Regency Society. Ann Lethbridge
he too had rested. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘Henderson says he thinks we were followed here yesterday evening. The grooms told him someone was inquiring for a gentleman travelling with a youth, but since I had warned them to be on their guard they told him nothing.’
‘Was he a Frenchman?’
‘Yes, they seem to think so—at least they said he had a queer accent, so it seems likely it was Thierry or one of his cronies.’
A little shiver ran down Georgie’s spine. She had hoped that Thierry would be left far behind, but if he had followed her here he might have ideas of snatching her from beneath her great-aunt’s nose. She would have to be careful not to go out alone.
‘Well, are you ready?’ Richard looked at her, a crease forming on his brow. ‘You need not be afraid of him, you know. I think it must be me he wants. He believes I know something about him—and perhaps I do, if I could but think what it is.’
‘You have never met him?’ Georgie asked. She tipped her head to one side, considering as he shook his head. ‘Some might think him very handsome, but I do not. He is a fine figure of a man, but there is something… greasy about him. And he has a horrid way of looking at one.’
‘Yes, I think I know what you mean,’ Richard said. He had met characters he would describe as oily in the past and understood what she was trying to say. It was a slyness, a smoothness of manner that was too ingratiating to be believed, and an unpleasant feeling of being laughed at secretly. ‘Well, are you prepared for what comes next?’
‘Yes…at least I must be,’ Georgie said. She moved towards him, laying her hand on his arm. ‘You did mean it when you said I might call on you if I needed you?’
‘I never say what I do not mean,’ he told her with an encouraging smile. ‘Come, be brave, Georgie. You faced a shot that might have killed you and bolting horses with courage—what can be so terrifying about one elderly lady?’
‘Nothing, of course,’ Georgie said and gave him her hand, allowing him to help her into the carriage. She was puzzled when he closed the door. ‘You are coming with me?’
‘Naturally. I shall ride. My wound has almost healed and it does not pain me now; I think the exercise will do it good. That rogue who fired at us did me a favour, for when the wound split open the poison seeped out, and since then I have felt much better.’
‘I am glad,’ Georgie said. She watched from the window as he mounted his horse and set off a little ahead of the carriage, Henderson following to ride at his side. ‘So very glad.’
Her eyes felt moist as she sat back, clasping her hands in front of her. Her heart was beating very fast, but she raised her head, a gleam of pride in her eyes. She was determined not to be anxious. If her great-aunt refused to take her in she would simply…well, she did not quite know what she would do, but perhaps Richard would be able to suggest somewhere she might go.
Georgie relaxed as best she could for the next half an hour; then, seeing a village sign which proclaimed itself as Shrewsbury Morton, she sat forward and looked out at the view. They were passing through a pretty village with a fine church. It seemed something was going on at the church, for several carriages had arrived and people were getting out of them. Georgie saw that they were all wearing black and, hearing the mournful toll of a church bell, realised they must be attending a funeral. It was clear that whoever had died must be a person of importance, for the carriages belonged to good families, and the service was well attended.
Her driver had been obliged to halt the horses because of the traffic and she saw that Richard had also reined in and was talking to someone. She could see his face clearly and it was obvious that something was wrong. She shivered as he looked back at her, sensing bad news. He dismounted, gave the reins to Henderson and walked back to her, opening the door and climbing inside. His manner was thoughtful, sympathetic, as he reached forward to touch her hand.
‘I am afraid I have some bad news for you, Georgie,’ he said, a serious expression on his face. ‘There is a funeral today and…they tell me it is for the Countess of Shrewsbury. Apparently, she died of an illness that has plagued her for some months. It was not unexpected, but sudden at the end.’
‘Oh…’ Georgie stared at him. Her eyes pricked with tears. ‘How very sad. I had no idea she was ill. She wrote to me only occasionally, usually on my birthday or at Christmas, but she always sent a gift and her letters were kind.’
‘I asked who was attending the funeral and it appears that she has no immediate relatives. Her great-niece has been informed, but has not replied…that is you, Georgie. The letter must have gone to your uncle’s home after you left.’
Georgie looked at the church. ‘Do you think I should attend? Would it look strange if I went in wearing these clothes?’
‘Do you wish to?’ he asked. ‘You hardly knew her after all.’
‘She was my great-aunt. I suppose I may explain my lack of proper dress if anyone asks.’ She looked at him shyly. ‘Will you accompany me?’
‘Of course. She was my sister’s friend for many years.’ He frowned. ‘I dare say that means Amelia may be here.’ He nodded and gave her his hand. ‘Wear your pelisse, for it will cover most of your gown—but your hair should be covered.’
‘I’ll wear my cap,’ Georgie said and undid her valise. She set the brown cloth cap on the back of her head. ‘It may look odd, but will be better than showing disrespect in church.’
‘It looks…different,’ Richard said, a gleam in his eyes, because there was something very appealing though slightly shocking in seeing that masculine cap set on her luxuriant dark hair when she was wearing feminine apparel.
They joined the last stragglers, taking up places right at the back of the church. One or two turned their heads to look, but as she was not known to anyone local few thought it odd—except for the rather strange attire she wore. However, since she was seated at the back only a few noticed.
Georgie sat staring straight ahead. She felt close to tears, though she was not certain whether her emotion was for the death of an elderly lady she had never met, at least since she was a very small child, or her own situation. The shock of realising that all her hopes had vanished in a puff of smoke was one of the reasons she had asked to attend the church service. It would give her a little time to consider what she ought to do now.
Clearly, she could not expect to live at the countess’s home in the circumstances. It would probably be shut up with just a few staff to care for it until the new owner took it over. She had no idea who that person was, but suspected it might be a distant cousin of the late countess’s husband. Since she knew nothing of him, whoever he might be, she could certainly not throw herself on his mercy.
It was very awkward, Georgie realised. She must either beg Richard to help her again or return to her uncle—and that she was determined not to do! Perhaps he knew of a respectable widow who might help her to set up an establishment of her own?
She could think of no alternative and thrust the worry from her mind as she listened to the vicar praising the goodness of her great-aunt. Tears trickled down her cheeks, because she felt very much alone. She had hoped that her great-aunt would be pleased to see her and the disappointment was hard to bear.
After the ceremony was over, the congregation followed the coffin out to the graveside. Richard and Georgie stood well back, feeling that neither of them was properly dressed for such an affair. Georgie was about to turn away when Richard took her arm and steered her towards a small party of mourners, one of whom was a very pretty young woman of perhaps seven and twenty. She turned her head as they approached, a look of astonishment in her eyes.
‘Richard! How came you here?’ Her bright eyes took in his dress, which was not at all suited to the occasion. ‘I wrote, but was not sure you had my letter in time to make the journey.’
‘I did not have your letter at all,’ Richard said and went