Georgie grabbed Lily’s hands.
“It is good to see you as well,” she said, giving Lily’s fingers a squeeze. It was a poor excuse for the embrace she wished to give. “Thank you for getting me this far.”
“Do not worry,” Lily said. “Mr. Worthington has been discussing options for this evening with both Mr. Osbourne, Miss Morehouse, and of course her ladyship and myself. Whatever you choose, Lord Sharpe will not have you for a wife.”
Whatever you choose.
When she’d walked into Worthington House, an unnatural calm had settled on Georgie’s shoulders. And not just because Tom and Lily were here to help her. But because she was going to help herself.
But first, she needed to get out of Marcus’s sight.
“Lily,” she said, “I need a moment, but then I want to hear everything.”
“Do you want me to come with you?”
Georgie shook her head. “Keep an eye on my brother. And if you chance a moment to speak with Mr. Worthington, let himknow I have gone to find someplace quiet to hide. I need to speak with him, privately.”
Lily gave Georgie an encouraging nod. “Don’t worry. Go on.”
Georgie released Lily, then wandered through the crowds in the opposite direction of her brother, who appeared now deep in discussion with a small circle of gentlemen. She slipped out of the ballroom, down a small hallway. Behind one of these doors surely there was a place of refuge. A place where she could do what she should have done years ago, a place to tell Tom how much she cared for him.
Down a corridor awash in candlelight, she found a door that yielded when she turned the knob. She slipped inside, quietly turning the door behind her, when she realized she was not alone. Standing in front of a tall case of books was a woman absorbed in the pages of a book. Between the long shadows of the few candles lit in the room, it took a moment for Georgie to recognize her.
“Miss Morehouse.” Georgie was unable to contain her surprise. “Excuse me for intruding.”
“Not at all,” the woman replied, her expression one of genuine warmth. She closed the book and held it close to her chest. “I have little tolerance for crowds such as this. Mr. Worthington was very good to provide me a place of respite for a few moments.”
“He is a thoughtful man.” Georgie’s heart, unable to deflect the bittersweet pang, which lurched in her chest. Even though he didn’t love Miss Morehouse, he was still attentive to her needs. More importantly, if they had an understanding—how could she impose on it?
She couldn’t, in the end. But she also knew that regardless, the boy who was Tom Blakey needed to know the very last thing she thought of him was that he was worthless.
“Indeed, I think we shall be good friends,” Miss Morehouse said.
Georgie had been so lost in her own thoughts, she almost jumped. She pressed her lips into a tight line, determined to keep the knot of feelings at bay. She forced a smile on her face.
“I understand, “she said. “And I hope for both your sakes that friendship is enough for you both.”
“Indeed, it must be,” Miss Morehouse said, then studied Georgie, her brow dipping into a deep vee. “Have you not spoken to Mr. Worthington?”
What little composure Georgie clung to began to slip. Georgie could only shake her head, fearful the moment she opened her mouth she might do little more than blubber.
Miss Morehouse slid the book back in its place on the bookcase, then walked to the door, making certain it was firmly closed before lowering herself onto a chair.
“My lady, I am not one for giving advice. Indeed, if you ask Miss Howard, she would tell you I am not one for taking it either,” she said, smiling at her self-deprecation. “So please excuse me for doling out medicine I despise swallowing.”
She gestured to the chair beside her with the slightest inclination of her head and waited for Georgie to accept the invitation.
“I have watched you two together for the past week.” Miss Morehouse continued, “Your feelings for each other could not be more plain than if you wrote it on a sign and hung it around your neck.”
Georgie shook her head. “I am so very sorry. That was not fair to you.”
Miss Morehouse shrugged, then let go a bitter laugh.
“What is not fair is that I cannot publicly proclaim how I feel about the woman I love,” she said. “Even if I want to shout it out while standing on the Serpentine bridge.”
“That is terribly unfair,” Georgie said. She knew how hard it had been to hide her feelings for Tom, pretending they didn’t exist even when she’d rubbed the rough edges of the tiny wooden fox he’d carved for her smooth, trying to be closer to an object because he’d touched it.
“It is also unfair to me to tie myself to a man who is required to live a much more public life than I would wish,” Miss Morehouse said. “Indeed, that would not be fair to either of us.”
