Constance leaned forward. “Lytton. I know his aunt.”
Lucinda’s brows came together. “Is she not the sour woman with gray hair who is always complaining about everything and everyone?”
“Yes. Lady Witten.” Constance nodded. “I remember a story—it must be five years ago or more now—Lytton had contracted a marriage, but before the wedding could take place the lady’s father died. Lady Witten told him if he married the young lady she would withhold his inheritance.”
“He must have obeyed her.” Cristabel did not think much of a gentleman who would jilt a lady. Still . . . “Why is she in such a powerful position?”
“The earldom has never been wealthy,” Constance explained. “Lytton’s mother was a considerable heiress, but her grandfather had made his money in trade. His father was apparently not good with finances, and the estate is still in need of funds. The marriage to the lady had been arranged by Lytton’s mother, who was a good friend of the lady’s mother. She was in Bath for her health when Lady Witten intervened. Apparently, Lady Witten’s father left a great deal of money to his grandson if he married a lady of whom his aunt approved. You see, he had not approved of his son’s marriage.”
“And her ladyship did not approve of the young lady her nephew was to have wed?” Cristabel asked. This all sounded a bit Machiavellian.
Constance raised her brows. “She did not approve of the means of the father’s death.”
“Ah. Now I understand.” There must have been a rumor that the gentleman had committed suicide. Cristabel shook her head. It was disgusting how some people played with the lives of others.
“You are saying,” Lucinda said, “that Lytton will be looking for a wife. I must admit that after hearing he jilted a lady, I do not want him around Georgie.”
“Neither will Lord Turley.” Constance smiled smugly. “It might be just the thing to inform Lady Turner that Georgie is still looking for a husband.”
Lucinda appeared thoughtful for a moment. “A hint in Lytton’s ear?”
“What more do you know about what Lady Witten wants?” It seemed to Cristabel that there must be something else going on. “One would think that a woman as controlling as her ladyship would have already selected a wife for her nephew.”
“Indeed.” Constance nodded. “She has grown tired of Lytton’s inability to find a wife and has decided upon a lady.”
“And will the lady be at the house party?” Lucinda asked.
Constance turned to Cristabel. “Which ladies will be there?”
“I have no idea. I was only interested in the gentlemen. And as the party will begin this evening, does it really matter? I have arranged for us to visit the dowager Lady Turner. We will be able to discover who is there after we arrive.”
“Excellent.” Constance inclined her head. “I shall look forward to it.”
Cristabel was as looking forward to it as well.
* * *
Georgie looked at herself in the mirror and made a face. “I shall be happy when I can wear colors other than white, yellow, and light green.” The only exception was her red riding habit and only because she did not ride in Town. “I wonder if my mother will make an exception for next Season.”
“You will have to ask her,” came her maid’s noncommittal reply.
Or if she married.
Georgie had never been happier that she had trained her mare to kneel than she had been today. The feel of Turley’s hands around her waist sent her senses scurrying. It was too thrilling and tempting, and made her want to throw herself into his arms. She would like to think that she had enough love for both of them, but that was a poor way to enter into a marriage. And the time she had spent with him today made her wonder just how well she actually knew him. He seemed different. Lighter. As if he was not being weighed down by responsibilities. Was it the difference between his Town persona and the way he was in the country? Or had he put a distance between them because he had already decided he did not love her? Or would not allow himself to love her. Yet if that was the case why the difference in his behavior now? She stifled a sigh. If only she knew what to do. When she had first heard about the house party, Georgie had decided to forget Turley and get on with her life. But now that he was here she could not stop herself from hoping he would change his mind about loving her. Fortunately, her grandmother and the duchess were either already here or would be soon. She had received a short note informing her of their pending arrival.
“Miss, I’m done.”
Smith’s voice brought Georgie out of her reverie as the ornate marble and gold clock on the fireplace mantel struck the half hour. She rose. Smith placed a light pashmina wool shawl covered with images of colorful birds and flowers over Georgie’s shoulders and handed her a pale yellow reticule. “There you are, Miss Georgie. Your gloves are in the reticule with your pins, fan, and handkerchief.”
“Thank you.” The shawl made her happier. “I do not think we will be too late.”
“Not with as tired as her ladyship’s been recently.” Smith began straightening the toilet table.
Georgie really should have been in the drawing room before now, and she hurried down the stairs. Turley would be here soon, and she would rather be with Adeline when he arrived. As it was, just as Frits handed Georgie a glass of claret, the front door opened, and Turley could be heard greeting the butler.
“You look nervous.” Adeline’s tone was evidence of her concern.
“I shall be fine.” Or Georgie would if she could stop thinking about how his hands had seemed to burn through the cotton of her habit and her petticoats. Perhaps she should start wearing long stays. But wearing long stays while riding would not be comfortable. She took a long drink of wine and almost choked when Turley entered without being announced.
He greeted Frits and Adeline before making his way to Georgie, then took her ungloved hand and bowed, touching his lips to her fingers. “Miss Featherton, good evening.”
The warmth of his lips caused her fingers to tingle and she almost forgot to curtsey. “Good evening to you, my lord.”
He glanced at Frits. “Thank you for sending the coach.”
“You’re welcome.” Frits looked at Adeline. “It was my wife’s idea. She decided that walking would not do your dress pumps any good, and you’d probably not think to ask for the use of my mother’s carriage.”
Turley pulled a face. “And you were correct, my lady. I was about to set out on foot when the coach arrived. Thank you.”
“Better that than riding a horse.” Her nose wrinkled. “My mother once told me about an American who rode to a dinner party. She said he smelled of horse the whole evening.”
“That must have been unpleasant.” Georgie could not imagine such behavior.
Frits pressed a glass into Turley’s hand. “I have attempted to find out, but I still have no idea what or who we’ll find at Turner’s house.”
That reminded Georgie about the coach she and Turley had seen earlier. “Is there anyone who lives close enough that a visitor might get turned around on the back lane to Littleton?”
“Bottomley has a house in the area. I suppose that if he had a visitor they could have missed the turn to his estate and landed up on our road.” Frits cast a look at Adeline. “Bottomley isn’t usually here during the Season.”