He could feel his mood improving with each step.
It had been a mistake to hide inside, brooding on the past. But he had not been hiding, he corrected himself. More likely, he had been ill. A bit of distressing news, coupled with a mild ague had convinced him that his life was suddenly without meaning.
But that was behind him. Today, the smells from a nearby bakery were awakening a hunger he had not felt in days. It was even possible to appreciate the beauty of the women walking past, a thing he’d been incapable of only two days ago. There, just across the street, was a graceful armful, staring into a shop window at a display of painted fans. The sunlight made the blonde hair tucked up under her hat seem to shine like fine French silk.
