“Blast it all,” he muttered, continuing on to his own bedchamber. Georgiana was the only one with whom Bit seemed able to converse in full sentences, and she was on her way to negotiate with Amelia Johns. What a bloody wonderful day they were all having.
“And where are you off to?”
Georgiana started, nearly ripping the button off her pelisse as she whipped around. “Aunt Frederica, you startled me.”
“I can see that.” The dowager duchess continued gazing at her, settling for lifting an eyebrow at her niece’s choice of attire.
Georgie glanced down at her gown. Pale green and very simple, it was probably the most demure dress she owned. Looking as innocent as possible had seemed a good idea.
“I have a few errands.” That didn’t seem to cause her aunt to continue on down the hallway, so she smiled. “Did you want anything from Mendelsohns?”
“Ah. They had some new lace I wanted to look at. Do you mind if I come along?”
Drat. She couldn’t very well drag her aunt with her when she went to Amelia’s to ask for the return of her stockings. Well, that was what she deserved for trying to deceive her. “Of course I don’t mind. I only thought you’d find it dull.”
“Nonsense. I’ll get my reticule.” Frederica left the doorway just as Pascoe appeared in it.
“Lady Georgiana,” the butler enunciated, “you have a caller. Shall I inform him that you are out?”
Him. A male caller could be anyone, and she knew for a fact that the Marquis of Westbrook would be calling later that afternoon. But of course her pulse sped anyway, just on the chance it might be Tristan. Her aunt had stopped again, though, and Georgiana stifled a sigh. Subterfuge was far more difficult than she would have imagined. “Yes, please convey my apologies, Pascoe.”
“Very good, my lady.” The butler headed back downstairs.
Cursing to herself, Georgiana watched him descend. “Pascoe, who is it, by the way? You didn’t say,” she called.
The butler stopped. “He had no card, my lady, or I would have given it to you. It is Robert Carroway, I believe. All the gentleman said was that he wished to speak with you.”
“Robert Carroway?” Georgiana hurried down the stairs. “Do you mind waiting, Aunt?” she called over her shoulder.
“Never mind, dear. I’m going to luncheon with Lady Dorchester. Your schedule is far too erratic for me.”
“Thank you!” Georgiana smiled as she reached the sitting room doorway—and nearly collided with Bit as she charged into the room. He stepped back, avoiding her, though it looked as though he’d been on his way out. That didn’t surprise her.
“Bit, good morning,” she said, backing up to give him room.
“Apologies,” he muttered, as though it hurt him to speak. He strode past her into the foyer. “My mistake.”
“I was just about to go for a walk,” she said to his back, throwing her reticule to Pascoe, who caught it and put it behind him with nothing more than a raised eyebrow. “Would you care to join me?”
He slowed, nodding the back of his head at her. She needed a chaperone. Mary was upstairs mending the gown she’d worn to Grey and Emma’s last night, which had mysteriously lost two buttons. A downstairs maid, her arms full of table linens, emerged from a doorway. “Josephine, please put those down and join me for a walk.”
“M…me, my lady?”
Pascoe stepped forward. “Do as Lady Georgiana says, Josephine. At once.”
In less than a moment they were out the door, Robert walking so quickly that Georgiana didn’t even take the time to collect her bonnet or parasol. “Robert,” she said, trying to catch up to him without breaking into a run, “your pace is somewhat brisk for a stroll.”
He slowed at once, allowing her to draw even, but his jaw was clenched so hard she didn’t think he could have spoken even if he’d wanted to. Well, if there was one skill she’d learned from the duchess, it was how to talk about nothing until the other person felt comfortable enough to speak in turn.
“I meant to tell Edward last night,” she began, “that he should sign and date all of his drawings. When he looks back on them later, they’ll have more value to him if he knows when he drew them.”
“I have trouble remembering things myself, sometimes,” he said in his low, quiet voice.
Success. “So do I, though it depends on what it is,” she returned, after giving him a moment to continue if he chose to. “I’m good with faces, but as for what happened where and who said what, my mind has more holes in it than a yard of lace.”
“I doubt that, but thank you for saying it.” He took a breath, letting it out in a sigh. “Did I ever ask you to marry me?”
“No. You were one of the few who didn’t.”
