“No, thank you.”
“Your gentleman sent you flowers again.”
“Oh? That’s nice,” she said, moving listlessly around the kitchen.
“Well, Miss Georgie, you can stay here and sulk, or you can go out with Martina and enjoy the day,” Bertha said briskly. “Never let a man know his decisions matter—they take advantage of it, they do.”
Georgie’s eyes widened. “Why, Bertha, I didn’t know you knew anything about men.”
Bertha harrumphed. “A great deal more than you do.”
“I know nothing about them.”
“That’s the God’s truth. I was married back when I was a lass. A handsome man he were, though not a patch on Rafferty. Still, I thought he hung the moon, I did. But it wasn’t long before he began his cheating ways, taking my money and knocking me about. So I decided pretty is as pretty does and I could do much better without ’im. I’ve never regretted my decision.”
“Rafferty would never take my money and knock me around,” Georgie protested.
“Rafferty’s never going to lay any kind of hand on you—you’d best learn to accept it. He’s the butler, you’re the young lady of the house, and a fine, prosperous man is courting you.”
“How do you know he’s prosperous?”
“Lady Manning told me. She seems to think it’s practically all sewn up.”
“He hasn’t offered,” Georgie said, aware of a tightening in her stomach.
“He will. And you’ll be able to leave this crazy household and live an ordinary life.”
“I don’t want an ordinary life!” she cried. I want Rafferty! She didn’t say it out loud, but she might as well have. Bertha was looking at her with a sorrowful expression.
“I’ll tell Martina to hurry up. You know the weather—it could turn cloudy and cold before you realize it. Put on those nice new shoes you got, and I’ll send her up to you.”
At the thought of her beautiful shoes, she nearly burst into tears, but she stiffened her back instead, moving up the back stairs to her room. She was being a child, she told herself, weeping for the moon. It was time she grew up, and married, and had children herself. There was even a steady gentleman who appeared interested. Though she could hardly imagine lying beneath him and letting him do the things men did.
She didn’t want a steady gentleman, she wanted Rafferty! Shockingly enough, she wanted his body in bed with her. The truth should make her blush. But there was no denying the fact—he didn’t want her. It was time for her to accept it.
It was hard to stay morose when the sun beat down, she thought several hours later as she and Martina made their way down the crowded streets. They spent a great deal of time in the shops, looking at everything, buying nothing, though Martina insisted that Rafferty would see to things. The only thing that caused Georgie a pang was a beautiful night dress they found at Madame Racette’s shop, a sample, the modiste said, for a discriminating gentleman.
“A man wouldn’t wear this!” Georgie said, scandalized.
Madame Racette laughed. She was a skinny woman with a long nose but cheery eyes, wearing the best of her trade. “A gentleman would buy it for his lady love.”
“For his wife?” Georgie said, looking at it with interest. It was truly a lovely thing, if a bit...indecent.
“No, Miss Georgie, for his mistress,” Martina explained patiently. “These things aren’t worn by proper women. I wonder you brought it out!” She addressed the modiste. “Don’t you know a lady when you see one?”
The modiste was all apologies, starting to pull the night dress away, but Georgie put her hand out to touch it. It was so soft, almost featherlight. How would it feel to wear something like that? What would Rafferty think if he saw her in it? Would he want to...?
“And I don’t wonder at you blushing, Miss Georgie,” Martina carried on, misreading her reaction as she hustled her out of the shop. “I can’t imagine why that woman would bring out anything so outrageous. Hasn’t she dressed you for years?”
“Yes,” Georgie said, remembering all the childish frocks and enveloping night rails that had been her lot.
“It’s that bloody Rafferty,” Martina said, then bit her full lip. “I beg your pardon, miss. Clearly the woman got the wrong idea when Rafferty arranged for your new clothes.”
“What kind of idea?”
Martina never blushed, a fact that Georgie found interesting. Instead, she sighed. “You are an innocent, aren’t you? Well, stay that way. It’ll be for your husband to enlighten you.”
“Is that what you would want?” Georgie countered. “To be kept in ignorance until it was too late to do anything about it?”
