The Gentleman Thief. Deborah Simmons

      Whirling around, Georgiana was nearly halfway across the airy reception room when she realized that she had missed a golden opportunity for an introduction. Botheration! She snapped her fan in disgust, for she knew better than to let her personal feelings interfere with an investigation. She could hardly imagine a Bow Street Runner abandoning his case because one of his suspects eyed him with too much familiarity.

      With a small sound of irritation, Georgiana turned back toward the way she had come, but already her place had been filled by other women, both young and old. Then her mama appeared, cajoling her to dance with a young man, and Georgiana, from long experience, knew better than to argue.

      Mr. Nichols, Georgiana soon discovered, was a nice enough fellow, here with his family from Kent, but as he spoke haltingly on such bland topics as the weather and the society of Bath, Georgiana’s attention wandered. Although she kept craning her neck in an effort to see Ashdowne, when she finally spied the marquis, he was heading out to the garden with a young widow who apparently had abandoned her mourning most precipitously.

      Georgiana frowned as Mr. Nichols met with her again during the dance, and she nodded absently at his questions. She really had no time for such inanities! Unfortunately, she recognized all too well the dazed expression on her partner’s face. If focused, it would no doubt rest upon her curls or her white throat, or worse yet, the alarming expanse of pale breast that her mother insisted she expose as fashionable.

      He paid no attention to what she was saying, of course, and at times like these, Georgiana was often tempted to whisper of insurrection or confess to a murder, in an effort to jolt her audience into awareness. Her admirers usually fell into two camps: those who paid no heed whatsoever to what she said, and those who hung on her every word.

      Unfortunately, the latter were of no more use to her than the former, for she always failed to engage them in any kind of meaningful discourse. The sapskulls agreed with everything she said! She supposed she ought to be used to it by now, but nevertheless, Georgiana felt a twinge of disappointment.

      Her mother was always extolling the virtues of marriage and parenthood, but how could Georgiana even entertain the notion of a life spent with a man such as this? Yet how was she, in her small venue, to acquaint herself with anyone else? Education among the gentry was a haphazard business at best, and even those with a modicum of schooling seemed to be struck dumb by her appearance.

      It was the curse of her existence. And so she discouraged them all, much to her mother’s disappointment, and resigned herself to a life of spinsterhood, where she might have the freedom to finally dress and act as she wished, providing her great-uncle Morcombe left her the stipend he had promised. Not that she wished him to pass on in the near future.

      It was with much relief that Georgiana realized the set was coming to an end, and she sent Mr. Nichols happily off to fetch her an ice, which granted her a slight but much desired reprieve from his company.

      “Isn’t he wonderful?” her mother gushed into her ear. “I have it on good authority that he will come into a lovely piece of land in Yorkshire from his grandfather, which ought to provide him with a thousand pounds a year!”

      The earnestness in her dear mother’s face prevented Georgiana from dashing the woman’s hopes with a scathing reply. If not Mr. Nichols, then some other gentleman would be forced upon her, so she simply nodded absently while searching the room for Ashdowne. To her surprise, he had joined in the dancing, moving with a grace that caused a fluttering sensation in the pit of her stomach.

      “Please, excuse me,” she said, moving away from her mother with a distracted air.

      “But Mr. Nichols…”

      Ignoring her mother’s protest, Georgiana slipped into the crowd. Although she lost sight of Ashdowne, she was pleased to be free of both her dear mama and Mr. Nichols, and so she made her way slowly through the press of people, watching and listening. It was one of her favorite pastimes, for there was always the chance she might overhear information that could come in handy. Not gossip, of course, but something pertinent to her investigation.

      In this case, talk about Ashdowne.

      Unfortunately, she didn’t hear much of use, only that he was so dashing and charming, etcetera, ad nauseam. He had been a younger son, coming into the title after the death of his brother a year ago. He appeared to have settled into the title quite nicely, according to one knowing matron, and did not hold himself above the rest of the world, as evidenced by his most gracious manner. Etcetera. Ad nauseam. The conversations were much the same. All the gushing over Ashdowne became positively annoying, and, perversely, she became even more determined to find the man guilty of something.

      “Ah, Georgie!” Stifling a groan, Georgiana turned to find her father standing beside her with a sober-looking gentleman. Another potential suitor for her, she surmised, fighting the urge to run screaming from the room.

      “Mr. Hawkins, here she is, my eldest daughter! Lovely girl, just as I told you, and such a clever thing. I’m sure you will find her most interested in your scholarship!”

      Georgiana, knowing her dear father all too well, gathered that he was not, and was eager to pass his new acquaintance on to herself.

      “Georgie, love, this is Mr. Hawkins. He’s newly arrived at Bath, too, and hoping to find a living here, as he’s a vicar and very learned.”

      Georgiana pasted a smile on her face and managed to greet Mr. Hawkins with a modicum of civility. He was attractive in a rather severe way, but something in his gray eyes told her that he was not the kind of gentle, unassuming soul as was their own Vicar Marshfield.

      “A pleasure, of course, Miss Bellewether,” the man said. “But a lady such as yourself could hardly be expected to understand the intricacies of philosophy. Indeed, I suspect that most men would be hard-pressed to match my knowledge, since I have devoted my life to its study.”

      Before Georgiana could argue that she was a devotee of Plato, who had, after all, founded the science of logic, Mr. Hawkins went on. “And, I must admit that Rousseau has fallen out of favor, what with the unpleasantness in France. However, I cannot see how he can be blamed for what befell the unfortunates there.”

      “So you believe that—” Georgiana began, but Mr. Hawkins cut her off with a sniff.

      “But, then, the most enlightened men have often suffered for their genius,” he declared.

      It didn’t take Georgiana’s keen faculties to determine that the pompous vicar counted himself among the persecuted academics, and Georgiana’s spark of interest was immediately and firmly doused. She would find no intellectual stimulation here, for Mr. Hawkins obviously was in the habit of expounding—not conversing.

      Stifling a yawn, she stood there while he tossed off long words and theories in a strange mix that left her certain he understood very little of what he was spouting. No wonder her father had been so eager to be rid of the man! Georgiana was rapidly reaching her limits of endurance, too.

      “Ah, there is our hostess!” she said, in an effort to break away, but Mr. Hawkins would not let her go so easily.

      “Humph! I am surprised that she has opened her home to so many of her social inferiors, for it has been my experience that those of her rank are rarely cordial to the less fortunate.”

      Although Lady Culpepper was prone to the condescending air of the nobility, Georgiana did not find her any worse than most. “I admit that she could be more gracious, but—”

      ”Gracious?” Mr. Hawkins cut Georgiana off with an unbecoming scoff, an odd vehemence in his voice. “The lady and her kind are not known for their courtesy to others, but lord their wealth and power over the rest of us. I find them frivolous beings with no concerns except their own selfish caprices!”

      Mr. Hawkins’s sudden venom surprised Georgiana, but then, as swiftly as it had come over him, the mood was gone, replaced by a rather bland expression. “However, a man in my position must do his best to mingle with society,” he added, as if begrudging his chosen career.