“He has a point there.” Constance frowned. “If only more people, young and old, realized the heart has a mind of its own.” She reached over and tugged the bellpull. “What role are we to play?”
“That will remain to be seen. However, I shall tell my maid to have my traveling bag packed. There is no telling when we might have to dash off somewhere.”
“I shall do the same,” Constance responded.
Lucinda was about to rise when a thought occurred to her. “It will behoove us to find a way to convince Turley to visit Littlewood.”
“Perhaps that is the reason Cristabel is coming to Town.” Constance laid her book in her lap. “For all we know he has no idea where she is.”
“Hmm.” Lucinda perched her elbow on the arm of her chair and placed her chin on her hand. “Or he does know but either has no interest in following her, or he has been given to understand that she does not wish to see him, or has been told not to follow her.”
“I think that describes all of our options, but how shall we discover which one it is?” her friend asked.
“I believe we must rely on Cristabel to find the answer.” Lucinda heaved a sigh. “It might be tomorrow before we see her.”
“You might not have to wait for long.” Constance pointed toward the door. “It appears we have company.”
No sooner than she had finished the sentence than their butler announced their friend. “Cristabel, my dear.” Lucinda rose to greet the younger woman. “We are very glad to see you.”
“I did hope that you would not mind me simply coming by.” Cristabel embraced Lucinda and held her hand out to Constance. “What a pickle that young man has made of the whole thing.”
The tea tray arrived and Lucinda poured. “So we gathered. He definitely made a mess of it with poor Georgie.”
Cristabel withdrew the pin from her bonnet and removed it. “What a lovely room. I adore how you have combined the richer colors with lighter ones.”
As much as Lucinda wanted to get on to her granddaughter, this was one of her favorite rooms in the house, and it was the result of a great deal of compromise. “Constance selected the wall coverings”—a rich red—“and I found the hangings to lighten the room.” Lucinda had been fortunate to find a lovely print on a white background with splashes of the same color as the walls. “We are very pleased with the results.”
“As you should be.” Cristabel took a cup of tea from Lucinda. “You will want to know that I spent some time with Georgie at Littlewood. She is putting on a good face, but she is clearly blue-deviled.”
Constance leaned forward to accept her cup of tea before saying, “We need to discover what Turley’s feelings are.”
Cristabel’s finely arched brows drew together. “Is there an entertainment such as a soirée or musical evening being held within the next day or so? That would be much better than a ball where he would be sure to be asked to stand up with young ladies.”
Lucinda mentally reviewed their schedule. “Lady Matthews is having a musical evening tomorrow.”
“In that event, I shall write a note to Turley asking him to escort me,” Cristabel said. “He has been in the way of thinking of me as an aunt and might confide in me without my having to ask.”
“That is an excellent idea.” Constance nodded approvingly.
“It is indeed.” To Lucinda’s mind, having Cristabel ferret out what Turley was thinking and feeling about Georgie was the best possible idea. Soon the three of them would be able to plan their campaign to either see Georgie and Turley married or find another gentleman for her.
* * *
Gavin sat on the side of his bed, cradling his face in his palms. After going to Jackson’s, he couldn’t rid himself of the image of Georgie carrying on as if she did not care about him at all. So much for thinking she might love him.
Damn. There was a reason he didn’t make a habit of getting jug-bitten. He felt like hell. At least he remembered everything. But that thought made him cringe. Including the ladybird who’d tried to interest him in going upstairs with her. Why the devil had he ever gone to a brothel? She’d not been at all happy when despite her efforts he couldn’t seem to form an erection. She’d had some choice words about men drinking too much, but he knew it wasn’t the brandy that had done it. She had not interested him. In fact, none of the light-skirts had stirred his blood even a little. It was after that realization that he’d really begun to drink.
“Drink this down, my lord, and you’ll feel better directly.” Ardley, his valet, handed him a mug.
Gavin didn’t dare even smell it for fear he’d toss his accounts. Ready or not—holding his breath, he gulped it down in one long draw. “That wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”
“I added a bit of honey,” his valet admitted, speaking softly. “The recipe doesn’t call for it, but you don’t make a habit of overindulging.”
So Gavin wasn’t to be punished for dipping too deep. “Thank you. I have remembered exactly why I don’t drink to excess.”
“Last evening you received a letter from Lady Littleton. Would you like it now or after you dress?”
Why the devil would Adeline Littleton write him? Gavin hoped there was nothing wrong with Georgie. Then again, would Lady Littleton write to him about Georgie? Perhaps something was the matter with Littleton. Gavin tried to concentrate on the missive, but his eyes were having trouble focusing and his head felt like horses had trampled upon it. “I’ll read it after I’ve had a strong cup of coffee.”
“Coffee, my lord?” Ardley’s tone was definitely one of shock.
The only time Gavin drank coffee was in a coffee shop. His mother, then his sister complained that it made the house smell. “If we do not have any, then strong tea.”
“Yes, my lord. I believe that can be arranged.” The door opened, water splashed, and the door clicked shut. “If you would like to wash, I shall shave you, if you wish.”
He usually liked to shave himself. It had started as a small defiance against his father, but this morning he had better let his valet do it. He had no doubt that his hands wouldn’t be any steadier than his eyes. “Thank you. I do wish it.”
By the time he began to tie his cravat, Gavin was feeling immeasurably better. His eyesight was not fuzzy any longer and his headache had receded to a faint throbbing. When he arrived in the breakfast room, Lady Littleton’s letter was next to his plate and Broadwell, his butler, placed the teapot and a rack of hot buttered toast on the table.
“How would you like your eggs this morning, my lord?”
Good Lord. The whole household must know Gavin had been in his altitudes. He took stock of his stomach. “Soft-boiled as always.”
“Yes, my lord.”
He poured tea that was as dark as any coffee he’d drunk and added three lumps of sugar to it, then pulled the toast to him, before he remembered the letter. Gavin broke the seal and read.
My dear Turley,
I have come to town for a few days to do some shopping, but there is a musical evening tomorrow, and I would appreciate it if you would act as my escort.