Page 7 of The Meddler
“His given name is Jasper and he’s always got the look of ease about him, like he knows what’s what. He’s ever so tall and he’s got his mother’s light hair—sandy colored I’d call it. Tis a blessingthat’swhat he got from her, as she’s on the short and plump side which suits her ever so well, but wouldn’t do him any good. He’s persnickety about his clothes and he’s got a new valet and there seems to be some bumps in the road there. Anyway, he’s a mysterious sort, always running off to the queen’s side.”
Georgiana could not help but think Lord Langley sounded rather dashing. Perhaps even mysteriously dashing if he were a confidante of royalty. “He is often found at the queen’s side?” she asked.
“The very one, that poor love. Can you imagine, being married to a king and life is roses, then he goes all funny on you?”
Of course, Georgiana could not imagine any such thing, but she understood Jenny’s meaning well enough. Though the king had always managed to recover from whatever malady he suffered from, it had begun to seem that he would not this time.
“I heard they locked the poor old king up right and tight. Though, nobody understands what the queen needs Lord Langley for, at least I don’t, as he don’t tell his valet anything and so we don’t hear it at the servant’s table. Shame, as I’d like to know it. I suppose there’s ladies all over London who’d like to know it. I heard from Meggy, who is lady’s maid to Lady Featherstone, that Lord Langley is thought of as quite the catch who won’t be caught.”
Georgiana was beginning to realize that she walked into a far more complicated situation than she had thought. In her mind’s eye, as she had prepared for London, she had envisioned parties and balls, escorted to all by a rather non-descript, faceless lady. Now, she was hearing of all these people! Real people, and a society that had been formed. As well as a dowry? She felt she carried more responsibility on her shoulders than she had envisioned. Or that she would like.
Jenny finally wore herself out and fell asleep, despite the rocking and shaking of the carriage over rough roads. Georgiana gazed out the window, feeling entirely unprepared for whatever she was walking into.
They had passed through Hounslow and neared Kew, making alarmingly good progress. Georgiana wished the coach would slow down, that she would have more time to think. Or just to delay. She and her father had held a rather brief and fact-less conversation about the rules of Town. She’d not concerned herself overmuch about it and thought she would approach it as she did a gallop on a horse—she would jump that fence when she got to it. Now, she was fast approaching that fence and she wished she knew more than she did!
As if God had heard her prayers, the coach came to an abrupt halt on a shaded country lane.
Jenny opened her eyes and said, “Are we there already?”
“No,” Georgiana said, “we have suddenly stopped.” Though she had wished for a delay, now that she thought about it, it was odd that they had suddenly come to a standstill. She hoped they were not on the verge of being robbed. She had not much to take, but she understood those sorts of encounters could be violent.
“Stand aside, sir, you block the road,” the coachman shouted.
It did indeed sound as if they encountered highwaymen. Who else deliberately blocked the road? Georgiana carefully opened the window and peered out. Ahead of the coach was an odd-looking older gentleman. His bottom half seemed dressed richly and he wore highly polished boots. His top half did not match, though. He wore some sort of odd waistcoat with undone buckles swinging everywhere.
“No need to rush off, you rascal,” the man said to the coachman, “I am only trying to do you a service. Do you not see that if you plant this carriage you will end with two of them? There is a likely field just ahead. You’ll need a shovel, though.”
Georgiana sat back, away from the window. The man was stricken with madness. She understood well enough the unpredictability of the state. Mr. Jenner’s nephew suffered from the condition—one moment he was a jolly enough fellow and the next he was weeping, terrified he’d burned down the barn. Even showing him the barn still standing might not always be enough to soothe him.
The sound of hoofbeats sounded in the distance and grew ever closer. Georgiana turned her head to see three men reining in their horses. The largest of them dismounted. He tipped his hat to Georgiana and approached the man. She could just hear him say, “There you are, sire, let’s just get you back now.”
Georgiana took in a sharp breath. The old gentleman was no ordinary man. He was the King of England. How did she not know it instantly? He was rumored to be tucked away at Kew Palace, which was not a half mile off. Apparently, he was not as locked up right and tight as Jenny had thought.
Jenny peered out the window and murmured, “The poor queen, having a husband go all funny like that.”
A carriage that must have been following the men on horseback pulled up behind their own carriage. As the burly man walked the king to it, the king paused at her window. He said, “I was just trying to help. Sometimes I perceive things other people can’t see.”
He walked on and Georgiana was struck by how downcast he seemed that their coachman had been unwilling to bury his coach and receive two in return. It was sad, really. How frightening it must be to live in a world where one’s own mind betrayed in such a manner—where everything that seemed real was not real to anybody else.
“Poor fella,” Jenny said.
“Indeed,” Georgiana said. “I think we should not speak of what we have seen here. It will do nobody any good. And, it seemed a rather private moment.”
Jenny nodded vigorously. “Right you are, Miss Wilcox, nobody likes a gossip. I’ll tell the boys and Carstares that it’s to be lips buttoned shut.”
*
Jasper was inhis bedchamber, attempting once again to demonstrate to his new valet how to properly arrange his neckcloth, when the ruckus reached his ears.
The front door had been thrown open with a bang that reverberated through the house and his mother was on the pavement crying, “My dear Miss Wilcox!”
“Leave it for now, Marcus,” he said, putting aside his neckcloth and making his way to the window. He would very much like to get a look at his mother’s latest project. Lady Mendleton had been extolling the young lady’s charms for days, though nobody had yet set eyes on her. He sat on the window bench and pulled aside the curtain.
Jenny had come out of the carriage first, laughing and seeming as flighty as she ever was. A lady with a rather remarkable head of dark hair peeking out from under a charming blue bonnet had followed her.
She momentarily glanced up at the house and he could see that she was quite lovely. She was not one of those round-faced girls with dimples, rather her features were more sculpted. Perhaps it was the dark hair and dark eyes that gave her a more refined, classical look than many of the ladies he encountered. So often they were fair-haired with the sort of plump cheeks that made them look as if they were barely out of the schoolroom. They tended toward light blue eyes, which he did not care for, though his own were only a shade or two deeper.
He smiled to himself, as he realized he had given the matter some thought, and likely developed his aversion to that sort of girl from personal experience. His mother was intent on making a match between him and Lady Annabelle Rumsford. That she was the daughter of a marquess was the only thing to recommend her, as far as he was concerned. She was short, and very pale. Pale hair, pale eyes, pale skin. Her conversation was equally pale—she relied on angling for compliments, as if her pale looks demanded to be commented on. It had been tiresome in the extreme the last time he’d been seated next to her at a dinner.
