Chapter Eight

No sooner had the highly shocked housekeeper, Mrs Barnet, delivered her into her aunt’s care than the still somewhat dazed Georgianne was stunned to learn that, despite all that had happened since she and Catford had ridden out of the stableyard, only little over an hour had elapsed since that time. Lady Letitia, she discovered, was still dressed in her peignoir, sitting at her dressing- table, partaking of her usual morning cup of hot chocolate. Most of the other guests, it appeared, were only just beginning to make their way down to the breakfast room.

Even as she related the distressing events that had brought her to her aunt’s boudoir at such an early hour, she could not help feeling that it was strange that something that had had such an impact on her own life seemed not to impinge upon the lives of those around her. Aunt Letty was as solicitous as it was possible for anyone to be, of course, but her concern was all for Georgianne’s comfort and the fact that Olympus had been injured seemed not to bother her ladyship in the slightest—in fact, she advised her deeply subdued niece to put the matter out of her mind, hastening to assure her that her Uncle Charles would be sure to provide her with a new mount as soon as she was pronounced fit to ride again.

Much too dispirited to take her aunt to task for exhibiting such a matter-of-fact attitude to what she herself considered to be a good deal more serious, Georgianne meekly submitted herself to her ladyship’s sympathetic ministrations. In next to no time, she found herself bathed, annointed all over with a soothing emollient and tucked up in her bed, with a flannel-wrapped, stone hot-water bottle at her feet, despite the warmth of the day. Ignoring her protests, her aunt had summoned Dr Travers, having informed her that, since the physician was due to attend the injured kitchen-maid that afternoon, it would do no harm to have him give Georgianne a quick examination, just to satisfy them all that she had suffered no lasting damage.

‘In the meantime,’ she added, with a gentle smile, as she turned to leave the room, ‘it would be as well for you to try to forget all about it and just snuggle down and enjoy a little cosseting, for a change!’

Although she did her best to comply with her aunt’s bidding, Georgianne found it impossible to shut out the troublesome and often incomplete images that would persist in crowding her brain and, before long, the tears she had succeeded in keeping at bay since her return home began to flow in earnest. Alone in her room, she pressed her face into her pillow, in an attempt to silence her racking sobs. The hands of her bedside clock moved steadfastly onwards but still she wept, until finally, a state of sheer exhaustion, along with the sodden wreck of her pillow, brought her anguish to a shuddering close.

Tossing the offending article to one side, she heaved a long quivering sigh and, closing her eyes, now red- rimmed and badly swollen, she eventually drifted off into a restless, dream-filled sleep.

   

Shortly after noon, she was awakened by her maid, Emily, bearing messages of sympathy from various members of the house party and informing her that Dr Travers was on his way up to see her.

‘Would you like to sit up to receive him, Miss Georgianne?’ she asked, as she fussed around her mistress, straightening the bedcovers and plumping up the pillows, only to utter a startled, ‘Good grief, miss! Did you upset your water carafe—this here pillow is saturated— I’d best change it for a fresh one!’

Struggling up into a sitting position, Georgianne was dismayed to find that, despite the earlier application of bruise-reducing ointments, every single part of her body ached. Clearly, she had landed more heavily than she had supposed, although it was gratifying to note that her head now seemed to be free of the confusing fog that had previously invaded her thoughts.

‘Now, then, my girl!’ came the doctor’s booming tones, as he strode into her room. ‘What’s this I hear? Falling off a horse, at your age, my dear! I’m surprised at you!’

Although she had known Dr Travers since her early childhood, Georgianne found it difficult to conjure up the expected smile at his heartening sallies, which were intended, as she had learned long ago, to raise his patients’ spirits. Not that this attempt at bonhomie always had the desired effect, of course, and she was not entirely sure that her present situation called for such joviality. Nevertheless, it was beyond her to snub the elderly physician, for she knew that his intentions were thoroughly well meaning.

‘Yes, it was very silly of me, Doctor,’ she acquiesced. ‘But you really had no need to trouble yourself—I ache a bit, it’s true, but I dare say a day or so in bed will soon put an end to that.’

‘Allow me to be the judge of that, young lady!’ returned the doctor, drawing up a chair at her bedside. ‘Any sickness? Visual disturbances?’

Having ascertained that she had suffered none of the usual signs of concussion, Dr Travers then set about examining the rest of Georgianne’s body for sprains and fractures and so on until, with a satisfied nod, he sat back in his chair and pronounced that, apart from a good shaking up—which was no more than one might expect, if one went about falling off horses—she appeared to be as fit as the proverbial fiddle.

‘You may get up as soon as you feel up to it,’ he declaimed, as he tossed his instruments back into his valise. ‘Just take it easy for a couple of days and have your maid keep applying the hamamelis lotion.’

With that, he departed, but no sooner had he quit the room than the door was flung open again and in bounced Stephanie, her cornflower-blue eyes wide with curiosity.

‘Oh, Georgie!’ she exclaimed. ‘We have all been so worried! Catford has told us what happened! It must have been dreadful for you! Thank goodness you weren’t badly hurt!’

‘Just a few bumps and bruises, which will soon mend, I’m sure,’ Georgianne assured her friend, with a brave attempt at a smile. ‘Doctor Travers says that I am to be allowed up whenever I choose.’

‘Oh, thank goodness! How dreadful it would have been if you had been obliged to miss the ball!’

‘No fear of that, I promise!’ replied Georgianne, keeping her tone light although, at this moment, there was nothing that she felt less like doing than assisting her aunt with the hundred and one things that were going to have to be attended to, if the success of the forthcoming grand event was to be guaranteed. ‘Aunt Letty is depending upon me to help her organise the decorations.’

Stephanie frowned. ‘I can’t think why Lady Letitia doesn’t leave all that sort of thing to the servants,’ she said, lowering herself on to the bed next to Georgianne. ‘If ever I marry and have a house of my own, I shouldn’t wish to be involved in such maudlin domestic affairs—that’s why one employs a housekeeper and a retinue of other employees, surely?’

‘These things do not arrange themselves,’ countered Georgianne, with a light laugh. ‘They require a highly proficient hostess, such as my aunt, to bring together all the infinitesimal details that are involved in orchestrating what is—even given the most dedicated staff— a most frightfully complicated business. If you do not intend to involve yourself in the running of your own residence, we must just hope that the man that you marry—whoever he may be—will prove wealthy enough to provide you with a skilled staff who have no difficulty in interpreting their mistress’s requirements, without her prior instruction!’

‘I suppose you’re right,’ sighed Stephanie, jumping to her feet and pacing restlessly about the room. ‘I shall never be as practical as you are, no matter how hard I try and, as for being wealthy—I just wish there were a way I could find out how rich he is without actually asking him point blank!’

‘Who—w-what?’ faltered Georgianne, staring across at her friend with a puzzled frown. ‘Who are on earth are you talking about?’

‘Jeremy Fenton, of course!’ returned Stephanie, with a defiant toss of her blonde ringlets. ‘He has been describing his life in London to me and I do so envy him. Trips to the theatre and the opera house, visits to pleasure gardens and parties almost every night! And, you can tell by the cut of his jacket that his tailor cannot be cheap.’

‘But you can’t possibly contemplate marrying a man based purely on the cut of his jacket!’ exclaimed the startled Georgianne, whose own impression of Maitland’s dandified cousin had left her with the distinct feeling that he was something of a mountebank and, more than likely, given to indulging in wild flights of fancy. ‘Besides which, I thought you had your heart set on capturing a duke or an earl!’

‘Fat chance I have of coming across either one of those stuck in this awful backwater,’ shrugged the disaffected Stephanie. ‘An heir to a baronetcy looks to be about the best I can do—for the moment, at any rate.’ Pausing, she pondered her reflection in the looking- glass, absent-mindedly rearranging a stray curl, before adding, ‘I sometimes wonder if I didn’t make the most dreadful mistake in not snapping up Catford when I had the chance! In fact, if it weren’t for that horrid gammy leg of his…’

‘Steffi!’ gasped her dismayed friend. ‘I won’t have you saying such beastly things about poor Cat!’

‘Well, you can’t argue with the fact that he’s not nearly so attractive as he was three years ago,’ returned the unrepentant Stephanie. ‘Whereas, Mr Fenton, as well as being remarkably handsome, has a decidedly dashing air about him. I just wish I could find out if he has enough money to make him worth my while!’

‘Oh, honestly, Steffi!’ chortled Georgianne, as she collapsed back on her pillows in a fit of giggles. ‘You are quite incorrigible! What Lady Highsmith would say, if she were to hear you making that sort of remark, I cannot imagine!’

‘If you really must know,’ retorted Stephanie abruptly, turning around to confront her friend, ‘my dearest grandmama has given me every reason to suppose that she will never countenance my marrying anyone, regardless of his rank or station. Some few weeks ago, I took the opportunity to snatch a quick look at her will, while she was out of her office.’ Ignoring Georgianne’s shocked face, she went on, ‘It appears that she has left her entire estate to me—but only on the proviso that I continue running Highsmith House as always and that I never marry—otherwise the estate goes straight into a trust fund and I get a paltry five hundred pounds a year annuity!’

For several minutes, Georgianne stared at her friend in silence, unable to think of anything to say. She was finding it difficult to believe that Lady Highsmith would be so cruel as to treat her granddaughter, her only living relative and one whom everyone could see she petted and spoiled most dreadfully, in such a callous and heartless way.

‘But, why?’ she eventually managed. ‘Why would she do such a thing?’

‘Oh, she’s always had this weird belief that all men are inherently evil.’ Stephanie shrugged. ‘My grandfather was a bit of a beast, by all accounts, and involving herself with all these fallen women must have given her a rather distorted view of the opposite sex, I suppose. In any event, I mean to do something about it all before she gets back from Harrogate—it’s merely a question of considering where my best options lie!’

Shaking her head in disbelief, Georgianne was just about to remonstrate with her friend, when the door opened and Lady Letitia entered, bearing a tray. Upon seeing that her niece already had a visitor, she gave a little frown.

‘Now, off you go, Stephanie,’ she directed, as she laid down the tray on Georgianne’s nightstand. ‘I believe I told everyone that Georgianne was not to be disturbed for the rest of the day—I find it rather surprising that you chose to disregard my instructions.’

‘I only just popped in for a minute to see how she was faring, ma’am,’ came Stephanie’s swift rejoinder, as she hurriedly made for the door. ‘I won’t bother her again, I promise you.’

‘Ridiculous child!’ tutted Lady Letitia, as she straightened her niece’s coverlet. ‘I swear that she sometimes tries my patience to the limit! How are you feeling, my dear?’

‘Much better, Aunt Letty,’ Georgianne was happy to assure her.

Her aunt gave a satisfied nod. ‘I am very glad to hear it, dear girl,’ she said. ‘And, if it will ease your mind, Eddie has instructed me to tell you that Olympus is now safely ensconced in her stall and her injuries have been attended to.’

Nodding smilingly at the expression of relief on her niece’s face, she then added, ‘And now, my love, Cook has sent up some tit-bits to tempt your appetite—a bowl of her delicious chicken broth and a tiny piece of grilled salmon. Do try to eat a little of it, dearest—she will be so upset if you don’t. Emily will be along shortly with the lotion and a fresh hot-water bottle and then you can settle down for the night, without fear of anyone disturbing you again.’

To her surprise, Georgianne discovered that she was, in fact, quite hungry and soon managed to polish off Cook’s offerings, along with the glass of wine that her aunt had so thoughtfully provided. Following which, her maid’s gentle massaging with the soothing lotion gradually had the effect of making her feel quite drowsy again and, snuggling down once more into the lavender-scented softness of the newly replaced pillows, she readied herself for sleep.

As she slowly drifted off, she was unable to prevent her thoughts from wandering over the day’s events. Although she had been shocked by Stephanie’s unexpected confidences, she could not help wondering whether it might not be preferable to be in her friend’s shoes rather than in her own at this point in her life. At the very least, she reasoned sleepily, Stephanie did have the option of marrying or not, as she chose, whereas she herself would never be given that luxury. Due to some foolish indiscretion on the part of parents whom she had never even known, their daughter appeared to be condemned to lifelong spinsterhood. And, even though Cousin Eddie had insisted that there were a good many men around who would dismiss the murky details surrounding her birth as being of little consequence, how was she to recognise such a man? Would he be tall or short, fat or thin, or would he have broad shoulders, a fine physique and clear grey, laughing eyes like…?

With a hint of a smile upon her face, she fell into a deep sleep.