Page 15

Besides, Jack had claimed his happily ever after when he married Aubriella, and Robyn strongly suspected Shelby and Roxina would march down the aisle in the not-so-distant future.

Taking a deep breath, Robyn crossed his ankles and folded his arms across his chest, willing Doctor Tinsdale to exit Georgine’s chamber with an update.

Robyn’s musing meandered back to his feelings toward Georgine—feelings he had taken great care to conceal—although Matilda might have guessed his secret.

Certainly, Robyn’s interest in Georgine went beyond brotherly or platonic.

She utterly intrigued him, and not just because she was a founding member of the Ladies of Opportunity secret gambling society—a society he wasn’t supposed to know about—but because she possessed strength, intrepidity, and an adorable stubborn streak most people missed.

He only knew about the Ladies of Opportunity because Mrs. Pottle, his former cook, had recently let something slip. Though long retired, he looked in on her, making sure she had plenty of coal and tea.

During his last visit, aware of her fascination with cricket, he had teased, “Have you been to any cricket matches of late, Mrs. Pottle?”

Delight lit her wrinkled face.

“Indeed, sir. I won a neat sum wagering the visiting team’s bowler would send his first ball wide. I placed the bet through the secret gambling society operated by Aubriella Matherfield, Georgine Thackerly, and Claire Granlund—oh, merciful heavens!”

She had clapped a hand to her mouth. “I ought to have my tongue bolted tighter than a convent door. You weren’t to know a thing about that, sir.”

Winking, he leaned closer. “Your secret is safe with me, Mrs. Pottle. I shan’t breathe a word.”

And Robyn hadn’t.

Yet.

He could imagine Georgine’s surprise—perhaps affront and anger—if he did.

Yes, he would have to time that carefully.

Georgine had managed the small inheritance from her grandmother with skill and cleverness, all the while acting as a surrogate mother to Regina, ten years her junior.

A half-grin quirked his mouth upward on one side.

His fiery little betting bluestocking.

Someday, he would have a discussion with her about the intriguing enterprise she and her friends operated.

He squinted at the door again.

Did the doctor’s extended examination portend unwelcome news?

Fiercely independent, Georgine would struggle to accept any diminished use of her arm.

What if—Robyn sucked in a ragged breath between his clenched teeth—if the infection becomes so severe, the doctor must remove the limb?

Queasiness curled up Robyn’s throat.

Eyes closed, he said a rare and brief prayer on Georgine’s behalf.

It could not hurt, and she needed all the help she could get.

Another twenty minutes passed before the doctor exited the chamber, his expression grim and mustached mouth tight.

Robyn straightened, trying not to appear too anxious or interested, when both sentiments pummeled him like a champion pugilist’s fists. “Doctor…?”

“Miss Thackerly’s wound has become putrefied—not severely but enough to cause me concern. I had hoped frequent bandage changes and the daily menu I prescribed would have strengthened her enough to prevent such an occurrence, but the chipped bone complicates her healing.” Sighing, the doctor rubbed his furrowed forehead with two fingers. “I shall need to check on her twice daily until the threat passes.”

And if it didn’t?