“Only one of them knows it,” Mrs. Bainbridge added, lifting a menu. “So far.”
Georgina laughed, the sound catching her by surprise.
Within minutes, tea was served, along with warm bread and a plate of sweet scones that looked almost too pretty to eat. Tatiana Rostov returned with the lemon cake, setting the tray down with a flourish.
“I’ve never seen three more determined women in my tearoom,” she said with a wink. “If the cake fails, I’ll have to add you to the menu to keep the customers coming.”
Mrs. Bainbridge patted her hand. “If we make it to the wedding without a public scandal, it’ll be a miracle.”
Georgina smiled. “Tatiana, have you changed the tea blend?”
“A touch of orange peel,” she said proudly. “Autumn demands something a little brighter.”
The proprietor disappeared again, leaving behind a thread of citrus and steam in her wake. The air was full of the scent of honey, spice, and freshly steeped leaves. It was impossible to hold on to anything heavy.
“The lemon cake,” Mrs. Bainbridge announced, cutting a square with precision, “is the clear winner. Edward agrees, and that man eats like a bishop on a fast day. I have declared the matter closed.”
Georgina took a bite and hummed in agreement. The lemon was vivid and sharp, the cake delicate beneath it. “Rowland hated lemon,” she said idly. “Once, he pretended to enjoy an entire tart just toimpress a visiting solicitor. I don’t think his mouth ever forgave him.”
Eliza grinned. “That’s love.”
“Or politics,” Georgina said, amused. “But it was kind, in its way.”
“If someone ate something revolting for you, would you marry them?” Eliza asked suddenly. “Or at least give them a second dance?”
Mrs. Bainbridge gave her a look over her teacup. “Is that how you’re measuring affection now?”
“And the gown?” She asked rather than answer the question.
“Madame Pembroke has outdone herself. Rose blush silk, fitted bodice, embroidery so fine I wept a little. Quietly. In private.”
“And the venue?” Georgina ventured.
Mrs. Bainbridge’s smile faltered. “Rosalynde Bay is… intimate. Which is to say, insufficient. I refuse to be married in a barn, no matter how charming.”
“You could try the Assembly Rooms,” Eliza suggested.
“I will not,” Honoria said flatly. “But I may have to.”
They laughed, and for a long while, the world beyond tea and satin and lemon glaze simply didn’t exist.
Eliza said, too casually, “I’ve met someone.”
Georgina arched a brow. “Have you?”
“I have. He’s charming. Clever. Not entirely alarming.”
“That’s a very specific kind of praise,” Georgina said, smiling. “Who is he?”
“Julian Everly,” Eliza replied, lifting her cup. “And before you ask, yes, he is handsome. I wouldn’t waste our time otherwise.”
Mrs. Bainbridge’s fingers paused ever so slightly on the cake knife. A flicker, gone too quickly to name, crossed her expression before she smiled.
“Everly?” Georgina repeated the name, snagging oddly in her thoughts. “I’ve seen that name before.”
“Eliza,” Mrs. Bainbridge said carefully, “where did you say you met him?”
“At the bookseller. He recommended a dreadful novel and a delightful play. I liked his voice. And his coat.”
