“Remarkable to take the insults and twist them into something milder.”
“Of course.” She finished wiping her eyes. “People who care nothing for me can’t be a part of my thoughts. That’s control. I don’t wish them to have that.”
“Then why are you nervous when you sing?”
“Because singing for the river or close friends is a joy. Singing out loud to strangers is for them. I give a performance, and I’m expected to take their judgment. I have to wait for their approval.”
I’d assumed Georgina shy, like me. This was so much more.
Last night, I left my mother’s thinking I was my own man, that nothing could harm me.
One look at how self-conscious my world made Georgina, how she had to close her eyes to sing the lyrics out loud, I hurt for her.
“I envy you, Mark. You’re a gifted artist. And you have the courage to accept an audience’s praise and their condemnation. You have to be very confident to do that. That’s a gift.”
“You are gifted. It’s my job to build your confidence to exhibit.”
Holding out my arm to her, I wanted her to seize it, to hold on to me like she knew I’d protect her. I would, no matter the cost.
When another staring couple passed us, Georgina walked at my side with more sunshine between us.
I gulped and had to accept that she didn’t believe in me—not for her safety, not to defend her dreams.
If I failed at music, I could grovel and still be welcomed back into the Sebastian fold. I was a peer’s son, a lord. And with promises to conform, maybe even go for the church, all would be forgiven.
But what of Miss Wilcox?
The Wilcoxes had money problems with their coal business. I doubted if their finances could sustain a prolonged scandal. Clients like my mother and her network could make things difficult.
Watching people watching us, I knew I’d survive the newspapers and the gawkers, but not the goddess. She and the Wilcoxes would be devoured by those who fed on gossip.
Chapter 21
GEORGINA—THECIRCULARSERPENTINE, ORWASTHATSERPENTS?
Walking with Mark, I concentrated on the grounds we explored. Hyde Park was a playground for avid bird-watchers. My delightful guide started showing me many things when the crowds lessened.
“There are quite a few mating calls.” His cheeks became pink. “Lots of different nuanced ways to profess their love.”
I’d never seen a man blush. Papa didn’t, but it was hard to surprise him.
Tavis didn’t. Though his schemes shocked us. “You know the differences.”
“It’s music.” He took his scope out and craned his neck to the tops of the trees.
The air smelled of rich lavender.
I bent and picked a white daffodil offering scents of spice and vanilla. “I haven’t baked in a week. I haven’t made biscuits.”
He turned his gold tube to me. “I’d love to have your biscuits. I mean they look so . . . good.”
Standing up straight, I cast the petals away. “Has the duke been bragging about them?”
Mark’s face scrunched. “No. Yes. I can see for myself that they have to be good.”
Rolling the scope between his fingers, he became silent again. “Georgina is a very formal name. We should return to Torrance and Lady Hampton faux-closer. I want to give you some sort of endearment.”
“Georgie. We call my sister Kitty when we want her attention. I assume you want mine.”
