“And they,” Georgie said calmly, “can have you.”
For her enforced re-entry into society, Georgie would have chosen someone other than the Islingtons. The earl and countess were her parents’ age with a tendency to throw lavish soirées to showcase any number of hopeful young ladies eager to display their meager talents. Since the Islingtons were tone-deaf, they seemed to particularly delight in off-key sopranos and the stumbling poetry preferred by romantic damsels, and Georgie was terrified that she’d be coerced into showing off her nonexistent accomplishments. Norah, of course, had a clear, bright soprano, and she could recite with drama worthy of a Covent Garden extravaganza, making Georgie’s failings even more noticeable. If called upon, she would simply refuse. That, or she could recite “The boy stood on the burning deck” with all the fervor of one of her mother’s blasted acolytes and bring the room to tears. That, or give them “the boy stood on the burning deck, eating peanuts by the peck,” and be thrown out on her ear.
In fact, she’d be safe from showing off her wares. Too many other young women were determined to snatch their prize from the marriage mart—Georgie wished them luck. She would find a potted plant and hide behind it until it was time to go home. Back to Rafferty.
It was only her second outing into society—the ill-conceived treasure hunt had been the first—and she knew no one but her sister, who of course wanted nothing to do with her. Georgie, abandoned by her family, immediately went in search of cake.
Georgie loved to eat, and while the Islingtons’ soirée tended to be painfully dull, they also happened to employ one of the best pastry chefs in London, which was just about the only reason Georgie had agreed to go in the first place.
She was wearing the lavender gown, and even she had to admit she looked...nice. But Rafferty’s eyes had simply passed over her when he ushered them to their carriage, and while he helped her mother and sister up into the equipage he left her to scramble after them all by herself. It was no wonder she needed cake and solitude.
She found her potted plant in an alcove a safe distance from the painful performances and she placed her heavy-laden plate on the chair next to her. The cakes would keep her busy long enough, and then she could feign a headache. They would all have to accompany her back home in the family carriage, and Norah wouldn’t like it. As the beauty of the season, she commanded adoration and obedience from the other young ladies, and she delighted in the glow of approval from all and sundry. She most definitely did not like having her awkward younger sister tagging along after her.
“You need something to drink.” The voice came from behind her, startling her so violently that she almost lost her cake. The next moment a young gentleman came around in front of her, two glasses of champagne in his hands. “All that cake must make your mouth dry.” He smiled at her, a crooked smile, and Georgie’s original temptation, which was to throw her cake at him, faded, and she found herself smiling back.
“I’m hiding,” she confided, reaching out for one of the glasses.
“I know you are. Would you mind telling me why?”
“I don’t want to be called upon to perform. In fact, I didn’t want to be here in the first place, but my parents insisted. They seem to think I’ll make a good match.” She made a face at the notion.
He laughed. “Don’t you want to get married?”
“No. At least, I don’t think so. I want to be an old maid with goats and chickens and Rafferty to keep me busy.”
“I know what goats and chickens are, but I’ve yet to hear of a Rafferty. Is it some strange exotic camel-like animal?”
Despite herself she laughed. “Rafferty’s our butler.”
“A very wise part of your plan,” the young man said. “I always prefer to have my butler as part of my plans for the future. May I sit?”
Georgie scooped the plate off the seat, dusting crumbs off her satin skirts. “Of course. I’ve been rude—excuse me. I haven’t been out in society for very long.”
“I’m astonished,” he said with a straight face. “Since there’s no one here to introduce us, would you mind if I was so gauche as to do it myself? My name is Andrew Salton.”
She inclined her head with perfect grace. “I’m Miss Georgiana Manning,” she replied.
“Manning? Does that mean you’re related to that bewitching character over there?”
Norah was singing, surrounded by a dozen rapt young men, and they could hear her perfect, crystal notes from where they sat.
“She’s my sister,” Georgie said with a marked lack of enthusiasm. “Don’t bother to fall in love with her. She’s destined for an earl at least. Er...you aren’t an earl, are you?”
He laughed. “Just a plain mister, I’m afraid. I recognize she’s way above my touch.”
He was busy watching Norah, an odd expression on his face, so Georgie gave herself permission to assess her companion. He was young—not much older than Neddy, which would make him about twenty-five. He had dark brown hair, warm brown eyes, and a very presentable face, with a good jaw, high cheekbones, and a ready smile.
He must have felt her eyes on him, for he turned back to her with his ready smile. “Forgive me, I’ve been rude.”
“Not at all. Norah affects everyone that way.”
But Andrew Salton was looking at her, not Norah, and there was clear admiration in his eyes. What would it feel like, if Rafferty were to look at her like that?
That wasn’t about to happen. Norah finished her song on a perfect, sustained note, then fell back to enjoy the adulation that was de rigeur for everything she did. Georgie went back to her cake, prepared for Andrew Salton to abandon her in favor of Norah.
He did no such thing. In fact, he didn’t even glance at her sister while he kept up an amusing line of conversation about his father’s tiny church in Kent and the frequent attendance of the neighborhood livestock in the midst of his sermons.
“It’s extremely difficult to contemplate the wages of sin with a goose staring at you balefully,” he continued, and she laughed.
