Georgiana managed to summon a degree of indignation. “Well, I should hope so.”
“So why are you crying, my sweet?”
Because I’m not sure he deserved it, and because I really don’t hate him, and now he hates me. “I’m just tired. And mad at him, of course.”
“Of course.” The duchess stood. “I’m going to send my Danielle in to get you into your nightgown. Finish your tea, and get some sleep.”
“But it’s morning.”
“Just barely. And you have nothing to do today, no obligations, no appointments—nothing to do but sleep.”
“But—”
“Sleep.”
The herb tea was definitely doing something, because her eyes were drooping shut. “Yes, Aunt Frederica.”
Frederica Brakenridge sat in her office, addressing her correspondence, when the door opened.
“What the devil is going on?” a deep voice snapped.
She finished the letter and lifted a paper to begin her next missive. “Good afternoon, Greydon.”
She felt her son’s large form hesitate, and then cross the room to her. Tawny hair entered the corner of her vision as he leaned down to kiss her cheek. “Good afternoon. What’s going on?”
“What have you heard?”
With a sigh he dropped into the overstuffed chair behind her. “I ran across Bradshaw Carroway at Gentleman Jackson’s. When I inquired about Georgiana, Shaw told me she’d left to return here, and that Tristan was rabid about it—or about something, anyway.”
“Bradshaw didn’t say?”
“He said he couldn’t say, because Tristan wouldn’t say.”
Frederica continued with her letter. “That’s just about all I know, as well.”
“It’s the ‘just about’ I want to hear from you, Mother.”
“No.”
“Fine.” Material rustled as he stood. “I’ll ask Tristan.”
Hiding a frown, Frederica turned in her chair to face him. “No, you won’t.”
“And why is that?”
“Stay out of it. Whatever it is, it’s between them. Not us.”
Grey didn’t bother hiding his scowl. “Where’s Georgie, then?”
The duchess hesitated. She disliked not knowing all the facts; it made treading through the mess all the more difficult—and delicate. “Sleeping.”
“It’s nearly two in the afternoon.”
“She was upset.”
Greydon met her gaze. “How upset?”
“Very.”
