A society of their own. A quiet rebellion.
And the first rebellion would begin with her.
Georgie had told them the truth. She fully intended to run away on her wedding day. She’d held her breath after admitting it, half-expecting Bea and Poppy to gape in horror.
But they hadn’t.
Instead, Bea had arched a brow and coolly asked how she could help, while Poppy clasped her hands and vowed she’d keep the secret even if they tried to torture it out of her.
Georgie wasn’t at all certain who “they” were, but that was when she had known. She might not have her parents or brother on her side, but she had Bea and Poppy.
And that would be enough.
Still, standing here now, pressed into the shadows of the room while Society danced on without her, she felt the old familiar chill creep back in.
Her gaze wandered again, this time catching, for the third time that evening, on Lord Pembroke.
He stood across the room, tall and watchful, his green eyes fixed squarely on her like glittering emeralds.
Her lips thinned. Of course he was watching her.
She had suspected as much the moment she’d seen him loitering near the refreshments earlier, pretending to inspect a tray of oysters while his gaze tracked her every movement.
Her idiotic brother must have sent him again.
No doubt Henry would have been here himself if he weren’t nursing that broken leg. After all, Henry had a vested interest in seeing her married off to Henderville.
The old goat’s money would restore the family’s coffers, if her mother and brother managed to hide the funds from her father long enough to keep him from gambling them away again.
She knew as much because she’d overheard them once, whispering about it outside the breakfast room, unaware she was standing just beyond the door.
She’d learned two things that morning.
One: she didn’t have an ally in her brother.
Two: she certainly didn’t have an ally in her mother.
They both wanted Henderville’s money just as badly as her father did…only they wanted to keep it for themselves.
Which meant she had no one to rely on but herself.
Herself and, surprisingly, Bea and Poppy now.
Georgie’s fingers loosened slightly on her glass, and she allowed herself the smallest of smiles.
When the scandal came—and it would come—it would ruin her family. But it would be no more than they deserved.
She was still savoring that thought when the Cranberrys’ butler’s voice rang out above the music. “The Marquess of Henderville.”
Georgie’s blood went cold. Her shoulders stiffened.
Can I have no reprieve from that awful man?
She didn’t wait to see where he was, or what revolting wig or waistcoat he’d chosen tonight.
Instead, she gave a decisive nod to her two new friends, who had quickly made eye contact, murmured something about the heat to the young ladies she was standing next to, and slipped away before anyone could reply.
Her pulse drummed in her ears as she slipped into the shadows of the hall, skirts whispering over the marble floor.
