No Greater Love (38 page)

Georgia managed to produce what she hoped was a glowing smile, although she felt as if her lips might crack. “Thank you, Marguerite. I should very much like to meet your friends.” What she really wanted was to drop straight through the floor, never to be seen again, but she knew it was not to be.

“There are enough of them here, are there not?” Marguerite said, gesturing around her. “I am sure you will find them very amusing. The evening will not be dull, I promise you. Nicholas, do bring your wife along. And, Cyril, give me your arm, won’t you? Ah, good, there is George. I know he will want to welcome you.”

George was indeed welcoming. He could not have been more affable. Within a matter of moments he had managed to give the impression of great friendship with Nicholas, affection and respect toward Georgia, and polite interest in Cyril, whom he took off to introduce to some people closer to Cyril’s own age. Marguerite quickly took them off in the opposite direction, and Georgia felt as if she were in a dream, for she knew such a thing could not really be happening to her. Where was the Georgia who had been married to Baggie Wells, the Georgia who had slaved in the vicarage, the Georgia who had spent long hours toiling over other women’s wardrobes in cold, solitary rooms under the eaves? She felt almost a stranger to herself in this bright room filled with the cream of society. Had Nicholas likened her to Cinderella? If that were the case, she had better warn the coachman that he had less than an hour before he found himself transformed into a rat and the footmen into lizards. And that thought made her smile.

“What amuses you so, sweetheart? “Nicholas asked under his breath, glancing down at her. “Could it be the looks of polite horror we are receiving as we pass?”

“Oh, no,” she answered blithely. “Polite horror is the least of it, although it is amusing to see the fans go up and the faces disappear behind them. Such a colorful sight. I was merely thinking of how it would be to ride off in a hollowed-out pumpkin.’’

“Fairly damp and drafty, I should think,” Nicholas replied, looking straight ahead.

“Actually, I was more concerned about the seeds. They’d get everywhere.”

“Yes, seeds would definitely be a consideration. And then there is also the odor to be considered. I should think you would find it quite musty.’’

“What are you two going on about?” Marguerite asked, having overheard this last exchange. “What would be musty?”

“We were discussing the drawbacks of a pumpkin as a method of transportation,” Nicholas replied.

“In a hypothetical situation, of course,” Georgia added.

“Ah, but of course,” Marguerite said, smiling at them both. “I am pleased that you can see the humor in the situation.”

“How could one fail to?” Nicholas said. “It is not every day Georgia and I have the opportunity to shock a good portion of the polite world. I’m finding it quite stimulating, aren’t you, sweetheart?” He bowed his head at someone in passing, and the poor woman looked about to swoon.

Georgia had to resist an overwhelming urge to laugh, for Nicholas was a devil, without doubt. “Oh, yes,” she said, “I quite agree. I adore stimulation. I cannot think what I ever did without it.”

Nicholas gave a snort of laughter and squeezed her waist.

“Georgia!” Marguerite said with mock horror, but her eyes danced. “You must control these French impulses to which you are prone!”

“Must she?” Nicholas said sadly. “What a pity. I’m rather fond of Georgia’s impulses.”

Marguerite tapped him on the shoulder with her fan. “As well you should be, wicked man. But careful now. We approach our objective. Fortunately our progress has been without incident.”

“No, the commotion is yet to come,” Nicholas answered tightly, his amusement gone. “Let’s get on with it, Marguerite.”

Georgia found herself standing in front of a stout elderly woman bedecked in garnets, who was sitting comfortably in a corner, watching the proceedings with a sharp eye.

“Lady Horsley, you remember Nicholas Daventry, do you not?” Marguerite said.

“How in heaven’s name would you expect me to forget, may I ask?” she said as Nicholas bowed over her hand. “Good evening, Mr. Daventry. I have watched your progression across the room with some interest. You have a great deal of spleen, showing your face in this crowd. You are either very stupid or very courageous. Marguerite, what are you and George up to? You have the entire place in a flap. I cannot believe you would invite Daventry here unless you had a very good reason. I assume you know something the rest of the world does not?”

“George and I wish to correct a number of past wrongs, Lady Horsley, and as you are one of the fairest people I have ever known, and also one of the most influential, I thought you might be pleased to help. May I introduce Nicholas’ wife, Georgia?”

Georgia sank into a curtsy. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Horsley.” She prayed her curtsy had not been lopsided. It was hard to tell with her knees feeling so weak. She had never been so nervous, nor so terrified, in her life.

“Humph,” said Lady Horsley, examining Georgia through her lorgnette. “You don’t look in the least like a cheap hussy to me, my girl.”

Nicholas’ face broke into a sudden unexpected grin. “You have very keen eyesight, Lady Horsley.”

“There’s never been a thing wrong with my eyesight, young man, and what I see in your wife is good bones and refinement. The girl’s got a familiar look about her. So what’s all this nonsense that’s going about? From the way I’ve been hearing it, you’re still as depraved as they come, and your wife’s no better than a harlot.”

“My wife, Lady Horsley, is anything but a harlot. And as for my own depravity, I would say that is a matter of interpretation. I cannot claim complete purity, but I do at least attempt good manners.”

Georgia’s hand slipped to her chest at this audaciousness on Nicholas’ part. She risked a quick look at Marguerite, who seemed amused, and Lady Horsley seemed amused also, for she gave a bark of laughter. “It’s no more than any of us can do,” Lady Horsley said. “So, boy, your step-aunt said she had to leave Ravenswalk once you came home, she was so upset by your return. How do you explain that?”

“I would not attempt to explain anything my step-aunt says or does,” Nicholas said calmly. “However, I would say that there has been a certain amount of misrepresentation.”

“Then here is your chance to have the truth out, with most of London to witness it and only me to hear. You have engineered the situation beautifully, Marguerite. My compliments. You always were a clever girl.” She gestured behind them with her lorgnette.

Georgia turned around, only to see Jacqueline. She was standing a few feet away, staring as if she could not believe her eyes. Her face was as white as chalk and her dark eyes blazed with a violent fury. She started toward them. Georgia recognized the dress she was wearing, for it was one she herself had sewn, and it brought back everything with a great sick rush. Nicholas put his arm around her waist and she was grateful for it, for her legs truly felt as if they wouldn’t hold her.

“Why, good evening, Jacqueline,” Nicholas said. “How interesting to see you again.”

“Jacqueline, just the person,” Marguerite said in a good imitation of nonchalance. “I was wondering where you’d gone to. Look who is here!”

“I am not blind. What is the meaning of this, Marguerite?” Jacqueline hissed in a voice worthy of any viper. “Why have they not been removed?”

“But we invited Nicholas and Georgia most particularly. Why would I have them removed?”

“No,” she said, truly shocked. “You
invited
them? I do not believe it!”

“But it is quite true,” Marguerite said. “Why would I lie to you?”

Jacqueline’s hand fluttered at her breast. “Marguerite! How … how could you insult me so?” she gasped in tones of hurt indignation.

“I certainly did not meant to insult you,” Marguerite said quietly. “I intend only to set matters straight.”

“Set matters … Marguerite, you have always been a feather-brain,” Jacqueline spat furiously, dropping her injured tone in sheer surprise. “But now I do believe you have taken complete leave of your senses!”

“I find that a bit harsh, Jacqueline, seeing that this is my house and I am giving this ball. It seems to me that I may invite whomever I please, even if my choice does not meet with your approval.”

Jacqueline paused for one astonished moment, then doubly renewed her assault. “You would dare to fly in my face so? I warn you, Marguerite—”

“You warn me of what?” Marguerite asked, as if she could have cared less about her sister’s threats.

Jacqueline twitched her skirt into place. “I tell you now that if you will not have them removed, then I shall leave myself.’’

“Oh, please, not on our account,” Nicholas said. “It would be such a loss.’’ He examined the back of his hand as he spoke, looking extremely bored.

Jacqueline shot Nicholas a look of true venom, her lips compressed, then turned back to her sister. “I would have a word with you in private, Marguerite. I am sure you do not wish to be embarrassed in front of your guests.”

“Please, don’t mind me in the least,” Lady Horsley said. “I am spellbound. I haven’t enjoyed myself so much in ages.”

Jacqueline, her bosom heaving with a display of injured indignation, nodded curtly. “Very well. If you will not even give me the courtesy of a private audience, Marguerite, then I shall indeed leave. And do not think that it will go unnoticed. Furthermore, don’t think I won’t have something to say about this later.”

“I would not doubt it,” Marguerite said.

“I can ruin you, don’t think I won’t,” Jacqueline said into her sister’s ear, but her words carried nevertheless.

“I don’t doubt that you would attempt that either,” Marguerite replied. “However, I do doubt your success in this particular attempt.”

“I agree,” Nicholas said lazily. “And I must say, you have developed an unpleasant habit, Jacqueline. It really is getting to be tiresome, this unceasing effort to ruin your relatives.”

“You filthy animal!” she spat, then spun around on her heel, only to find her exit blocked by George, who had come up behind her.

“Ah, Jacqueline,” he said. “I see you have been welcoming our guests.”

“Welcoming?
Welcoming?
Are you mad? I would have thought at least you would have had some sense, George, but instead you allow this … this degenerate into your house, knowing I will be faced with him, knowing how I feel? And further, you allow him to bring her?” She pointed a shaking finger at Georgia. “I am sickened. Sickened. How could you?”

“But it is a family gathering, Jacqueline,” George said. “Naturally Nicholas and Georgia should be here. Cyril is here also.”

Jacqueline took a small step backward. “Cyril?” she repeated. “Where?”

“Somewhere in the house,” George said, gesturing about him. “I left him with a group of young bucks.”

“You … you had no right to take him from Ravenswalk without my permission. He is my stepson, under my authority.”

“Is that what you would call it?” Nicholas asked coolly. “I would use a different word. Actually, it was my decision. I felt it was time for Cyril to have a normal life, to be with people his own age, to meet appropriate young women. I am sure you would not object to such a natural pursuit, Jacqueline? I know he seems young, but he is very advanced for his age in many ways.”

Jacqueline’s hand jerked almost imperceptibly, but Nicholas did not miss it and he did not hesitate to press his advantage. “Surely you must agree, Jacqueline, that Cyril needs a strong male influence in his life. I am quite happy to provide it.”

“You? You think to provide any kind of influence over an impressionable boy?’’

Nicholas gave her a cold smile. “My point exactly.”

Jacqueline did not move a muscle. “You have no point,” she said. “Nor have you any right to interfere.”

“Oh, but I think I do. As Cyril’s father is so unfortunately ill, I am the only blood relative Cyril has left to him. I intend to take his father’s place until such time as he is recovered. But I do think that we really must clear up past misunderstandings, for there is no need for Cyril to pay for the mistakes of others.”

“What do you mean by that?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.

“It is quite simple. I am well aware of your version of events, Jacqueline, but I have explained to your sister and her husband what really happened ten years ago.”

Jacqueline stared at her sister, one hand creeping to her throat. “And you
believed
him? You believed his word over mine? He is a liar! A liar, I say! He would make up anything! Oh, Marguerite, how could you turn on me in such a manner?”

“But I don’t turn on you in the least!” Marguerite replied. “Jacqueline, do not be foolish. Do you think George or I would have welcomed Nicholas back if we thought he had harmed you in any way? But when Nicholas told us what had happened, we realized what a terrible mistake had been made.”

“I do not know what he could possibly have explained,” she said nervously, looking from one to the other of them.

“I explained that nightmares are terrible things, Jacqueline, and can seem extremely real,” Nicholas said easily enough, but his tone made it clear that he meant not a word of what he said. “Sometimes it is almost impossible to distinguish a nightmare from reality.”

“A—a nightmare? What sort of nightmare do you mean?”

“As I told you then, when I went to your room that night, it was because you were crying out in fright. I was concerned that something might be wrong. Obviously you were dreaming that you were being assaulted, and in the process of my waking you, you confused me with your dream. Do you really not remember even now, Jacqueline? Of course, at the time I know you believed the story yourself, and it spread so quickly that I had no means of defending myself against it. But do you truly not remember how it really happened?”

Jacqueline was silent. Her eyes flickered around the room as if searching for a means of escape, but all that met her was the concentrated collective gaze of a crowded roomful of very interested guests. Her eyes dropped to the floor.

“I am sure that, if pressed, I could jog your memory, Jacqueline.” Nicholas crossed his arms over his chest.