Page 55 of Lessons for Marquesses
Of course he didn’t.
Georgiana placed her fork to her plate and waited out the second course. Caroline was going to run rampantly beautiful over her home.
A sense of being watched drew her gaze upward.
Mr. Wolf stared straight into her.
She forced a smile while her body loosened at every juncture and sinew.
He continued to hold her gaze like the evening in the Hazard Room. “Miss Philips, I’d like to walk the grounds. Would you care to join me?”
Oliver tossed his napkin to the table. “Excellent suggestion. Georgiana?”
When did Oliver ever think walking excellent? She gestured to the clouds churning low in the sky. “It’s going to rain.”
“Nonsense. I won’t allow it. Come along, girl.”
Oliver limped beside Georgiana as they walked behind Mr. Wolf and Charlotte along the path to the lake. What was the point of this? It was going to rain and yet, they all strolled jauntily into a downpour.
Georgiana said to Oliver, “Are you quite all right? Perhaps you and I should return.”
“I have a gouty toe. I’m not an invalid.”
“But it’s raining ahead.”
“When have you ever cared about rain?”
“I don’t. But Charlotte’s gown and your infirmed foot?—”
Oliver slapped the back of her head, sending her wig flying off her head and into a mud puddle.
Georgiana covered her head with her arms. “You did that on purpose.”
“Nonsense. Put your arms down and walk.”
“I’m going back to the house.” Georgiana snatched her wig from the muck.
Oliver tore it from her hand. “You are going to walk.”
“But my hair?—”
“Can come along.” Twirling her wig on his left hand, he hooked his right arm in hers and with a determined step brought them abreast of their companions. Like walking into a rainstorm, no one concerned themselves with Georgiana’s ruined wig or unkempt shock of red hair.
Could God have given her a worse color? A drab blond or brown would have suited her far better and allowed her to queue it. Instead, she had the hair of a Celtic whore. It gave men ideas.
Thankfully, Mr. Wolf’s expression held no ideas except walking. But just the same, she walked faster, covering her head ineffectively with her left arm.
Mr. Wolf matched her strides. “Why have you avoided me for three days?”
“Did we have to take a walk for you to ask me this?” she asked.
Mr. Wolf peeled her arm from her head. Behind them came a gasp. Charlotte fixated upon Mr. Wolf who’d had the audacity to touch Georgiana. Oliver whistled a lively tune off-key.
Mr. Wolf apologized, tucked his hands behind his back, and resumed the walk.
“You could have sent me a note,” Georgiana said. “Slipped it under my door even. I’m right next door.”
“I’ll remember that. Now answer the question.”
