“There’s much to say between us,” he said quietly. “Isn’t there? Yet, I cannot find the right words to say exactly how I feel.”
Thunder rolled across the sky, and she shivered despite the fire’s warmth. “Nor I. Only that I’m frightened.”
“Of what?”
“Of caring too much. Of having my heart broken by a man who says he will never marry.”
“If the right person comes along, a man might discover there are… other ways to secure happiness.”
Georgiana felt the blood drain from her face. Other ways. The phrase echoed in her mind, each repetition making his meaning clearer. He wasn’t speaking of marriage at all. He was speaking of… arrangements. The kind respectable women didn’t discuss, but whispered about in scandalized tones.
“I see.” Her voice came out barely above a whisper.
“Georgie?” He frowned, clearly puzzled by the change in her expression. “What’s wrong?”
She stepped back, her chest tight with humiliation. How foolish she’d been, standing here like some lovesick girl, imagining he might actually—that a man of his station—would ever consider her worthy of his name.
“I must go.” She turned toward the door, desperate to escape before the tears burning behind her eyes could fall.
“Wait—” He reached for her arm, but she pulled away.
“Please don’t.” Her voice cracked despite her efforts to control it. “I understand perfectly what you are suggesting, and I—I cannot. I will not.”
She fled before he could respond, leaving him standing by thedying fire, his hand still outstretched and complete bewilderment written across his features.
*
Downstairs, in thekitchen, golden lamplight pooled on copper pots and the worn wooden table, but Georgiana felt the atmosphere shift the moment she entered. Mrs. Honeycutt bent over her stew pot with unusual concentration, while Mrs. Ellsworth busied herself with plates, avoiding everyone’s eyes.
They knew. Of course they knew.
“Please sit,” Mrs. Honeycutt said without turning. “Storm’s made everyone restless tonight, but I have something to warm our bellies.”
James pulled out Georgiana’s chair, his fingers brushing her shoulder as she sat. The simple touch made her stomach clench with equal parts longing and shame. She couldn’t bear to look at him—not after what he’d suggested, not when her traitorous body still responded to his nearness.
Cecily watched them both with barely concealed curiosity, chin propped on her hand, eyes wide. “Quite the tempest. Thunder rattled the windows something fierce. I do hope nothing was… interrupted.”
Heat flooded Georgiana’s cheeks. “What could possibly have been interrupted?” she asked, her voice pitched too high.
“Other than our discussion of Shakespeare,” James said. “We were discussing the upcoming ball.”
“Yes,” Georgiana seized on the excuse. “Discussing the performance. Nothing more.”
Mrs. Ellsworth dropped her spoon. The clatter rang through the kitchen like a gunshot.
“Butterfingers tonight,” the housekeeper muttered, her cheeks flaming.
Cecily, bless her, began chattering about her latest ideas for thegardens. Georgiana pushed food around her plate, ridiculously aware of James across from her. When their feet accidentally brushed under the table, she jerked back as if scalded, nearly knocking over her water glass.
The meal stretched endlessly. Finally, she pleaded a headache and escaped to her room. Once safely in the space she shared with Cecily, she collapsed onto the bed, pulled her knees to her chest, and let the tears fall at last.
*
An hour later,Cecily found her still curled on the bed, fully clothed.
Her sister came to perch on the side of the bed, smoothing locks of hair away from her forehead. “What has happened? And don’t tell me nothing because I know you. Something’s happened between you and James. You were as jumpy as startled birds during supper.”
“What did Mrs. Ellsworth say?” Georgiana asked. “About what she saw upstairs?”
