Things had been going well, until she’d seen him in the street while shopping. He had called to her. She had wanted to go to him, of course. Perhaps, after a time, she would be able to talk to him without feeling that rush of desire to go back to him and obey and behave, only to be crushed by his irrational disapproval. She’d had more than enough of that from Marietta. She did not need more from him. But for the moment, she was too weak to acknowledge him.
So she turned, pretending she had not seen him. Perhaps it was only wishful thinking that she had seen his look of shock out of the corner of her eye, as she had moved on. She did not intend to hurt him. But if it was necessary to do so that he might understand she was not returning, then so it must be.
‘You have a visitor, ma’am.’ Polly came into the sitting room, smiling more broadly than she had since moving to the rooms George had taken to begin her exile.
For a fleeting moment, she wondered if Frederick had come. Then she remembered that she would simply have to send him away if he did. ‘Well?’ she said, still waiting for the maid’s explanation.
‘Lord Grimsted.’
Father.
George stood so fast that the book she had been reading fell to the floor. ‘Bring him to me, immediately.’ As the maid went back to the hall, she smoothed her damp palms on the front of her skirt. Polly had not said visitors. That meant that she did not have to face Marietta again. But why had he come to her without any notice at all? Was it bad news, or simply a social call? It did not matter. It would still be a chance to see him alone.
Her mind eased somewhat when her father came into the room smiling. It was a tired smile, but all the same, he was not frowning as he so often had when she was still at home. ‘Georgiana.’ He held out his arms to her, offering an embrace.
‘Father.’ She came forward quickly, hugging him and kissing his cheek. The reason for the visit did not matter. She would have a few minutes’ uninterrupted time with him, which was a gift more precious than gold. She pointed to the sofa she had just occupied and the tray of cakes on the table in front of it. ‘Shall I ring for tea?’
He smiled and nodded, taking the seat she offered. Then he looked at her and sighed happily. ‘It is so good to see you again, my dear.’
‘And you,’ she assured him.
‘You have not visited us since your marriage.’
‘I thought the object in my marrying was to remove me from the house,’ she said and immediately wished she hadn’t. There had been no spite intended in denying him.
‘It was time that you married,’ her father said, as gently as possible. ‘I wished to see you happy. And it was clear that you were not happy where you were.’
‘I was not happy because… Marietta and I do not get along.’ She had nearly announced that she hated her stepmother. But the truth was hurtful and did not need to be spoken. ‘I have not visited because we are not likely to get along any better, now that I am gone.’
Her father did not try to correct her. ‘But your stepmother is not the only one in the house.’
‘I wrote to you,’ she said, swallowing the lump in her throat. ‘Each morning. When you did not answer, I assumed…’
‘So I have been told,’ he said, with another sigh. ‘But I did not receive the letters. When I did not hear from you, I thought perhaps you were happier without me.’
‘No,’ she said, unable to contain her sob. ‘I missed you.’
‘And I you, my dear.’ He reached out and clasped her hand. ‘I had hopes, when Mr Challenger offered for you, that you would be better off in your own home. He is a fine gentleman, despite what is often said about his family.’ He glanced around at her apartment. ‘It concerns me to find you here and not with your husband.’
‘We have decided it was simpler to maintain separate households,’ she said, wishing that she could sound more convincing.
‘So he told me,’ her father said.
‘You have spoken to him?’ She picked a biscuit from the tray and put it carefully on her plate, pulling nervously at the edges of it, until it was little more than a pile of crumbs.
‘When he came to enquire as to why I had not answered your correspondence,’ her father said, his look turning grim. ‘I have reminded Marietta about the importance of my receiving all my mail and not just the parts she considers important. There will be no further problems.’
She had not been forgotten after all. But that was not the most important thing he’d said. ‘Frederick came to you?’
‘This morning,’ he replied. ‘He encouraged me to come to you. And reminded me that one does not know how vital a person’s presence is to one’s wellbeing, until they are gone.’
It was a curious thing for him to say. There was no reason that she should apply it to their relationship, since it had been directed to her father. And yet…
‘That is very true,’ she agreed. ‘If you see him again, tell him that is very true.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
It was another night at Vitium et Virtus and the crowd was overcome with the excess of their revels. And, as usual, everyone was having a better time than Fred. He stood at the back of the main room, admiring one of the latest additions to the entertainment staff, a Titian-haired singer that Oliver had brought back from Paris. The girl was a stunner, with an impressive bosom, all but tumbling out of her gown.
