Page 45 of Much Ado about a Widow

Smothering a laugh, Georgie continued in her sweetest tones. “He could have been a credible highwayman or pirate in many a Drury Lane drama.”

“Indeed?” The marchioness shot Georgie a look that quelled any desire for further levity. “I insist you tell me what has happened, St. Just. Is Lady Georgina in any sort of trouble? Fleeing the authorities, perhaps?”

Georgie shuddered, her steps slowing until Rob had to pull her over the threshold. Now she had gone and done the very thing she had wanted to avoid. What must Lady St. Just think of her?

“Don’t fret, Georgie,” Rob whispered in her ear. He’d relinquished his mother’s arm, and the lady had vanished into the interior of the house. “She is simply dying to know what all of this is about. I promise you, she’s going to love you.”

A silent butler took their coats.

“But she believes I’m a criminal, escaped from Bow Street or Newgate. Or perhaps even Bedlam.” How horrible for his mother to think such things of her. Of course Georgie’s presence here was unexpected to say the least. What other explanation could the woman expect?

“Well, you are rather well dressed to be an escapee of any of those establishments, I assure you.”

Looking down at her attire, Georgie had to admit he was correct. She’d worn the best gown she’d brought, a blue velvet with delicate white Van Dyke lace points at collar and hem. Scarcely the clothing an inmate of Bedlam, or any other institution would wear. “Then why would your mother say—”

“Shhh.” Rob gathered her arm again. “Let me suggest that the parent from whom I take my sense of the dramatic is my mother.”

“Oh.” Georgie digested that statement as Rob led her further into the house, up a flight of stone stairs, to the first floor drawing room where tea had been laid. The marchioness sat in a chair large as a throne, a cheerful fire behind her.

“Welcome, my dear.” Lady St. Just rose and embraced the startled Georgie. “Please be seated. How do you like your tea?”

“Milk and sugar please.” Perching on the edge of the sofa, Georgie smiled and accepted the cup, although it might choke her to take a sip. Rob was not helping her nervousness any, by staying silent and eating one slim sandwich after another.

When his mother had finished pouring for herself and Rob, she sat back, sipped, and said, “Now, Robin, if you please. Explain why Lady Georgina is here currently sipping my best blend of Assam and congou.”

“I told you she would be fine, Lady Georgina.” Rob stopped eating his fourth sandwich to beam at her. “She only calls me St. Just when she’s annoyed with me.”

“And I shall switch back to that moniker for the rest of the day if you do not tell me—”

“I was kidnapped, my lady.” Georgie could stand it no more.

“By my son?”

“Yes, but that was later.”

His mother turned to stare at him, her eyes narrow slits. “Robin, for the love of all that is holy . . .”

Raising his hand, Rob finished his sandwich and sipped a mouthful of tea.

If the man didn’t say something this minute, Georgie would take up the pretty china teapot and break it over his addlepated head.

“All right, Mamma. I promise you, this is actually what happened.”

The next three quarters of an hour was spent describing that day in Portsmouth and the past several days on board the Justine. Lady St. Just’s facial expressions as she listened to the tale convinced Georgie that Rob was correct about where his dramatic nature originated.

At the end of their story, his mother sighed, shook her head, and raised her cold tea only to find it all gone. “Robin, ring for more tea, please. I feel as though I have been on this journey with you and must keep up my strength. My dear”—she turned to Georgie—“I am so sorry this happened to you, although had it not I fear we would never have met. And that would be a shame.” The marchioness rose as did Georgie. “Would you like to retire to your room to rest? I have put you in the green room, which overlooks the boxwood maze.”

“Uh, Mamma, I think you should put Lady Georgina in the blue room.” A hesitation in Rob’s voice brought Georgie’s attention back to him.

“The blue room? Truly?” Lady St. Just seemed unusually startled at the suggestion.

“It has such a lovely view of the cove and the ocean beyond.” Fidgeting with his teacup, Rob finally set it down and came over to them. “I’d planned to ask you to arrange that, but we were talking, and I never got the chance to speak to you alone.”

“Ah, well, we shall make it so. If that’s what you wish, Robin.” One last quizzical look from his mother, who seemed somehow more at ease.

“It is.”

“Then, my lady”—Lady St. Just linked her arm in Georgie’s—“there will be a slight delay while your room is readied. I will instruct the footmen to move your things and give any assistance necessary to your maid. In the meanwhile, you might like to take your spaniel, Lulu I think you said her name was, out to the maze. It is a lovely day, especially for early February. You should take advantage of it. I used to walk my pugs out there quite often.” She paused. “I used to have several pugs, quite adorable little animals. The last one, Daisy, was so lonely when all the others died; when she passed on, I didn’t replace her. Perhaps I should do so. Quite good companions, aren’t they?”