The Decadent Duke (22 page)

John awoke with a start. He knew he'd had the recurring dream, but this time his female companion had a face, and a name.
Georgina Gordon.
He pushed the dream away, not wishing to analyze it. Not daring to. The joy and happiness he had felt quickly evaporated and left behind a dreadful, guilt-ridden remorse.

“Charlotte and Charles are back in London.” Jane Gordon handed the note from her eldest daughter to Georgina so she could sort through the rest of the morning post that had just been delivered.

“Charlotte says she couldn't put up with the cold fog that constantly shrouded Goodwood House. Chichester is too close to the coast for the weather to be anything but gloomy in November.”

“Fife House in Whitehall will be far more convenient for the guests she invites to the ball that she is planning for you. We must go over there and settle on a date.”

“We have a number of calls to make today. I need to visit Henry Addington's wife. He will have told Mary Anne far more about the king's condition than he divulged to us at dinner last night, and since I am a dear friend of the royal family, I warrant she will tell me everything. In strictest confidence, of course.”

“Of course.”
Then you will tell Henry Dundas, who will waste no time passing it along to William Pitt.

“Next, we must pay a call on George Canning's new wife. He will have confided in her how all the Tory members feel about the shocking state of affairs that has come to pass.”

“Are you sure he will have discussed politics with his bride?”

“I am certain. Joan is an heiress, and therefore she controls the purse strings. Canning would not dare make a move without confiding all and asking her advice.”

“Your shrewdness amazes me, Mother.”

“A woman needs to be shrewd to get anywhere in this man's world, Georgina. You will do well to learn from me.” Jane summoned a footman and ordered that their carriage be made ready directly after lunch.

“Last, but by no means least, I intend to pay a visit to Lady Spencer. The Duchess of Devonshire's sister-in-law will tell me if anything noteworthy transpired between the Duke of Bedford and the Devonshire girl while he was at Chatsworth.V

“But Lavinia Spencer doesn't speak to her sister-in-law. She won't know anything.”

“Au contraire, my dear. Lavinia will have made it her business to know
everything.
Ah, here is lunch.”

Her mother's keen interest in the Duke of Bedford made Georgina think of John Russell's bereavement. She hadn't been able to get him or his sons out of her mind since she had heard the tragic news.
I cannot imagine how alone he must feel at such a sad time.

Georgina pushed her food around her plate. Her mood had affected her appetite, and nothing appealed at the moment. She smiled apologetically as the maid came in to take her dish. When she declined dessert, her mother frowned.

“It is this dull, overcast weather that is affecting you. Before we pay our calls, I want you to go upstairs and put on one of your new hats to brighten up the day.”

 
By four o'clock in the afternoon, Georgina was ready to scream. During the visit with Mary Anne Addington, they had discussed the king's health ad nauseam. It was plain from the doctor's report that poor old George was again tottering on the brink of madness.

The visit with Joan Canning had seemed endless. She discussed every single Tory member and revealed all sorts of personal details about their wives and children. Jane avidly took it all in, but Georgina found it offensive. When they rose to leave, she decided she had had enough.
Mother can visit Lavinia Spencer without me. One more serving of tea and gossip will make me spew.

She waited until her mother climbed into their carriage. “We are close to Whitehall. I think I will drop in on Charlotte and make plans for the ball. If I am with you when you quiz Lavinia Spencer about the Duke of Bedford, it will make me look desperate, as if I am hunting him down.V

“Very well. Tell Charlotte to prepare for at least two hundred. And be sure to have Charles drive you home.”

Georgina took off her gloves and stuffed them into her reticule. Then she walked down Tothill Street toward Parliament Square. Fife House, Charlotte's imposing town residence on Whitehall Place, was only about half a mile away.
The walk will clear my head.

 
John Russell spent most of the day in parliament and left just after four.
What a bloody waste of time! Absolutely nothing got done in the House today, and by all the futile discussions and hand wringing, it will be a miracle if things get sorted out before the start of the new year. Both Whig and Tory members huddled in groups, whispering like a bunch of old women!

John shrugged off politics and thought of his sons. Westminster School was close by, and as he walked toward Parliament Square, he debated whether to drop in and check on their well-being, or whether his visit would cause an emotional upheaval.
I should at least make sure Johnny is all right.

John turned to go back toward the school and came face-to-face with Georgina Gordon. He stopped abruptly, and the shocking details of his sensual dream flooded his senses.

Her surprise at seeing him was palpable. “Lord Tavistock . . . John . . . please accept my heartfelt condolences for your sad loss. Your concern for your children must be devastating.” She put her hand on his sleeve. “You and your sons shouldn't be alone at such a harrowing time. The Christmas season will be particularly difficult. Please know that you would be warmly welcomed if you visited Charlotte and your friend Charles at their house here in Whitehall, and I offer you an open invitation to drop in at Pall Mall anytime you feel in need of company.”

John pulled his arm away as if her touch scalded him. He stared with disapproval at the profusion of bright pink lilies adorning her hat. Guilt over making love to her and asking her to be his wife goaded his conscience as if the dream had been real. “My lady, I am newly widowed and not in the market for another wife.” His voice was quelling, his expression rigid as stone. “Your shameless husband hunting is abhorrent to me.”

Georgina gasped at the brutal insult. She wanted to slap his dark face, but decided to wound him with words instead. Her chin lifted and her glittering eyes narrowed. “It is not hard to like you, Russell—it is
impossible.
I offered you my genuine compassion, and you flung it back at me as if it were dung.” She smiled sweetly. “Whatever makes you think I would be interested in a mere lord when I can attract a duke to offer me marriage?” She tossed her head, and her pink lilies danced enticingly. “And not just
any
duke, I might add. We
both
know the duke I have in mind. He has quite taken my fancy. Good day to you, Lord Tavistock.”

 
“Georgy, Georgy!” Mary danced around her favorite aunt. “You have another new hat.”

“One I'm rather partial to, so try not to muck it up.” Georgina looked at her sister Charlotte. “I've had a trying afternoon. I'm so glad you're back in London . . . I am sorely in need of civilized company.”

“A trying afternoon, indeed, if you think the inhabitants of Fife House are civilized.”

“There, you've brought a smile to my face already.”

“You've managed to escape from your keeper, I see.”

“Mother's gone to pay a call on Lavinia Spencer to see if aught transpired with the Duke of Bedford at Chatsworth.”

“Mary, it's time for your tea. Run along to the nursery while Aunt Georgina and I have a chat.”

“You're trying to get rid of me!” Mary accused.

“And I intend to succeed. Off you go.”

“I'll come and visit with you later,” Georgina promised as she followed Charlotte into her sitting room.

“So if the Duchess of Devonshire hasn't snared Francis Russell, Mother intends to do her utmost to bag him for you.”

“I'm afraid she's quite made up her mind.”

“You don't much fancy Bedford, do you, Georgy?”

“Not in the least. But I do intend to engage his interest.”

“Now you're talking in riddles. Is this solely to amuse yourself? I thought you would have preferred to spar with his brother.”

“What makes you say that?” Georgina demanded sharply.

“Don't bite my head off.”

“I'm sorry, Charlotte. I don't suppose you've heard the dreadful news that John Russell's wife died a week ago.”

“Elizabeth? No, I had no idea. We didn't arrive from Sussex until late last night. Oh, I must write him a letter of condolence immediately. Those poor children!”

“I bumped into him just now in Parliament Square. I felt such remorse over the dreadful things I'd said to him that I gushed something about my heartfelt condolences and concern for his children. Then I babbled on about them not being alone in the Christmas season. I assured him that you and Charles would welcome them here at Fife House, and I invited him to Pall Mall if he felt lonely.” Georgina's hand went to her throat in a defensive gesture. “I said it in such a clumsy way that he took immediate offense. He coldly informed me that he was not in the market for another wife.V

“Whatever did you say to such a pointed insult?”

“I wanted to fly at him and scratch his insolent eyes out. Instead, I asked him sweetly whatever made him think I'd be interested in marrying a mere lord when I could have a duke.V

“Good God, he might have surmised you were hinting at his brother!”

“In case he was uncertain, I removed all doubt by adding that we both knew which duke I had in mind.” She bit her lip. “Charlotte, what on earth am I going to do?”

“You'll simply have to marry the Duke of Bedford.”

“Ask a silly question and get a bloody silly answer. However, a thought did just occur to me . . . I don't need to actually marry the Duke of Bedford. I merely need to become engaged to him.”

“Is that all?” Charlotte asked dryly. “Didn't Louisa try that route and find it a dead end?”

“I am not Louisa,” Georgina asserted.

“I hear the front door. It's probably Charles. He'll have heard the sad news about his relative Elizabeth Russell and will be amazed that I already know.”

“Here's something else he'll be bursting to tell you. William Pitt has resigned as head of the Tory government because the king asked Henry Addington to become prime minister.”

“You are a veritable font of information.”

When the Duchess of Gordon swept into the sitting room, Charlotte realized it wasn't her husband who had arrived but her mother. “I have a soupçon of good news amidst the avalanche of bad. Apparently, the Duke of Bedford made no commitment whatsoever in connection with Devonshire's daughter on his visit to Chatsworth. And moreover, he is not observing mourning for his lately deceased sister-in-law.V

“View halloo!” Charlotte exclaimed. “From a view to a death in the morning.” The words to Woodcock Graves's hunting ballad were not lost on either Jane or Georgina.

“Have you decided on a date for your ball yet, Charlotte? I warrant November twentieth would be ideal.”

“That is only a week away . . . hardly time to get out the invitations.”

“We shall write them tonight. I'll stay and help.”

“That's what I was afraid of,” Charlotte murmured irreverently.

“Did Georgy tell you to plan for two hundred?”

“She hadn't gotten around to that detail. We were discussing William Pitt's resignation. Why on earth did the king ask Addington to be prime minister?”

“Because he's run mad again,” Jane said matter-of-factly. “We had the whole story from Mary Anne Addington when we visited her this afternoon. Didn't your sister tell you? Queen Charlotte is the one I feel sorry for. The poor lady doesn't know if she's coming or going. No wonder she looks so dowdy as she sits wilting on her throne.”