‘I’ll not repeat Miss Bagshott’s socialism, but you should warn her that it would be wiser not to pull caps with me a second time.’ She nodded dismissal and rode off into the fog at a smart trot. Catton turned about in his saddle as he rode past, giving Ivo a warning glance before disappearing in her wake.
Ivo sucked in a frustrated sigh and turned his horse back towards Mayfair. There was no point in pursuing George, not in the current mood she was in.
Things were bad when the servants warned you off.
He had every hope of clearing things up. Of explaining. Regardless of his grandfather’s claims and his mother’s wishes, he had never been engaged to Miss Bagshott. And he never would be.
And, as her parting words as he’d assisted her out of his grandfather’s carriage had been something to the effect of never having been so humiliated, and being sure that she could place her dependence on his not thrusting his presence upon her ever again, there was clearly no expectation in that quarter of a forthcoming offer.
He was sorry that expectations had been raised, but he hadn’t been the one to raise them. As for George, she owed him four more nights, and if he had to use her promise to blackmail her into listening to him, then so be it.
Chapter Thirteen
Mrs E— appears to have conquered yet another lordling, if reports of wild rides in Hyde Park and late-night revels in her home are to be believed…and believe them we do.
Tête-à-Tête, 4 November 1788
George flexed her hand around her crop, savouring the weight of it. A gallop that had brought out a foaming sweat on her mount had done nothing to calm her. She was still shaking with the urge to beat Dauntry senseless and give him another scar to remember her by.
Running lightly up the steps of the Morpeths’ town house, she found herself still fuming. An afternoon surrounded by men was about as appealing as overcooked turbot. And the idea of being anywhere Dauntry might be able to find her was insupportable. Victoria’s salon offered a safe haven. Possibly the only one in London.
The humiliation of the sensation of heartbreak that had welled up inside her when his grandfather had introduced his future bride was still fresh. It shouldn’t have mattered, and that’s what stung the most.
He’d teased her into breaking her most sacrosanct rule, and this was the price she paid for it.
Damn him.
And damn her for letting this happen. She knew better.
She was greeted at the door by her godson, Hayden, who slid across the marble hall as though it were ice, his cries of ‘Aunt George!’ causing their long-suffering butler to wince, squeezing one eye shut as though it would somehow make the boy quieter.
George braced herself for the inevitable collision. Hay threw his arms around her, hugging her tightly.
The Morpeths’ youngest son was still in the nursery, while the eldest was at Eton, but nine-year-old Hayden had yet to be sent away to school. Next year…
‘Hello, Hay.’ Something about Hayden just forced one to adore him. She hugged him back, then brushed his hair back into place with her fingers.
He smiled up at her, pale grey eyes full of mischief. He hugged her again for good measure before releasing her. ‘I wanted to ask you something particularly. Before Mother arrives.’
‘And what might that be, imp?’ She repressed the urge to respond with a conspiratorial smile. The last thing Hay needed was encouragement.
‘Julius’s godfather is taking him to see a review of the troops in Hyde Park when he comes home,’ he began, staring up at her earnestly, his small frame aquiver.
‘And you want me to take you, too?’ It was all too easy to picture the trouble he was likely to get them both into at such an event.
‘No! I want you take me to Astley’s! They have zebras now,’ he threw in as his clincher.
Zebras. An inducement indeed. ‘And wherever did you hear about this new addition?’
‘Oh, Ned Arden was telling me all about it yesterday.’
‘Well then, that seals it. We must go. It would be insupportable for such a slow top as Ned Arden to steal a march on us.’
Hayden gave her a beatific smile and assured her that he’d been sure she’d understand the necessity of the thing once it was properly explained to her.
‘We could take Aubrey, too,’ he added, generously including his baby brother in the treat. George smiled, and conceded that they could indeed take Aubrey. She was still chuckling when she entered the drawing room, Hayden having run off to find his father, who had promised to take him out for a fencing lesson that morning.
He was such a charming little monster. Zebras, indeed.
Victoria, upon George’s entering the drawing room, inquired immediately what her son had wheedled out of her. ‘For I know that look,’ she said, ‘all of Hayden’s victims wear it.’
George could do nothing but laugh for a moment. Victoria was really far too knowing. Though with three extremely lively boys and a husband that encouraged their most outrageous antics, she clearly needed to be.
‘Hay just wants to go to Astley’s,’ she assured her friend, taking a seat next to her, petticoats spilling over the settee. ‘I think we’ll take Aubrey along as well, if you’ll entrust two of your offspring to me at once.’
‘Are you sure?’ Victoria inquired. ‘After what happened last time?’
‘But last time it was to see a traveling circus, and how was I to know Morpeth gives Hay such exorbitant amounts of pocket money? And really, can you blame him? It was—after all—an equestrian monkey.’ George’s lips quivered, but she managed not to
