Instead, her thoughts centered around how almost…decent it had been of Pembroke to let her go that night.
She’d seen him watching her. Of course she had. The man hovered like a storm cloud whenever she was in the room. He’d followed her out of the ballroom. He’d even attempted to talk her out of her escape. But he hadn’t stopped her.
And she’d felt, absurdly, like perhaps he was quietly on her side, though she knew that was foolish.
Still, she thought with a faint smirk, it had been almost decent of him all the same.
Bea’s crisp voice cut through her thoughts.
“Right,” she said, setting her teacup down with finality. “Let’s go over this one last time, shall we?” she said in something of a loud whisper.
Georgie straightened. “Of course.”
Poppy let out a nervous giggle.
“First, the wedding is at St. George’s,” Bea began, ticking off each point on her fingers and keeping her voice low. “You’ll be in the small room in the back of church where all brides prepare. You tell your mother you’re not feeling well and need to use the convenience. You walk out the side door—slowly, mind—and then, when you reach the halfway mark and clear the church wall, feel free to run.”
Georgie nodded solemnly.
“On the other side of the wall,” Bea continued, “my father’s secondary carriage—the plain black one—will be waiting at the corner. The driver knows the plan. And he’s been well compensated. He will take you as far as the coaching inn on the London Road, where you’ll switch to the post chaise waiting there.”
“And that chaise will take me directly to…” Georgie prompted.
“Your friend’s home in Bath,” Bea finished.
Poppy clapped her hands lightly. “It’s perfect,” she said. “No one will suspect a thing.”
Georgie turned to her. “And you’re certain you’ll be ready with your part?”
Poppy nodded vigorously, her red curls bouncing. “Yes. As soon as you slip away, I’ll distract your mother by telling her how faint you were looking. I’ll insist you’ve only stepped out to collect yourself. That should buy you at least three minutes before your mother grows suspicious.”
Georgie sighed and shook her head. “My mother will believe that excuse for approximately thirty seconds,” she warned.
Bea arched a brow. “Then you’d best move quickly.”
“I intend to,” Georgie replied firmly. She took a deep breath. “I cannot thank either of you enough?—”
“Tut, tut,” said Bea. “You will do the same for us when it’s our turn.”
“I will,” Georgie agreed. “You only need write to me. Only…” She glanced away sadly. “I am sorry I won’t be able to see either of you again… Perhaps for a very long time.”
“We shall write,” Poppy said, forcing a smile to her face.
They all sat back then, a brief silence falling as they imagined the scene to come.
Again, Poppy was the first to speak. “I still can’t believe I’ve been invited to the wedding,” she murmured. “With Mama’s reputation, I rarely get invited to anything. I’m entirely certain I’m only invited to the events of the Season because the hostesses are hoping Mama will do something to gossip about. It’s nearly as if she’s the entertainment.” Poppy grimaced faintly. “Honestly, I can’t help but worry what my mother will do at your wedding, Georgie. She’s bound to cause some sort of gossip.”
Georgie gave her a wicked grin. “Are you jesting? I’m counting upon it. The more distracted everyone is by Lady Viva’s antics, the easier it will be for me to disappear.”
That earned a soft laugh from all three of them, though Poppy blushed furiously.
Bea leaned back in her chair, glancing toward the window. “Well,” she said at last, “I suppose that covers everything. Now all we need is for the wedding date to arrive.”
“One more sennight,” Georgie said, pressing a hand to her belly. She wasn’t entirely certain if she dreaded the moment or couldn’t wait.
Of course she’d considered running off in the middle of the night. It held certain advantages. But after her recent stints of running away from parties, Mama had taken to posting a footman outside her door at night, and the drop from her bedchamber window appeared to be fatal.
The sound of the front door opening out in the foyer carried into the salon. A deep male voice drifted faintly toward them, followed by the familiar murmur of the butler.
