The Decadent Duke (9 page)

“It could very easily sully yer reputation,” Charlotte teased.

Mary arrived in the pink bedchamber, breathless from her hurried climb upstairs. “I don't want you to leave, Georgy!”

“If you were listening behind the sitting room door, as I suspect, you must know that Grandmama gave me no choice.”

“Who is the Duchess of Drinkwater?” Mary whispered.

Georgina removed her garments from the wardrobe and began to fold them. “She is a Titan who must be obeyed.”

“It's Grandmama, isn't it?”

Georgina nodded. “But you must promise not to tell anyone.”

Mary crossed her heart. “It will be our deep, dark secret.”

 
The Duchess of Gordon, decked out in a fashionable gown of striped
crêpe de chine
, her hair decorated with bejeweled feathers, stepped from her carriage in the Haymarket. Georgina followed, wearing a simple empire gown of white gauze over green with a matching wrap. Her dark curls were piled high and held in place by green ribbon and a jeweled dragonfly.

They entered the King's Theatre. With her head held high, the Duchess of Gordon led the way to her private ground-floor box, where mother and daughter took their seats.

“I don't think you'll enjoy this Mozart opera, Mother.
La Clemenza de Tito
is a dark tale about a woman who plots the assassination of the Roman emperor Titus.”

“I am here to be
seen
, not to
enjoy
the opera. It's all in Italian anyway—I shan't understand a word, nor will many of the
haut ton
, believe me.”

“I don't think you'll find many ladies of the
ton
here tonight. Only true aficionados of opera will be stoic enough for this one.”

“Why, there's Prime Minister Pitt. There is such a refined elegance in his taste.” Jane raised her chin, smiled archly, and was most gratified when William Pitt graciously stood and bowed his head in acknowledgment.

Just as the overture began, the Prince of Wales and his good friend Charles James Fox entered the royal box, which was directly opposite the Gordons' box.

“Oh, how very fortunate I chose to wear the Prince of Wales's feathers tonight. You are quite wrong, Georgina. I am enjoying the opera immensely.”

Georgina amused herself by watching the audience and counting the number of patrons who dozed off. She had almost given herself up to the arms of Morpheus when the burning of the Roman capital revived her.

When her mother saw Prinny's fervent applause, she began to clap with great enthusiasm. “The Prince of Wales is often censured for his profligate habits, but there is no denying that his taste in the arts is perfection itself.”

Georgina gathered her fan and her wrap and stood to leave.

“There's no hurry, dear. We must time things so we will meet the prince in the foyer.”

“In that case I have time for another snooze. It will take both Prinny and Fox an aeon to navigate their bulk from the royal box to the theater lobby.”

“Georgina, that was unkind ... vastly amusing, but unkind.”

Jane's timing was perfect. She'd had considerable experience in maneuvering as she climbed the social ladder. Since Fox was with the prince, she surmised their next stop would be a place where they could gamble. “Your Royal Highness, the opera tonight was a triumph. Not in the common taste, of course. Only a devout opera aficionado could fully appreciate it.”

“Your Grace, what a delightful encounter.” He drew her proffered hand to his lips with a gallant flourish. Prinny never forgot that when his debts had become astronomical, and King George disowned him, Jane Gordon had arranged a truce between himself and his royal father. She had persuaded the king to give his son the revenues of the Duchy of Cornwall, which George had usurped for his own use. King George settled his son's debts on condition that parliament grant the prince an allowance of one hundred thousand pounds a year. Without the Duchess of Gordon's influence, he would not have been able to indulge his passion for building, and Carlton House would not be the most magnificent residence in London.

Jane confided, “I have an open invitation from our dearest mutual friend, the Duchess of Devonshire. Since the night is young, I thought I might pop in for a friendly game of faro.''

“By an amazing coincidence, Charles and I also are on our way to Devonshire House.”

“Then we shall take the liberty of joining you, Your Highness. It would be unthinkable to pass up the honor of a royal escort. I shall instruct my driver to follow your carriage.” She turned to Fox. “You are looking well, Charles. This is my youngest daughter, Georgina. She's not out yet, but I'm sure you both remember how unnecessarily restrictive the mores of society are at her age.”

Both gentlemen kissed Georgina's hand with marked gallantry.

 
Francis Russell, Duke of Bedford, had spent the entire evening in one of the sumptuous reception rooms at Devonshire House that was used exclusively for gaming. He and his hostess, along with Sir Robert Adair and the Earl of Lauderdale, were playing his favorite game of lanterloo. As usual, Francis was winning and the duchess was losing.

The pot had grown to five hundred guineas. Francis took another trick with his last trump. Georgianna Devonshire discarded in desperation, and replenished her hand with a new card from the deck. She was still unable to take another trick, and as a result lost the whole amount of the pot to the winner, Francis.

“Oh, Loo, you have the devil's own luck.” Loo was her pet name for Bedford, since he loved the game and usually won. She stood up. “The game of loo is a jinx to me; I don't know why I play!”

Francis got to his feet and came around the table. “The pleasure of your company is reward enough.” He lowered his voice. “You owe me nothing, my dearest lady.”

“Loo, you forget that discreet loan of six thousand a year ago. I'm distraught that I've not been able to pay you back one penny.”

Their attention was diverted by some new arrivals. “Ah, it is darling Prinny and—” The Duchess of Devonshire's jaw literally dropped when she saw that the Prince of Wales had the Duchess of Gordon on his arm. She floated across the room, her flowing gown billowing like a sail, her immense coiffure threatening to topple.

“Your Highness ... Your Grace ... I am honored.”

While Prinny kissed Georgianna's hand with reverence, Jane spoke up. “The honor is mine, I assure you. It's been far too long since I visited Devonshire House. If I stayed away longer, the gossips would begin to insinuate that we are rivals.”

“Ah, you have read that dreadful piece of trash by Surr. The man should be pilloried! There is not the least rivalry between us, as anyone with a soupçon of intelligence would know.”

“That is why I accepted His Royal Highness's offer to escort me to Devonshire House. It will display our friendship to the world at large and give the lie to that scurrilous novel.”

The Duchess of Devonshire gave her hand to Charles Fox, a man of enormous charm and warmth. “I welcome you with open arms, my lord, since you are the only man of my acquaintance who gambles more recklessly than I.”

“And with the same devastating results.” Fox kissed her hand. “I stand a greater chance of breaking another leg than breaking the bank, Your Grace.” Two years ago he had broken his leg in the Devonshire House gardens, competing in a silly race.

Francis Russell crossed the room and greeted his friends.

“Loo, here are some worthy partners for you. I shall change games and try my luck at faro with my friend Jane.”

Francis had been lured, not by his friends, but by the young beauty who stood quietly behind her mother. “We meet again,” he murmured as his eyes undressed her.

“You look nothing like your brother,” Georgina blurted.

“You know John?”

“Not intimately. Why are you called Loo?” she asked innocently.

“Because I always win at lanterloo.”
Damn, one whiff of this female and I'm aroused.
He was amazed that he felt lust for one so young.

“Then gardez-loo!” Georgina murmured, and her eyes brimmed with wicked amusement.

The Duchess of Devonshire suddenly noticed Jane Gordon's daughter. “Georgina dear, you'll find my daughters and Caroline in the music room.” She summoned a footman wearing scarlet and sepia livery, gave him instructions, and Georgina followed him up the marble staircase.

On a devilish impulse she turned around and looked back. Just as she suspected, Bedford was gazing after her with a hungry look of lust on his face. “I'll be damned. I think I've made a conquest,” she murmured. “One Russell detests me ... the other fancies me!”

 
“Dorothy, it's Lady Georgy!” Harriet Cavendish cried happily.

“What a lovely surprise.” Georgianna Dorothy Cavendish went by her middle name to distinguish her from her mother.

“A surprise, at any rate,” Caro Ponsonby said acidly.

The girls all took dancing lessons together in preparation for the balls they would attend after their debuts. The Duchess of Devonshire's eldest daughter was no beauty, but she made up for it with a sweet, gentle personality.

Their cousin Caro, who had lived at Devonshire House since she was a child, was the antithesis of sweet. She was thin as a rail, with a jealous nature and a waspish tongue.

“Mother says I may make my debut a year early, so we will be coming out together! Isn't it exciting, Georgy?”

“Well, it's exciting that we'll be invited everywhere, but I don't look forward to being put on the marriage market.”

“I don't think you have much to fear,” Caro sneered. She was only fifteen and pea green with jealousy that she would have to wait another year or two before she was presented to the queen.

“Pay no attention to Caro. I think you are absolutely bewitching, Georgy. Are there any interesting gentlemen visiting downstairs tonight?” Dorothy asked avidly.

“Mother and I came with the Prince of Wales and Charles Fox.”

Caro wrinkled her nose. “They are both so fat and florid, I'm amazed you can tell them apart.”

“Charles is older than Prinny,” Georgina said dryly.

“I find His Royal Highness to be both handsome and warmhearted, and he absolutely adores Mother,” Dorothy declared. “Who else did you see downstairs ?”

“I was quickly whisked upstairs by a footman, so the only one I had a chance to see was Francis Russell.”

“The Duke of Bedford?” Dorothy asked breathlessly. “I've only seen him from afar, but he's reputedly the most eligible bachelor in England.”

“I think you secretly worship him from afar,” Harriet teased.

Her sister blushed pink. “No I don't, silly. But I do look forward to being introduced to him . . . as well as all the other eligible bachelors, of course.”

“I've met his brother,” Georgina confided. “There's something about the Russells that set my teeth on edge. They act like gods gazing down from Olympus at us inferior mortals.”

“Some of us
are
inferior,” Caro said pointedly.

“In your case, I promise to overlook it, Caroline.”

“Touché, Georgy!” Harriet giggled.

“Why don't we go to the top of the stairs? Perhaps we'll catch a glimpse of some of Mother's guests,” Dorothy suggested.

You are simply dying for a glimpse of Bedford,
Georgina realized with surprise.
I suppose he is the premier duke of the realm, but his attraction eludes me completely.
A vision of his brother, John, sprang into her mind. His black hair, dark eyes, and dominant personality seemed in complete contrast to his brother, Francis. She wondered why the surly devil kept popping into her head and made a firm decision that from now on she would banish the old man from her thoughts.

Two days later, John Russell and his three sons were ready to depart for Woburn Abbey in Bedfordshire. Before he left, young Johnny went to bid good-bye to his mother.

The moment she laid eyes on him, she rose up on her hands and knees in the wide bed and snarled at him like a wild animal. “I have been ill for nine long years because of you. I wish to God that I had never had a third son!”

Johnny stared, aghast, at her words. “I'm so sorry I caused you to be ill, Mother. With all my heart I wish you were well.”

“You are a hateful little liar. I gave birth to a
demon
when I had you! Like your father, you can't get away fast enough. You'll both be happy when I'm dead and gone.”

Johnny's face drained of all color, leaving him pale and shaken. “Please don't die, Mother.”

John Russell entered his wife's bedchamber with the new nurse he had employed. He watched Elizabeth compose her features from anger to sorrow. She slipped back beneath the covers and lay like a wounded martyr, ready to accept her suffering without complaint. “Good-bye, my dear. The house will be nice and quiet when we leave. It will give you a chance to rest and recuperate.”

“Be assured you leave your lady in good hands, Lord Tavistock,” the nurse declared in a calm, capable voice.

“Are you ready, Johnny?” His son looked small and pale, and he knew a few days at Woburn would do him good.