“I’ve met the most wonderful man. And his mother’s invited us all to dinner the day after tomorrow.”
“How lovely,” Lavinia said, her earlier concerns immediately forgotten. “Tell us everything.”
“It’s Viscount Alderidge’s son, Nathaniel,” Cecily bubbled.
Lavinia’s eyes lit up with genuine pleasure. “What excellent news. I must introduce myself to his mother properly.”
As her mother moved away, Georgiana felt the familiar weight of expectation settling around her shoulders. Lavinia’s words had been loving, even reasonable—which somehow made them cut all the deeper.
Chapter Twenty
James
Two nights afterthe ball, James escorted Lady Linley, Georgiana, and Cecily to dinner hosted by the charming Lady Alderidge. Two nights, and he still hadn’t managed a single private moment with Georgiana since their encounter on the terrace.
Not for lack of trying. The past two days had been a whirlwind of social obligations—morning calls that required his presence as Cecily’s sponsor, afternoon visits where Lavinia hovered like a protective hawk, and evening engagements where propriety demanded they maintain careful distance. Every time he’d caught Georgiana’s eye across a drawing room, every time their fingers had brushed during an introduction, the memory of her trembling in his coat had threatened to undo his composure entirely.
He had been delighted to learn that Sebastian would also be in attendance tonight. He was not delighted to learn that somehow Julian Fane had managed to score an invitation as well.
The Alderidge estate was grand in a way that whispered, rather than shouted, its wealth. Wainscoting gleamed in the candlelight, polished so fine it mirrored the flame. A massive chandelier presided over the entrance hall like a benevolent monarch, scattering gold and crystal rainbows across every marble surface.
James adjusted his cravat as they entered the drawing room, flanked by Georgiana, Cecily, and Lavinia—each dressed to charm intheir own very different ways. The drawing room itself was a masterpiece of understated elegance: deep burgundy walls lined with portraits of distinguished ancestors, their painted eyes seeming to follow the guests with benevolent curiosity. Persian rugs in rich jewel tones warmed the polished oak floors, while crystal decanters caught the firelight from their perch on a mahogany sideboard that had likely graced this room for generations.
Georgiana had chosen deep plum silk, elegant and understated, with a delicate silver pin at her collarbone. The color made her skin luminous, though James noticed the slight tension in her shoulders, the way her gloved fingers worried at her reticule’s silk cord. Cecily sparkled beside her in pale blue satin, her copper hair swept up like a flame, but her usual animated chatter had given way to an endearing breathlessness that spoke of nerves and hope in equal measure. Lavinia was a confection of feathers, lime green taffeta, and barely veiled ambition—practically vibrating with satisfaction at having secured an invitation to such an exclusive gathering.
The pre-dinner ritual unfolded with the precision of a well-rehearsed dance. Footmen moved silently between the guests, offering crystal glasses of sherry and port from silver trays that reflected the warm glow of beeswax candles. The scent of bergamot and lavender wafted from strategically placed arrangements of hothouse flowers, mingling with the masculine notes of tobacco and leather from the gentlemen’s clothing.
The Viscount and Viscountess of Alderidge greeted them with warm smiles and practiced poise. Lady Alderidge was a striking woman in her fifties, her dark hair threaded with silver and her intelligent brown eyes missing nothing as she assessed each guest. She wore deep emerald silk that complemented her husband’s more subdued burgundy velvet jacket. The Viscount himself was tall and distinguished, with graying temples and the kind of quiet authority that came from generations of responsibility.
Their son—Nathaniel—stepped forward to greet Cecily with a soft-spoken compliment and an easy smile that sent the girl glowing. “Miss Linley, you look absolutely radiant this evening. That shade of blue is quite perfect on you.” He was tall, refined, with golden-brown hair that caught the candlelight and intelligent gray eyes that seemed genuinely delighted by Cecily’s presence. There was an innate confidence about him that required neither arrogance nor flourish—the kind of man who listened more than he spoke and made others feel heard.
James approved of him instantly. The young man’s attention to Cecily was respectful but unmistakably interested, and when she stammered a thank you, color rising prettily in her cheeks, Nathaniel’s smile only grew warmer. And that only made James’s gut twist tighter.
Because it wasn’t Cecily he was watching tonight.
It was Georgiana. He wished he could be alone with her and tell her once and for all his intentions. He wanted her hand in marriage. He wanted her all to himself. Forever.
From his strategic position near the marble fireplace, James had a clear view of the entire room. He accepted a glass of port from a passing footman and settled into observation, noting how the other guests—a carefully curated selection of Society’s finest—moved through their social choreography. Lord Pemberton held court near the French doors that led to the terrace, regaling a small group with tales of his recent hunting expedition. The Honorable Mrs. Whitmore examined a collection of miniatures displayed on an étagère, her lorgnette glinting as she made appreciative murmurs. Two younger gentlemen engaged in animated discussion about the merits of their respective hunters, while their wives compared the latest fashions from Bond Street.
But James’s attention kept drifting to Georgiana. All evening, his eyes tracked her. The gentle way she leaned toward her sister during conversation, offering quiet encouragement when Cecily’s nervesthreatened to overwhelm her social graces. The subtle grace with which she navigated the drawing room, moving from group to group with an ease that belied the tension he could read in the set of her spine. How she smiled when she thought no one was watching—a soft, genuine expression so different from her public composure that it made his chest tighten with longing.
He watched her accept Lady Alderidge’s compliments on her gown with modest gratitude, saw her deflect questions about her own marriage prospects with practiced skill, turning the conversation back to Cecily’s accomplishments with the deftness of a seasoned diplomat. When Mrs. Whitmore made a pointed remark about the challenges facing families of “uncertain fortune,” Georgiana’s response was so perfectly pitched—acknowledging the truth while maintaining dignity—that even James felt a surge of admiration.
James was acutely aware of Julian’s presence throughout the evening—the way the man circled like a predator, always positioning himself to catch Georgiana alone. But James had played this game before, in different circumstances with higher stakes. Every time Julian moved closer to Georgiana, James was there: offering his arm when she needed to cross the room, engaging her in conversation when Julian approached, ensuring she was never without protection. It was a delicate dance, one that required him to appear casual while remaining constantly vigilant. But he also knew tonight wasn’t about him. It was about Cecily. About preserving the future they were all working so hard to build. Young Nathaniel was clearly smitten, and the Alderidges seemed genuinely pleased with the match developing between their heir and the copper-haired beauty who hung on his every word. This was the culmination of months of careful planning, the moment when Cecily’s debut would either secure her future or leave her vulnerable to Society’s fickleness.
So he kept his distance, playing his role as the protective guardian, engaging in conversations about business and politics while his heartremained wholly focused on the woman in plum silk who moved through the room like poetry made flesh.
Until the footman announced dinner and guests began filtering toward the dining room in order of precedence, James realized with a start that cut through his contentment like a blade: Georgiana had been seated by Julian Fane. And James was on the opposite end of the table.
*
James had beentalking politely to Lord Alderidge when movement in his peripheral vision made him glance toward the drawing room’s far end. The guests had begun to drift between the drawing room and the adjacent music room, where Lady Alderidge’s youngest daughter was demonstrating her skill at the pianoforte. Conversations flowed smoothly, punctuated by the soft clink of crystal and the rustle of silk.
Then he saw Julian Fane slip past the farthest marble column and out through a side door that led to the conservatory, only moments after Georgiana had risen from her seat near the windows, presumably to find the ladies’ retiring room.
But what if she’d gone out to the terrace for a breath of fresh air? She’d mentioned how warm the room was when they’d first arrived. What if Julian had seen her exit and was following her?
An instinct, immediate and sickening, to find her—to protect her at all costs—overwhelmed any other concern. He excused himself, not even waiting for a response before setting down his glass and following. His footsteps were muffled by the thick Persian runners that lined the corridor, but his pulse thundered in his ears loud enough to drown out the distant sound of polite laughter from the drawing room.
