Impetuous Innocent. Stephanie Laurens
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Lord Winsmere smiled and confessed, “I was thinking of something else.” At his wife’s fond smile, he continued, “If the girl is all you and Dominic seem to think, I have no objections to your taking her under your wing. Aside from anything else, she’ll have to be terribly innocent to swallow this yarn of yours about the way to securing a position being to make a splash in society.”
Bella met his sceptical look with a bright grin. “Oh, I’ll manage it—you’ll see.”
Five minutes later Lord Winsmere returned to his desk to tidy his papers away for the night. The memory of Bella’s bright eyes remained with him. She was more animated than she had been in months. Perhaps Dominic’s damsel in distress was an angel in disguise. He smiled fondly. All in all, he was looking forward to meeting his wife’s protégée.
THE SHARP CALL of the orange sellers woke Georgiana. Bemused, she stared about her, then remembered where she was and how she came to be there. Despite the evidence of her eyes, reality retained the aura of a dream. She was lying propped in her pillows, still wondering, when Cruickshank came bustling through the door with her early morning chocolate.
Georgiana waited silently for her maid’s comment. No one could size up an establishment faster or more accurately than Cruickshank.
No sniffs were forthcoming. Not even a snort.
As she accepted the tray across her knees, Georgiana was taken aback to hear the dour maid humming.
Catching sight of her mistress’s startled look, Cruickshank smiled. “A right proper place they keep here, Miss Georgie. No need to teach them anything. Mrs Biggins, the housekeeper, is a tight old bird, but fair, mark my words. Runs the place just as she should. And Johnson—he’s the butler—and her ladyship’s dresser, Hills, are everything they ought to be. A relief, it is, after the Place.”
“So you’re comfortable here?”
At the wardrobe, Cruickshank nodded emphatically. She drew out a violet morning gown trimmed with fine lace and laid it ready across a chair, then went to search for the accessories.
Georgiana sipped her chocolate. As the sweet warmth slid down her throat and heat seeped through her body, she sighed. So wonderful—to have real chocolate again. She closed her eyes and was immediately back on the terrace at Ravello, her father opposite, across the breakfast-table. Abruptly she opened her eyes, blinking rapidly. Enough of that! She had shed all the tears she possessed long ago. Her father had wanted her to get on with her life. He had warned her not to grieve for him. He had had a good life, so he had said, and wanted his daughter to have the same. That was why she was to return to England and the bosom of her family. Some bosom Charles had turned out to be. At the thought, Georgiana wriggled her toes. The idea of Charles scouring the countryside for her, only to return, dusty and beaten, to the damp and musty Place, brought a glow of satisfaction to her honey-gold eyes. Serve him right.
“How long are we staying here?”
Cruickshank came to draw back the covers. Georgiana slid from the bed, busying herself with washing and dressing while she considered how best to answer. She had not discussed her plan to get a position with either of her servants, sure they would veto the idea as soon as they heard it. Come what may, she was determined to keep them with her. They were all that remained of her parents’ happy household.
So, standing patiently as Cruickshank laced her gown, she answered airily, “I’ll have to discuss the matter with Lady Wins…Bella. She seems to wish us to stay for a while.”
Cruickshank snorted. “So I gathered. Still, she seems a real lady; none of your hoity-toity airs about that one.”
Georgiana grinned, remembering Bella’s fussing the night before. It had been a long time since anyone other than Cruickshank had fussed over her.
After Cruickshank had settled her curls in a knot on the top of her head, Georgiana tentatively made her way downstairs. Johnson found her in the front hall and, gracious as ever, directed her to the breakfast parlour overlooking the rear gardens.
“There you are, my dear!”
Georgiana had the feeling Bella had been waiting for her to appear. Her hostess surged across the Turkey carpet in a cloud of fine-figured muslin. Georgiana returned her smile.
“Are you sure you’ve recovered from your ordeal?”
Georgiana flushed slightly and nodded. A man, somewhat older than Bella, had risen from the table to watch them, an affectionate smile on his thin lips. She felt forced to disclaim, “It was hardly an ordeal, ma’am.”
“Ma’am? I thought I told you to call me Bella.” Bella smiled mischievously. “And of course it was an ordeal. Fleeing from horrible Charles was always an ordeal.”
Georgiana stopped and stared. “You know Charles?”
Bella’s big blue eyes opened wide. “But of course. Didn’t I mention it last night?”
When Georgiana shook her head, Bella tucked her arm in hers and drew her guest to the table.
“But we were neighbours; you know that. Of course, Charles came over to play sometimes. But he never got on with Dominic and the other boys, mainly because he was younger and always tried to show off. He used to tease me unmercifully. At least, he did if Dominic wasn’t around. So, you see, I know just what it feels like to run away from your cousin Charles. And I can’t think he’s improved with age.”
Standing by the chair beside her new friend, Georgiana shook her head. “I expect you’re right.” She looked expectantly at the man. He smiled and bowed slightly.
“Permit me to introduce myself, my dear. I’m afraid, if we wait for Bella to remember my existence, we might not be introduced until dinner.”
“Oh, fustian!” said Bella, catching his hand and giving it a little shake. “My dear Georgiana, allow me to present my husband, Arthur.”
Georgiana dropped a demure curtsy, hiding her surprise. She had not thought about Bella’s husband at all, but would never have imagined the youthful Bella married to a man so much older. As she straightened, her eyes met his, grey and kindly, and she had the feeling of being read like a book. But then he smiled, such a sweet smile, and suddenly it no longer seemed so odd that Bella should be his wife.
“Miss Hartley. Might I say how pleased we are to welcome you to our home?”
Georgiana murmured her thanks.
Over breakfast, Lord Winsmere made little comment, but contented himself with listening as Bella and she discussed feminine interests.
“I see you are out of blacks,” said Bella. “So fortunate.”
Georgiana hesitated, then explained, “Actually, it’s only four months since my father died, but he made me promise that I wouldn’t go into mourning for him. But—” she shrugged slightly “—I thought greys and lilacs were a reasonable compromise.”
Bella’s candid gaze assessed her dispassionately. “I must say, if your father was a painter, I can understand why he was so insistent you stay out of black. With your skin, it would certainly not suit.”
Georgiana grinned. “I’m not certain that wasn’t at the back of his mind when he made his request.”
As she turned her attention to her piece of toast, she was conscious of his lordship’s grey eyes resting on her with approval.
In fact, Lord Winsmere was pleased to approve of his wife’s prospective protégée. Georgiana Hartley, he decided, was a neat little thing. His eye had seen too many beauties to class her as one, but her features were pure and, with the gloss of a little animation, presently lacking, she could lay claim to the appellation of attractive with ease. She was petite, but her figure was full and delicately curved, not unlike Bella’s curvaceous form. And, more important than any other quality, the girl from Italy was not missish. Which was just as well, if she was to deal with his forthright Bella. All in all, Bella’s