Shall We Dance? (13 page)

“No, that's not it. They're very nice, I suppose. They have their place. But to be like my mother? To exist for London? I'm showing myself to be a sad lump, I'm sure, but I'd much rather be in the country with the birds and the trees…and the rest of the bumpkins.”

“My estate is in Surrey, you know,” Nate told her as he tipped his hat to two ladies who were looking toward Georgiana in some interest. “I first left it with relief, not realizing how much I'd miss it. Now I come to London
for the Season and hie myself back to Surrey as quickly as I can. My mother insisted we stay in town this year to be supporting props to my father. He's known about the queen's return for some time now, you understand, and was warned to keep himself accessible. Just think, I would have already been gone, Georgiana, and never have met you. That would have been a bleeding shame, wouldn't it?”

Georgiana didn't know how to respond, for she felt more than fairly certain Nate was flirting with her even as he worked so hard at playing the gentleman, and was entirely uncertain whether he was merely teasing her or being serious. She had no notion if this was the sort of conversation all London gentlemen indulged in when on the flirt—and she was entirely too honest to lie. So she said nothing.

“Georgiana? Am I frightening you?”

She shook her head and, wonder of wonders, her new spectacles did not fly off her nose. “I think you are a very nice gentleman, Nate. Mr. Bateman was in fact over the moon to hear your name, and my mother has canceled a small dinner party she had planned, with Mr. Harold Goodbody as our honored guest. He's a rather successful draper, I understand, widowed, with four small children in need of a mother.”

“E-gods,” Nate said. “Is your mother insane? No, don't answer that, as I should never have asked. But, really, has she really brought you here to London to marry you off to a draper?”

“I'm sure Mr. Goodbody is an honorable man, work
ing in an honorable profession,” Georgiana said, and then grinned. “And he probably wouldn't mind being shackled to a woman of good lineage and little dowry, and who wears spectacles, and who has been known to ride astride when she hoped no one would see her and report such a serious crime to her mother and stepfather.”

“In short, your mother considers you a sad trial and wants you popped off and gone?”

“Oh, most definitely, especially as I seem to insist on growing older even as she strives to tell everyone she is growing younger,” Georgiana said, then stopped, suddenly realizing that Nate had led her into a stand of trees. “I had no idea this little pocket existed. Why, it's as if London has melted away, isn't it?”

“Is it?” Nate asked, looking about as if only now realizing where they were…how far they had walked, leaving the paths and walkways and all the people behind (including, quite fortuitously, Imogene). “Well, stap me, will you look where we are? Miss Penrose, have you steered me here with designs on my person? May I say that I am shocked—shocked—to think you believed you could presume on our very short, if mutually advantageous, association and deliberately lead me off to have your wicked—”

“Oh, shut up,” Georgiana said, lightly punching him in the stomach.

“Thank God,” he said, grinning at her. “I was getting myself in rather deep there, wasn't I?”

“As you are the one who led me here, yes, I would say you were. Do…do you really want to kiss me? Why?”

Nate looked at her. Then he smiled at her. And then he threw back his head and laughed out loud. “Oh, Georgie, you have no idea, do you?”

“So now I'm stupid, as well as a graceless bumpkin. Thank you very much!”

“No, no—you're far from stupid. You're refreshing. You're honest. You are kind, as many would have run, screaming, from me, and from poor Aunt Rowena. You care as little as I do for Society, and don't care a snap who knows it. Good God, woman, you ride astride! And one thing more, Georgie. You have the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen behind those, I say in all candor, most bewitching spectacles. Almost as appealing as those lovely lips, parted now as you no doubt ready yourself to tear another verbal strip off my hide.”

He couldn't be further from the truth. “Don't call me Georgie!” she said, just before she launched herself forward into his arms, planting those bewitching lips—no, they were “lovely” lips…she'd heard him most distinctly—against his before either of them had a chance to think.

“I imagine I should be stepping in here, challenging this importuning cad to a duel for attacking a fair lady…except that I do believe it's the other way round. What say you, Amelia?”

Georgiana's eyelids popped open wide at the sound of the drawling, clearly amused masculine voice, and she hopped back from Nate, her arms quickly falling to her sides. Imogene, if they hadn't happily misplaced her at some point, would undoubtedly have cried “Oh, lawks!”
at this moment, and Georgiana would be a liar indeed if she didn't long to make a very similar exclamation.

“Georgiana? Is that you?”

Georgiana kept her back to the intruders on what had been, in fact, the first truly marvelous event of her heretofore humdrum life. “Amelia? Oh, God…”

“Why, Miss Fredericks,” Nate said, taking Georgiana's hand firmly in his and turning her about. “How delightful to make your acquaintance again today. And, damme if that isn't the Earl of Brentwood with you. Brentwood, your servant, sir,” he ended, bowing.

“I'm missing something here, aren't I?” the earl asked Amelia, and the world in general. “Explain, Sir Nathaniel, if you please? What are you doing, pawing Miss Fredericks's friend this way?”

“I should perhaps ask where you and Miss Fredericks have been, My Lord, as it would appear that you are leaving the wood, not entering it. Not that entering this lovely, concealing stand of trees is anything more than two entirely innocent people seeking the shade on a warm day.”

“Oh, stubble it, Sir Nathaniel. We caught you, you caught us. Now, do we swear mutual secrecy as the four of us stroll negligently into the sun once more, innocence brightly shining on all our faces, or do we point accusing fingers at one another?”

“You know Sir Nathaniel, Perry?” Amelia asked, and Georgiana finally took a good look at her friend. Amelia looked rather flustered and quite happy. Reflecting, as it were, how Georgiana herself felt.

Amelia quickly made the introductions, then slipped her arm through Georgiana's so that the two of them could stroll ahead, leaving the gentlemen behind them, to find their own way back into the sunlight.

“Ah, Sir Nathaniel, that's not good. They'll talk about us incessantly, you know,” Georgiana heard the earl say. “I don't know about you, but, for the first time in my seemingly useless life, I believe I fear for any recital of my reputation.”

Amelia paused for a moment, looked behind her and giggled, then urged Georgiana on once more.

“I didn't know you knew anyone in London, Amelia,” Georgiana said as she caught sight of Imogene in the distance, looking ready to burst into either frustrated tears or shouts of recrimination for having been so summarily deserted.

“Oh, I didn't, I don't,” Amelia said. “Just you and your beau, and the earl, of course. He'd hoped to win a wager by gaining an audience with the queen, and got me instead. Have you ever seen anyone so handsome, Georgiana? Just like the golden-haired princes we read about in those novels we hid in our room at school.”

“He is pretty,” Georgiana said, blushing slightly as she added, “although I can't say I'm partial to blond hair on a man. I much prefer—oh, never mind. And stop laughing!”

“Can you believe it, Georgiana? It's just as we talked about, so long ago. You and I, traipsing through London Society with two very well-set-up gentlemen. I'd ask you to pinch me, except then I might
awaken, and I don't want to be awake if my dream is so wonderful.”

Georgiana gave her friend a quick hug, then sobered. “Amelia? Are we idiots?”

“I am, most assuredly,” Amelia said, sighing. “I've only just met Perry…the earl. Just yesterday. And yet…and yet I know I can trust him, that he's sincere. But you? You and Sir Nathaniel have been courting for some time, isn't that what he said yesterday?”

“I, um, that is, yes. Yes. For some time,” Georgiana said, not wishing to have Nate be discovered as a liar. Besides, the entire thing was much too complicated, and rather self-serving on her own part. Better to leave things as they stood, and not upset Amelia with thoughts that Aunt Rowena just might be right. Amelia worried about the queen enough as it was.

“Ah, and here is my barouche, still housing Clive and his beloved, who seem to be enjoying themselves mightily,” Perry said as the two gentlemen rejoined them. “Sir Nathaniel? It would be a squeeze, but we could take you up and deposit you where you wish to go?”

“My tiger is minding my curricle, thank you, Brentwood,” Nate said, bowing. “Perhaps we shall meet again?”

“You may depend upon it, good sir,” Perry said, returning the bow.

Georgiana and Amelia kissed goodbye, and Perry extended his arm. “Oh, wait!” Amelia said. “I completely forgot. Her Majesty has decided you three shall be her guests at a small, informal dinner party. If the
weather holds, I understand she would like us to dine alfresco, tomorrow at seven? Is that all right with everyone? I know it is very short notice, but Her Majesty is rather used to having her every wish obeyed, and—”

“Our queen commands, and we can do nothing but obey,” Perry said, looking, Georgiana noticed, straight at Nate. “An honor, surely, for us all.”

“Dashed flattering,” Nate agreed, and at last they parted ways, Georgiana having to step quickly to keep up with Nate's long strides.

“What's wrong? You don't care for the earl?”

“I don't know him, Georgiana. Not personally. I was nearly shocked spitless that he knew my name.”

“But you do know him by reputation?”

Nate smiled, but it was the sort of weak, half smile of someone who really wished she hadn't guessed correctly. “He's…he may have done something during the war with Napoleon.”

“But that would be a good thing, an honorable thing.”

“If he truly served. All I really know is that he wasn't in England. So he had to be somewhere, I suppose, doing something.”

“Meaning?”

“In a moment, Georgie, in a moment. First, let me push your duenna off on her way. I can't think worth a bent penny with her standing over there, glowering at us. Stay here, while I put her in a hack. She can't say no to me, as I am a gentleman of the
ton.
Comes in handy, now and then, this baronet business. Besides, I
don't believe I wish to ride three-up on my curricle again, especially as we've much to talk about.”

In mere moments he was back; Imogene, looking huffy but impotent, on her way home.

“Now,” Nate said, brushing his hands together as if wiping off the grime of a job well done, “where were we?”

“We were discussing, as you well know, what the earl did during the war, and I've been thinking about what you said while you were getting us rid of Imogene.” Georgiana wet her suddenly dry lips. “A spy? You think he was a spy?”

“Or hiding on some warm island until he felt it safe to return. Oh, I don't know, Georgiana. Certainly, as the last of his line, he would be excused from racing around battlefields, exposing himself to danger. I only served here, in the Admiralty, because my parents pointed out I'm the last in our line. But at the same time, if Brentwood did serve, why would he avoid all questions about that service?”

“Modesty? A self-effacing constitution?” Georgiana suggested, then winced. The earl was dressed at the top stare of fashion, carried himself with confidence if not even arrogance and was neither shy nor retiring of nature. “No, I suppose not.”

“Look, Georgiana, I'm not saying he should go running about, tooting on a yard of tin, announcing to all and sundry that he did fight for England. I shouldn't care for him if he did—if anyone did, and a few do. There are things that happen in war that are best forgotten, or at least buried, to be brought out only over a few bot
tles with others who have served. But Brentwood? He doesn't exactly run in my circle, being a good eight years my senior and probably thinking me a green-as-grass looby or whatever, but what I do know is that he loves society, loves cutting a dash. Rides neck or nothing, is more than a tolerable whip. You've seen how he dresses—everything about him is top o' the trees.”

“But…?”

“But he's useless, Georgiana. There has to be more to life than a pleasing face. He's far from ugly, his wealth is close to legendary and he's accepted everywhere. All the mamas want him for their daughters, which must drive them to tears, because he's never thrown his cap at any of them. Won't even dance, if you'll believe that. Shows up everywhere, but won't put one foot on the dance floor. Famous for it. Probably because he thinks it adds some sort of mystery to his reputation, I suppose. He's simply…useless.”

Then Nate frowned, his hands drawing up into fists. “Or he wants everyone to think he's harmless. Damme, Georgie, why did it take me so long to remember? Do you know who his uncle is?”

They'd reached Nate's curricle, and he handed Georgiana up onto the seat. “Nate, how would I know any such thing?”

“I'm sorry, Georgie,” Nate said, quickly vaulting to his seat and taking the reins from his tiger. “Sir Willard Humphrey. Used to run the admiralty, during the war. And a staunch Tory, Georgie. And, although I know I've told you Brentwood is already as rich as Croesus,
he's also in the way of being Sir Willard's only heir. Georgie? What was it your friend said? That Brentwood had shown up, just shown up, hoping for an audience with the queen?”