Flo nodded. “It is a closed world, isn’t it? I suspect he has been seeking information about Ethan’s injury. Perhaps he was able to pry something loose. He certainly seemed in a rush to get to Welbrook’s house after breakfast this morning.”
“We’ll find out soon enough—or not if the gentlemen choose to protect our delicate ears,” Georgie said, drawing a rude snort from Flo. “Come help me finish unpacking,” she said.
Once the pamphlets were arranged to their satisfaction and camp stools unfolded, Georgie decide to tack copies of the flier about the charity auction to the tent poles on either side of the entry.
“What do you think you’re about, Missy?” a rude voice demanded.
Flo rushed to the opening. Georgiana stood frozen in place with her back to the speaker. The expression on her face alarmed Flo.
“Good to see you too, Uncle Harold,” her tone dripped sarcasm. She pulled herself up to her full height and slipped into what Flo had come to recognize as her Lady Georgiana Hayden-daughter-of-ducal-splendor persona. She stood an inch taller than the rotund, florid-faced man. Flo would not have wanted to be on the receiving end of that glare. It outdid even her sister, the Countess of Ardmore.
“Lady Flora Landrum, may I present my maternal uncle, Sir Harold Malford.”
“Landrum? Chadbourn’s chick?” He cast Flo an assessing gaze as if determining the value of her fur-trimmed redingote, the size of her dowry, and her precise place in any order of precedence he might be forced to endure. Just as quickly he dismissed her and focused on his niece.
“Does your mother know about this abomination?” He indicated the fliers with a movement of his shoulder. “Does she even know you are in London? When I saw her at Mountview, she said—”
“I do not live in my mother’s house nor under her rule, Uncle. I am of age. You will do well to remember that. I’m in London at Glenaire’s insistence. As it happens, I am a guest at Chadbourn House.”
Cheeks quivering with indignation, he sputtered. “We shall see, we shall see when I report to your mother what I’ve seen here. Ladies’ Society, indeed, as if a Hayden would dirty her hands.”
Georgiana did not answer; she held her ground and pinned him with an aristocratic glare until he shrunk a bit, and hurried away, shaking his head.
Flo darted out a hand to Georgie’s arm when her friend sank back. “Are you well?”
“Certainly. Harold is such a worm. He toadies to my mother who married above herself to his everlasting delight.” She didn’t look well, and didn’t meet Flo’s eyes. She brushed her hands together. “My, but it is cold.”
“You look unhappy.”
“It is just that I need to leave London sooner than we planned. And I need to warn the duchess that Sudbury may cause trouble.” Her father, a powerful duke, was a friend—or at least a rival—of the Duke of Haverford.
“She’ll sort it out.” A thought struck Flo. “Am I right that you have your own household in Cambridge?” The thought filled her with awe. The ladies began pulling on their mittens.
“Yes, I do. Both my mother and I prefer it that way,” her friend answered grimly.
“I envy you your own establishment. You can do as you please.”
“Hardly! But it is a kind of independence, and I have my work. Don’t envy me. You are fourteen years younger and have many options ahead of you.”
“You mean the blasted marriage mart? I had a season. As much as I grieve for my father, I’m glad mourning will spare me the next one. Besides, I told you about my sister Sylvia; she has quite put me off marriage.”
“Don’t be so quick to assume it is that way for everyone. Marriage just didn’t happen for me. Come, let’s go find that hot cider while we wait for Chadbourn.”
Mention of her brother made her think of Ethan. “Do you suppose Lord… Edmund will attend the Frost Fair—perhaps even our auction?”
“Don’t see why not. In spite of what my uncle believes, all of London will be here. Even my brother plans to attend.”
“I suppose Lord Ethan won’t be well enough.” Flo mumbled.
Georgiana bit her lip to suppress a grin, and took Flo by the arm. “It seems unlikely—but you may well see him again at some later time.”
I can hope. I can always hope, Flo thought.
* * *
“Dead?” Ethan repeated for the third time.
“Glenaire checked official records, and yes, Alfred Hartford died crossing the Pyrenees into France. No one I know witnessed it, but multiple sources reported it,” Will told him.
