Read Online A Scandalous Countess: A Novel of the Malloren World by Jo Beverley - Free Book Online
Authors: Jo Beverley
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made it easy for vile-minded people to believe the worst.
The time she’d diced for kisses.
The goddess costume that gave the illusion of bare breasts.
Being caught kissing Harry Shaldon at Lady Rothgar’s ball.
That had been unfortunate, but Dickon had made light of it, even claiming that he’d lost the right to the kiss at cards. He’d not reproached her afterward either.
Dear Dickon.
But that alone had made the story of her being Vance’s lover credible to some. As if there were any comparison. Shaldon was a bold, sporting gentleman, but he was a gentleman. For all his birth, Sir Charnley Vance was not.
“Take my advice now,” Jane said, knotting the laces. “Behave perfectly, for all eyes will judge you—”
“I know that.”
“But do not show anxiety or shame. That duel was your husband’s folly, no more than that, and though you’ve grieved for him most tenderly, you have nothing with which to reproach yourself.”
Georgia almost argued, for she knew her sins, but what Jane said was mostly true. She was innocent—of anything really bad, at least.
“Now, what gown, milady? The cream lustring, the blue, the fawn with roses?”
“The gray tabby.”
“That thing! It’s hardly suitable for dusting, never mind dining with dukes and earls.”
“It’s my best half mourning. I won’t dress in colors, Jane. I resolved to give Dickon the twelve months, and to renege on that simply because I mingle with the beau monde would be despicable.”
“I doubt any of them are watching the date.”
Georgia laughed. “They’ll be counting the days as carefully as they count those to the birth of a first child. The gray. Hurry. To be late will make me all the more significant.”
“Then put on the pockets and hoops whilst I get it.”
Georgia was tying the second knot when Jane returned, her arms full of smoky cloth. It did rather look like a dark cloud.
“When you’re finished with gray, milady, I’ll say a prayer of thanks. It performs a miracle and makes you drab.”
“Drab is exactly what we want now.”
Jane passed over the skirt and Georgia put it on. Next came the bodice, which hooked up the front and reached modestly to her collarbone. She scrutinized herself in the mirror.
“Can you find that frilled insert, Jane? And the snood cap.”
Her maid gave a snort of disgust but soon returned with the two linen items. The insert fastened around Georgia’s neck and tucked down beneath the bodice, front and back.
“Positively nunlike,” Georgia said. “This should smother any thoughts of the Scandalous Countess.”
“A scandal it is that anyone call you that, milady, and you scarce more than a girl even yet. Sit you down and I’ll fix on the cap.”
“I don’t think age plays a part,” Georgia said, obeying. “There are girls at Danae House who were raped, but others who danced merrily along the path to disaster at fourteen.” Danae House was a charity for disgraced serving girls.
Jane twisted up Georgia’s thick hair and pinned it tightly. “It’s not suitable for you to be involved with such as them.”
“Is it wrong for Lady Rothgar to be a patroness, or Lady Walgrave, or the Duchess of Ithorne?”
“They’re all older than you, milady.” Jane shoved a last pin into Georgia’s hair and added the snood, which covered all the hair at the back. Georgia tucked away as much of her front hair as possible.
“Jewelry, milady?”
To wear none other than her wedding ring would be eccentric, but what? “The pearl studs,” Georgia said, taking out the plain gold ones she was wearing. “And my mourning bracelet.”
When Jane returned, Georgia put in the earrings and then slid the mourning bracelet on her right wrist, pullinga face at it. The black and silver band held a crystal that protected a lock of Dickon’s brown hair. It always made her
The time she’d diced for kisses.
The goddess costume that gave the illusion of bare breasts.
Being caught kissing Harry Shaldon at Lady Rothgar’s ball.
That had been unfortunate, but Dickon had made light of it, even claiming that he’d lost the right to the kiss at cards. He’d not reproached her afterward either.
Dear Dickon.
But that alone had made the story of her being Vance’s lover credible to some. As if there were any comparison. Shaldon was a bold, sporting gentleman, but he was a gentleman. For all his birth, Sir Charnley Vance was not.
“Take my advice now,” Jane said, knotting the laces. “Behave perfectly, for all eyes will judge you—”
“I know that.”
“But do not show anxiety or shame. That duel was your husband’s folly, no more than that, and though you’ve grieved for him most tenderly, you have nothing with which to reproach yourself.”
Georgia almost argued, for she knew her sins, but what Jane said was mostly true. She was innocent—of anything really bad, at least.
“Now, what gown, milady? The cream lustring, the blue, the fawn with roses?”
“The gray tabby.”
“That thing! It’s hardly suitable for dusting, never mind dining with dukes and earls.”
“It’s my best half mourning. I won’t dress in colors, Jane. I resolved to give Dickon the twelve months, and to renege on that simply because I mingle with the beau monde would be despicable.”
“I doubt any of them are watching the date.”
Georgia laughed. “They’ll be counting the days as carefully as they count those to the birth of a first child. The gray. Hurry. To be late will make me all the more significant.”
“Then put on the pockets and hoops whilst I get it.”
Georgia was tying the second knot when Jane returned, her arms full of smoky cloth. It did rather look like a dark cloud.
“When you’re finished with gray, milady, I’ll say a prayer of thanks. It performs a miracle and makes you drab.”
“Drab is exactly what we want now.”
Jane passed over the skirt and Georgia put it on. Next came the bodice, which hooked up the front and reached modestly to her collarbone. She scrutinized herself in the mirror.
“Can you find that frilled insert, Jane? And the snood cap.”
Her maid gave a snort of disgust but soon returned with the two linen items. The insert fastened around Georgia’s neck and tucked down beneath the bodice, front and back.
“Positively nunlike,” Georgia said. “This should smother any thoughts of the Scandalous Countess.”
“A scandal it is that anyone call you that, milady, and you scarce more than a girl even yet. Sit you down and I’ll fix on the cap.”
“I don’t think age plays a part,” Georgia said, obeying. “There are girls at Danae House who were raped, but others who danced merrily along the path to disaster at fourteen.” Danae House was a charity for disgraced serving girls.
Jane twisted up Georgia’s thick hair and pinned it tightly. “It’s not suitable for you to be involved with such as them.”
“Is it wrong for Lady Rothgar to be a patroness, or Lady Walgrave, or the Duchess of Ithorne?”
“They’re all older than you, milady.” Jane shoved a last pin into Georgia’s hair and added the snood, which covered all the hair at the back. Georgia tucked away as much of her front hair as possible.
“Jewelry, milady?”
To wear none other than her wedding ring would be eccentric, but what? “The pearl studs,” Georgia said, taking out the plain gold ones she was wearing. “And my mourning bracelet.”
When Jane returned, Georgia put in the earrings and then slid the mourning bracelet on her right wrist, pullinga face at it. The black and silver band held a crystal that protected a lock of Dickon’s brown hair. It always made her
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