Forever and a Day (33 page)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Then be not coy, but use your time, And while ye
may, go marry:

For having lost but once your prime,
you may forever tarry.

—Robert Herrick,
Hesperides
(1648)

15th of April, 1831
The Wentworth home on Park Lane

“S
PEAKING
OF
GRANDEUR
…I was rather astonished His Grace had invited
Miss Tormey
into our circle. The moment she was announced, His Grace greeted her quite warmly, as if he was genuinely charmed. Curious, that. She must be of
some
notable worth. Lady Chartwell, I hear, was rather taken by her, as well.”

“You mean to say that
Miss Tormey
is here?” There was a tsk-tsk-tsk and the fluttering of a fan. “Whatever is the Season coming to? We only seem to acquire crawlers these days.” The conspirator lowered her voice. “Though I will admit I
have
been most curious to glimpse her. Is she really as beautiful as some claim?”

There was a tittering, dismissive laugh. “’Tis but her coffers that make her breathtaking in the eyes of London, I assure you.”

Roderick felt like gouging his ears out so he wouldn’t have to listen to any more. At least his father had shown him some mercy and hadn’t insisted that he stand by the main entrance to greet all of the incoming guests.

Swiping a flute of champagne off a silver tray, Roderick rounded yet another group of fan-fluttering, eye-darting women. Taking a long swallow of the tart-zinging coolness, he strode toward the farthest section of the candlelit ballroom.

Seeing his grandparents quietly lingering with a large group of men and women, he tightened his jaw and averted his gaze, hurrying past to avoid them. ’Tis all he seemed to be doing these days. Avoiding people.

He veered toward the farthest corner and paused, finding Lord Seton and Lord Danford leaning against the paneled candlelit wall, occupying his usual space.

Though everyone in London usually steered clear of the two men, given that they were twins notorious for placing monstrous bets on
anything
and almost always emptied the pockets of every man in a breath, Roderick rather liked Danford and Seton. They were good men who always donated whatever they won to local charities. They were two of the few gambling men in London who actually made the church proud.

As Roderick approached, he noted that their dark heads were still bent toward each other, their foreheads creased in what appeared to be a most serious discussion. Though the two brothers were impossible to distinguish by eye, they assisted the public by wearing different-colored gloves.

Roderick’s brows came together as he veered in. “Danford? Seton? Is everything all right? You two look a bit frazzled.”

Both men paused from their conversation and glanced at him.

Danford pushed away from the wall, his coal-black eyes taking on that devious sparkle they were known for. “Frazzled? More like
dazzled
. Always good to see you, Yardley. Even if it isn’t all that often anymore, given this damned romance you’re having with the university. What is this business with you being a professor, anyway? You’re making the rest of us look stupid and lazy, as always.”

Roderick bit back a laugh. “I just needed something to occupy my time. It keeps me out of trouble.”
And distracts me from thinking about Georgia.

Danford paused and waved Roderick over with the wag of his black-gloved fingers. “Speaking of trouble…”

Roderick drew closer. “What?”

Seton, who was closest to Roderick, yanked him closer, almost spilling the champagne out onto his white gloves. “Not
what,
my friend. But
who
.” Seton leaned toward him, his shaven face bearing new mischief. “Have you had a chance to meet Miss Tormey yet? By God, I did. Saw her over on Rotten Row a few days ago. I had to bloody send that woman flowers. She gave me this
—
this…
look
that I’m still trying to recover from. Hmm. Hmm. Hmm.”

There was that name again. “No. I haven’t met her yet. Who is she?”

A low, long whistle escaped Danford’s teeth. “
That
about says it all.”

Roderick eyed them both. “
That
was only a whistle, and not a very good one at that.”

Seton lowered his voice, leaning toward him. “Allow me to put this into words, Yardley. If this heavenly creature were surrounded by fire-spiked walls, I would climb said walls more than once to be with her.”

Roderick smirked and hit the man’s arm with the back of his gloved hand. “More than once? Sounds like matrimony to me, you poor bastard. Have you formally introduced yourself?”

Seton glared at him. “Mother would have a fit.”

“Mine, too,” Danford added. “Given that we have the same mother. Ha.”

Roderick eyed him. “How old are you two bastards, anyway? Halfway to thirty? Since when do you need your mother’s approval to marry? Set off to Gretna Green. Men do it all the time.”

“Speaking of Gretna Green…there she is now.” Danford and Seton angled themselves in unison to get a better look, resembling identical hounds pointing out the same hare to its master.

Seton reached out to Roderick, gesturing toward his champagne. “Hand it up. It’s not like you’re drinking it.”

Roderick rolled his eyes and shoved the glass into his hand. “Don’t choke.”

“I only ever swallow.” Seford smirked and held up the glass in a half toast. “To Miss Tormey and Gretna Green. It would break Mother’s heart.” He tossed the rest of the champagne down his throat and went back to staring. “The more I look, the more I want.”

Roderick glanced over to the woman in question, but couldn’t see past the small group of men lingering around her and her chaperone. Adjusting his black evening coat, Roderick looked back toward Seton and Danford. “Whilst you two can afford to gawk, I have a class to teach in the morning. I should probably retire.” He pointed at each of them. “Stay out of trouble. It’s hard, I know, but we have to do the best we can.”

Seton grabbed his shoulder with a white-gloved hand, blocking him with his own body to keep him from going anywhere. “We should all go over and put ourselves on her dance card. Come with me. I’m not doing this alone.”

Roderick shoved Seton’s heavy hand from his shoulder, growing annoyed. “Unlike you two, I actually earn my wages and haven’t the time for women
or
dance cards.” Roderick tried to round him.

Seton jumped back in front of him and leaned in, poking his chest. “Fifty pounds says the moment you lay eyes on her, class will teach itself. I’m telling you, Yardley, this woman will lift more than your brows.
Fifty
pounds says she is the most attractive woman you’ve ever seen. Fifty. Are you in?”

Easier money he’d never made. No woman could ever be more attractive than Georgia. “Fifty, it is. Where the hell is she? I’ll point out every last flaw down to the nose.”

Seton grabbed his shoulders and jerked him toward the direction he needed to look, better squaring him toward where she stood. “
There
. She just came into view again. I dare you to find any fault with
that
.”

Roderick blinked.

A regal-looking beauty with thick, pinned strawberry curls that had been piled to softly frame her oval face made him suck in an astonished breath. By God. The woman reminded him of…Georgia.

He hissed out a breath knowing there wasn’t an hour that passed when Georgia and her haunting words of finding him in London didn’t come to mind. He’d been waiting for her ever since.

Edging back, he paused and skimmed the woman’s length, which had just come into full view, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Despite what appeared to be a most striking resemblance, it couldn’t be based on that figure alone.

This redhead was quite elegant, draped in a chartreuse off-the-shoulder full evening gown, trimmed with snowy lace that rounded an incredibly low-cut neckline boasting a set of impressive breasts. Large teardrop diamonds hung from her ears and throat, gleaming and shimmering against the vast candlelight.

As that curvaceous redhead daintily wrote several names onto her poised dance card with the pencil hanging from her gloved wrist, she glanced up and scanned the room. Her intent gaze rounded its way before settling on him.

She paused.

Stunning bright green eyes he knew all too well captured his gaze. Roderick’s breath hitched as an inner shiver of awareness rippled throughout the entire length of his body.

Georgia.

A taunting whisper of a smile touched her full lips at seeing him openly stare. It was as if she were silently announcing,
You are damned for the rest of your days, Robinson. Start crawling.

His throat tightened. His palms actually grew moist beneath the tightness of his white evening gloves knowing it
was
Georgia. His conniving son of a bitch of a father.
That
was why the man had insisted on his presence tonight and wouldn’t desist until he came. He knew Georgia was coming.

Casually breaking their gaze, she gracefully set her chin as any other lady of the
ton
would do and returned her attention to the group of men gathered around her.

A gentleman leaned in toward the elderly woman who lingered beside Georgia.

Who the hell was that?

The elderly woman swept a gloved hand toward Georgia, who graciously inclined her head, briefly offering her hand to the gentleman before bringing up the dance card dangling from her gloved wrist. Four other gentlemen lingered, all patiently waiting to add themselves to her card, as well.

Roderick almost staggered. This couldn’t be happening. He was
not
actually watching men of
his
circle gather around
his
woman from Orange Street.

Leaning in, Seton eyed him. “And?”

Still staring at Georgia, lest she disappear from sight, Roderick blindly reached out and seized Seton by the back of his neck, crushing it beneath rigid fingers. Yanking Seton close, he pointed to Georgia. “What do you know about her?” he rasped, trying to remain calm. “And
what
are people actually saying about her?”

Seton shifted toward him. “After I glimpsed her over on Rotten Row riding with Lady Burton, I started digging around to find out more about her and it was well worth the dig. That there is Miss Georgiana Colette Tormey. She is the distant cousin of Mr. Astor, the richest self-made American millionaire who deals in furs across the world. Miss Tormey came for the opening of the Season just last week with Mrs. Astor acting as her chaperone. Mr. Astor insisted Miss Tormey have her Season here in London as opposed to New York. Do you know that conniving American bastard is hoping to have her married to one of our own? Boasting that nothing would best crown her wealth of thirty bloody thousand a year? Can you imagine running your fingers through all that money
and
that woman? Apoplexy take us all.”