Page 47
He could not take his eyes off her.
Seemingly undisturbed by the oppressive heat, in a particularly fetching seafoam green gown, trimmed in cool white lace and ribbons, Georgine nodded at something Matilda said, causing the jaunty white marabou feather on Georgine’s bonnet to bob.
Occasionally, someone noticed the sling cradling her arm, but after a cursory glance, directed their attention elsewhere.
She seemed oblivious to the few curious looks, or if she had noticed, disregarded them.
Her poise never failed to impress him.
The joy on her face and their sisters’ made the outing worthwhile, despite the day’s unrelenting warmth.
Waiters in smart bottle-green livery, cream waistcoats, and buff breeches moved briskly between the shop, tables, and carriages while skillfully balancing trays laden with molded fruit ices, plates of delicate sponge biscuits, and tall glasses of water ice.
Grateful that no uncomfortable encounters had ensued, Robyn allowed the tension knotting his shoulders to ease and curved his mouth into an easy grin.
A slight breeze ruffled the plane trees’ leaves and carried a mingled aroma of horse, leather, baking confections, and the faint citrus tang of lemon and orange ices.
His attention dipped to Georgine’s pink rosebud mouth.
He could still taste the sweetness of her lips, could still feel the jolt of pleasure her innocent, inexperienced response triggered as she kissed him back.
She kissed me back.
His soul fairly sang for joy.
A sharp kick to his shin jerked him back to the present.
Refraining from rubbing the abused appendages, he met his sister’s amused glance.
“What was that for, Mittie?”
“You are staring at Georgine like a love-struck buck, and people have begun to notice,” Matilda murmured while fiddling with the silver spoon atop a crisply folded napkin. “Take a look around, brother dear.”
Robyn casually perused the crowd, smiling as several gawkers swiftly averted their attention.
He leaned back. “She is my wife. I am entitled to stare.”
“Oh, you…” Matilda rolled her eyes, but he was saved from further censure as a handsome young waiter arrived with their ices and served her first.
Forehead puckered, Georgine looked between them. “Did I miss something?”
“No, nothing of import.” Matilda spooned a bite of strawberry ice into her mouth. “Mmm. Delicious. We should do this more often.”
If it would bring a radiant smile to Georgine’s face, Robyn would pull the carriage to Gunter’s himself.
“Enjoy, miss.” The young man gave Regina a rakish smile as he placed her ice before her, and she practically melted into a pool at his feet.
“Fitzlloyd?” Robyn glanced upward to see Quinten Honeybrook with Claire Granlund on his arm, wending their way through the tables.
Since when had those two begun spending time together?
Granted, they often attended the same functions, but Robyn had never noticed either had a particular affinity for each other. In fact, widowed young, Claire Granlund usually presented a cold shoulder to any man who came within five feet of her.
Wed to a much older man, hers hadn’t been a happy union, according to Georgine.
“Honeybrook.” Robyn stood and doffed his fawn-colored felt top hat. “Mrs. Granlund.”
“Please accept my felicitation on your marriage.” Honeybrook’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. In truth, the taciturn fellow seemed a bit distracted.
