When I no longer heard his footsteps, I ran to the larder, pitched my biscuit bowl into the sink and cried.
Chapter 27
MARK—LESSONS INLIFE
Once Torrance gave me word that Lydia Wilcox had opened her eyes and had even gotten out of bed, I knew that the child would live. Relieved, I packed up my books, told Dido I was hers again, then took my portmanteau and left Anya House.
The stars were out.
I couldn’t see them while hiding in the music room.
Staying in there, even when Georgina passed with the most fragrant biscuits I’d ever smelled, was difficult. My stomach wanted to betray me. Blast it, I wanted to return to her and understand what I’d done wrong.
I had to have fouled things up somehow. If she wanted me to win, why did I feel like a loser?
No one wanted to struggle. I couldn’t control what my parents thought, or the ton.
But why should that matter?
My mother was my champion. Surely, she could help me sway Prahmn.
Not wanting to wake the grooms who worked in the mews, I walked toward Grosvenor Street. I’d return in the morning for my horse.
I counted the lights on in the houses I passed. Most were dark. One might be having a late dinner party. I heard the music of dancing and imagined people whirling to the tune. Yet the picture of a resolute woman saying she wanted the fake relationship over something true made me ache.
Other than the Carew business and the duke stuff, what had I done wrong? With each of these crimes, I could attest to being a fool. Then there was the stupidest thing: admitting to loving Georgie. I’d never told a woman that before.
Was that so wrong, to admit what was so right?
Maybe I didn’t have the answers for what tomorrow would bring, not the ones she wanted.
But I was honest about my heart.
I wanted Georgina Wilcox.
I loved Georgie Wilcox.
I wished to marry Georgie.
A half hour of walking brought me through the cool night to 75 Grosvenor Street, the house of Prahmn, and perhaps the realization that Georgie didn’t want to marry me or anyone.
She ran initially from the false alliance, and now that things were true, she ran from us too.
Slipping into the house through the service entry, I found it quiet. But Chancey, the light sleeper, caught me. He shook his head and admonished me to be quiet.
There were questions I wanted to ask him, but the diligent man didn’t need a fool keeping him up asking the meaning of life.
He gave me a candle to keep from tripping over the stairs and waking the house.
Standing in the quiet hall, I listened to nothing.
No music.
No servants scampering about.
My mother was probably the only one home, and she’d be upstairs in her bedchamber, asleep to the troubles of the world, or at least the dilemmas facing her younger son.
Up the curving stairs, I went straight to the music room. Like my mother’s parlor, it had beautiful windows, lovely sheers that shimmered and reflected the starlight. It was too late to begin playing, but I sat at the pianoforte. I tugged out my papers from my stack and looked at the notes I’d written.Da da dum.
