Villa Georgiana (A Linley & Patrick Spin-off)

By Allyson Jeleyne

A relaxing hammock read for those dreaming of warm weather, cold drinks, and sunny gardens!

For ten years, Georgiana has been a perfect wife, perfect mother, and a perfect duchess—but now she’s bored. She has never seen a film, flown in an aeroplane, or experienced the London Underground.

For ten years, the Duke of Hereford has prided himself on his stable, predictable, perfect life. He is content to ride his horses, raise his children, and make quiet love to his wife.

But all that is about to change when Hereford and Georgiana trade grey, stifling London for a sun-drenched villa on the banks of Lake Maggiore.

Can old love find a new spark on holiday?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Allyson Jeleyne
• Release date: Sep 23, 2016
• ISBN: 9780990894681

Allyson Jeleyne

Allyson Jeleyne is a writer of bold, passionate historical romance featuring kind heroes, complex heroines, and (sometimes) steamy love. Her characters are adventurers, entrepreneurs, heiresses, prostitutes, peeresses, and, most importantly, survivors.She earned an interdisciplinary studies degree in Creative Writing and Journalism while also studying British history & literature in her spare time. When not writing, she enjoys traveling and checking things off her bucket list.She makes her home in the South Carolina lowcountry with her beloved dog, Dollie Madison (2005-2022).

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

London, 1922

The Duchess of Hereford was stunningly beautiful—pale, slender, and blonde. In town, she arrived at dress fittings and dinner parties in a chauffeur-driven Rolls-Royce, and seeing the big motorcar pull up could make or break one’s London Season. Debutantes nearly half her age copied her clothes, hair, and—rumor had it—even her mannerisms.

The duchess ruled society from her Curzon Street drawing room surrounded by her family and friends. She had everything, and in her narrow little world, she was everything.

As the daughter of a marquess, she’d been raised to expect the very best. As the wife of a duke, she’d got it. So far, life had not let her down. All was exactly as it should be.

Georgiana could—and did—set a clock by her carefully planned schedule: breakfast in bed served by her maid, followed by a leisurely bath, and dressing for the day. Mornings were spent organizing her social diary and running her London household. She lunched with friends, or with Hereford, if their schedules allowed. In the afternoon, she paid calls, shopped, or generally amused herself until teatime. Evenings were busy with dinners, balls, or the theatre. If she and Hereford made it to bed before dawn, that was an early night.

It never occurred to her that something was missing. It never occurred to her to want anything more.

So when her maid pulled back the bedroom curtains on a perfectly normal morning in July, Georgiana started her day the same as she always had—the same way she intended to until the day she died.

Her maid fluffed up the peach silk pillows so Georgiana could recline, and then perched the breakfast tray over her mistress’ lap.

Good Morning, Brown. She pulled the heavy, silver cloche away to reveal a plate of bacon, toast, and a soft-boiled egg. Plus a cup of tea, just the way she liked it. Also on the tray were the latest copies of The Lady, and The Sketch, her favorite society magazines. Everything was so precise, and so predictable, that Georgiana could’ve navigated it all with her eyes closed.

The maid bobbed. Morning, Your Grace. While her mistress ate breakfast and perused her papers, Brown tidied up the bedroom from the night before. She plucked a silk dressing gown from the back of an upholstered armchair near the fireplace, and carried it into the adjoining bathroom.

Georgiana heard the twist of the hot water knob, and then the shake of lavender salts into the tub. When she eventually climbed in for her morning bath, the water was heated and scented to her exact specification. Brown had laid out a fresh bar of soap on the dish by her right hand. Without looking, Georgiana picked it up, lathered a soft, springy sponge, and began to wash.

Stooping behind her, the maid shampooed her hair. You were a vision last night in the emerald velvet, Your Grace.

Thank you, Brown. I had hoped to save it for the Darlington’s ball, but you were absolutely right to suggest it for the Pryce’s. She closed her eyes as the maid gently tilted her head back to rinse the suds from her hair. After two thorough rinses, Brown patted her mistress’ forehead dry with a flannel.

Once she was clean and dry, the maid helped her into her dressing gown. While Brown went to lay tissue-wrapped underclothes on the foot of her bed, Georgiana brushed her teeth. Staring at her reflection in the mirror, she’d never noticed those faint lines around her eyes, or the way her cheeks didn’t glow in the soft morning light like they had only a year or two ago.

She frowned. To her horror, that only made more lines, so she slackened her face to her usual, blandly pleasant façade, and strolled into her bedroom where Brown stood waiting.

Wordlessly, Georgiana slipped out of her dressing gown and into her silk step-in drawers and camisole. Usually, they chatted through their morning routine—it was awkward to be sullen, silent, and naked in front of one’s maid—but that morning, Georgiana didn’t have much to say. Perhaps it was the late night, or the lingering haze of champagne that held her tongue. Or, it could be the creeping melancholy that always nipped at the heels of the Wolford siblings.

Her brother, Patrick, the Marquess of Kyre, suffered from black moods. Since the war, doctors suggested it was outright depression that plagued him. While she’d never given it the power to bring her down—or even slow her down—Georgiana couldn’t deny it often lurked in the dark corners of her mind.

She made it a point to smile at Brown as they thumbed through the selections of morning frocks, skirts, and blouses in her wardrobe. Just because she felt poorly was no excuse to take it out on her faithful maid. Truly, she didn’t know what she’d do without the woman. It was important for servants to know one cared and noticed hard work. Appreciation often meant the difference between a good servant and a simply tolerable one.

The white blouse, I think, Georgiana said. And the blue wool skirt.

Brown helped her into the delicate whitework blouse, and buttoned the pearl buttons at the back. Georgiana stepped into the skirt, allowing the maid to hook the closures at her hip. Then, she sat at the polished dressing table between the windows looking out onto Curzon Street. Brown brushed her long, soft hair the appropriate number of times before twisting it up into an elaborate—yet effortless looking—coiffure, and pinned it into place with a tortoise comb. After a splash of Guerlain perfume and a dab of rouge on her cheeks, Georgiana pinned a delicate strand of pearls around her neck, and clamped two matching studs into her ears.

Pressed, dressed, and turned out in her daily finery, she looked like the perfect duchess. As she made her way down the winding marble staircase of her elegant London mansion, she would be the perfect duchess. It was all laid out in her social diary; her life carefully planned for the next two months.

***

She spent the rest of the morning sorting through stacks of correspondence with her personal secretary. She penned letters, answered invitations, and tossed bills into the stack marked for Hereford’s man of business.

Although Georgiana had more money than she could spend in a dozen lifetimes, she had little practical knowledge of how it worked. She’d never used public transportation, paid for her own dinner, or even paid for her own clothes—no place she shopped dared to insult her by asking for ready money.

From girlhood, she’d been brought up to believe that money was vulgar and dirty, and that no proper lady ever had a reason to handle it. Her brother or husband protected her from the need to interact with tradespeople, and if she were ever away from home and needed some small item, her driver or lady’s maid always had a few coins she could filch.

Georgiana had never found that odd. All her friends felt the same about handling money, about what was, and was not proper. Even after her brother married a sweet girl who traveled the world, rode the Tube, occasionally wore trousers, and treated servants as equals, Georgiana believed Linley was the strange one, not herself! Now, however, the world was moving very quickly, and the more Lady Kyre seemed to fit in, the more Georgiana felt left behind.

Take that morning, for example—while she filled her time weighing the merits and repercussions of attending one society ball over another, Linley and Patrick were signing autographs at an archaeology lecture. Her sister-in-law’s adventure memoirs were London’s latest craze. Photographers who had always lurked in the rosebushes to catch Georgiana’s latest Lanvin gown now brushed past her to ask Linley for a pose. Every day, her sister-in-law’s stack of invitations grew higher and higher, until they were in danger of outnumbering her own.

She loved Linley and was happy for her success, even though it went against everything Georgiana had been taught about proper behavior.

Across the drawing room, her secretary cleared her throat, repeating herself. I beg your pardon, Your Grace, but will that be all?

Georgiana snapped out of her trance. She hadn’t meant to ignore the woman, but her mind had simply run away from her—and so had the time. She glanced at the clock on the mantel. It chimed noon, which was well past the hour allotted for her secretary’s morning duties.

I’m sorry, Mrs. Arbuthnot, she said, smiling. Of course, that will be all for today.

The secretary stood. Thank you. Good afternoon, Your Grace.

With her morning safely ‘in the books’, Georgiana ate luncheon alone. Usually, either Linley, Patrick, or Hereford were around to keep her company, but lately they all seemed to be pulled in different directions. England was still reeling from the war, and it had taken a few years to get back into the schedule of the Season, and re-accustomed to frivolous parties, races, and tea dances. The only reminders of those four ghastly years were gentlemen with their dinner clothes pinned over their missing limbs, or the rows of young debutantes who so outnumbered the men that they often spent entire balls crying in a corner.

She felt sorry for those girls. It wasn’t their fault they’d never marry. With hundreds of thousands of good men fallen dead in the trenches, there simply weren’t enough husbands left to go around. In her mind, becoming a lonely spinster would be a living nightmare. Yet, with Linley writing memoirs and lecturing girls to look for more than husbands and families, Georgiana’s beliefs were becoming rather outdated. Women already served in Parliament, flew aeroplanes, and had successful careers. Perhaps Georgiana, who had no exemplary qualities or personal ambitions of her own, was the one deserving to be pitied.

CHAPTER TWO

Hereford struck a match and lit the cigarette clamped between his lips. Tucked into a warm corner of the smoking room, he surveyed the familiar surroundings of his club. It was early in the day, so the place was mostly empty, but after his morning hack in Hyde Park, a hot shower-bath, and a full breakfast, the idea of spending his morning listening to Georgiana give dictation to her secretary was unbearable.

He loved his wife. He loved hearing her soft, sweet voice, but she was always so busy with her social commitments, and he was always busy with his various ducal duties, that he felt certain neither of them wanted him underfoot.

Hereford didn’t feel guilty for leaving his wife to have luncheon alone. They’d spend time together tonight, eating an early supper before slipping off to the theatre. Then, afterward—that was the part he most looked forward to—when her maid undressed her and left her in peace for the night, Hereford would sneak through the bathroom that connected their two bedrooms, and slide under the sheets with his wife. They’d talk and laugh in the quiet darkness, and then fall asleep in each other’s arms.

Of course, in the morning, he’d be banished to his own rooms before their servants awoke. For propriety’s sake, it would never do for his valet or her maid to catch them in bed together. But once—just once—he would like to spend a lazy day under the covers with her.

Hereford reached across the polished rosewood table for a crystal ashtray. He tapped the spent end of his cigarette, and then propped his elbow up on the table’s edge.

In the hectic bustle of London, his club was his refuge. He didn’t actually care for the Season. He’d much rather be shooting, riding to hounds, or mucking about outdoors, but with his family’s social obligations, spending four months in town was a necessity. He was fortunate that when it all became too much, he could retreat to the quiet confines of his exclusive Pall Mall club.

Other chaps had the same idea. As the morning passed into afternoon, members began to trickle in. A few joined him for a smoke, a chat, or even a game of billiards. Every once in a while, however, an eager young pup would approach him for advice, or try to sway his mind on a political matter, but he brushed them off.

He still had hours to kill before returning home for tea, and to dress for the evening. With Patrick off playing literary hero, his usual partner in crime had left him to his own devices. Not that Hereford blamed him—it was best for his brother-in-law to ride that tide for as long as he could. Patrick and Linley had little money, and what they did have went toward their estate. He never regretted digging into his pocketbook to help the young couple through a pinch, but he understood their desire to provide for themselves. He was really quite proud of them.

He’d known Patrick since the boy had been born. Their estates were less than an hour apart, and their families had been good friends. In fact, his father had been godfather to Patrick’s elder brother, who tragically died as a child.

Though seven years older than Patrick—and ten years older than Georgiana—they were all very close. In the face of so much adversity, the two surviving Wolford siblings had blossomed into wonderful people, and adding them to his own family had been one of the happiest days of his life.

He was blessed to have married Georgiana. She was a credit to him, and to her family. She took her duchess’ duties seriously, and besides reaping the social rewards of her position, she used his wealth to aid various charities. She was a kind soul who knew what it was like to lose one’s parents and siblings, and she used her name to bring awareness to orphans’ plights and children’s welfare. Often, no one knew how hard she worked behind the scenes. Most people only saw the fashionable, beautiful, wealthy exterior, and assumed she was a vapid society matron. To those who knew her, however, she was so much more.

She was the mother of his children and the love of his life. They’d shared ten years of married bliss without so much as a whiff of scandal. Since their engagement, he’d never slept with another woman, and he knew she’d never, ever been with another man. Society saw them as the perfect couple, and in Hereford’s mind, they truly were. He was happy and content knowing he would spend the rest of his days with her.

He couldn’t ask for anything more.

***

He ordered a chop and ate it in peace. Then, he ordered a brandy and drank that in peace. Hereford liked lunching at his club because nobody fussed over him, hovered, or scolded about too much meat or drink being bad for his health. He was far too old and set in his ways to change his life simply because some faddish doctor thought he should. Thanks to Georgiana, he had two sons, and could go to an early grave knowing his titles and estates were in good hands.

He’d earned his chop and brandy, by God.

A waiter wordlessly refilled his drink and set a fresh ashtray on the table. Hereford lit another cigarette. He watched the young men buzz about the billiards tables in the room beyond. After seeing drawing rooms and dining rooms devoid of young people for so many years, he was glad for their youthful ruckus. It gave him hope for the future, hope for the world his sons would someday inherit.

Unlike many of his friends, he wasn’t worried about how fast things were changing, how the aristocracy was being eroded, or any of that pessimistic nonsense. Old men had been complaining about the downfall of society for ages. The fact that women could now vote and run their own businesses didn’t frighten him. He’d seen firsthand during the war that strong ladies like Linley and Georgiana were more than capable of doing their bit while their husbands were at the front. While some gentlemen in his circle feared their positions were in danger, Hereford was confident of his place in the world. He was, after all, a duke. No one—woman or otherwise—could take that away from him.

It felt good to wake up every morning knowing exactly where one stood in the scheme of things. He never had to worry about work or money. Never stressed that his boys might not have fitting shoes, proper clothes, or even enough food in their little bellies. He kept the same schedule day after day, year after year. At any given time, his wife knew where to find him, just as he always knew where to find her.

The duchess was punctual, predictable, and, most importantly, placid. She and Hereford rarely argued. In fact, they rubbed along together so perfectly that he’d forgotten what life was like before she came in and took charge. To him, a happy marriage was built upon stability and solidarity. He didn’t need excitement. He didn’t need diversion.

That was why, all those years ago, he’d known Lady Georgiana Wolford was the girl for him—even though she’d been engaged to another man at the time. She didn’t love that other chap, and her engagement had been arranged to please her family. Naturally, once Hereford convinced her she’d make the perfect duchess, Georgiana had called the whole thing off and switched sides. That little scandal, and the ensuing wedding furor, had been all the adventure they needed.

Hereford stubbed out his cigarette. His stomach was settled and, thanks to his excellent luncheon, would be too full to gorge himself when he sat down to tea with his family. Georgiana would assume he’d taken the doctor’s warning seriously and was looking after himself. Thanks to his string of brandies, his conscience felt at ease with that little deception. He wasn’t changing his diet. There was no reason to needlessly worry his wife about it. She was a busy woman. She had to focus on their children, two households, keeping up with her social calendar, charitable endeavors, and correspondence. It was a miracle she held it together at all.

If anyone could do it, it was she. Having such a clever, capable wife took a weight off his shoulders. Just as, no doubt, having a dependable husband brought her equal peace of mind.

CHAPTER THREE

Georgiana stood, draped in her fur-trimmed evening cape, in the lobby of the Adelphi, where she’d dragged Hereford, Linley, and Patrick to see The Way of an Eagle. It was a delightful adaptation, and she’d enjoyed herself immensely—which was why she felt so cross at the others.

She liked romantic plays, but Hereford had fallen asleep in the first act, and Linley and Patrick fidgeted through the rest. Sometimes her family was dreadfully dull. How could they not enjoy watching a young couple fall in love?

Now, her brother and Hereford had wandered off to talk to friends they’d spotted. Linley was busy arguing with the girl in the cloakroom who’d somehow misplaced her coat. From the fuss her sister-in-law was making, one would think the thing had come from Poiret himself, rather than off the peg at Selfridge’s. But, Georgiana supposed, the coat was pretty and it suited Linley’s coloring. Even though it was a cheap little rag, she’d be miffed to lose something so flattering, too.

After a few tense moments, a bare-shouldered Linley admitted defeat. I can’t believe she mixed up my ticket. I told the manager to keep the other coat, in the event its owner returned mine.

Georgiana frowned. I doubt anyone would go to the trouble…

It’s a long shot, I know. At any rate, I left my address, just in case. She looked around the crowded foyer. Where’s Patrick?

Talking to someone. Did you really hate the play?

Linley shook her head. I didn’t hate it, but the book was better.

Books are usually better, Georgiana said, but isn’t it nice to sit in the theatre and lose one’s self for a few hours? I can never find a spare moment to read, but no one bothers me in the audience. I’m just a body in a chair like everyone else.

I see your point. I feel the same way about the cinema.

Someday, I’d like to go to the cinema. Hereford would sleep through a film, though. It’d be a waste.

Go without him, Linley said. It’s not like you’re going to talk during the film. Unless you want to hold hands and kiss like all the young sweethearts, what’s the point of having a man tag along anyway?

He’d kill me for going alone, she laughed. Do people really…do that?

What, kiss and cuddle at the cinema? Of course! It’s dark, and the music is just loud enough to drown out their shuffling clothes.

Linley had to be having her on. There was no way anyone would ever make love in a public cinema, no matter how dim the lights were. But Georgiana had never been. She had no idea what people did there. Truthfully, she had no idea what anyone did anywhere nowadays. Her sister-in-law was far more worldly.

Would you take me to see a film sometime? she asked. Surely, Hereford wouldn’t mind if I went with you.

I’ll check the papers and see what’s playing. When there’s a good show on, we’ll go. But you really don’t need me, you know. You can go any time. No one will judge you for being alone—especially during a matinee.

Georgiana looked around the room. She knew half the people milling about the lobby, chatting and waiting for their motors. What would they say if word got out that the Duchess of Hereford went to see a film alone? God, what would they say if they found out she’d gone to see a film at all? It was still an awfully low form of entertainment. The gossips would have a field day.

She waved her off. It was a silly idea. Forget it.

Are you sure? I don’t mind.

We’re both too busy, really. I’d never find the time.

"Alright, but if you change your mind, Patrick and I saw The Bohemian Girl the other night. It was very good. With Gladys Cooper playing, one can never go wrong."

That’s true. I do love her.

See! That’s the hard part out of the way. Now you only need to pick a time and go.

Hereford walked up behind them. Go where?

Linley grinned. To the—

Georgiana cut her off. Nowhere, she said, giving her sister-in-law a warning glance. Unless you wanted to go dancing. I wouldn’t mind a few drinks, myself, and I’m sure we can find something to eat if anyone’s hungry.

She knew her husband rarely turned down a good meal. At the very least, fantasizing about food would distract him from the conversation he’d walked into. Hereford wouldn’t like his wife going to see a film alone. If she asked him to take her to the cinema now, after he’d grudgingly sat through a romantic play, he’d turn her down. She’d bring the subject up when he was more amenable.

Hereford scratched his chin. Food, you say?

Georgiana smiled. After ten years of marriage, she knew just how to manage her husband. Oh, yes. Hotel Cecil is still serving supper. Let’s pop over.

Linley clapped her hands. I’m all for it.

Patrick, who’d come to stand behind his wife, rested a hand on Linley’s shoulder and sighed, Hereford?

The duke looked at Georgiana, who grinned up at him like a schoolgirl. She knew he could never resist her, and he knew it, too. Hang it all. Let’s go.

They stepped out of the Adelphi. On the busy pavements, more theatre goers milled about in the cool night air. Motorcars lined the street, picking up and dropping off passengers. Hereford spotted their maroon Rolls-Royce