Georgie blinked, startled into speechlessness for a beat before she nodded. “Yes. I am,” she replied carefully, feeling Bea come to stand close beside her.
A faint, knowing smile curved the older woman’s mouth.
“I thought that was you,” she murmured, eyes sweeping up and down Georgie’s figure with an appraisal that made her cheeks heat.
Bea’s hand slid through hers, her grip firm, her chin lifting.
“I do so enjoy seeing how quickly the gossip pages work,” the dowager continued idly, as though she were remarking on the weather. “Why, it was only last week they described you as ‘a penniless wallflower from a tarnished family,’ and yet here you stand. Miraculous, really.”
Bea stiffened at her side.
Georgie swallowed, managing only a tight smile.
The woman took another slow step closer, her eyes narrowing slightly. “I thought I ought to come and see for myself,” she said softly, leaning in just enough that Georgie could smell her perfume—something spicy and expensive, like cloves and roses.
Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “My son always did like to take in strays.”
Georgie’s stomach clenched, her breath catching in her throat.
The dowager straightened, her eyes glittering, then tilted her head and leaned in again, her tone almost pitying now.
“It’s not about you, you know,” she said, her words deliberate and quiet. “It’s about her. Evelyn. He never got over not being able to save his sister. Now he saves any poor creature he can find to make up for it.”
The woman allowed her gaze to sweep down Georgie’s new gown with a faint, almost imperceptible sneer. “Clearly.”
And just like that, she turned on her heel, cane tapping smartly against the floor as the shopgirls all scrambled to escort her out.
The bell above the door chimed one final time as the dowager swept out into the street.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Bea squeezed Georgiana’s hand. “Georgie?” she asked gently.
But Georgiana couldn’t answer.
She could only stand there, staring at her reflection, her breath coming too fast, her cheeks burning, as though the air had been knocked clean out of her chest.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Jason cut into his lamb with undue precision, though he scarcely tasted it.
Across the table, Georgie sat perfectly still, her hands folded primly in her lap, her eyes on her plate, though she had barely touched a bite.
For once, he found himself at a loss for words.
For nights now, they had fallen into an easy rhythm.
Dinner, sometimes followed by a quiet game of chess or cards. Other times simply sitting in companionable silence, both of them reading by the fire, the air between them warmer than it had any right to be.
By the fourth evening, he realized he’d begun to look forward to it.
He’d found himself watching her mouth curve faintly when she took his rook. Noticing the way her lashes caught the candlelight when she looked down at her book. The quiet sound of her laugh when he muttered something sardonic about Parliament.
He’d begun to crave it.
He hadn’t tried to touch her again—not even a kiss. He was waiting for a sign. From her. And not just a flutter of lashes paired with a coy smile, though she’d given him both on several occasions. He wanted something unmistakable before he risked carrying her to his bed. The waiting was agony, but he knew it mattered. How he navigated these first weeks could shape the course of their entire marriage.
She was warming to him—he could feel it. But just when he dared to believe they’d crossed some invisible threshold…tonight happened.
