He had to get her out of the city. London might have space for well over a million people, but it could not hold both Georgiana and his sanity. He would ensconce her in his country house in Richmond and escape as soon as she was settled, giving her the separate arrangements she had wanted from the first.
There would be no discussion of the matter, or lectures for her to ignore, no more ultimatums or threats of punishment. He would give her no chance to disobey. When she came down to breakfast, he would tell her of his plans and order her back upstairs to pack her clothes. There would be pouting and foot-dragging, and more than a few childish tears. It would be just as it was with his mother and sisters, if they were denied even a day of the London Season. Half the gentlemen at the club this month were hiding from wives and daughters who had forced them to remain in the city until the last ball had ended.
But he was not some weak-willed, weak-kneed fellow who could be swayed on the subject. If she was not ready in an hour, he would throw her over his shoulder and make her leave here with nothing but the clothes on her back.
He heard her approach on the stairs, light, almost skipping as she came down to the breakfast room. She was whistling.
He winced. Weren’t women supposed to sing? All his sisters had been trained to do so. If Georgiana was capable of a solo, he had not heard it. Nor had he seen her drawing, or practising an instrument. But she was doing a creditable whistled version of a Mozart minuet, hopping down the last few steps in time to the end of a line. Her arrival on the landing seemed to jar her out of tune, which resulted in a laugh, and a series of bird whistles that ended in a slow, falling note as she arrived in the doorway to see him there.
‘Good morning,’ he said and glared at her.
After a moment of genuine surprise at his presence, she returned an equally dark, mocking frown. ‘And good morning to you, Major Challenger. What a surprise to find you here.’
‘It is my home,’ he reminded her.
‘And yet you chose to stay at Vitium et Virtus these last two nights,’ she replied as if she had reason to be incensed by it.
‘I belong there,’ he said. ‘You do not. In light of your scandalous visit last night, I have decided that we will leave for my house in Richmond this morning.’
Her frown disappeared instantly. But rather than turn to the confusion or irritation he’d been prepared for, it became the breathtaking smile that had dazzled half of London. ‘At last.’ She darted past him to grab a piece of toast from the rack on the table, slathering it with marmalade and taking a bite. ‘I will write a note to Father to tell him of my departure and will set Polly to packing immediately. If she cannot be done by the time the carriage is to set off, I will box her ears and leave directions for her to follow tomorrow.’ She turned and was halfway out the door before he could stop her.
‘Georgiana!’
She turned back to stare at him, tapping her foot as if impatient to be about her business.
‘You have no complaints to this?’ he asked, trying not to sound as confused as he felt.
She gave him an arch look, then shook her head, still chewing her breakfast. ‘None.’
‘I am not interfering with your schedule? You have no plans?’
‘Nothing I cannot send regrets for,’ she said, the picture of reason.
‘You would not prefer London?’
‘I haveseenLondon,’ she said. ‘Every last inch of every house. But I have never seen your country home.’
‘It will not be very exciting,’ he reminded her.
She tipped her head to the side and took another bite.
‘There will be no balls,’ he prompted. ‘No shopping. Only the neighbours for company.’ There would be none of the things that smart, young girls claimed to want. Did she not understand?
She swallowed her toast. ‘Do you have a stream for fishing?’
‘A very little one,’ he admitted. ‘The trout are not large. But they are there.’
‘And woods?’ she pressed, stuffing the last bit of toast into her mouth and licking jam from her fingers.
He watched those fingers for a moment, and the tip of the pink tongue that lapped at them, then shook his head, frustrated to be caught in the same trap that had snared him before.
When he looked up, she was tapping her foot again, chewing furiously and waiting for his answer.
‘A wood,’ he reminded himself of the subject. ‘More of a copse, really. My land is less than ten acres, total. Not all of it has trees. It is not fit for hunting, but good enough for an afternoon stroll. It is just a simple country house and grounds.’ It was not as grand as his father’s nor likely hers.
‘But there are birds,’ she said with an approving nod. ‘And a meadow? Or is all of it a formal garden?’ She made a face as if to say this was not to her liking.
It surprised him. Judging by the parks in London, he’d always assumed that ladies liked nature subdued and in small quantities. ‘There are several acres of meadow,’ he assured her.
