At the step, she turned.
She hadn’t said anything, hadn’t reached for him, and yet there was a shift in the air between them. It was familiar and charged, like the moment before a storm that might cleanse instead of destroy.
“There are times you amaze me, Georgina. How did I not see this before?”
As they continued to the carriage, she tilted her head, a smile catching at the corners of her mouth. “Perhaps you weren’t looking.”
That smile lingered in his thoughts. It wasn’t flirtation. It was confidence. She was a woman who no longer asked to be seen, but rather a woman who decided who was worthy to see her.
The carriage door was already open. Alex offered her his hand, steady and sure, as he guided her inside. She didn’t release it right away. She just held his gaze for a moment longer, and something quiet and unspoken passed between them.
It wasn’t a promise. Not yet. But it was a possibility, and that might be rarer still.
“Be careful,” she said.
“You too,” he answered, and for once, meant every word.
He closed the door with care and remained there as the driver snapped the reins. The carriage rolled forward, the gravel crunching under the wheels. He didn’t move until the glow of lamps vanished beyond the trees. The night was colder for her absence, though the warmth she’d left behind refused to fade.
He had faced down rifles, traitors, betrayal, but nothing had left him so still inside as the space she left behind.
Chapter Eighteen
Georgina tried oncemore to open the middle drawer of Rowland’s desk, biting the inside of her cheek as she jiggled the lock. It was stubborn, resistant, and increasingly personal. She had been working on it for over an hour. She went into the dining room, removed a butter knife from the table, and went back into Rowland’s study. She sat down, ready to try one more time, when the unmistakable clamor of two determined women echoed through the front hall.
A moment later, Mrs. Hemsley appeared in the doorway, her expression equal parts resigned and amused. “You have company, my lady. The spirited kind.”
Before Georgina could stand, Mrs. Bainbridge swept into the room in a flurry of purpose and silk trim. Eliza Langford followed, her cheeks pink from the wind and eyes bright with mischief.
“There you are!” Mrs. Bainbridge declared. “Exactly where I feared you’d be, elbow deep in receipts.”
Georgina raised an eyebrow. “Good morning to you as well.”
“No, no. Absolutely not,” Eliza said, moving to confiscate the nearest folio. “We are abducting you. Tea. Cake. Perhaps scandal, if we’re lucky.”
“I was in the middle of something.” Georgina put down the knife and tried to suppress a smile.
“And you will be again,” Mrs. Bainbridge said smoothly. “But for now, you are coming with us. You’ve been entirely too industrious of late, and I won’t have you turning into Honoria Two.”
Georgina glanced at her. “You are Honoria.”
“Precisely,” she replied. “And no one needs two of me. Come along. I have lemon cake to discuss.”
Georgina hesitated, glancing back at the half-open folio on the desk. She had made real progress that morning, and part of her complained about the idea of abandoning the thread. But the warmth in Mrs. Bainbridge’s eyes and the spark of mischief that trailed behind Eliza like a scarf on the wind softened her resistance. She missed this. She missed being seen for more than her responsibilities.
“I suppose it won’t do to turn into Honoria Two,” she said, rising.
“Perish the thought,” Mrs. Bainbridge said dryly as she took Georgina’s wool cloak from Mrs. Hemsley and helped her into it. “There. We are ready to leave.”
Georgina allowed herself to be ushered out, the sounds of Eliza and Honoria already sparking ahead like the opening notes of a lively overture.
The Rostov Tearoom in Sommer-by-the-Sea was bustling with quiet energy, its blue damask wallpaper catching the golden lamplight as the sun gathered beyond the windows. Painted panels framed each section with white wainscoting, and every table was dressed in crisp white linen, a lace overlay catching the light like frost. Small vases of late-autumn blooms sat neatly at the center of each table, red quince, dried lavender, and dusky orange rose hips gave the room a warm, russet glow.
Georgina paused just inside the entrance, breathing in the comforting aroma of black tea and something earthy, mushroom barley soup. A favorite in colder months. She hadn’t realized how taut her shoulders had become until the scent reached her, loosening something inside.
They were shown to a table beneath the large front window, where the last of the morning light met the flicker of a table candle. Georgina slipped off her gloves and let her fingers rest against thesmooth linen. Tatiana Rostov passed by with a welcoming smile and a glint in her eye, whispering something to a server who promptly vanished in the direction of the kitchen.
Eliza leaned in, already unwrapping her scarf. “You have no idea what you’ve missed. Mrs. Penworthy’s cat has now taken up residence at the Milliner’s, and young Mr. Tattleton is courting both seamstress sisters with alarming success.”
