Page 76 of Lessons for Marquesses
“And I’ve been told you know Anthony,” Lady Sybil concluded.
Georgiana denied Anthony even a glance.
As four valets and a lady’s maid escaped the second coach like kippers from a jug, Georgiana motioned to Mr. Wolf. “This is Mr. Wolf, my…” What was he to her?
“Friend,” Mr. Wolf supplied.
In profile, Mr. Wolf regarded Lady Sybil. The lady’s appraisal sizzled like frying rashers down his body. Mr. Wolf didn’t object. In fact, she sensed anticipation in his form.
Julian drew Lady Sybil to his side. “Now, now, Sybs. Mr. Wolf is Georgie’s, and you’re mine.”
Georgiana protested quickly. “He’s not mine.”
“Maybe true,” Julian said. “But while my sweet Sybs might break my heart, she would never another female’s.”
Lady Sybil crept her graceful fingers up Julian’s coat. “But Jules, you have no heart to break.”
Julian shrugged. “But if I did.”
Mr. Wolf’s large palm opened next to Georgiana’s hand. “Give me the reins,” he offered. “You see to your guests.”
Her guests?
She had four furnished rooms available for six.
At the portico, Charlotte’s drawn brow said her aunt had already done the arithmetic. Julian dragged Georgiana throughthe doorway while the valets and maids waited for direction and trunks languished on the coaches waiting for footmen.
Oliver trudged out from the study and squinted at his brother’s friends. “What crime brings you here, brother? Hiding from your creditors?”
“Thankfully, no,” Julian drawled. “I was summoned, Ollie. Which, I must chastise you roundly, Georgie. You expected me to forestall a ball? Caroline’s already set the date and sent out the invitations.”
Oliver stomped off, muttering about money.
The guests followed Julian to the front drawing room, and as if they hadn’t sat enough on their journey from London, eachstoicfound a suitable place to lounge.Surely contemplating virtue, Georgiana thought wryly,while cultivating self-control and fortitude.
Georgiana found Rupert lurking in the hall, possibly enjoying the spectacle. “Call for tea please. Bring sherry and brandy and tell Mrs. Swift to prepare a tray of something. I’ll find Abigail and tell her to prepare the rooms.”
Only four rooms.
Charlotte intervened. “I shall manage it, dear. There is brandy and sherry in the drawing room. You keep them occupied.”
Georgiana crossed the room and found four glasses. She poured a sherry for the lady and three brandies for Julian, Greville, and Blackwell. Anthony could rot. Fitzwilliam had his own bottle.
Greville gulped down his brandy and asked for another.
“My lord, have you been seen by a surgeon?” she asked Greville.
The man forced out, “Stuffed my handkerchief in it. Will do.”
She decided he merited a furnished bedroom, not a mattress on the floor.
“Perhaps I should know the nature of your predicament,” she said to Fitzwilliam.
At Fitzwilliam’s shrug, Julian offered, “Folliett called Greville out for consorting with his wife. Folliett shot early, hit Greville in the shoulder, and his second”—Julian toasted his brandy to Fitzwilliam—“righted the wrong.”
“Righted?” Mr. Wolf queried from the door.
Fitzwilliam rubbed his powdered cheek over at least two days of unshaven beard. “I shot the cheat between the eyes.”
