“She…” He stopped, running his thumb over the edge of his knife as though steadying himself.
“Her name was Evelyn,” he said finally, his voice softer now, and she could hear it…the grief buried deep, the kind that never really left a person.
“She died,” he added, his eyes darkening.
Georgie’s breath caught. There it was. Confirmation.
Her chest felt tight, her throat dry, but she couldn’t look away from him, from the faint shadow of anguish on his face, the way his gaze stayed fixed on some distant memory.
“What happened to her?” she finally ventured.
“I’d rather not talk about it.” His voice was sharp.
Georgie swallowed. But she kept her mouth shut. She didn’t trust her voice not to betray her.
And now, more than ever, she was worried that his mother may have been right.
Was she was nothing more than another stray he’d taken in to atone for the sister he couldn’t save?
Chapter Thirty-Four
Jason stood by the tall window in his study, one hand resting against the cool glass, his other curled into a loose fist at his side.
Below, the square was quiet. A lone carriage rattled by, wheels crunching over the cobblestones, the sound faint and distant through the heavy pane.
He’d been standing here for the better part of an hour, telling himself he wasn’t waiting.
But he was.
He hadn’t seen Georgie since she’d left the dinner table last night, rising so abruptly after his confession about Evelyn he’d barely had time to stand before she was gone.
She hadn’t spoken another word.
Not a single one.
This morning, she hadn’t come down to breakfast. Instead she’d sent a note with the footman—two crisp lines in her even hand.
I’ve gone shopping with Lady Beatrix and Miss Montfort on Bond Street. Please do not wait on me for dinner.
Bond Street. Of course. Where else did ladies go to gossip and gather ribbons? But dinner? That seemed like an awfully long time to shop.
He’d told himself not to think about it.
Not to read too much into her sudden silence, or the fact that she’d sent her regrets this morning rather than simply face him.
And yet…he couldn’t stop thinking about it.
He should have told her more last night…should have answered her question. Explained what happened to Evelyn. Instead, he’d been cold, sharp. He’d only managed to widen the space between them.
His mouth tightened at the thought.
The truth was, he’d never meant to tell her about Evelyn, not like that, perhaps not at all. But she’d asked about his family, and in that quiet moment over dinner, when her gaze had been so intent and her voice so tentative, the words had simply…slipped out.
But when she’d asked what happened, it was as if all the pain had rushed back to his mind. He didn’t like to talk about it, didn’t like to think about it.
He cursed softly under his breath.
He’d snapped at her. It wasn’t the kind of thing one could take back.
