“They aren’t sure. But Foreign Office wants you to prepare to possibly leave sooner.”
Grey started rubbing his eyes again. “Not until I’m safely married. I cannot leave the girls at the mercy of that...that...”
“Hag? Shrew? Virago?”
“Threat. All right. Let us see what Drake has to say, and then we’ll tackle my marriage.”
“To Miss Mayhew?”
“Good God, I hope not.”
For the first time since Grey had climbed into the carriage, Braxton smiled. “We have been sharing information we garnered about the young lady’s parents with our staff. It is believed that if you attached yourself to that family, half of them would leave.”
“Would that include you?”
“One virago we might withstand, my lord. But this would invite a second into our happy home. It would be inconceivable.”
While Grey had been withstandingthe Mayhew women, Georgie had gathered the troops to draw up lists.
“Millicent Bickerling,” Eddie said, hunched over the paper that already had five names on it.
Activities like this did not belong in the public rooms. So the cousins had made a strategic retreat to Georgie’s sitting room, where they could come up with potential wives for the new marquess as they toasted cheese. Charlie toasted the cheese. Eddie kept the list at Georgie’s desk. Georgie paced, unsure why this activity made her so uncomfortable.
Usually being in her rooms calmed her. Taking her inspiration from Mrs. Bauer’s little sitting room, she had decorated in bright colors, overstuffed sofas, and soft materials, making her own nest, as she’d called it. For once, though, the sunny yellow walls, emerald-and-aqua floral Chinoiserie chintz cushions, and simple lines of the Sheraton furniture didn’t soothe her at all.
“Isn’t Millicent Bickerling the one with teeth like a mole?” Charlie asked from the floor by the fireplace.
As Georgie passed by, Charlie handed her a sample. Georgie nodded and took a bite. “I fear she is. We want to help Lord Coleford, not punish him. It isn’t his fault his cousins were improvident. Besides, those little girls deserve a better mother than one who is constantly sniffling and reading improving tracts.”
“Louisa Allen,” Eddie offered, lifting her head.
“Too poor.”
“Isabelle Stroud.”
“Too rich.”
Charlie looked up. “How can anyone be too rich?”
Georgie turned by the door and headed back across the Turkey carpet she had discovered on a town ramble. “The man is already suffering the humiliation of his cousins’ folly. He shouldn't have to be shamed by his wife’s wealth.”
That even got Eddie’s attention. “There are men who would be shamed by being rich?”
Georgie plopped down on the plump sofa and licked cheese from her fingers. “This one would.”
“I know I shouldn’t have to tell you this,” Charlie reminded her. “But he has to marry someone.”
Georgie waved her off. Kicking off her shoes, she stretched out on the sofa, looking up at the ceiling medallion and thinking of a man who would humble himself for two frightened little girls. A man with breathtaking blue eyes and an impressive line of scowls that could make a girl weak in the knees. “She has to be the right someone.”
Eddie motioned to the tome open before her on the desk. “Which is why we are going over Debrett’s.”
“Does he have to limit himself to Debrett’s?” Georgie asked no one in particular.
Charlie motioned to another piece of cheese, but the cousins shook their heads. “We don’t know anyonenotin Debrett’s.”
“Of course we do.”
“I’m not counting the bastards, George.”
