Marigold's husbands might be held responsible for her current foolhardiness. "Blast and damn!" muttered Georgie, and kicked at an inoffensive seashell.
A large shape loomed up out of the fog. Georgie jumped. "I see that you are again unchaperoned," Lord Warwick remarked.
Georgie gestured, as Lump emerged from the fog with the driftwood in his jaws. "Not precisely. I wondered if I might find you here."
"I have grown accustomed to taking solitary walks." Garth smiled to see the riotous blond curls that escaped her bonnet. "You look like some water nymph sprung up out of the mist."
He looked like a devil, conjured up out of the fog to steal away her heart. Georgie blinked. Appalling, the effect Marigold had on one's imagination. "I am thinking of taking a course of sea-bathing. Perhaps I shall even hire a bathing machine."
Then perhaps Lord Warwick would hire a telescope, like those other gentlemen who sat on the Marine Parade and gazed out to sea, watching not for incoming enemy ships but inspecting the ladies in their flannel smocks as they floundered about in the muddy water. "Ah," he said ironically. "The lovely Mrs. Smith."
Marigold had made no conquest of Lord Warwick. "She is lovely, isn't she?" Georgie responded. "One might also wish she had good sense. I must ask you not to mention her presence to anyone, Garth. Pray ask me no questions, because I cannot explain."
"Come, walk with me before you take a chill." Garth offered her his arm. "Is there nothing I can do? I do not like to see you worrying yourself to death."
He could kiss her, Georgie thought. Not that a kiss would solve any of her problems, but it would feel very nice. "We are at sixes and sevens," she admitted. "Marigold is the least of my worries, to say the truth."
About those other worries, Lord Warwick had some notion. "You must know that Wellington has been elevated from viscount to earl. Your brother was with Mackinnon at Cuidad Rodrigo, was he not?"
Georgie glanced up at him, startled. "I did not think you were acquainted with my brother." Lord Warwick shook his head. "I sometimes wonder if Andrew will ever wholly recover. He has recurrent fevers. And nightmares. And gets to raving sometimes about the things he saw there."
Lord Warwick had a clearer notion of the sights of the Peninsula than did Andrew's sister. Scant wonder the boy raved. "I knew Mackinnon. He once impersonated the Duke of York at a banquet and dived headfirst into a punch bowl. Another time, when Wellington was visiting a convent, Mackinnon pretended to be a nun. Wellington was quite taken with the lady, or so the story goes."
Georgie smiled. "I think Andrew would like to talk of him. If you would not mind."
Garth would not mind anything that made Georgie less unhappy. Unless, perhaps, that something involved kissing someone other than himself. "I am at your service. And I will plague you with no questions so long as you promise to come to me if you find yourself in over your head with this business. I have taken a house on the Royal Crescent for the season." He paused. "You will be interested to know that Prinny has now lost not only some fingers, and the whole of his right arm, but also a portion of his nose."
The Royal Crescent, built facing the sea by a West Indian speculator, was a most fashionable address. The houses there were faced with black mathematical tiles, and in the center of the garden enclosure stood a buff-colored statue of the Prince of Wales. Perhaps Georgie should go inspect the defaced statue, for which either the weather or vandals were to blame. Or perhaps she should inspect the lodgings hired by Garth.
Georgie was rendered strangely breathless by this shocking notion. She pinched Lord Warwick's arm. "It is not kind of you to try and distract me! Or perhaps it is."
Lord Warwick wished that he might distract Georgie all the more. "There is one question I must ask. However came you by that nitwit of a butler?"
Georgie gurgled with laughter. "Poor
A large shape loomed up out of the fog. Georgie jumped. "I see that you are again unchaperoned," Lord Warwick remarked.
Georgie gestured, as Lump emerged from the fog with the driftwood in his jaws. "Not precisely. I wondered if I might find you here."
"I have grown accustomed to taking solitary walks." Garth smiled to see the riotous blond curls that escaped her bonnet. "You look like some water nymph sprung up out of the mist."
He looked like a devil, conjured up out of the fog to steal away her heart. Georgie blinked. Appalling, the effect Marigold had on one's imagination. "I am thinking of taking a course of sea-bathing. Perhaps I shall even hire a bathing machine."
Then perhaps Lord Warwick would hire a telescope, like those other gentlemen who sat on the Marine Parade and gazed out to sea, watching not for incoming enemy ships but inspecting the ladies in their flannel smocks as they floundered about in the muddy water. "Ah," he said ironically. "The lovely Mrs. Smith."
Marigold had made no conquest of Lord Warwick. "She is lovely, isn't she?" Georgie responded. "One might also wish she had good sense. I must ask you not to mention her presence to anyone, Garth. Pray ask me no questions, because I cannot explain."
"Come, walk with me before you take a chill." Garth offered her his arm. "Is there nothing I can do? I do not like to see you worrying yourself to death."
He could kiss her, Georgie thought. Not that a kiss would solve any of her problems, but it would feel very nice. "We are at sixes and sevens," she admitted. "Marigold is the least of my worries, to say the truth."
About those other worries, Lord Warwick had some notion. "You must know that Wellington has been elevated from viscount to earl. Your brother was with Mackinnon at Cuidad Rodrigo, was he not?"
Georgie glanced up at him, startled. "I did not think you were acquainted with my brother." Lord Warwick shook his head. "I sometimes wonder if Andrew will ever wholly recover. He has recurrent fevers. And nightmares. And gets to raving sometimes about the things he saw there."
Lord Warwick had a clearer notion of the sights of the Peninsula than did Andrew's sister. Scant wonder the boy raved. "I knew Mackinnon. He once impersonated the Duke of York at a banquet and dived headfirst into a punch bowl. Another time, when Wellington was visiting a convent, Mackinnon pretended to be a nun. Wellington was quite taken with the lady, or so the story goes."
Georgie smiled. "I think Andrew would like to talk of him. If you would not mind."
Garth would not mind anything that made Georgie less unhappy. Unless, perhaps, that something involved kissing someone other than himself. "I am at your service. And I will plague you with no questions so long as you promise to come to me if you find yourself in over your head with this business. I have taken a house on the Royal Crescent for the season." He paused. "You will be interested to know that Prinny has now lost not only some fingers, and the whole of his right arm, but also a portion of his nose."
The Royal Crescent, built facing the sea by a West Indian speculator, was a most fashionable address. The houses there were faced with black mathematical tiles, and in the center of the garden enclosure stood a buff-colored statue of the Prince of Wales. Perhaps Georgie should go inspect the defaced statue, for which either the weather or vandals were to blame. Or perhaps she should inspect the lodgings hired by Garth.
Georgie was rendered strangely breathless by this shocking notion. She pinched Lord Warwick's arm. "It is not kind of you to try and distract me! Or perhaps it is."
Lord Warwick wished that he might distract Georgie all the more. "There is one question I must ask. However came you by that nitwit of a butler?"
Georgie gurgled with laughter. "Poor
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