The rumors had abounded – that her brother had told her she could not have a season, that she’d begged him. That he’d insisted that, as an unwed mother, she remain indoors. That she’d pleaded with him. That neighbors had heard screaming. Wailing. Cursing. That the duke had exiled her and she’d returned without his permission.
The gossip pages had gone wild, each trying to outdo the other with tales of the return of Georgiana Pearson, Lady Disrepute.
The most popular of the rags, The Scandal Sheet, had run the legendary cartoon – scandalizing and somewhat blasphemous, Georgiana high atop a horse, wrapped only her hair, holding a swaddled baby with the face of a girl. Part Lady Godiva, part Virgin Mary, with the disdainful Duke of Leighton standing by, watching, horrified.
She’d ignored the cartoon, as one did, until one week prior, when an uncommonly warm day had tempted half of London into Hyde Park. Caroline had begged for a ride, and Georgiana had reluctantly left her work to join her. It had not been the first time they’d appeared in public, but it had been the first time since the cartoon, and Caroline had noticed the stares.
They’d dismounted on a rise leading down to the Serpentine, grey and muddy with late winter, and led the horses down toward the lake where a group of girls barely older than Caroline stood the way girls did – in a cluster of whispers and barbs. Georgiana had seen it enough times to know that no group of girls like this one would bring any good.
But Caroline’s hope had shone on her bright young face, and Georgiana hadn’t had the heart to pull her away. Even as she was desperate to do just that.
Caroline had moved closer to the girls, all while attempting to look as though her movement was unintentional. Unplanned. How was it that all girls everywhere knew this movement? The quiet sidle that hinted of simultaneous optimism and fear? The silent request for notice?
It was a miracle of courage born of youth and folly.
The girls noticed Georgiana first, recognizing her, no doubt from bearing witness to the wide eyes and wagging tongues of their mothers, and they surmised Caroline’s identity within seconds, heads lifting and craning while whispers increased. Georgiana hung back, resisting the urge to step between the bears and their bait. Perhaps she was wrong. Perhaps there would be kindness. Greeting. Acceptance.
And then the leader of the group saw her.
She and Caroline were rarely identified as mother and daughter. She was young enough for them to be mislabeled as sisters, and Georgiana, while she did not hide from Society, rarely entered it.
But the moment the pretty blond girl’s eyes went wide with recognition – curse all gossiping mothers – Georgiana knew that Caroline done for. She wanted desperately to stop her. To end it before it could begin.
She took a step forward, toward them.
Too late.
“The park is not what it used to be,” said the girl, with knowledge and scorn beyond her years. “They allow anyone simply to wander here. With no regard to pedigree.”
Caroline froze, reins of her beloved horse forgotten in her hand as she pretended not to hear. As she tried not to hear.
“Or parentage,” another girl said with cruel glee.
And there it was, hovering in the air. The unspoken word.
Bastard.
Georgiana wanted to slap their faces.
The gaggle tittered, gloved hands flying to lips, ostensibly hiding smiles even as teeth flashed. Caroline turned toward her, green eyes liquid.
Don’t cry, Georgiana willed. Don’t let them see that they’ve struck true.
She wasn’t sure if the words were for herself or her daughter.
Caroline did not cry, though her cheeks blazed with color. Embarrassed of her birth. Of her mother. Of a dozen things she could not change.
She returned to Georgiana’s side then, moving idly, stroking the neck of her mount, fairly wandering – bless her – as though to prove that she would not be chased away.
When she returned, Georgiana had been so proud, she’d had difficulty speaking past the knot in her throat. She hadn’t had to speak. Caroline had spoken first, loud enough to be heard. “Or politesse.”
Georgiana had laughed her shock, even as Caroline had mounted her horse and looked down at her. “I shall race you to the Grosvenor Gate.”
They’d raced. And Caroline had won. Twice in one morning.
But how often would she lose?
The question returned her to the present. To the ballroom, to the dance, in the arms of the Duke of Lamont, surrounded by the aristocracy. “She has no future,” Georgiana said quietly. “I destroyed it.”
Temple sighed.
She continued. “I thought I could buy her entrance to wherever she liked. I told myself that Chase could open any door into which she desired entry.”
Her words were quiet, and the dance kept anyone from hearing the conversation. “Not without people asking questions about why the owner of a gaming hell is so concerned about the bastard daughter of a lady.”
Her teeth clenched tight. She’d made so many promises in her life – promises to teach Society a well-deserved lesson. Promises never to bow to them.
Promises never to let them touch her daughter.
But some vows, no matter how firm, could not be kept.
“I wield such power, and still, not enough to save a little girl.” She paused. “If I don’t do this, what will happen to her?”
“I’ll keep her safe,” the duke vowed. “As will you. And the others.” An earl. A marquess. Her business partners, each wealthy and titled and powerful. “Your brother.”