“Well,” Bea began, “so much for the first volley of the Wallflowers’ Revolt.”
“Yes, but you have to admit, Georgie,” Poppy added, “it’s rather romantic, the way he swept you up on the horse like that. It’s practically a fairy tale.”
Georgie pressed her lips together, unsure whether to laugh or groan. “Romantic is hardly the word I’d use,” she muttered.
Bea snorted. “Nonsense. Pembroke shouldn’t have put his nose where it didn’t belong. No one asked him to interfere.”
Georgie opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted by the faint sound of a throat clearing behind her.
Her stomach dropped as she turned to see Jason standing just inside the doorway, his green eyes inscrutable.
Oh, no.
How much had he heard?
He inclined his head to the ladies with impeccable courtesy. “My apologies,” he said smoothly. “I don’t mean to interrupt.”
Poppy’s cheeks pinkened, while Bea met his gaze without flinching.
Jason’s mouth quirked faintly, though it was impossible to tell if it was amusement or something else. “I simply wished to let Lady Pembroke know,” he continued, his eyes flicking to Georgie, “that I took the liberty of arranging for Madame Duval to come by within the hour to see to her new wardrobe.”
Georgie froze. “Oh, that won’t be necessary—” she began, already shaking her head. Madame Duval was the most expensive, most sought-after modiste in town.
But Bea cut her off briskly. “Lady Pembroke shall be ready at the allotted time,” she declared.
Jason’s brows rose faintly, and one corner of his mouth curved just slightly before he bowed again. “Very good,” he murmured. “I’ll leave you ladies to your visit.”
As soon as the door closed behind him, Poppy let out a low whistle. “Is he real?” she demanded.
Bea huffed softly. “I suppose he is, though I still maintain he oughtn’t have meddled. And you deserve a new wardrobe, Georgie. It’s no more than his duty to provide it.”
Poppy nudged Georgie with her elbow. “All I’m saying is—revolt or not, if my husband looked like that and hired Madame Duval to dress me, I wouldn’t be arguing.”
Georgie flushed hotly and stared into her tea, feeling more overwhelmed than ever…and more aware of Jason Pembroke than she cared to admit.
But she couldn’t agree with Poppy. At the moment, her hasty decision to marry felt more like a nightmare than a dream.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Georgie stared at herself in the long gilt-edged mirror and barely recognized the woman reflected back.
Madame Duval, a whirlwind of French-accented flattery and swishing silk skirts, fussed with the final fastening on the bodice and stepped back with a satisfied nod.
“There,” she announced triumphantly. “You see? Magnifique. A true lady of the ton. You are a countess now, no?”
Georgie blinked at the vision before her, the shimmering pale blue gown, cut to perfection, the delicate lace at her bodice, the way the fabric caught the light and made her eyes look…almost luminous.
She swallowed hard.
It was…beautiful.
Far more beautiful than anything she’d ever worn in her life. Far more beautiful than she deserved, she thought grimly. No doubt Jason was only dressing her out of obligation as well. How would it look if he allowed his new wife to go about in the old clothes her family had dressed her in?
“Now,” Madame Duval continued briskly, “zee evening gowns will arrive later zis week, and the walking dresses zee week after. But you must tell me if you have preferences. Embroidery? Beading? Colors? You have an excellent figure. We must show it off.”
Georgie flushed at that and murmured something noncommittal, but Madame seemed to take it as agreement and launched into a torrent of instructions to her assistants.
Once the bustle of measuring, pinning, and adjusting finally subsided, Georgie found herself once again alone in the drawing room, the soft sheen of the new gown still clinging to her skin like a promise.
