If so, had she known, or had her mother lured her here under false pretense?
And what did that matter? He had the right of it.
Her father, always jovial, but always more interested in his own amusements, be they parties, or puzzles, than the care of his children, had set her up.
Teddy had appreciated the difference between Lord Belfry and his own, overly critical parent when he was young, never truly sympathizing with how hard it must have been for Georgina and Drake growing up.
Lucky for Georgina she’d had Drake to look out for her. Drake who, seemingly from the womb, had a maturity that belied his years and experience. Well, now Drake was gone. Which meant, for Georgina’s sake, Teddy must pull up his bootstraps and take on the role of her defender—which would be a lot easier if he understood why she felt it necessary to marry another to protect him, for God’s sake.
Didn’t she know nothing he could possibly gain, no wealth, no station, not even his life, was worth losing her?
No, she didn’t, because he’d never told her. Because, as Drake understood far better than he, his fears, his unwillingness to show any so-called weakness, left him half the man she deserved.
He could do better. He would do better. And he would prove it toher, once and for all.
His destination came to him in a flash. Reaching up, he rapped on the trap. When the driver slid the door open, he issued the new direction and added, “and be quick about it.”
Georgina gazed atthe blue mansion on Cleveland row before her. Funny how much easier it was to contemplate entering Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s gambling establishment for a second time. She hadn’t even bothered awaiting dusk.
Once again garbed in the padded suit having belonged to her brother, Georgina marched up the stone walkway, arched a sardonic brow at the doorman in a silent demand for admittance. The brutish looking man did not so much as blink before opening the door.
With no hesitation, Georgina sailed past him, crossed the smoking chamber—holding her breath, this time—and set out across the gambling floor.
Witnessing the myriad games at play, even at this time of day, barely caused her to bat a lash. Maybe she did flinch a little when a skeet rifle fired quite near her, its wielder hitting his mark—a piñata filled with poker chips that rained down on him and his compatriots—but her steps did not slow.
She scanned the crowd. Spotting a female servant sporting familiar form-fitting, male evening attire, she made straight for her.
“Good evening, madam. I must speak with Mrs. Dove-Lyon on a matter of grave importance.”
The woman’s cool gaze flicked over her. “I’ll see if she is free to meet with you. I make no promises,Mr.…?”
“Arlington.”
Five minutes later, the woman returned. “Kindly follow me,sir.”
Georgina ignored the odd inflection.
She soon entered a similarly appointed parlor to the last one she’d occupied. Small, close, and at one time, expensively furnished. Now the carpets and seat cushions showed discreet wear, aided by the use of low lighting.
The Black Widow of Whitehall did not keep Georgina waiting long. She entered the chamber, dressed in her signature widow’s weeds, and closed the door softly behind her.
Her only visible facial feature, her broad mouth, curved in a genial smile. “Lady Arlington, I confess to being intrigued to learn what has brought you back to me.”
For the first time since making the decision to consult with Mrs. Dove-Lyon that afternoon, Georgina was struck with a case of nerves. She had pinned all her hopes on the widow untangling her from this mess. What if she could not?
No. She must not think like that.
“I need your help. It seems my father has struck a bargain with a man who has purchased his vowels.”
Her mouth firmed in evident disapproval. “Go on.”
“In short, my father promised the man my hand, Mrs. Dove-Lyon. As I have no intention of marrying this creature, I was hoping you might have some notion of how I can reprocure my father’s IOUs.”
The woman’s mouth quirked in an expression of seeming bemusement. Then, she laughed.
Georgina took instant umbrage. “I fail to see what you find amusing, madam.”
The widow sobered and appeared to gaze steadily at Georgina through the black netting of her cap. “Merely that your father is a hair late on the draw, my dear. You can hardly marry a man when you are already a married woman, and a future countess, at that.”
