“We are going straight to our rented townhome, Mother,” Georgiana said. “You may change when we arrive.”
“You’ll be the belle of every drawing room, Mother,” Cecily said with forced cheer. “Think of all the eligible older gentlemen who will be enchanted by you.”
Georgiana’s stomach lurched violently. Eligible gentlemen. Julian would be among them—wealthy, titled, charming when he chose to be. And he would see Cecily as leverage, a way to get closer to Georgiana herself. He might try to ingratiate himself with her family, play the perfect suitor while using Cecily’s innocence to manipulate the situation. The thought made her feel sick.
“Cecily,” she said, her voice sharper than intended. “You really must be careful in London. These people of thetonare ruthless. You’re just the kind of young woman they prey on.”
James glanced at her with concern. “Georgiana’s right. There are men who would take advantage of your innocence.”
Men like Julian. But Julian wouldn’t want Cecily for herself—he’d use her to get to Georgiana. She could still feel his hands on her, still hear his whispered threats about what he knew, what he could reveal. Her breathing grew shallow.
“I’ll be careful,” Cecily said, looking puzzled by Georgiana’s intensity. “Anyway, we have James to protect us. Surely no one would dare mistreat us, knowing he’s looking after all of us.”
But James couldn’t protect them from Julian’s secrets, from the hold he had over her. If he told anyone the truth about Robert and his brother, the scandal would have repercussions for Cecily. And all her hard work and James’s money would be for naught. Georgiana’s hands were shaking now, and she pressed them against her skirts, trying to still them.
“It is true, dear one,” James said in an indulgent tone he often usedwith Cecily. He clearly adored her. “But you still must choose caution. I’m a stranger to the ways of Society, and thus less useful to you than I would wish to be.”
“Regardless, we’re grateful to have you with us,” Georgiana said.
James’s gaze found hers, and she saw understanding there—not of the specifics of her fear, but of its depth. In the swaying carriage, with his warmth beside her and London growing closer with every mile, Georgiana felt caught between longing and terror, safety and exposure.
London awaited. And with it, Julian Fane.
*
The carriage crestedthe final hill just as the morning fog began to burn away, revealing the sprawling metropolis stretched below, a vast quilt sewn from smoke and stone, stitched together with winding streets and threaded with the silver ribbon of the Thames.
London.
Even from this distance, the skyline trembled with motion. Hundreds of chimneys puffed their morning breath into the air, carriages trundling over cobbled streets, windowpanes catching and fracturing the pale March sunlight. The hum of it, even muted by distance and glass, vibrated through Georgiana’s chest. She prayed silently that this was the right thing for her sister.
She pressed a gloved hand to the window as they rolled into Mayfair proper. The leather of her glove made a soft squeak against the glass, leaving a faint imprint that quickly faded. The air around them transformed, growing thicker not with the countryside scents of loam and wildflowers, but with coal smoke, expensive perfume and horse dung.
Cecily gasped beside her, the sound childlike in its wonder. Her sister’s cheeks flushed pink with excitement, eyes wide beneath thebrim of her bonnet. “I’d forgotten the hustle of it all. Isn’t it exciting?”
“It is.” Georgiana nodded, watching the parade of fashionable ladies drifting in and out of shops like exotic butterflies, their gowns a riot of colors against the sooty gray buildings. She smoothed her travel-wrinkled skirts, suddenly conscious of her provincial appearance. “We’re not in Sussex anymore.”
“Indeed we are not,” Lavinia said, sounding fully recovered from her previous bout of nausea.
The carriage slowed, wheels crunching over freshly swept cobblestones as they approached the townhouse James had leased for the Season. Georgiana’s stomach tightened with anticipation but also nerves. Again, she hoped she had made the right choice for her innocent and sweet sister.
Their temporary home was a three story, tawny brick building that stood between two statelier homes on a quiet crescent near Grosvenor Square. Not the most fashionable address, but respectable enough to open doors. It was the best James could do on such short notice and she was grateful. Iron railings wrapped around the front garden where crocuses and yet to bloom daffodils pushed through the soil, and a line of slim white columns framed the glossy black door. The brass knocker gleamed like liquid gold in the strengthening sunlight. The fanlight above the door was etched with an intricate floral motif that cast dappled shadows on the marble step below. Cream silk curtains with a subtle damask pattern, had been drawn back from tall windows, indicating Mrs. Ellsworth’s arrival the day before.
It wasn’t grand like the Mayfair palaces where dukes and earls entertained, but it would suit them just fine.
James stepped out first, his tall frame unfolding from the carriage with the easy grace that always made Georgiana’s pulse quicken. He extended a hand to help them down, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled. “Will it be all right for you?” James asked, his voice low enough that only she could hear.
“It’s perfect.” She allowed herself a moment of unguarded honesty as her fingers lingered in his. “Just right. I cannot thank you enough.”
He smiled, sending something fluttering low in her stomach, like moths’ wings against her stays.
“Very good.” James released Georgiana’s hand after a fraction too long. “Let’s go in, shall we? I believe Mrs. Ellsworth will have tea waiting.”
“Thank the good lord.” Lavinia held up her skirts as she eyed the muddy street. “I will perish if I don’t have a hot cup of tea very soon.”
“I must confess to being a little hungry.” Cecily turned in a full circle. “But look at this. We’re really here.”
James offered his arm and Georgiana took it, gathering her skirts to ascend the shallow steps. Before they could do so, a voice rang out behind her, cultured, languid, and utterly unmistakable.
