Georgy threw up her hands. “But that can’t be all! How did Alex find out what you meant to do? Have you known him long?”
“Known him? No! We only met this afternoon. At least, we didn’t meet exactly. He happened to be in the coach I chose and I — I waylaid him.”
“Waylaid him? Gracious, what in the world do you mean? Why — oh, tell me everything at once or I shall burst!”
Apple could not help laughing, but she obediently gave her hostess a somewhat expurgated version of events, omitting all mention of pistols and certain exchanges made between herself and Lord Dymond.
“So when your brother discovered what I meant to do, he decided it would be more seemly if he visited Mr Vergette on my behalf.”
“That’s the mission he spoke of?”
“Yes. I wanted to go with him, but he insists upon my remaining here.”
“Oh, dear, I wish it were possible for you to do so, only Rob insists upon securing me at Dymond Garth before he goes. I am increasing, you see, and he is worried about me being left alone, poor lamb.”
Apple said all that was proper, but she could not conjure up more than a tepid interest in Georgy’s pregnancy, her mind taken up with what was to happen now. At last Georgy left her to her ablutions, saying she must tidy her own costume, and she was glad of the privacy to make use of the chamber pot.
Without the distraction of Georgy’s incessant chatter, however, she became prey to foreboding and regret while she washed her face and hands and re-pinned her hair, her hostess fortuitously having forgotten her intention to do it for her.
The thought could not but obtrude that if Lord Dymond had not insisted upon interfering, she might have been well on her way to London by now. Of course it would have been too late to seek out Mr Vergette tonight, and Apple had to acknowledge the force of Lord Dymond’s arguments if she’d had to stay at some inferior inn. She was obliged to admit there was some justification for his uncomplimentary remarks upon her escapade. She had not sufficiently thought it through. At least, she hadn’t known how odd a lone female without luggage must appear. Lady Georgiana’s scandalised reaction had brought it home to her, and Apple felt a sneaking gratitude towards Alex.
He’d been kind, even though he was disgracefully autocratic. And he had not been at all high in the instep. Nor had Georgy. Apple was surprised, never having encountered anyone in the aristocracy in any close capacity. From Miss Godfrey’s discourse, she’d expected a different reception. It was both refreshing and alarming in an odd way.
Knowing herself to be born of inferior stock — even her fellow students had thrown up hands of horror upon learning her papa was merely a wine merchant — she’d had little expectation of removing from that circle. Unlike Jenny, whose ambition centred upon rising in the world. Apple had no such ambition. She’d hoped only for a trifle of independence, at the least in her choice of husband. The trust, Papa said, would provide her with a dowry.
Her secret hope she’d confided in no one. Until she knew the extent of the trust, it remained a pipe dream. Unless she succeeded in outwitting Walter and Marjorie in this horrible scheme to marry her to Mr Cumberledge, there was no earthly possibility of securing any such future.
Well, if Alex — or rather, Lord Dymond, for she must not allow herself to become too familiar — had no solution to the present difficulty, she must once more fend for herself.
Chapter Seven
Alex was no nearer solving the problem, since the arrival of his brother-in-law within a few moments of Georgy taking Apple off had at once involved him in protracted explanations.
An easy-going fellow, Rob only laughed at his escapade, observing that he’d never taken Alex for a knight errant. He was apologetic that the scheme must come to naught.
“For I don’t mind owning to you, Alex, I couldn’t rest easy leaving Georgy with none but a chit of a girl to keep her from doing anything imprudent. You know what she is.”
Alex knew only too well. “And no hope of Apple curbing her, old fellow. She’s about ten times worse than Georgy.”
Rob burst out laughing. “Heaven help you then! I’d not be in your shoes for a fortune.”
Oddly, this remark caused Alex a twinge of conscience. It was not Apple’s fault he’d taken her in charge. Dealing with her affairs was becoming a curst nuisance, but to do her justice, she’d never meant to embroil him this far.
Dinner in Georgy’s company could never be dull, and her husband was inclined to be indulgent. She’d married Captain Robert Edginton for love, in the teeth of her mother’s opposition, having refused every eligible offer over two seasons. Lady Luthrie, fearing her wayward daughter might persuade her lover to elope, had given in at last. Alex was glad for his sister’s sake, for he was fond of the girl, and it was plain the couple were inordinately happy. Like his cousin Justin and his wife Marianne. Once again, that flicker of envy arose in him, but he banished it. He was not now concerned with his own prospects, but with Apple’s even less promising future.
Which brought him full circle to the problem of what he was going to do if he couldn’t leave her with Georgiana. He’d discarded at once the notion of taking her to Charlotte after all. His elder sister would be shocked by the chit’s exploits and even more by his having become involved. And his mother was out, full stop. Besides, he’d not subject poor little Apple to what Lady Luthrie could dish out.
He watched her surreptitiously while she ate. She did not talk a great deal, but who could when Georgy was about? She and her cousin Jocasta, now also settled and likewise expecting her first child, were used to be a perfect pair when they got together. Wasn’t like Apple to be so silent. She could chatter with the best of them. Was she worried? Of course she must be. Hang it, he had to leave her here! Something must be done.
Inspiration came with the second course, which consisted of a ragout of veal, artichoke pie, stewed damsons and orange tarts of which Apple was at that moment partaking. He butted into his sister’s discourse without ceremony.
“Quiet for a minute, Georgy! Need to ask you something.”
Her mouth remained open, and she blinked at him from the foot of the table. Apple, sitting opposite, paused with a half-bitten tart in her fingers and shot him a hopeful look.
“Is it about me?”
“Of course it is. Georgy, doesn’t that old nurse of yours live nearby? Can’t remember the woman’s name.”
