Page 81 of Marry in Scarlet
Aunt Dottie laughed. “I can’t imagine who would be more uncomfortable—Aggie or Logan, or the others sharing the table. And his folk would never be comfortable with me. Logan couldn’t bear the thought of my losing all my friends and the society I was used to, and he had no interest in mixing with them anyway. He knew that in America it would be difficult, but possible—things don’t seem so rigid over there, and nobody would know who we were, anyway.” She spread her hands. “But I never did conceive a child and so the question never arose. And we’ve lived a very happy life together without the outside world gossiping about us and judging us.”
“Really, nobody knows?” George could hardly believe it.
Aunt Dottie gave a mischievous giggle. “A few people might suspect—your uncle Cal has given me a few dark looks when I forget myself and call Logan ‘dear,’ but I doubt he has any real notion of the true state of affairs. Our servants live out for the most part, and those few who don’t—well, whatever they know or suspect, they’ve all been wonderfully loyal and discreet. So you see, my love, it’s been a most delicious secret.”
“And that’s why it doesn’t bother you when Aunt Agatha calls you a failed spinster?”
Aunt Dottie laughed. “Exactly. Every time she says it, I have a secret little chuckle to myself.” Her soft facesobered. “Poor Aggie, she’s been married three times but has never really been loved. It’s natural that she gets a little bitter at times. But she means well, and will do anything to support the family.”
“As long as it’s what she wants,” George said darkly.
“Yes, Aggie usually gets her way in the end.” Aunt Dottie leaned forward and hugged George. “But not always, my love. Not always.” She dusted crumbs off her fingers. “Now, I must go back upstairs. Are you clear about this ‘season’ business?”
“You’re sure it won’t go away?”
“Oh, it might, of course. With some people the heat of desire fades after a short time. The honeymoon period, they call it.”
“Oh.” George brightened.
“But for the lucky ones, like Logan and me, and your uncle and Emm, it only ripens. It’s a blessing for a lifetime.” She rose and smiled down at George. “I think Lily and Rose have it with their husbands, and I suspect you and your duke might be lucky that way too. I have one of myfeelings.”
George mustered a weak smile. A lifetime of being in heat for the duke? Being like putty in his hands? She couldn’t bear it.
***
Logan was making a good recovery and George decided to return to London the following day. Aunt Dottie would stay in Bath until Logan was fully recovered, but she assured George that she’d be back in time for her wedding. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she said.
George set out the next day, taking Betty’s niece Sue with her. It had occurred to her that she’d need a maid of her own once she was married, and thought Sue might be a possibility—a nice, comfortable ordinary girl, rather than the kind of intimidating dresser that some people—for instance Aunt Agatha—had. She would see how well they traveled together.
Sue, when asked, jumped at the chance to visit London. It was, she confessed, her heart’s desire; she’d never traveled more than ten miles past Bath.
They’d made good time and spent the first night in a comfortable inn. Sue’s first time in an inn—she even found the truckle bed brought in for her in George’s room exciting. They continued their journey after a good, early breakfast. The traffic was sparse, the weather was fine and they were making good time. George was gazing dreamily out of the window, thinking over what Aunt Dottie had told her, when a coach-and-four traveling in the opposite direction suddenly veered into the middle of the road.
The postilion’s shouts alerted George to the problem. The coach-and-four bore down on them. The postilion yelled, the coachman bellowed at him to pull over, Sue screamed and George held her breath helplessly and braced herself for the inevitable crash.
It didn’t come. At the last minute the coach-and-four pulled smoothly to one side and stopped. The postilion steered his horses onto the grass verge opposite, and dismounted. He stalked toward the coach, yelling furious abuse and waving his whip in a threatening manner.
George leapt down from the post chaise, determined to give the carriage driver a piece of her mind and to prevent a fight from breaking out. Though seeing that the carriage driver had not left his perch, there was not much danger of actual violence.
The carriage door swung open and a tall dark gentleman stepped down. “Lady Georgiana,” he greeted her smoothly.
“You!” She confronted the duke furiously. “You almost crashed into us! Is your driver drunk?”
“Not in the least. He judged things to an inch.” He strolled forward and murmured a mild apology to her fulminating postilion and slipped something into his palm. The postilion, much to George’s fury, stopped fulminating, pocketed the bribe and with a “No ’arm done, gov’nor, pleasure doin’ business with you,” sauntered back to his horses.
The duke turned back to George and said, calm as youplease, “As soon as I realized it was you in that yellow bounder I told my driver to stop you. So he did.”
George could hardly believe her ears. “You mean you deliberately forced us off the road? We might have been killed.”
“I hardly think so. Jeffries knows his business. He’s been with me for years. Besides, both vehicles were traveling at a trot. There was no question of a collision.”
She glared at him. “What are you doing here, anyway?”
He raised a sardonic brow. “Looking for you, of course.”
“Looking for me? Why?”
A few drops of rain spattered down. He glanced at the sky. “It’s going to rain. Send your maid back to Bath. We’ll continue this conversation in my carriage.”
