“Of course.” Cecilia moved to pass, but Georgiana stepped into her path.
“He defended you yesterday.”
The words were not a question, yet they waited for an answer.
“He was being… civil.”
“He was being more than civil. He humiliated me before an entire room. A duke—championing my poor relation at theexpense of his own consequence.” Georgiana’s jaw tightened. “Do you comprehend how that appeared? What is being said?”
“I did not seek his intervention.”
“No? You merely spent every morning closeted with him in the library—discoursing upon agricultural improvements? Is that the tale we are to tell?”
Cecilia held her silence. There was no safe reply.
“I thought it harmless at first,” Georgiana went on. “A passing fancy that would fade once he recalled his obligations. But when he walked out before everyone—withyou—I understood—” She broke off, her voice catching. “He cares for you. He actually cares. Foryou.”
“Georgiana—”
“How dare you?” The words burst forth—fierce, almost violent. “How dare you attract his notice when I have taken such pains to secure it—when my entire future depends upon making an advantageous match—when you have nothing, and I have everything, and yet somehow he looks at you as though—”
She stopped, breath unsteady, composure splintering.
“As though you were the only person in the room worth seeing.”
Cecilia felt the words like a blow—because they were true. She had seen that look. Had felt it. Had cherished it, even knowing she ought not.
“I am sorry,” she said—and meant it. “I never intended—”
“Your intentions are immaterial. The effect is the same.” Georgiana straightened, gathering herself with effort. “Mama has noticed. She observed all that passed and has formed her conclusions. She is… incensed.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?” Georgiana’s voice hardened. “She wishes to send you home. Tonight—before you may create further embarrassment.”
The words fell like cold water. Send her home—away from the library, away from Sebastian—with no chance even to say farewell.
“I see,” Cecilia said quietly.
“I persuaded her to delay—until after the picnic at least. I told her that sending you away abruptly would only excite more talk.” Georgiana hesitated, a flicker of something like guilt crossing her face. “But she will not delay long. If there isanyfurther incident—any hint that you have sought the Duke’s attention—she will dismiss you without reference.”
Without reference.The words carried weight that Georgiana might not fully understand. A servant dismissed without reference could not find new employment. A dependent cast out without recommendation could not find new shelter. It was ruin, delivered in polite phrasing.
“I understand,” she said again, because there was nothing else to say.
Georgiana studied her—long, searching. Then, unexpectedly:
“Do you love him?”
The question hung in the still air, demanding what could not safely be spoken.
“It does not signify whether I do.”
“Answer me.”
“Why? What difference could it make?”
“It makes a difference tome.” Georgiana’s voice had altered—stripped of vanity, almost vulnerable. “All my life I have been told that I shall marry well—that my beauty and accomplishments will secure rank and fortune. That this is my purpose. But no one ever spoke of… affection.”
