had first seen him. He stood near a wooden column, one of six that dotted the room at regular intervals to uphold the ceiling.
“I beg your pardon?”
“The lemonade.” He had a glass in his hand, but stepped forward to set it on a nearby table. “It is too warm to provide refreshment.”
“I know.” Despite having no interest in her own half-empty glass, Georgiana sipped from it and glanced back at Sir Laurence. Miss Elliot had not gone directly to Mrs. Wentworth, who held Alfred; she had instead paused halfway across the room, and the party was now in conversation again. Georgiana watched them, her expression apprehensive.
“For the record,” St. Clair said, “I do not have a single titled godparent.”
His statement drew her attention back to him. “It is a wonder, then, that you were admitted to this grandiose affair.”
“I keep the fact a closely guarded secret.” His mouth quirked, and his eyes held irreverent liveliness. “Pray, do not expose me to Miss Elliot, or I might be shown the door.”
His entreaty elicited the beginning of a smile. “I assure you, Lieutenant, your confidence is safely entrusted.”
He offered to fetch her more lemonade if she truly wanted it. She declined, setting her unwanted glass beside his. “I would much rather hear how you managed to survive all these years with such shockingly ordinary connexions.”
“I am terribly ill equipped, am I not? But my godparents are a most beloved aunt and uncle—two of many. In assorted relations, I am plentifully endowed.”
“Have you numerous siblings, as well?” she asked.
“What would you consider ‘numerous’?”
“Having grown up with only a single brother, I would deem three abundant.”
“I have seven.”
Her eyes widened. “Seven! All brothers?”
“Three sisters. The eldest is married and lives in London; the other two are still at home.”
“I have often wished I had more siblings. But seven! Have you also a generous number of nieces and nephews?”
“Not quite a full dozen—at least, at last count,” he said with a fond look in his eyes. “Incidentally, I am godfather to two of them. We shall have to hope they grow up none the worse for the connexion.”
As they spoke, the sun’s angle shifted just enough that now its rays lanced the window and raised the temperature in the room still more. Georgiana withdrew a fan from her reticule and waved it slowly. “Whatever is it like, being part of such a large family?”
“When we are all together, rather noisy.” He paused, his expression becoming wistful. “But in the best of ways.”
“You missed them, while you were so long overseas.” It was not a question; she could read the truth in his countenance.
“Very much. I have missed my parents, as well. They all write often, as do I, but it is not the same as being in their houses, enjoying spontaneous conversation and mirth and even the occasional disagreement.”
“Have you visited any of your family since returning to England?”
“No, I—there are other matters to which I must attend first.”
“You are fortunate to have your parents still alive. You should visit them while you are able.”
“Yours, I take it, are not?”
“My father died eight years ago, and my mother…” The fan stopped, and her voice grew softer. “Giving birth to me.”
“Oh, Miss Darcy!” His expression was one of genuine sympathy. “Forgive me. Had I known the circumstances of your mother’s death, I never would have brought up so painful a subject.”
“You could not have realized. And I have had nineteen years to make my peace with it. Still, I often wonder how it would have been to grow up under her influence, to have her with me even now.”
“Have you spoken with your brother of these feelings?”
“We speak of our mother, but I do not speak of her loss. As much as I regret that I never knew her, he did, and I feel responsible for having taken her from him.”
His brows drew together. “Surely he does not blame you?”
“Oh, heavens no. I keep silent because he is such a conscientious brother that it would grieve him to know I have such thoughts.”
“It grieves me to know them, and I have only just met you.”
A flush crept into her cheeks as self-consciousness overtook her. “Forgive me for having burdened you with such a confidence. I—I do not know what possessed me to reveal it to so new an acquaintance.”
“I am not burdened,” he said in all sincerity. “And I assure you, Miss Darcy, it is safely entrusted.”
“Nevertheless—”
Lieutenant St. Clair’s gaze suddenly shifted to a spot behind her shoulder. Georgiana turned to see her brother approaching. He reached them in a few strides and looked from one to the other.
“Good afternoon, Lieutenant.”
St. Clair greeted Darcy amiably while Georgiana composed herself.
“I am glad to have spotted you over here,” Darcy said to his sister. “I lost sight of you for a while.” Again, he glanced between them, wondering what he had interrupted. Georgiana’s flustered demeanor suggested that the lieutenant had been speaking in an inappropriate manner. “Is all well?”
“Oh! Yes—quite,” Georgiana said. “The rest of my party abandoned me, but Lieutenant St. Clair has been so good as to ensure I was not left entirely alone.”
“We were just discussing the subject of godparents,” St. Clair said.
“I see.” Darcy, in fact, did not see at all how such an innocuous topic could unsettle his sister, and again presumed the lieutenant’s manner must be at fault. “Well, thank you, Lieutenant. I can attend my sister now.”
The sea officer knew a dismissal when he heard one. Lieutenant St. Clair looked at Georgiana once more. “I enjoyed our conversation, Miss Darcy.”
When the officer was out of hearing, Darcy turned to her. “Was he troubling you?”
She opened her fan. “Not at all. He was a perfect gentleman.”
“You appear upset.”
She watched St. Clair blend into the crowd and shook her head. “Only warm. It is too close in this room.” Her fan moved rapidly. “Come, let us find more lemonade.”
Twenty-Two
“The manæuvres of selfishness and duplicity must ever be revolting, but I have heard nothing which really surprises me.”
Mrs. Smith’s history of her acquaintance with Mrs. Clay was interrupted by the arrival of Anne Wentworth and Alfred. The exhausted heir had fallen asleep in Mrs. Wentworth’s arms, and now dozed peacefully. Elizabeth helped Anne settle into the chair she had been compelled to abandon earlier.
As the new godmother smoothed the infant’s robe, Mrs. Smith observed her with approval. “Look how content he is at last, Anne. You are a natural with him.”
“Do you truly think so?”
“He could be in no better arms. You are doing very well by him.”
For whatever her opinion was worth, Elizabeth agreed. Of all Alfred’s blood relations and godparents, the Wentworths seemed the most genuinely interested in his welfare, and Anne the most attuned to his needs.
