One
“It’s extraordinarily ugly, isn’t it?” Mrs. Georgina Mowbray asked her friend, and fellow army widow, Mrs. Lettice Stowe, as they stood before the latest painting to have taken Bath by storm in the fashionable Messrs. Oliver and McHenry Art Gallery in Clarges Street. “I do see that the artist has talent, but look at the expression on poor Cleopatra’s face! She looks more like she’s suffering from dyspepsia than the poisonous bite of an asp.”
Lettice, who was rather less interested in art than Georgina, studied the painting, wrinkling her upturned nose in concentration. “I don’t know,” she said frowning, “I rather like it. It’s so dramatic, the way she’s draping herself across the chaise, her bosom exposed as the asp sinks its fangs into her. And who’s to say that the bite of an asp doesn’t feel like an attack of dyspepsia. You remember old Mrs. Lafferty whose husband was with the 23rd, who swore she was only suffering a bit of the ague when in fact she was having an apoplexy.”
Georgina had to concede the point to her friend, though she was fairly certain Mrs. Lafferty had been suffering from both the ague and apoplexy. But she didn’t wish to quibble. Lettice was, after all, her only friend in Bath aside from her employer, Lady Russell, to whom Georgie served as lady’s companion.
It had only been a few months since she’d come to the spa town and she missed her friends in London dreadfully. But unlike Isabella and Perdita, who were both the widows of noblemen, Georgie was the widow of a military officer who had been just as terrible at managing his finances as he had been at being a husband. And as a result, she needed to work to earn her keep.
Today, her employer was taking tea with her niece while Georgie enjoyed her afternoon off. She would never have expected that the life of a paid companion would be so fulfilling, but it was. Georgie appreciated order and her life following the army had taught her to appreciate the well-managed life. Especially when her relationship with her husband had been anything but reliable.
“Perhaps,” Georgie allowed. “Though I do still think it’s a remarkably ugly painting.”
Shuddering, she asked, “Does it say who the artist is?”
“I’m afraid that would be me,” said a male voice from behind them. A male voice she recognized.” And I agree, it’s a dreadful painting.”
Georgina stifled a very unladylike curse before turning to greet the newcomer. Just as she’d known he would be, the Earl of Coniston stood behind them, one supercilious brow raised in amusement.
He had been betrothed to her friend Perdita for a few short weeks earlier in the year, and during that time, Georgie had been forced to endure his company despite her dislike of him. He’d been good enough to Perdita—had even agreed to her dissolution of the betrothal without a fuss when she realized she wasn’t ready to marry again so soon after her husband’s death—but from what Georgie could tell, he was the very sort of dissolute, devil-may-care nobleman that she’d come to dislike during her time following the army. Especially given that the officers had often been handed their positions by dint of money and birth while the enlisted men under them were forced to do the real work.
And, perhaps sensing her dislike, Coniston, or Con as he was called by his friends, had found great delight in teasing her whenever they were in company together.
It was just Georgie’s luck that he was her employer’s favorite nephew, and would therefore be underfoot for her near future at the very least.
“Lord Coniston,” she said, masking her dismay with a smile, “what a surprise to find you here.”
“Not so surprising, surely, Mrs. Mowbray,” her nemesis said with a grin. “After all, you must have penned the invitations for my aunt for her house party this week.”
“I meant,” she said, maintaining her poise, “this gallery, of course, not the city of Bath.” It was just like him to deliberately misunderstand her.
Unchastened, he raised his brows. “Do you mean you think me such a cultureless fribble that I could not possibly have business in such a place? For shame, Mrs. Mowbray. Surely, I have made a better impression upon you than that.”
“As a matter of fact,” Georgie began, before she was interrupted by Lettice. To her shame, Georgie had forgotten her friend was even there, such was the power of Coniston to overwhelm her good sense.
“Do introduce me to your friend, Georgina,” Lettice said, her eyes alight with interest as she took in Coniston’s good looks and Georgie’s discomfort in his presence.
Reluctantly, Georgie said, “Lord Coniston, this is my friend Mrs. Lettice Stowe. We followed the drum together.” Turning to Lettice, whose grin alerted Georgie to her amusement at the situation, she said, “Lettice, this is Lord Coniston, the nephew of my employer, Lady Russell.”