“Oh?”
“Yes. I’d have mentioned sooner,” she muttered, “but we’ve spent very little time together over the last few days.”
Without the least hint of repentance, he forked up a bite of trout and gave her a politely interested look.
“I have friends arriving in a few days for a short holiday.”
His caramel eyes widened. “Oh? And they’re staying here, with us?”
She ripped off a piece of her roll and slathered butter on it. “Heavens, no, not here.”
His expression turned contemplative. “And may I inquire as to the identity of these friends?”
She smiled. “Fellow members of the Ladies’ Literary Society of London. It’s a private book club, invitation only—more of a salon, really—consisting of a mere eight ladies, of which I am one, obviously. I received a letter, several days ago, informing me of their intent to venture to Brightonen masse.” She huffed out a laugh. “I believe they decided upon the trip for my benefit.”
At the questioning glint in his eyes, she explained. “They know about me cutting Father off, recently, and understand the necessity for me to take up residence here for the foreseeable future.”
“I see. It sounds as if you consider them very good friends, indeed, to have shared the sordid details about your father’s gambling with them.”
“They are the very best friends a woman could have.” She cut her asparagus into tiny bites and contemplated taking another roll.
“I suppose that means you told them of our wedding, then.”
Her eyes practically bulged before she schooled her features. “Our…no.We…er…had an agreement.”
He set his knife and fork aside and picked up his wine glass, then gazed at her over the crystal rim, a speculative gleam in his eye. “But they know about us, surely.”
“Us?” She frowned, and reached into the breadbasket, tore the selected roll in half, then knifed up the remaining pad of butter to spread it on either side.
“Shall I have the maid bring more, dear?”
She bit into the hot bread, belatedly hearing the teasing note in his question.
Then, nearly choked when she saw Teddy’s heavy-lidded gaze, lock on her lips.
A moment later, he shook his head as if to clear it, picked up his fork and knife, and fixed his attention on his meal. “Do your friends know of your career as a distinguished authoress?”
“Of course.”
His gaze narrowed as he sliced. “And yet, these same friends know nothing about the two of us having a particular understanding.”
Uncertain what to say, she made no reply.
He harrumphed, clearly nonplussed. “You willingly shared details about your ne’er-do-well father and your ultra-secretive, potentially scandal-inducing career, but have never deigned to mention to your closest friends the man with whom you intend to spend your life?”
When he put it that way, it did seem rather odd. “We don’t talk about such matters as a rule.”
He looked at her as if she had two heads.
Of course he was, because what she’d told him was patently false. She and her friends did talk about any number of things—including romance. She knew the moment Amelia fell for her husband, Lord Culver, because Amelia had admitted as much to all of them. Andhadn’t Georgina outright asked Gwen, her editor, publisher, and closest friend, if she had developed real feelings for the man she’d arranged to marry?
And yet, she had never mentioned hertendrefor Teddy to them. It was not odd. It was ludicrous. Why hadn’t she? Why hadn’t she mentioned the hero of her every novel, the man of her dreams, the beat of her heart, Lord Teddy Arlington, to her nearest and dearest friends?
All at once it became clear why she had not. Because she was plain, ordinary Georgina, and he was Lord Theodore Arlington. Gorgeous. Charming. A future earl. The world was his oyster. Pining for him, a man who would never deign to look twice at someone like her was laughable at best, and pathetic at worst.
Her friends would never laugh at her, of course, but they might pity her. She would hate that.
Teddy set his cutlery aside. “I may not have my memories, Georgina, but I know how women talk.” If she wasn’t mistaken, hurt laced his tone.
