To Love a Brooding Marquess (Preview)

Prologue

London, England, Spring, 1812

The debut of a young lady is a rite of passage, the moment when she steps from the fripperies of youth into the responsibilities of womanhood. It is an event held in the highest esteem, one which is anticipated, talked over, planned, and executed with all the precision and expertise employed by a general commanding his troops into battle. A debut can make or break a woman’s chance of happiness. She has but one attempt to make an impression, and if that attempt goes wrong, she is forever doomed to be spoken of in reference to it.

But if the debut is a success, she will merely pass seemingly from one stage to another, happy in the knowledge that her one and greatest task in youth is now accomplished, readying her for that next great task that society places on her sex, that of securing a husband and prolonging his line. Such was the moment that now presented itself to Georgina Sutton, the daughter of the Duke of Amberhill, whose debut was that very day, a debut for which, like so many other girls, she had been preparing her entire life …

***

“Mama, what a fuss you are making,” Georgiana said. “You have never before tried to dress me. I have Rose to help me, and you are depriving her of her job.” Georgiana, in a billowing cloud of powder and scent, coughed and spluttered.

Her mother, Joan, Duchess of Amberhill, was standing over her with a small mirror in one hand and a string of pearls in the other. They had been in Georgina’s chambers for the past two hours, as Georgina tried on dress after dress in preparation for what her mother constantly referred to as the most important moment of her life—though it was unclear if she meant her own or Georgiana’s.

“Lord Somerston will be there, Georgiana, and you know how he looked at you when we met him at tea with Lady Brackeville,” her mother replied.

Georgiana blushed. Lord Somerston was a devilishly handsome man, a few years older than herself, and she, too, had been somewhat taken with him at their introductions over tea. She hoped to make an impression on him and knew that the ball at Almack House that evening was important. It was a chance for introductions and impressions, and Georgiana was keen to impress, if somewhat nervous, too.

She was a shy and retiring type, and the prospect of formal introductions filled her with dread. Her mother had been talking of the ball for months and telling Georgiana that it would be her proudest moment to see her only daughter–only child–make her debut that evening. Georgiana wanted to live up to the expectation and to please her mother, knowing how much it meant to her, but she could not allay the nerves that had built inside her in the days and weeks gone by, nerves that now seemed ready to burst into a fit of utter terror.

Just when Georgina thought her mother would not deign to reply to her comment about making a fuss, she did so. “We have been preparing for months,” her mother replied. “I use ‘we’ in the royal sense, and I cannot have anything go wrong.”

Rose, Georgiana’s loyal maid, looked on in slight bemusement. There was nothing for her to do since the duchess insisted on taking charge. A dozen dresses had been sent for, and eventually, it was decided that an ivory gown would be the one: trimmed with lace and finished with a gold sash.

“I can hardly breathe,” Georgian gasped, and her mother nodded.

“Excellent, it will hold your figure, and now the pearls, which belonged to your grandmother,” she said, setting down the hand mirror and putting the pearls around Georgiana’s neck.

They glinted in the early evening sunlight coming through the window, and Georgiana had to admit that they looked very fine.

“You look beautiful, My Lady,” Rose said, smiling at Georgiana, who blushed.

“You are very kind, Rose, and I am sure it will be a wonderful evening,” Georgiana said, trying to hide her fear but growing ever more nervous as the hour of her debut approached.

It was the moment she had been waiting for ever since she learned of the rite of passage that every young lady of her rank and class endured. She had tried to look forward to it for her mother’s sake, but nothing could allay her nervous disposition, and she was terrified about making a mistake. Her mother had dismissed such fears as idle fancies, concerning herself more with what Georgiana would wear and which pieces of family heirloom would be chosen for her jewellery. 

“Good heavens, look at the time, the carriage will be outside already, quickly now,” Georgiana’s mother exclaimed, snatching up a bottle of scent and spraying them both vigorously with it so that Georgiana spluttered once again, and Rose’s face contorted as she held in a giggle.

“Do not wait up for me, Rose, I am sure I will be able to see to myself tonight,” Georgiana said, but her mother tutted.

“You will be bathed in the ecstasy of your debut, Georgiana. Rose will wait up to assist you,” she said, ushering Georgiana out of the room, as Rose curtsied.

Downstairs, there was further excitement as Georgiana’s father, the Duke of Amberhill, emerged from his study to accompany them, exclaiming how beautiful his wife and daughter both looked. The duke was a kind man, well used to his wife’s eccentricities and fondness for making the right impression, and he knew, too, how nervous Georgiana was about her debut.

“I could not be prouder to accompany such a beautiful young lady tonight,” he said. “I hope she will offer her father a dance?” He held out his arm.

“She will be too busy dancing with the eligible bachelors, Lewis. Lord Somerton will, I have no doubt, offer to do so,” Georgiana’s mother replied, and the duke gave a wry smile.

“Then we must not delay in making our way to them, to him. Come along now,” he said, as one of the footmen hurried to open the door.

Georgiana knew she was stepping out into a new world. Gone were the days of youthful exuberances and the fun of being a child. Her mother had long impressed on her the importance of this evening, reminding her on countless occasions that she was now to become a lady and must begin to act like one. Georgiana had enjoyed a happy childhood, but she could not help wondering whether now her maturity would allow that same happiness to continue or whether stepping over the threshold was the moment she left such happiness behind.

***

Almack House was a large abode built in the neo-classical style, part home and part place of social gathering, where the patroness, Lady Halisham, delighted in entertaining the great and good of society. Its windows were lit by lanterns, and the sounds of music could be heard through the open doors, where two liveried footmen stood either side to escort the guests to the ballroom. A string of carriages queued outside, depositing young ladies making their own debuts that night.

“Now, Georgiana, remember everything I have taught you,” her mother said, glancing at her excitedly across the carriage.

Georgiana could barely remember anything at that moment, so nervous did she feel, and given that her mother had been offering her advice for nigh on the past year, she found it difficult to remember anything specifically. She glanced around, looking for Lord Somerston, whom she spotted talking with several gentlemen in a corner. She tried desperately to remember everything she had been taught: when to curtsey, when not to curtsey, which dances to sit out of, which ones to step into, how to hold her punch glass correctly—the list went on.

“I am sure that Georgiana will recall everything she needs to and make her debut flawlessly,” her father said, offering Georgiana his hand, as the carriage door was opened.

“Head held up, shoulders back. Remember how I taught you to walk,” her mother hissed, and with the dress so restrictive that there was little choice but to walk in such a way, Georgiana stepped down.

A long line of similarly dressed ladies stood waiting for their announcement. Each was accompanied by an elder woman—a mother, an aunt, a godmother—who fussed over them and offered encouragement. Some looked confident, others terrified, some were dressed in finery, some merely in their Sunday best. To the trained eye, it was possible to tell class and rank merely through the briefest of observations, and as they stood waiting, Georgiana’s mother dissected the opposition with a merciless tongue.

“Is that the Duchess of Sleibrough?” Georgiana asked, casting a sideways glance at a haughty-looking woman accompanying an equally haughty-looking lady who peered around her with disdain.

“It is, though everyone knows she is not Hortensia’s mother,” Georgiana’s mother replied, sniffing and turning up her nose.

“And who is that?” Georgiana asked, pointing to a lady in a plain dress who seemed even more nervous than she and was accompanied by two maiden aunt types, wearing long black dresses as though in mourning.

“Do not point, Georgiana,” her mother replied. “The Trelligen sisters and their niece. Her mother died when she was young, and they have taken care of her ever since. They mourn for their father—though he has been dead for thirty years.”

Eventually they came to the top of the steps and were met by a liveried footman in gold brocade, who cleared his throat and took Georgiana’s card.

“Must I walk in alone?” Georgiana asked, and her mother raised her eyebrows.

“What did I tell you?” she hissed. “Yes, you must walk alone.”

“You will be quite all right, just do as your mother has taught you,” Georgiana’s father said, and now the footman made his announcement.

“Lady Georgina Sutton, daughter of His Grace, the Duke of Amberhill,” he said, reading from the card.

Georgiana felt her entire body stiffen. She could not move, frozen rigid to the spot. Lord Somerston had turned to watch her, a smile playing across his face, their eyes meeting for a moment, as Georgiana blushed.

“Go on, Georgiana,” her mother hissed, and Georgiana drew a deep breath.

The eyes of everyone were on her, the ballroom falling silent whenever a new lady made her debut. This was the moment that Georgiana had been waiting for her entire life, the only moment that mattered—at least, according to her mother. It was her rite of passage, and she stepped forward, forcing her face into a smile.

But then, a most terrible sound seemed to echo around the room, engulfing her in a terror so great that she gasped and stumbled. It was the sound of tearing material. Her foot—encased in a pretty red slipper—had caught the hem of her delicate gown, causing it to rip. The hem had entirely come away from the dress, the stitching undoing itself in a cascade of thread, so that not only did the hem rip, but the entire bodice, too, leaving her exposed in a most uncompromising manner. The sound seemed magnified a hundred-fold, and she faltered, clutching the fabric, which fell in a plume of silk, the whole event seeming to play itself out before her, as she gasped in horror at what was happening. 

Whispers erupted all around her, fans fluttering, ladies commenting. Georgiana flushed red with embarrassment, feeling like a ship caught in a storm on the ocean with no one to come to her aid. She glanced back to her mother, whose face was a picture of despair, and in front of her to where Lady Halisham and several other women stood tutting at the spectacle she had made of herself. The dress was ruined and so was Georgina’s debut.

“Come along, my dear, step back,” her father whispered, taking her by the arm and attempting to shield her embarrassment.

Georgiana faltered, embarrassed and angered in equal measures, knowing that she had spoiled her chances of being anything but the silly girl who had got it wrong. She searched desperately in the crowd for Lord Somerston, only to see him sniggering with his friends, who shot her bemused glances as she tried desperately to hold on to something of her dignity. Her mother would not look at her, and her father led her to the powder room, where several silly ladies tittered at her and passed comments as she asked whether anyone had needle and thread in their reticules. But of course, they did not—they were ladies, not maids, and their reticules held nothing of such practical nature. 

When she came back into the hallway, she found her father waiting for her. “It does not matter, Georgiana,” he said, but Georgiana knew it mattered a great deal—not only to her reputation but to her mother, too.

The Duke and Duchess of Amberhill had only one daughter; the duchess’ difficult carriage with Georgiana ensured that further children were an impossibility, and Georgiana knew that her mother had looked forward to this moment for years.

“But it does matter, Father. I will be the talk of the ton, and for all the wrong reasons,” she said, as her father led her from Almack House to the waiting carriage, the tear in the skirt still visible for all to see. Her mother was sitting inside, her arms folded, a murderous look on her face.

“I have made a decision, Georgiana. It is clear you were not ready for your debut,” she said, and Georgiana began to apologize.

“Please, Mother, I did not do it deliberately. I was so nervous trying to walk properly and keep my comportment that …” she began, but her mother waved her hand dismissively.

“It is no good making excuses. I have made up my mind. You shall be sent to a finishing school in Bath, the same one I myself attended. Perhaps then you shall learn some confidence and how not to tear a dress,” she said, and that was that, for Mother’s word was law in Georgina’s life. 

Chapter One

London, England, Spring, 1815

A table had been set in the drawing room, covered with a pretty cloth, and on which lay an impressive offering of breakfast fare. There was tea, coffee, chocolate, Bath buns, plum cake, pound cake, hot rolls, butter, and preserves, all laid out on pretty china plates and with a tea service that had belonged to Georgiana’s late grandmother. 

It made a pleasant change from the finishing school in Bath, where Georgiana had spent the previous three years. There, breakfast was served late and consisted of only dry toast and tea, meant to ensure that the ladies remained alert for their morning instruction rather than sluggish and overburdened by excess.

“A lady must always comport herself with modest moderation,” were the favourite words of Mrs Fortescue-Blythe, the proprietress of Wingett’s Finishing School, who had tried her best to recover Georgiana from the disaster that had been her debut.

But those years were over now, and Georgiana had returned to London and her parents’ home at Amberhill Manor in London. She was pleased to be back in familiar surroundings, and with her friends close by. Her loyal maid, Rose, had been retained, and it felt to Georgiana as though life was now back to normal. 

She had enjoyed her time in Bath, but the company of the other young ladies often left much to be desired. Georgiana took an interest in books and refined conversation, pursuits somewhat lacking amongst her peers whose main preoccupation was gossip and gowns. 

Still, she had done her duty and appeased her mother’s wishes, and now that she was back in London, Georgiana knew she would soon face the prospect of a second debut, something she was certain she could perform far better than before.

“It is good to have you back, Georgiana,” her father said. 

He was repeating himself, for he had said it a dozen times since her arrival two days previously. Georgiana smiled. She knew her father had not wished her to go to Bath, but her mother had been insistent, and she glanced at her across the table, waiting for the inevitable reply.

“Well, it is good that she went away, too. There is no telling what might have become of her if she did not. Mrs Fortescue-Blythe has done an excellent job. Georgiana’s comportment is perfect, and I am sure that the Duke and Duchess of Colborne will find no fault in her,” she said, raising her eyebrows, as she helped herself to a piece of plum cake.

“Ah yes, the ball,” Georgiana’s father said, glancing at Georgiana with a slight smile.

The ball, hosted by the Duke and Duchess of Colborne, had been the first thing that Georgiana’s mother had told her of when she stepped out of the carriage from Bath two days before. Georgiana’s father had invested heavily in the seaside resort that the Duke of Thurlstone was building at Southend-on-Sea, and the ball was an opportunity to repay the duke’s generous investors.

“It is the perfect opportunity for you to make your debut, Georgiana. You shall show the ton that you are no longer the frightened little thing that ripped her dress at Almack’s House,” her mother said, and Georgiana’s father rolled his eyes.

“There is a great deal more to our daughter than the memory of a ripped skirt,” he said, but his wife only tutted.

“But it is what people remember, Lewis. They remember the moment when Georgiana humiliated herself in front of the assembled ton and—” she began, but the duke cut her off.

“I do not think Georgiana needs reminding of her embarrassment, my dear, so let us put the matter behind us and look forward to a more successful debut at the home of the Colbornes,” he said.

Georgiana was grateful to her father for his intervention. Her mother had never allowed her to forget the embarrassment at Almack House, nor had the ton, whose wagging tongues had always referred to her as “the lady with the ripped skirt.” That ripped skirt had cost her much, not least the affections of Lord Somerston, whom she now knew to be married, his wife having carried their first child. Now, Georgiana wanted only to forget the past and look to the future, confident that with all she had learned in Bath, her debut at the ball would not be a disaster.

***

Later that morning, Georgiana, her mother, and Rose took a carriage to Bond Street. They were to visit the modiste, and Georgiana was to be fitted with a new dress for the ball. It was not that she did not have other dresses, but her mother had insisted that a debut—albeit a second one—demanded such a thing, and Georgiana had no reason to protest.

“I think something in peacock blue or green, yes, green is very fashionable,” her mother said as the carriage drew up and the footman jumped down to open the door.

“Or red?” Georgiana replied, for red was her favourite colour.

“Red? No, I think not,” her mother said, and Georgiana glanced at Rose, who was trying hard not to giggle.

The modiste, Mr Drimble, was most welcoming. Georgiana’s mother was one of his best customers, and he was all too happy to oblige her in taking Georgiana’s new measurements.

“Not even half an inch of difference,” he said, scribbling the figures down in his ledger.

“I should think not, I did not send her to Bath for three years so that her figure could alter,” Georgiana’s mother replied.

“No, indeed,” Mr Drimble answered, pulling out several possible dresses for Georgiana to try on.

“Something bespoke; you can make it from this material, perhaps,” Georgiana’s mother said, pointing to a roll of fabric on the counter.

It was gold damask and shimmered in the sunlight coming through the window. Mr Drimble pondered for a moment.

“The ball is tomorrow, is it not, My Lady?” he said, and Georgiana’s mother nodded.

“Yes, but you have made dresses in as much time before, you have her measurements,” she said, as though the performing of miracles was also in the modiste’s remit.

“I am sure I could do something,” he said, and Georgiana’s mother nodded.

“Very good, Rose will collect the dress tomorrow afternoon. Thank you, Mr Drimble, you can always be relied on,” she said, taking Georgiana by the arm.

“But Mother, I rather like this one,” Georgiana said, pointing to a red dress that Mr Drimble had laid out as a possibility for her to try.

“But red is not your colour, Georgiana, you have light blonde hair and blue eyes, red would clash terribly with that,” she replied, but Georgiana was determined to assert herself.

She had left London for Bath with little by way of confidence, but the finishing school had not only taught her how to be a lady but also how to have her own way in a world dominated by men. Georgiana had always wondered how her mother had become so assertive, and having attended Wingett’s Finishing School, she now knew why.

“This is the dress I have chosen,” she said, and Mr Drimble nodded.

“It would allay any fears that the creation of a new dress in under a day might arouse,” he said, trying to sound as diplomatic as possible.

“I think it would suit you very well, My Lady,” Rose said, and Georgiana’s mother sighed.

“Well … if it really is the one you want, Georgiana,” she said, and Georgiana smiled.

“It is, Mother,” she said, and Mr Drimble wasted no time in packing it up, assuring her that alterations could be made if necessary.

“I am certain you will be the most beautiful young lady at the ball tomorrow night,” he said, handing the parcel to Rose.

“I only hope we do not need to bring it back for repair,” Georgiana’s mother said, looking pointedly at Georgiana, who blushed.

“I think I shall manage,” she replied, though secretly she was still nervous of making another terrible mistake.

***

“Just one foot in front of the other, My Lady, that is all you must do,” Rose said, as she helped Georgiana tie her hair into a French twist the next evening.

The carriage to take Georgiana and her parents to the ball was waiting outside Amberhill Manor, and Georgiana was putting the final touches to her outfit. The dress looked very fine indeed, and Georgiana was reminded of the moment three years previously when she had sat at this very dressing table preparing for her debut.

“You make it sound so easy, Rose,” Georgiana said, her stomach churning with nerves.

Despite everything she had learned in Bath, all the confidence she had gained, she knew that being at the centre of attention would cause her such terror as to give rise to the possibility of making the same mistake again. Her dreams were haunted by the sound of the tearing dress, the eyes of all the room on her, the whisperings behind the fans. Could she endure such a humiliation again? she wondered.

“Oh, My Lady, you need not worry, so. All you must do is walk in on your father’s arm and await a gentleman to invite you to dance, that is all,” Rose said, and Georgiana sighed.

“And if I fail? What will I do then?” she asked, and Rose smiled.

“You will not fail, My Lady, I have every confidence in you,” she said, taking Georgiana’s hand and squeezing it.

Georgiana wished she could summon the same confidence in herself. But try as she might, she felt nothing but an impending sense of doom. Even the pretty new dress could not allay her fears, and with the time for departure approaching, Georgiana’s nerves grew worse …