A reminder of you, she added to herself.
A bell rang from somewhere inside, no doubt on the gaming floor. The insistent ringing signaled the game was over.
“Christ,” he said under his breath, seemingly snapping himself out of whatever memory he’d found himself lost in. He turned his attention to Georgie. “That went faster than I anticipated.”
A mix of worry and anticipation gripped her, and she gently laid the fox in the basket.
“Do you think you have enough?” he asked.
Georgie looked at the basket, now full of an eclectic array of items. The contents of this basket would determine her life course in the next few minutes. Was it enough? Enough for what?
Enough to claim Tom as her prize?
They walked back to the gaming room in strained silence, the weight of the next few moments nearly unbearable. They arrived to find the remaining players, and a growing host of onlookers, a palpable tension in the room.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon stood at the center of the room.
“Let’s see how we’ve done, shall we?” she said. “Baskets, please.”
Each of the gentlemen produced their baskets, and Georgie couldn’t help but try to guess her place amongst the other ladies. Given the odd sizes of the tokens they were sent to find, it was an impossible task.
One by one, one of the staff were going through each basket, counting the items and matching them to the list.
As each item came out of the basket, his heart pounded harder. Each check on the list took her closer to the end of this game, and closer to her new husband.
“Miss Fairfax,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon called out. “Nineteen items.”
A round of polite clapping circulated the room before Mrs. Dove-Lyon held up her hand.
“Miss Morehouse, twenty-three.”
The applause grew louder, though Miss Morehouse, as always, kept her feelings to herself on becoming the front runner.
“Lady Georgiana.”
Georgie held her breath, keeping her eyes fixed on the little wooden fox, and waited.
“Twenty-two.”
Chapter Fifteen
Years of playactingat calm and serene in the face of constant, punishing disappointment should have prepared Georgie for this moment. But even as she forced the smile on her face, she could not bear to even glance in Tom’s direction. The mask would slip, and with it, any fantastical notion she had that losing the opportunity to reclaim a life with Tom was nothing short of heartbreaking.
Perhaps this was fate providing her a taste of the bitter medicine she’d given Tom once upon a time. Perhaps this was the infamous Whetherby bad luck, following her all the way to London. Tom and Gabriel had each chosen to run away from their pain.
A sliver of solace found its way into the pit of despair that loomed ahead. Georgie wasn’t left behind anymore. She’d found a new friend in Lily, and even Miss Morehouse could be counted on as a friendly acquaintance. She would have her pick of two perfectly fine partners. Either one would be a perfectly acceptable marriage. She would have a special license and be married before her father even knew what was happening.
She would be free from Lord Sharpe.
It was her turn to run.
“Each of the ladies were instructed to provide me with their preferences in order,” Mrs. Dove Lyons said. “Mr. Worthington, you may escort Miss Morehouse to the garden.”
Miss Morehouse’s gaze darted upward to the gallery, where Miss Howard, along with Lily, were watching from above. Georgie was struck by the utter lack of triumph in her competitor’s countenance. If anything, it may have been bittersweet relief. Georgie did her very best to be gracious as she watched Tom greet Miss Morehouse. His expression was pleasant, but she could see the subtle tension in his jaw as he walked to the woman he was about to marry.
“Mr. Osbourne, you may escort Lady Georgiana to the garden.”
It was only the sound of her own name that seemed to snap Georgie out of the mire of her own thoughts. Mr. Osbourne, who seemed quite pleased with the outcome, came to her side. There was a pleasantness in his smile that took a little of the sting out of the moment.
