They reached the little archway, and Georgie turned to her friend, her fingers clutching her bouquet tightly. “Afford me thirty seconds,” she murmured. “That’s all I need.”
Poppy nodded, her face pale but determined. She turned to Mother, while Georgie took another step toward the side door.
But her mother’s sharp voice rang out. “Where do you think you’re going?”
Georgie froze…then she picked up her skirts and bolted.
Poppy let out a startled yelp but immediately stepped in front of Mother, blocking her path. “She just needs?—”
But Mother wasn’t having it.
Heels began clicking furiously against the stones as Mother began to chase her.
That was it.
No more pretense.
Georgie lifted her skirts higher, tossed her veil aside, and hurled her bouquet backward.
Then she ran.
Her white satin slippers skidded slightly on the stones as she sprinted through the narrow side passage, the sound of her mother’s outraged cry echoing behind her: “Stop her!”
But Georgie didn’t look back.
Chapter Sixteen
Jason had told himself a hundred times on the way to the church this morning that he was not doing this for her.
He wasn’t here for her.
Not really.
Not to interfere, not to watch her, not to stop her, and certainly not to help.
And yet, here he was, leaning against a pillar at the back of St. George’s, watching the entire farce unfold with his arms folded tight across his chest and his jaw clenched so hard it ached.
And—though he’d never admit it aloud—he was already restless.
He’d told himself—firmly, repeatedly, like a prayer—that he was attending this wedding out of courtesy.
To Chadwick.
To Society.
To common bloody decency.
Fine. He’d risen earlier than necessary. Dressed too quickly. Left the house too soon.
And, inexplicably, had stopped by the mews for a mount rather than his usual carriage.
The stable boy had looked at him oddly when he’d swung into the saddle in his morning coat and cravat, but Jason had ignored him.
When he arrived, he’d tied the horse to a post just outside the church and told himself it was for convenience.
Not because he expected anything. Not because he intended to involve himself. Absolutely not.
He hadn’t even undone his coat and barely had time to greet Chadwick, when the murmur began to ripple through the congregation, the kind of uneasy, scandal-tinged whisper that prickled at the back of his neck like a warning.
