Page 103 of Lessons for Marquesses
As if this were Caroline’s home!
Her cousin neared Mary, a plump woman with two children, who worked in the kitchen. Mary’s hand shook at her side as she stared at her black shoes.
“Let me see your face,” Caroline demanded.
Mary lifted her face, revealing scars from small pox.
“I require the prettiest maids. You will not do.” Caroline walked away.
“M-M’lady,” Mary stammered. “I work in the kitchen. No one sees me.”
Caroline’s back stiffened at being spoken to without permission. “ButIwill see you.”
Mary twisted her apron. “Beg yer pardon, m’lady, but I already work here. I’ve got children and a sister I support with me wages.”
“And where is your husband?”
“I ain’t got one.”
Caroline fluttered a pale hand to her breast. “Please. No more. Leave at once.”
“But I’ve done nothing wrong. Miss St. Clair knows I ain’t got a husband?—”
“This is not Miss St. Clair’s ball. Hardly her home. And what does she know of the danger of having immoral servants whocrawl into the master’s bed for a penny or position? Now go and pack up your belongings.”
“Mary stays,” Georgiana boomed from the door.
Caroline turned with a half smile. “Georgiana.”
“All of them stay in their positions.”
Caroline’s tone was wounded. “Forgive me, I did not realize you cared. But of course, if it is your wish, I will gladly concede.”
How did her cousin do it, affecting a mien that made it appear as if Georgiana was an ogre for defending her employees?
“And there will be no one above Mrs. Thistle or Rupert,” Georgiana asserted. “And whoever you find here who is not pretty enough or young enough in this lot, you will keep them.”
Mrs. Thistle glowed beneath her huge cap and tails.
Caroline nodded deferentially, but this was not the end of it.
Georgiana thanked her cousin and returned outdoors.
Julian paced outside his coach. “Where have you been?”
“Making an enemy.” Georgiana climbed in the coach and took the seat opposite Anthony who stretched his legs across the well, hat dipped over his brow.
Julian followed, sitting beside Georgiana. “One of my favorite pastimes. Who’s the lucky soul?”
“Your sister. And I need your assistance in defeating her.”
From the study window, Nicholas watched the coach depart, feeling the weight of his lies and his steadfast determination to see his revenge through. He considered the clouds in a sky of divine blue. A breeze teased at the leaves, still bright from their spring unfolding. That was how he felt inside, like a man long dormant and unfurling, against his wishes. He savored each rayof light and the warmth that touched the darkest recesses of his soul.
And what a perfect day for a picnic.
The impulse he’d had to throttle Anthony Philips for his mistreatment of Georgiana in Newmarket had fledged from a spring into a full raging summer of jealousy. In truth, jealousy was meek compared to the intensity of his feelings. It was an emotion he had never experienced. It was possessiveness, an urge to protect her, keep her. An urge to flail himself alive at pushing her away.
He had hurt her. He had known what he had said would hurt her.
