And die of boredom. Still, an escape was relatively easy, and it was exactly what he should do. Once he made sure Georgie had found someone suitable to love, not this stupid crush she had. If he went now, she might wind up married to a man who loved her sister, and Georgie had spent enough of her life being second best.
No, if he put his mind to it, he’d find a decent man for her and then take off, and she’d be too much in love to even notice his leaving. All he had to do was focus.
And keep the hell away from the Ormonds.
Chapter Thirteen
The day was bright and cheerful when Martina pushed open the curtains, the first day Georgie had seen the sun in ages. “Time to wake up, sleepyhead,” Martina announced, setting the breakfast tray across her lap. “You don’t want to be wasting this beautiful weather.”
Georgie pushed her hair back from her face and reached for her cup of tea. “Where is everyone?”
“Miss Norah’s still abed, as is your mother. Your father’s gone to his club, your brother is in the breakfast room with a pounding headache, and Bertha’s in the kitchen. Was that what you were wanting to know?”
Georgie refused to rise to the bait. “Of course,” she said. “Where are the maids? Do we still have them?”
“They’re cleaning. That amounts to everyone, then, does it?” An impish smile tugged at Martina’s strong mouth. “Oh, there’s Rafferty, of course. But then, you wouldn’t care where he was, would you?”
“You are a miserable human being,” Georgie said flatly.
“I’ve warned you he’s not for the likes of you,” Martina said, not without kindness. “Besides, haven’t you got a gentleman who’s been showing you marked attention? Much better to keep your mind on him.”
Andrew Salton’s handsome face swum in her mind for a moment, and she considered her future. He seemed to like her, and he was very kind. But he wasn’t as tall as Rafferty, and he didn’t have Rafferty’s piercing blue eyes. And falling in love wasn’t a practical thing—she could hardly just decide to do it. If she could, she would have chosen someone more sensible than their unconventional butler.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, reaching for her toast.
“Certain, you don’t,” Martina said. “There’ll be no visiting hours today, given that everyone else is still abed. You need something to take your mind off things.”
“What things?” she asked innocently.
Martina just gave her a meaningful look, then sighed. “What were you planning to wear, Miss Georgie? The striped green one would suit the day.”
“I can dress myself, Martina. I’m used to it.”
“You shouldn’t have to be,” Martina said. “I’ve got my orders and I mean to see to them.”
The sooner she was dressed, the sooner she could find Rafferty. It would be easy enough to come up with some excuse, or she could simply wander into the kitchen to talk with Bertha. Rafferty would turn up sooner or later.
He didn’t.
“Don’t look so morose, Miss Georgie,” Bertha said briskly from her spot by the stove. “It’s a beautiful day and you need to be out in it.”
“I need Rafferty to accompany me,” she said stubbornly. “Where is he?”
“Too busy for walks in the sunshine,” Rafferty said from the doorway, and Georgie felt her color rise. “You’ll have to take Martina.”
“She’s busy with my mother and Norah,” she argued. “I doubt they’ll let her go.”
“I’ll see to it,” he said in his oddly classless voice. When they’d first found him, he’d sounded like he came from the streets, but now he sounded, if not aristocratic, then not like a shopkeeper either. He was like a chameleon—he could fit anywhere.
“I’m willing to wait for you to accompany me,” she said, trying not to sound too desperate. He was avoiding her, and she knew it, but short of outright pleading, she didn’t know what to do.
His extraordinary eyes glanced over her just briefly, not really seeing her in her beautiful green-striped dress with the pink ribbons. She might as well not exist.
“I have work to do for your father, Miss Georgiana,” he said. “And your maid is a more suitable companion for an outing.”
But I don’t want to be suitable, she wanted to cry. I want you! But he’d already left the kitchen, whatever he’d come for forgotten in his need to escape her presence. For some stupid reason she wanted to cry.
Bertha was watching her with a sympathetic eye. “How about a nice cup of tea?”
