Page 102 of Lessons for Marquesses
She bit her cheek, guarding against a sudden doubt that her course was the right one. “I did not.”
“I know.” His gaze was dark and certain. “I do not want to start over, George. Because if we did, then I would lose the memories we have already made. I want to go on. From here.” He nodded toward Julian as her cousin approached. “We can speak further on this. Until then, think about it.”
He started to move off, and it was her turn to call after him. “Was it not enough to crush me yesterday? Must you do it again?”
He turned his head, his profile to her. “I lied yesterday, and you were too much a lady to call me out.”
“There you are wrong. I believed every word. And despite your words now, I still do.” She wanted to weep and snarl. She circled Minion south and rode off to make the clockwise circuit alone.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Two days later,the morning dawned bright as if heaven stood in opposition to Georgiana’s torment. The sole silver lining in a sky bereft of clouds was a respite from the unseasonable chill that had gripped the land and, with eleven in residence, threatened to strip Farendon of its firewood.
Her hand shook with each number ciphered in the ledger.
Oliver lurked at the door. “It’s bleak, girl.”
“Bleak is optimistic.” Rising from the chair, she offered her cousin a letter. “Send this to the marquess for me please.”
Oliver squinted at the missive. “What are you planning?”
“To negotiate. Without a leg to stand on. But at least I can say I tried.” She sighed. “I’m off to Notfelle. Pray that Julian doesn’t strangle Kitty.”
Oliver turned serious, taking hold of her hand. “You’re a good sort, Georgiana.”
Am I?A good sort would not have made a cake of herself over Mr. Wolf. Wouldn’t be on the verge of losing everything. “And you are the very best sort.”
“It will work itself out, this bloody mess, and one day, we’ll laugh at it.”
Georgiana hadn’t the energy to itemize the myriad of reasons which made Oliver’s assertions impossible. She kissed his cheek and went outside where Julian’s coach waited to take them to Kitty’s home. Rupert lugged a basket like one used for picnics and handed it to a groom who tethered it to the coach boot.
Georgiana interrupted the operation. “What is this for?”
Her old butler, long-faced as he climbed next to the coachman, said, “Mr. Philips requested a picnic.”
Anthony was to accompany her? She was going to have to sit in a coach, breathe the same air as him? And picnic with him?
Georgiana tapped her boot to the gravel, waiting for Julian to make a show. Conferring with her watch, she noted it was near noon. He was three hours late.
She looked back at Rupert. “Why are you coming with?”
Rupert’s back stooped further at her question, not from age, but worse, embarrassment. “I’ve been replaced, miss. Thought I’d help serve you at yer picnic. Make myself useful.”
“Who has replaced you? And by whose authority?”
“A gentry-like cove from Mrs. Owen’s agency. The whole lot of ’em arrived this morning. All young and spritelike, itchin’ to replace us. The Lady Tufton’s got ’em all in the ballroom givin’ ’em their orders. They’ve brought a woman in to manage Mrs. Thistle, too. Aheadhousekeeper.”
Georgiana’s temper reared. Marching to the study, she almost slammed into Mr. Wolf. She would have, except he braced her arms and set her aside.
“I—I’m sorry. I wasn’t looking.” Her voice wavered, her heart pounding as he beheld her in a tense silence.
“Ready to picnic, Ana?” Anthony drawled from across the hall, arms crossed with a rakish sparkle in his blue eyes. “I queried Cook on your favorite dishes. And the day proves to be perfect for lounging upon blankets, doesn’t it?”
Mr. Wolf angled his head atblankets, his lashes sweeping low.
“Excuse me.” Georgiana hurried to the ballroom where an army of servants stood three-deep in front of the wall of glass doors.
Caroline in shimmering damask surveyed the servants, those hired and those already employed. “This will be the finest ball my guests have ever attended. It will be remembered. For its splendor, its grandeur, its perfection.”
