Shall We Dance?. Kasey Michaels
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would he want his wife socializing with the woman about to go on trial?”
“Damn,” Mrs. Bateman said under her breath, so that Georgiana pretended not to hear.
“I’m sure I can locate a suitable companion to accompany me on my visits, Mama,” Georgiana said quickly, knowing she knew no one. No one. And where would she find a suitable companion?
“Miss Penrose?”
Georgiana turned, to see the butler standing in the doorway. “Yes, Simmons?”
“The carriage is outside, miss, and the horses become fretful if left standing.”
“Oh, of course,” Georgiana said, gathering up her bonnet, pelisse and reticule from the couch where she’d laid them, then turned to curtsy to her mother. “I shan’t be above a few hours. But I sent round a note, and Amelia is expecting me.”
Mrs. Bateman waved a hand distractedly. “No, no. No hurry. I wonder if Mr. Bateman would be agreeable to just one trip to Hammersmith? He knows I can be quite grateful…”
Georgiana escaped the room as her mother plotted her next move, eager to be on her way.
SIR NATHANIEL RANKIN took the land route to Hammersmith, unwilling to maneuver his way through all the assorted boats moving back and forth in front of the queen’s residence like bees buzzing around a hive.
He still could not quite believe he was on a mission commissioned by, of all people, his dotty aunt Rowena. But here he was, sitting in his curricle, looking at the entrance to the queen’s residence, cudgeling his brain for a reason to knock on the door, ask admittance.
“Hallo. I’m here to offer my services to the queen. What service? Bodyguard. You know, in case Prinney comes tiptoeing around with a hooded man toting an ax?”
“Sir Nathaniel Rankin, baronet, to see Her Royal Majesty. Announce me, man!”
“Sir Nathaniel Rankin to see the queen on a matter of some urgency.”
“Hallo there, beautiful day, isn’t it? Would you care to buy some apples?”
Nate dropped his chin onto his chest. He’d gone mad, that was it. Stark, staring mad. He had no way of gaining admittance to the queen’s presence. And even less idea of what he’d say if he somehow managed to get within earshot of the woman.
An elderly town coach bearing yellow wheels but no crest moved past him and into the circular drive, just to have the off wheels all but tipping the thing into a ditch alongside the drive.
“Cow-handed idiot,” Nate mumbled, mildly interested as the driver set the brake—an unnecessary precaution, as the coach would go nowhere until it was lifted out of the ditch—and opened the door, extending a hand to his passenger.
Nate saw an arm emerge, a hand taking the coachman’s hand, to be followed by the remainder of a female who then paused half in and half out of the coach, desperately trying to keep her skirts at a modest level, her spectacles on her nose and her frankly unbecoming bonnet on her head, all while looking a long way down to the ground.
The coachman struggled one-handed, to put down the steps.
“Putting down the steps won’t help, you twit. She’d have to go uphill to go downhill,” Nate said to himself, tossing the reins to his snickering tiger and heading off across the road, to the rescue.
Actually, the young woman could be said to be rescuing him from having to return to Aunt Rowena and admitting he’d failed in his mission.
“No, no,” he heard the young woman pleading as he neared the coach. “Stop pulling, please. I’ll manage myself somehow.”
Nate snapped his fingers and the coachman, still holding on to the woman’s wrist—cowhanded with more than the reins, obviously—turned to look at him. “There you go, my good man, you’ve got your orders. Unclench your paw and step back. I’ll assist the lady.”
Whether he recognized Nate, or just his finely cut clothes, or if he was simply relieved to hand over responsibility for the young lady, the coachman stepped back sharply.
“Hallo?” Nate called out, keeping his distance even as he leaned forward to smile into the coach, for the young woman had disappeared again—falling back inside once the coachman had let go of her. “I say, may I be of assistance?”
“Good God, yes,” said a muffled voice from the dimness inside the coach, and Nate suppressed a chuckle as one slippered foot appeared, followed by two gloved hands that grasped at either side of the doorway. “If it weren’t for these dratted skirts and this dratted bonnet, I could—who is that?”
“Sir Nathaniel Rankin, miss, delighted to be at your service. Now, if you could just, um, boost yourself toward the door? The coach is listing rather dangerously over the ditch, and I’d hate to see it entirely tip over before I can yank you, er, assist you out of there.”
“I most thoroughly agree!” said the young woman, and more of her appeared in the doorway, minus the now-crushed straw bonnet he’d glimpsed earlier, revealing more of her face. “Hallo.”
Nate smiled. “You know, miss, there really is no entirely polite way to do this. So, if you don’t mind?” Before she could answer, he took her slim waist in both hands and lifted her out and up and then down, once her feet had cleared the bottom of the door.
Her hands were on his shoulders, his still on her waist, as she looked up into his face, her spectacles hanging only on a single ear, so that one rather lovely eye was uncovered and seen to be rather unfocused. “Oh,” she said, but she didn’t let go.
She was slim and rather tall, and with a mass of honey-blond hair that probably fell to her waist when it wasn’t locked inside that thick coil at the back of her neck. Her eyes were blue, like his, but much larger; appealingly large and innocent. She had lovely lips on a rather wide mouth, a tip-tilted nose, and she smelled like violets. He thought it was violets.
“Sir Nathaniel was it?” she prompted in a very pleasant voice. “You…you can release me now.”
“Hmm? Oh, right. Yes, of course,” Nate said, then grinned. “You first?”
Twin flags of color appeared in her cheeks at once, and she dropped her arms to her sides, as if his shoulders had just caught fire. “How…how rude of me, Sir Nathaniel. I should by rights introduce myself.”
“I would like that above all things,” Nate said, surprised to realize he not only sounded sincere, he was sincere. “Let me fetch that dratted bonnet, shall I?”
“You heard me,” she said, adjusting her spectacles.
“I’m afraid so, Miss—?”
“Penrose. Georgiana Penrose.” She took the bonnet, scowled at it, punched it back into some semblance of shape and jammed it back onto her head, tying the pink ribbons beneath a rather determined chin. “Are you on your way to see the queen, Sir Nathaniel?”
Opportunity rarely knocked to such advantage. “Yes, I am, as it happens, Miss Penrose. May I suggest I have my tiger bring my curricle over here and we might travel the remainder of the drive together?”
Georgiana looked to the curricle sitting across the roadway. “The entrance is only a hop and a skip—but arriving on foot wouldn’t look quite the thing, would it? That would be nice, Sir Nathaniel, thank you.”
Nate made short work of summoning the curricle, putting his tiger to assisting the coachman right the coach, handing Miss Penrose up onto the seat, and then a few moments later depositing her on the ground once more—again by the simple expedient of picking her up at her tiny waist, as she didn’t seem to mind.
Offering his arm, they climbed the front steps, and Nate lifted the knocker, twice, then waited for someone to answer the summons.
That took some time, during which Nate tried for something else to say to Miss Penrose and could think