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Chapter One
If I were a painting, Miss Georgiana Harrington thought, as she stared at herself critically in the mirror of her vanity, what style would I be in? Romanticism? Neoclassical? Something even older?
The thought made her laugh. She did not usually think of herself in such terms; it displayed a vanity that Georgiana rarely had, but tonight, as she gazed at herself in the mirror, she had to wonder. She had spent the whole day painting, trying her best to imitate the Romantic style that had captivated her so much recently. And as she stared at her dark hair in the mirror, her blueish-green eyes that sometimes appeared gray, and her pale skin, she wondered if she would have been a subject for one of the great painters she admired so much.
Or would they have let me be among them? she wondered, tilting her head to one side. Probably not. She had never heard of a woman Romantic painter.
“Maybe Goya would have painted me,” she said out loud to the room. She was supposed to be downstairs, she knew, about five minutes ago. They were off to a ball tonight at the Duke and Duchess of Saville’s townhouse. And while she was looking forward to it—any chance to see Penelope was one she looked forward to—Georgiana was distracted tonight. She always got distracted when she spent the day painting. It took so much of her mental energy and focus that when it came time to focus on the social engagement she was required to carry out, she found herself off-kilter, like she had been standing on board a ship and now was being returned to dry land.
“No, I am not nearly sensual and dangerous enough to be painted by Goya,” she mused, touching a finger to her cheek. Goya painted dark nightmares. He flirted with the line between sensual and unacceptable. The only reason she had ever seen his work or paintings was because her brother had agreed to take her to an exhibition at Kew Gardens last year, and only late in the evening, when it had already emptied out. He had been scandalized by her interest in the frightening, erotic paintings.
“It is simply an intellectual curiosity,” she had told him at the time, as she had gone to stand underneath La Maja Desnuda. Staring up at the beautiful, naked woman above her, rendered so perfectly and without shame, had filled Georgiana with a strange mix of emotions.
The first had been easy to identify. It was envy. The painting was expertly done, and she had known, looking at it, that she would never, ever be as good. Even if I were as good, she had thought to herself, no one would ever display a woman’s painting like they do ones such as this.
The other emotion had been more difficult to explain. It had felt like a warmth in her stomach, and it had spread to her neck, cheeks, and chest. She had felt as if she were doing something wrong, but at the same time, how could appreciating art ever be wrong?
Now, as she looked at herself in the mirror, Georgiana frowned. It was pointless to compare herself to Goya. She was only twenty, after all—Goya was much older. And he had trained professionally. She was entirely self-taught. And he was a man of the world. She, on the other hand, was a sheltered debutante who had barely left the confines of her parents’ estates in town and the country.
How was she supposed to make great paintings when she had barely seen the world?
Just then, there was a knock on the door, and Georgiana started. She had almost completely forgotten about the ball; she had been so wrapped up in thinking about her paintings and Goya’s. She glanced at the grandfather clock in the mirror. I am almost ten minutes late now!
The door opened, and her lady’s maid came in, a look of eager surprise on her face.
“I know, I know, I am coming,” Georgiana said, picking up her reticule from the vanity and turning to her maid. “Is my mother furious at the delay?”
“No, it is not that,” her lady’s maid, Emily, said, smiling excitedly at her. “It is just—a letter has come for you.”
“For me?” Georgiana’s eyebrows went up. She had never received a letter before. This was only her first Season—she had debuted late at nineteen, as her parents had not felt there was any rush for her to marry and leave them—and there were not many people she even knew.
With trembling hands, she reached out and took the letter from the lady’s maid, who curtsied and left the room, closing the door behind her. Georgiana went to her desk, took out the letter opener, and slit open the letter. Opening it carefully, she began to read.
To Miss Georgiana Harrington:
I am writing as an admirer of your paintings. I had the pleasure of seeing them recently when several were included in a small exhibition of works by young ladies of the ton. The pleasure they gave me was enormous, and I wanted to write and congratulate you on both your prodigious talent and bold approach. It is not usual for young ladies to paint themselves or the other female members of their household. Most choose instead Classical or Biblical themes. I was pleasantly surprised by your choices and struck that yours is a rare talent. I dearly hope that you will continue painting. I am sure that you have a long and prolific career ahead of you.
Yours Truly,
An Admirer
Georgiana reread the letter, then, after putting it down for a moment, picked it up and reread it for a third time. She could not believe the words on the page before her. A secret admirer! Someone who had actually come to that tiny exhibition in Kew Gardens that had mostly consisted of young ladies’ watercolors of, yes, Biblical and mythological scenes. Someone who had not only gone to the exhibition, but who had loved her work and taken the time to write to her here, at home, to tell her.
But why has he not signed his name? she wondered as she stared down at the letter. Perhaps it was not even a he—was it possible that a woman had written this letter? But she suspected, from the tone, and from the fact it was secret, that it was a gentleman. A woman would be able to compliment her paintings without arousing suspicion of a courtship. Not so with a gentleman.
Georgiana’s heart was beating wildly. She had to know who her secret admirer was.
“I must go,” she murmured to herself. She was already so late. Penelope would be able to help her decipher the clues in the letter, surely—Penelope was very clever and knew everyone. Unlike Georgiana, she was not shy around gentlemen.
Georgiana slipped the letter into her reticule, pulled her gloves on, and then made her way from her bedroom to the hall downstairs, where her parents and brother were waiting for her.
“At last!” her mother cried, as Georgiana appeared in the hallway. “My darling, what took you so long?”
“You know how young ladies are before a ball,” her father said, chortling. “You used to be the same, my dear, when we were young.”
“Yes, well, we do not want to keep the duke and duchess waiting,” Lady Harrington said, adjusting her necklace. Georgiana knew that her mother was intimidated by the duke and duchess, who were so powerful and wealthy, so she touched her mother’s hand to show her reassurance.
“Tonight will be perfect,” she said, smiling brightly.
“What are you so happy about?” her brother, James, asked as he helped her into the carriage.
“Nothing,” she said, turning away to hide her smile. “Just looking forward to the ball.”
And discussing my secret admirer with Penelope.
James, to his credit, did not look convinced.
***
As soon as they were announced at the ball and had moved into the main ballroom, Georgiana separated from her family in order to find her friend. It wasn’t hard. As the eldest daughter of the host and hostess, Lady Penelope Warwick was easy to spot in the crowd of people, greeting guests and socializing with the ton’s best and brightest. This was why Georgiana loved her: they had been friends for years, and while Georgiana preferred to be alone in her attic studio, painting, Penelope loved to be the belle of the ball. They were exact opposites of one another, and it suited them perfectly. Even their looks were the exact opposite. Where Georgiana had dark hair and a pale, thin complexion, Penelope had honey-colored blonde locks, golden hazel eyes, a warm complexion, and a soft, round figure. Both were considered beauties, but in very different ways.
“Ahh, Georgiana, there you are!” Penelope cried when she spotted Georgiana. “I have been wondering when you would arrive.”
“I’m here,” Georgiana said, smiling at her friend. “And I have news for you.”
“News?” Penelope’s eyebrows shot up. “Do not tell me that lout of a brother of yours is engaged.”
“What? No, not at all,” Georgiana said, frowning in confusion. “James is not even courting anyone. And he is hardly a lout—he is the most proper gentleman I have ever met.”
“Yes, I know. I was just teasing,” Penelope said quickly. Georgiana took her friend’s hand and led her away from the center of the party, toward the wall, where they would not be overheard. The room was buzzing with people, and it was very loud, but over near the doors that led to the balcony, it was a bit quieter.
Once there, Georgiana pulled the letter from her reticule and handed it to Penelope. “This arrived for me today,” she said. “Just before the ball.”
Penelope’s eyes grew wide as she read it. “And you have no idea who sent it?” she asked, folding the letter up again once she had finished reading it.
“None whatsoever,” Georgiana breathed.
“It is a man, surely,” Penelope said. “A gentleman. But why would he not want you to know his identity? Perhaps he is married, and fears a scandal.”
“Perhaps,” Georgiana said, trying to hide her disappointment at the thought. “Or perhaps he simply does not want to reveal himself until he knows more of my character.”
“Perhaps,” Penelope said. “I would not be surprised if he were to approach you tonight—even if he did not reveal his identity.”
Georgiana’s heart began to race. “Do you really think so?”
So far this Season, she had not thought much about marriage. She knew it was her duty, but she found it difficult to converse with gentlemen. But to be courted by, and to be married to, a man who admired her painting…It was a lovely thought indeed.
“Well, speaking of gentlemen approaching…” Penelope nodded over Georgiana’s shoulder to see her brother and Lord Benedict Charleston, the Earl of Montague, approaching.
“Well, the admirer is certainly not my brother,” Georgiana said, giggling. “Nor is it Lord Montague. He has been seeing my paintings for years and has never so much as once expressed admiration for them.”
Penelope, however, seemed to have stopped listening. She was smiling at James, and as he came up to them, she curtsied.
“Mr. Harrington,” she said, her smile just a little coy. “How are you this evening? Breaking hearts as you usually do?”
“I do not know what you mean, Lady Penelope,” James said, bowing to her and pressing her hand to his lips. Penelope and James had always had a teasing relationship. Penelope liked to make him into some sort of rake, which could not be further from the truth. Georgiana, meanwhile, turned to Lord Montague and curtsied as well.
Lord Montague was an old friend of the family. He and James had been at Eton together, and they were close friends. His mother was also friendly with their mother, so the families had been dining together for years. Penelope liked Lord Montague—he was like an older brother to her—but she always felt slightly out of sorts in his presence, as well. He liked to needle her, and she knew that if he knew about her secret admirer, he would never let her live it down.
“And what about you, Miss Harrington?” Lord Montague asked now, raising an eyebrow at her. “Are you also enjoying your evening?”
“It is just beginning,” Georgiana said, “but I anticipate that it shall be a lovely night.”
“Do you plan to dance?” he asked. “Or are you going to wander around looking at all the paintings instead, like you did all night at the Ferrington Ball last week?”
Georgiana flushed. “I did not look at the paintings all night,” she retorted. “It was just for an hour or so. And how could I not? The Ferringtons have one of the best collections of Venetian miniatures in the whole of the country!”
“Then perhaps you should ask to come view them sometime when they are not hosting a ball,” he said, smiling serenely at her. “I am sure that Lady Ferrington would prefer the debutantes to be dancing at her ball, rather than studying the paintings she has collected.”
“I don’t draw,” Georgiana said, annoyed. “I paint. It is very different.”
“Pardon me,” he said, holding up his hands as if in surrender. “I did not mean to cause offense.”
Georgiana was thoroughly irritated now. She wanted the gentlemen to leave so that she might go back to speculating as to the identity of her secret admirer in peace with Penelope. But unfortunately, James took that moment to ask Penelope to dance.
“I would love to,” she said, taking his hand. “And Georgie—you should dance with Lord Montague. You don’t dance nearly enough at these things. It disappoints all the gentlemen.”
“My point exactly,” Lord Montague murmured in her ear.
“Fine,” Georgiana snapped, and she held out her hand to Lord Montague. “Take me to the floor, then, if you are so eager to see me dancing.”
Lord Montague laughed as he took her hand. “I believe this is highly improper—a lady asking a gentleman to dance.”
“Apparently, that is my specialty: being improper.”
The music started, and they joined the line of couples on the dance floor. As they began to dance, Georgiana was surprised by how easy and natural she found it to surrender to the steps and allow her body to move to the music. She rarely danced at balls, it was true. She had always assumed she was gangly and awkward. But Lord Montague was a good partner, and by the time the dance finished, she felt surprisingly light-footed.
Montague seemed to notice as well. His face was gentle as he bowed to her and held out his arm to escort her off the dance floor.
“You dance very well, Miss Harrington,” he said, as they walked together back to the edge of the ballroom. “I have never seen such assurance in one who so rarely takes to the floor.”
Georgiana narrowed her eyes. “Are you teasing me, my lord?”
“Not at all. I am in earnest. You dance beautifully.”
This did little to convince Georgiana. “You are never in earnest when you are around me, and you never compliment me. Everything is always a jest or a jape.”
Montague frowned as he turned to look at her, releasing her arm from his. “I am sorry if I have offended you, Miss Harrington. I assure you, I did not mean to.”
“No offense, just…” Georgiana wasn’t sure what to say. It was so unlike Lord Montague to give her a sincere compliment that it left her speechless.
Montague observed her for a moment, then a smile began to lick up the sides of his mouth. “If you would prefer that I tease you, that can certainly be arranged.”
“No, that is not it at all,” Georgiana began quickly, then stopped as she saw that Montague was grinning at her. Even now, he is teasing me. She put her hands on her hips. “You do know that you are a very vexing person, do you not, Lord Montague?”
“No one has ever said that except you,” he said with a wicked smile.
“Well, wait until you marry,” she said dryly. “I am sure your wife will tell you all the time.”
Montague laughed—a warm, rich sound—and his eyes lit up. They were the deepest blue Georgiana had ever seen, and for a moment, she forgot what they were talking about. How have I never noticed his eyes before? she wondered. In all the years I have known him.
“I shall be sure to keep my future wife away from you,” Montague said, snapping her back to reality. “Good day, Miss Harrington. Thank you for the dance.”
“Good day,” she muttered as he walked away. He was very tall and stood straight, and she was able to observe him for several moments before he was lost in the crowd.
“What a strange man,” she murmured to herself, turning away and scanning the hall for Penelope. She needed to tell her about Montague’s newest peculiar behavior. But she had barely begun to look for her friend before her eyes fell on someone else.
He was, without a doubt, the most handsome gentleman she had ever seen. Tall, with dark blonde hair, a slender but striking physique, and a statuesque face. She had never seen him before, but, to her shock and excitement, he was staring right at her, a smile playing across his lips.
OFFER: A BRAND NEW SERIES AND 5 FREEBIES FOR YOU!
Grab my new series, "Lust and Love in High Society", and get 5 FREE novels as a gift! Have a look here!
Hello my dear readers. I hope you enjoyed this sneak peek! I will be waiting for your comments below. Thank you so much! 🙂