. . . As this year’s Season finds itself fully underway, this author has discovered, without question, that it is the ladies of London who rule . . .
The gossip pages of The Weekly Britannia,
May 13, 1833
That night, Lady Tremley arrived at The Other Side battered and bruised and asking for Anna.
Georgiana—dressed as Anna—met the countess in one of the small rooms reserved for the female members of the club, where she pulled the door closed behind her and began immediately helping the lady dispense with her clothing. It was important that they quickly assess the damage the earl had done.
“I’ve summoned a doctor,” she said quietly as she unlaced the bodice of Lady Tremley’s dress. “And if you’ll allow it, I’d like to send a man around to fetch your things from Tremley House.”
“There is nothing there that I need,” the lady said, sucking in a breath as her loosening corset returned feeling to bruises that might have best been left without it.
“I am sorry, Imogen,” Georgiana said, guilt and anger making the words bitter on her tongue. She’d sent the woman home knowing that this might happen.
“Why?” The lady sucked in a breath as Georgiana ran fingers over her ribs. “You didn’t do it.”
“I invited you here. I should have stopped you from returning to him.” She lifted her hand. “You’ve a broken rib. Perhaps more than one.”
“You couldn’t have stopped me,” Lady Tremley said. “He is my husband. It is the proverbial bed in which I lie.”
“You shan’t go back to him.” Georgiana would stand nude on St. James if it would help to stop the woman from returning to her demon of a husband.
“Not after this, no,” the lady said, the words nasal and strained through a swelling nose and lip. “But I haven’t any idea where I will go instead.”
“I told you, there are rooms here. We can provide you sanctuary.”
The lady smiled. “I cannot live in a casino in Mayfair.”
Georgiana rather thought that a casino in Mayfair was far safer for the girls who lived and worked there than Tremley House was for its countess. Than dozens of aristocratic homes were for the women who lived in them. But she did not say so. Instead, she said, “I don’t see why not.”
The countess paused at the words, then allowed the wildness of the moment to wash over her. She chuckled, clearly not knowing how else to behave, before wincing in pain. “Life is mad sometimes, is it not?”
Georgiana nodded. “Life is mad all the time. Our task is to not let it make us mad in the process.”
They were silent together for long minutes while Georgiana dipped a cloth in a basin of water and cleared the blood from Imogen’s cheek and neck. Tremley had beaten his wife well. Guilt flared again as she rinsed the cloth and lifted it again to the woman’s face. “We should not have involved you.”
Imogen shook her head, reaching up to stay Georgiana’s touch. When she spoke, she was as regal as any queen. “I shall only say this once: I was grateful for the invitation. It gave me a way to fight him. To punish him. I do not regret it.”
“If he was a member, I . . .” Georgiana paused, remembering herself. Tried again. “If he was a member, Chase would ruin him.”
Imogen nodded. “As he is not a member, you can imagine that he will do his best to bring down this place. He had me followed. He knew I was a member.”
Georgiana met the woman’s blue eyes. “He knew you had to give up information for membership.”
“As I did not have anything of mine . . .” The countess looked away. Whispered, “I am weak. He told me he would stop if I confessed it.”
“No.” Georgiana came to her knees at the other woman’s feet. “You are so very strong.”
“I’ve put this place in danger. My husband is a powerful man. He knows what I gave you. What Chase has.”
What Duncan had.
Duncan, who had been to Tremley House earlier that day. Who had met with Tremley at two balls, she’d noticed. Who had the information to destroy the man, and had not yet used it.
“You must warn Mr. Chase,” Imogen said. “When my husb—” She stopped. Rethought. “When the earl arrives, he will do anything to demolish this place and anyone involved with the building of it. He will do whatever it takes to keep you quiet.”
“You think you are our first member with a bastard of a husband? It will take more than that to destroy us,” Georgiana said with more bluster than she felt. She dipped Imogen’s hands in the warm water, hating the way the woman hissed her pain at the sensation. “He is not the first to threaten us, and he will not be the last.”
“What did you do with the information?” the countess asked. “What will become of it? When will it be used against him?”
“Soon, I hope,” Georgiana said. “If it does not appear in the News of London within the week, I shall release it myself.”