Chapter Twenty-eight

 

Lord Warwick returned from a bracing horseback ride along Brighton's white cliffs to be informed by his butler that a visitor awaited him in the peach salon. Because the butler was even-more-than-usually impassive, Garth concluded that his visitor was not quite the thing. Curious, he divested himself of top hat and gloves and riding crop, and proceeded down the hallway.

The peach salon was called so for very good reason; that color predominated in wall hangings, furnishings, and rugs. It was not a color that flattered the sole occupant of the chamber, who was pacing about in so energetic a manner that, if not interrupted, she might well wear a pathway around the perimeters of the room. Lord Warwick moved quickly toward her. "Georgie," he said, in some surprise.

Lady Georgiana paused in her perambulations. "Don't dare mention my reputation! Or remonstrate with me for coming here. I already know that I must come under the gravest censure for visiting the quarters of any gentleman, let alone one to whose name a disagreeable stigma is attached, and that my conduct must give rise to just the sort of scandal-broth which must be abhorred." Lord Warwick had reached her side, and she looked up at him. "Have I got it right? I wished you to know that I am perfectly conversant with the civilities."

Georgie was still determined to quarrel with him, it seemed. So much so that she risked her reputation by coming to his quarters. "I might have said," Garth admitted, "something of the sort."

"Excellent!" Georgie pushed her tangled hair out of her face. "Then I have saved you working yourself into a fidget by saying it first."

Lady Georgiana was disheveled, flushed, her blond curls all a-blowze. Garth thought she had never looked lovelier. "My dear, what is it?" he said gently. "Is your brother worse?"

At this kindness, Georgie blinked back tears. "No, not Andrew, but everybody else. You told me once that I should come to you if I was in trouble, Garth. Well, I am in trouble. Unless you can help me, we shall be truly in the suds. Things are in such a muddle that I do not know where to begin."

Garth disliked to see Georgie so pulled-about. He took her hands in his. "You have decided to go back on your word."

Georgie wrinkled her pretty nose. "I wish you would not phrase it in quite that manner. Anyway, I do not see that I have a choice. If anyone can straighten out this tangle, it is you."

Lord Warwick smiled at her. "I appreciate your vote of confidence, I think. Do go on, my dear."

Here was the telling moment. Georgie screwed up her courage. "No," she said.

"No?" Garth echoed, startled.

"No," Georgie repeated, firmly. "I wish that you would kiss me first. We are not at odds at the moment, and I wish to savor the sensation, because I fear that we soon shall be again."

Georgie was acting most unlike herself. Was that brandy Garth smelled on her breath? "Georgie, have you been drinking?" he inquired.

Now that Lord Warwick mentioned it, Georgie did feel a little odd. "I didn't mean to, but I may have done. Agatha made a tisane for Andrew, and I swallowed it instead. Please, Garth, I do wish that you would kiss me—but only providing that afterward you do not run away."

"Run away?" Lord Warwick caught Georgie by her shoulders. "Is that what you think, that I have run away from you?"

Georgie fought back tears. It was the fault of Agatha's potion that she was grown so weepy, she told herself. "You kiss me, then you say you shouldn't, and then you play least-in-sight. After the last time you kissed me, you went out of town."

Georgie looked altogether adorable, with her reddened nose and tear-filled eyes and wildly tangled hair. Lord Warwick told himself it would be unwise to smile. "My dear," he murmured, "what do you think brought me to Brighton in the first place?"

Georgie blinked. "I do not know. I thought perhaps it was because Prinny was in Brighton. Or that it had something to do with Catherine."

"Nothing of the sort." Garth rested his hand against her cheek. "Prinny's presence was an influence, but I had learned that you were here. I would have gotten up the courage to call on you, Georgie, had we not first collided on the beach."

Georgie was speechless. Or almost. "Me?" she whispered. "Oh, Garth!" And then, because she looked so adorable, and because he was so very tired of being honourable, and because both were so overwhelmed by their mutual admissions, an interval of kissing ensued. When that interval concluded, Lord Warwick was seated on a peach-colored sofa, with Georgie on his lap. "Before we forget ourselves altogether," he murmured, "I think you should tell me about this coil you wish me to untangle."

Georgie sighed, and removed herself from Lord Warwick's lap, lest in reaction to the tale she was about to tell him, he dump her on the floor. "Did you know that Carlisle Sutton was acquainted with Catherine?" she asked. "He was asking me a great many questions about you, and her. I had the impression that he knew Catherine fairly well."

Carlisle Sutton and Catherine? Garth was intrigued. Not as intrigued as he was jealous of Georgie's own association with the man, which was unworthy of him, because Garth did not imagine that Georgie had sat on Carlisle Sutton's lap. "Continue," he said.

"Mr. Sutton has found out that we sheltered Marigold, and is very angry." Georgie resumed her pacing around the room. "He also offered her a slip on the shoulder, and so she is very angry with him. Lump is lost, and Miss Inchquist, and Andrew has hurt his leg—" She burst into tears.

Garth could not bear to see Georgie cry. As a result, she found herself back in his lap. "You said Catherine developed a partiality for another gentleman? Could it have been Carlisle Sutton?" she asked, when she was done sniffling.

"Doubtful," retorted Garth, as he mopped her face with his handkerchief. "A man like Sutton would not have danced long to Catherine's tune. Tell me something, Georgia, just who are you embroidering those damned slippers for?"

Slippers? Whether due to Lord Warwick's proximity, or Agatha's potion, Georgie couldn't think. "Oh! Andrew, of course."

There was one burning question answered. "And why are you estranged from your family?" Garth inquired.

Georgie lowered her gaze to his cravat, which was sadly rumpled, as well as tear-stained. "We could not agree on a certain matter," she murmured.

Lord Warwick had little doubt of what that matter was. Another interval of kissing ensued. "Let me see if I have got this right," he said, at its conclusion. "Your Mrs. Smith, who is an actress, lost a certain gem at play. Magnus Eliot has that gem. Carlisle Sutton wants it back. Your brother tried to steal it from Magnus Eliot. This conundrum has brought your brother to a state of nervous and physical exhaustion, which causes him to mumble incoherently about twenty-five thousand pounds. And Miss Inchquist—who the devil is Miss Inchquist? No, don't tell me—has run off with a fortune-hunting twiddlepoop."

Georgie sighed. "Something like that."

Garth set her aside and stood up. "I suppose I need not point out that did you wish to subject your family to another round of notoriety, you could not have come up with a muddle that would fascinate the gossips more."

Surely she was not going to cry again! Georgie blinked back tears. "You promised you would not lecture me."

"I am not lecturing." Garth paused in front of a looking-glass to adjust his cravat. "I am mystified as to the reason why you should think that I might wish to lecture you. Granted, I have lectured you in the past. Unfortunately, it is my tendency to treat you as though you were still a girl, which demonstrably you are not, but I cannot treat you as I truly wish to, and therefore fall back on my old ways."

Georgie wondered how Lord Warwick truly wished to treat her. "You are in an odd mood," she said.

Garth turned toward her and arched his brow. "Missing emeralds. Vanished heiresses. Actresses and rakehells."

Georgie winced. "I take your point. Garth, you said you would never turn away from me. Have you changed your mind?"

How forlorn she looked, huddled on his peach sofa. "I promise that I shall neither turn away nor run away from you," said Garth. "Now go home and wait for me."

Georgie didn't know that she wanted to return home. Heaven only knew what additional disasters might await her there. "What are you going to do?" she asked, as she got up from the couch.

"I don't know what I may do!" responded Garth. "Talk with Magnus Eliot, I suppose. I'll say this for you, Georgie: you pick the devil of a way to call in your vowels."