“I was an idiot.”
She chuckled, though a breath of uneasiness went through her. Being involved with his brother was difficult enough, and she didn’t want to hurt him. “You were—and are—refreshingly independent.”
“So independent I can’t make myself leave the house, most days.”
“You’re here today.”
What might have been a smile touched his mouth. “You like Dare today. I wasn’t sure you’d want to talk with me, tomorrow.”
“I would always talk with you, Robert. No matter what might happen between Tristan and myself.”
He nodded. “Good. And you can always talk to me. I’m told I’m a good listener.” Bit glanced at her sideways from beneath long black eyelashes, as though to make certain she understood that he was teasing.
“You haven’t lost your sense of humor, I see.”
“Not entirely.”
They had reached the east edge of Hyde Park, teeming with riders and coaches in the late morning. Though he didn’t say anything about it, she could sense that he was growing more and more uneasy at the sight of the crowds. “Have you ever had a pastry at Johnston’s?” she asked.
“No.”
“I’ll buy you one, then.” Georgiana headed south, angling away from the park.
“No. I need to go.” A muscle in his cheek jumped, his stance equal parts wary and angry—at himself, she thought. The Carroways were proud men, and he had to hate that she could see his distress.
They turned back along Regent Street, walking side by side in silence, Josephine trailing behind them. She wanted to ask Bit if there was a particular reason he’d decided to come by today, or if he had some specific thing he wanted to tell her. Yet she didn’t want to drive him away or make him uncomfortable enough that he wouldn’t want to return.
Once they reached Hawthorne House, she had a groom bring Robert’s horse back around. “I am glad you came by,” she said. “And I’m serious; anytime you feel like chatting, I will be available.”
His deep blue eyes held hers for a long moment, leaving her with the unsettling feeling that he could read her thoughts. “You’re the only one who doesn’t make me feel like Pinch,” he finally said.
She frowned. “‘Pinch?’”
“You know, from The Comedy of Errors. ‘They brought one Pinch, a hungry lean-faced villain, A mere anatomy, a mountebank, A threadbare juggler, and a fortune-teller, A needy, hollow-eyed, sharp-looking wretch; A living-dead man.’”
The quote, and the deep, flat tone of his voice unsettled her. “For someone who says he has trouble remembering things, you recalled that quite well.”
The faint almost-smile touched his mouth again, then vanished in a shudder. “I spent seven months in a French prison. I memorized that play; an old playbook was the only thing we had to read. We were…encouraged to remain silent. At all times.”
“Robert,” she murmured, reaching a hand toward him.
He backed away. “There is…nothing worse. Don’t let yourself be trapped, Georgiana, whether it means being with Tristan or not being with him. Don’t give in because it’s easier. If you do, there’s nothing left. That’s what I came to tell you.” He swung up on his horse and clattered down the drive.
Disquieted, Georgiana sat down on the front steps. Robert didn’t say much, but when he did…“My goodness,” she whispered.
Awful as what he’d said had been, it did help clarify matters. She wouldn’t allow someone else to dictate how she lived the rest of her life. Amelia Johns had something that didn’t belong to her—and Georgiana meant to get it back.
The Johns’s butler showed Georgiana into a downstairs sitting room, where a dozen young ladies of Amelia’s age sat giggling and eating sandwiches.
Amelia rose to greet her, a smile on her pretty oval face. “Good afternoon, Lady Georgiana. I never expected to see you here.”
“Well, I needed a moment to chat with you about something, Miss Johns,” Georgiana said, feeling ill at ease. Other than Tristan, Amelia was the only person who knew what she’d done—and had the means to ruin her in Society.
Looking at her, though, with her pretty, innocent gaze and her giggling friends, Georgiana couldn’t help but think Tristan must have misinterpreted her reasons for keeping the letter and the stockings. Perhaps Amelia was merely jealous. After all, Tristan had paid attention to the girl, and he was devastatingly handsome, and Georgiana had promised her assistance. In a sense, all of this was her fault.
“Certainly we should chat,” Amelia returned, “but won’t you have some tea first?”
Georgiana forced a smile. “That would be lovely. Thank you, Miss Johns.”
