“I should preface this to say—Charles Cline has always admired me. Even as a young man, he followed me around like a puppy. Of course I married someone else. And so did he. But old affections? Apparently, they linger.”
“What did he do?” Cecily asked, eyes wide.
“He tried to kiss me, which I absolutely did not want.” Lavinia reached for the teacup but didn’t drink. “We were alone in the library when he suddenly yanked me to him and planted his mouth right on mine. I pulled away immediately, but not before Caroline walked in and saw enough to draw her own conclusions. Of course she blamed me.”
Georgiana said nothing. Her mother’s tone was too polished, the story too conveniently staged.
“She accused me of trying to steal him,” Lavinia continued. “Me! After everything I’ve done for her.”
“What exactly have you done for her?” Georgiana asked sharply. “The Clines were kind enough to bring you into their home. I’m not sure what you’ve ever done for them.”
A flicker of annoyance passed across Lavinia’s face but only for a moment, just a tiny crack in her composure.
“She lorded it over me too. Day in and day out. As if I weren’t grateful enough. She has always been insecure. Ever since we weregirls. She always tried to steal whomever I liked away. I don’t know why she does it, but it’s true.”
Georgiana felt quite sure it was the other way around.
“Anyway, she wouldn’t listen to reason,” Lavinia said with a wan smile. “She flew into an absolute rage. Demanded I leave at once. Which is cruel, seeing as my own daughters don’t want me.”
Cecily shifted uncomfortably. Georgiana watched her mother closely, noting the way her fingers played with the edge of her sash, the way her eyes flicked toward the mirror behind them. She was always aware of herself, even in performance. Or, perhaps, especially in performance.
“What is your plan, Mother?” Georgiana asked. “Because it cannot be living here indefinitely. I’m saving money for Cecily’s Season, not your rent.”
Lavinia gave another sigh, this one practiced to the last breath. “I have nowhere else to go, as you well know. You and Cecily seem quite cozy at the manor. Perhaps Lord Ashford would take me in too? Just until I can get back on my feet.”
“We’re working,” Cecily said. “Not living with him out of charity.”
“He’s been generous to us and I won’t have you taking advantage of him,” Georgiana said, choosing her words carefully. “However, he’s asked if you’d like to join us for supper next week. The dining room will be ready for guests by then.”
“How lovely,” Lavinia said, setting the teacup aside with an audible clink. “He must be interested in our Cecily if he’s inviting me to dine at the manor.”
“He is not interested in me,” Cecily said quickly. “And please, do not interfere or try and matchmake. I would be mortified if you were to do so.”
“As would I,” Georgiana said.
“Fine. I’m only trying to help.” Lavinia sniffed. “But clearly you don’t want it.”
Chapter Nine
James
By early March,the dining room of Ashford Manor had been brought back to life. Georgiana and Ben’s team had produced a miracle. Light from the newly restored chandelier spilled across the table, the cascade of crystal prisms catching fire with each flicker of candlelight. Above, a stunning ceiling medallion crowned the fixture, its plasterwork sunburst pattern elegant and proud.
Walls once faded and cracked now gleamed with hand-painted wallpaper in muted olive and gold tones, delicate vines and flowering branches curling up the surface. Twin gilt sconces flanked the carved white mantelpiece, their flames dancing beside a grand oval mirror whose gold frame had been polished until it glowed.
The fireplace below stood cool and formal, its surround a polished green marble that mirrored the garden glimpsed through tall windows behind billowing drapes of mossy velvet. A gleaming mahogany table stretched nearly the length of the room, its surface so perfectly waxed it reflected the sparkle of cut crystal goblets. Porcelain chargers ringed each place setting, and bowls of jewel-toned flowers in deep crimson, violet, and green anchored the center like bursts of life.
Mrs. Honeycutt had managed a miracle with roast duck, and Mrs. Ellsworth had set the table with crisp linens and polished silver that hadn’t seen light in over a decade.
The team of workers had labored all day to get the dining roomready for their first visitor. James had assumed they’d eat downstairs but they’d finished in time. He supposed he had to begin life as a gentleman, even though he preferred the cozy kitchen to the massive dining room. Regardless, here they were.
And here he was, having trouble focusing on anything about how lovely Georgie looked that evening. Her deep plum gown had a modest neckline and the faintest sheen of lace at the cuffs. She wore no jewels but the locket at her throat, yet somehow she looked regal anyway. True beauty like hers needed no adornment.
Lavinia Linley perched at the far end of the table, a glass of claret in hand and her silk sleeves rustling with every affected movement. She wore a gown of peacock blue. James didn’t know anything about fashion but he was slightly worried about his own wardrobe when he saw the color. He must remember to tell her he wanted nothing garish. He might be back in Society but he didn’t want to look like a dandy. That was going too far.
Lavinia had not stopped talking since they took their seats. “It truly is a lovely old house. So much potential. I’ve always had an eye for these things. That’s where my daughter gets her talent. When I had a fine home, before my late husband ruined our lives, I was known in my social circles as someone with exquisite taste. Alas, all that was lost when Edmund decided to gamble away our livelihood.”
James speared a potato and gave her a benign smile. “That’s fortunate. We could use someone with vision.”
