Page 21 of The Meddler
Lord Langley at first seemed pleased, but then suddenly his expression darkened.
“Is there something wrong in it, Lord Langley?” Georgiana asked.
“Wrong? No, not at all,” Lord Langley said. His expression cleared just as fast as it had clouded.
“Now I suppose we may return to the more usual subjects of a supper?” Lady Annabelle asked peevishly.
After the mysterywas solved, the supper had seemed to drag on for Georgiana. Whatever subject was raised, Lady Annabelle somehow managed to steer it in her own direction. She was like a fisherman on the banks of the Thames, casting her line to reel in compliments.
A comment on how pleasant Hyde Park was in the afternoons made a sharp turn to Lady Annabelle’s new riding habit, which was a very dark green. The lady was sure it would not compliment her complexion. Lord Bertridge claimed that it would, though Lord Langley only looked as if he wondered why she’d had it made in that color in the first place.
Lord Bertridge, who apparently was a keen reader, spoke of a new author he quite admired, a young man going only by PBS but who was discovered to be named Percy Shelley and currently studying at university. Lady Annabelle wondered if reading made her eyes squinty and claimed she must look frightful at the pastime.
Lord Bertridge, rather indefatigable in the face of these fishing expeditions, claimed her eyes could never look squinty, they simply wouldn’t dare. Lord Langley, on the other hand, seemed out of patience with the sport and only said, “You might try better light.”
Georgiana had not added much to the conversation, not yet having been to Hyde Park, not worried about the color of her own riding habit, not having readZastrozziby young Percy Shelley, and not having ever thought of squinty eyes.
She was not sorry to be so quiet, she thought she had put herself forward quite enough for one evening. As well, it gave her ample opportunity to observe Lord Langley, which was developing into a very enjoyable pastime. Though she could not look for anything serious there, it was pleasant to be seated close by and examine his rather wonderful hands and listen to the deep timbre of his voice and note the varying shades of his dusky hair in the candlelight.
When they haddeparted, Lady Mendleton fussed with her cloak and her fan in the carriage and then said, “You know my dear, it’s all well and good to be clever. But I do think triumphing at Lord Ryland’s mystery may have been a bit…conspicuous. And of course, Lady Featherstone was a bit let down, she does try so hard at these things though she never seems to succeed. Well, there’s nothing to be done about it, I only say for future…”
Georgiana had been afraid the lady might feel something like that, as she’d felt rather conspicuous herself. As for Lady Featherstone, Georgiana would not have had the first idea that the lady was keen on murder mysteries. She was rather sorry she did not know it, as she would have been happy to step aside and not have put so much thought into it.
“The prize,” Lord Langley said, “is tea with Queen Charlotte. Miss Wilcox may bring a guest.”
Lady Mendleton dropped her fan on the carriage floor. As her son retrieved it for her, she said, “Tea? The queen? Well, my goodness, that does put things in a different light!”
“I thought it might,” Lord Langley said drily.
*
Jasper poured himselfa brandy and paced his bedchamber, having waved off Marcus for the night. Though it was near three, he doubted he would get much sleep.
He’d had the vague idea that it would be informative to view how Miss Wilcox approached Lord Ryland’s mystery. Well, now he’d seen. He’d wondered if she would carry on like so many ladies before her, fanning herself and pretending at shock. She’d not appeared shocked at all, not at the mention of murder or a young woman heavy with child but with no husband.
She had not been shocked, but shehadbeen exceedingly clever. He had watched her, head bent over the clues and circling them, a loose dark curl falling over her shoulder. He’d had both the urge to touch the curl but also ask her if she’d spoken to the newspapers. He’d both wished to lean toward her to pick up her scent but interrogate her on her purpose in his mother’s house.
Could it be true, though? Could this alluring lady have been sent in to gather information about the king and his infirmities to relay to the newspapers? If it was, how was she supposed to do it? The encounter with the king on the road was pure happenstance. If she was sent here to gather information, how was she to go about it?
Pry information from himself, he supposed. There was every possibility that whoever the villains were, they knew or suspected that he was tasked with protecting the king’s privacy. If there were spies about, and he was certain there were, they could not have missed his numerous visits to both Kew Palace and the queen at Buckingham.
Now Miss Wilcox was to have tea with the queen. Was that a lucky accident or had she somehow been tipped off beforehand that it would be Ryland’s prize? She certainly had made every effort to win the prize, not at all like Lady Annabelle, who had no more insightfulness than a fish.
Jasper threw himself into a chair by the window. He very much wished Miss Wilcox was just another lady he met at a ball.
What if she had been? What if he’d turned up at Ryland’s ball this evening and spotted her across the room?
He would have made straight for her and been delighted by her rather forthright manner. He would have wondered at a lady so beautiful that seemed to have not a care for her looks. He would have taken her into supper and marveled at her cleverness.
He might have…he might have pursued her. Despite his rather constant claim that he was too busy to think of marriage, he’d always known that if he sawthelady, he would not tarry. The seasons were filled with simpering females. Simpering, coquettish, short, and irritating. If one were lucky enough to happen upon quite a different sort of lady, one should not drag one’s heels. There would be plenty of other fellows who wouldn’t. While he could do little to imagine life as a female, he certainly understood they had a horror of being put on a shelf. That horror caused decisions to be made with alacrity. Only last year, Miss Bernes had accepted Lord Gregory, to the woe of Lord James who’d taken his time. Too much time, as it turned out. No, if a gentleman had interest, he ought not twiddle his thumbs.
Good God. He could not allow himself to think of Miss Wilcox in that manner. He did not know what she was. Not yet, anyway.
He must somehow tell the queen of his suspicions to put her on her guard. Yet, he must be careful not to entirely condemn Miss Wilcox. He might be wrong.
As he thought of dancing with her, her light feet and graceful movements, her pretty face looking up at him, the surprising heat of her hand through her glove, hehopedhe was wrong.
*
