“That is entirely different,” Lance said sharply.
“Why is it different? You flirt with Miss Charlotte Merrington, Lady Patience flirts with this… who is he? MrWilliam Pardow, heir to Viscount Pardow, whoever he may be. You are as bad as each other, if you ask me.”
“But Lottie is in no doubt that I am bound elsewhere. She knows it is just a game, whereas this Pardow fellow seems not to be aware.”
“Mrs Staveley was not aware, but who can know what was said between Lady Patience and Mr Pardow? Lance, do you want to go to Pentavon?”
“No! Why should I chase round the countryside after a girl who has already pledged herself to me?” Lance said savagely. “If she were to write and say that she missed me… or write at all, frankly, but since I have no indication of her sentiments, I shall stay here where I am valued.”
“Not to mention fed and watered in splendid style,” Denny said, making a minute adjustment to Lance’s cravat.
“No, valued, my friend,” Lance said, frowning. “His grace has asked me to paint the Merrington sisters once I am finished with the heir’s wife, and then there is the ceiling…”
“Ceiling? You are embarking on a program of decoration now, are you?”
“That wretched spider in my room. Payne and I are agreed that a very little attention would see it immeasurably improved, the duke is almost convinced of it and I am minded to do it. There is work here to keep me busy for months, Denny. If Patience wants me, she has only to ask, but if she does not…”
Denny laughed. “I hope you will not come to regret this moment, my oblivious friend. Your engagement is‘the pinnacle of your existence’,remember?”
“There are other daughters of the nobility,” Lance said haughtily. “My coat, if you please.”
“Very good, sir,” Denny said, with an ironic bow.
Not another word was spoken between them.
***
In the year and a half she had lived at Staineybank, Georgie had not been further than to Brinchester, only three miles away, so the longer journey back to Oxford was quite a treat. Not that travel in December was at all pleasant, and not even the duke’s comfortable travelling chaise, fitted out with furs and hot bricks for their feet was quite sufficient to keep out the chill. They journeyed slowly, stopping often to replace the hot bricks and fill themselves with coffee, and Jamie was all gentle solicitude, but it was still tedious and uncomfortable.
It could have been worse, however, for Rowena was horrified that Georgie intended to travel alone with Jamie, with no chaperon to add respectability.
Georgie had laughed the idea off. “Heavens, Rowena, I’m not some grand lady, to need my virtue protected. I’m a paid companion, and Mr Hammond is a servant of sorts, too. I’m very grateful to the duke for lending us the chaise, and saving us from the horrors of the common stage, but for myself, I don’t need any more pampering than that. Did you know the duke has given Mr Hammond money to pay the travel costs? He is the most generous man.”
And by the time Rowena had exclaimed at that, and added her own praise, little Miss Caroline Merrington had hauled her fat bottom off the ground and was inching along the furniture by means of her own sturdy legs, and thus brought an end to all rational discourse.
There were moments on the journey when Georgie would have been glad of a chaperon, if only to have someone to talk to, for Jamie was unusually silent. He was not a chatty sort, but he was particularly taciturn in the carriage, and since the light was too poor to read, and the windows too streaked with mud and rain to allow any view of the scenery, Georgie was left to her ownthoughts, which usually descended rapidly into an obsession with her frozen fingers and toes, and mental calculation of how long it would be before they would reach a decent fire.
The day was mostly gone before they turned into the yard of the hostelry appointed for their overnight stay in Birmingham. To Georgie’s surprise, she recognised it.
“This is where we stayed when Mr Goodenough brought us to Staineybank.”
Jamie was instantly excited. “Then his name will be in the register of guests!”
But when they had signed in themselves, and irritated the hotel manager by requesting sight of the pages for June of the previous year and set him rummaging in cobwebby corners of his office, all they found was the neatly inscribed name‘A Goodenough, attorney at law, Brinchester’.
“Which we already knew,” Jamie said disgustedly.
“He would hardly sign in with his real name, I suppose,” Georgie said.
“I suppose not. It was a faint hope, that is all.”
The manager coughed discreetly, and then, when Jamie turned to him in surprise, coughed again, more loudly.
“Oh… oh, I see.” Jamie pulled out a purse and held up a silver coin. When that brought no response, he sighed, and found a gold one instead. That, finally, brought a smile to the manager’s face.
“Do you think we’ll ever solve the mystery of Mr Goodenough?” Georgie asked, when they were ensconced in a luxurious private parlour with a blazing fire and ample supplies of wine and elegant pastries.
“We will. We must!” Jamie said firmly. “Three times he has brought a complete stranger to Staineybank, and there must be a reason for it — a logical reason, that applies to all three cases.”
