Page 44 of Ladies in Hating
Georgiana nearly catapulted from the bed. Bacon set to barking and leaping about, and Georgiana attempted to steady herself on her feet, which were bare against the water-stained silk rug. “Yes?” she gasped. “Who is it?”
No one had knocked at her door since she’d come to RenwickHouse. The coal was left in its scuttle outside the room sometime in the night, and if she did not come down to breakfast, no one ever came looking for her.
“It’s me.” And then, unnecessarily: “Cat.”
Georgiana gaped at the closed door. Her heart did something terrible—leapt, and then plunged at the vertex of its parabola.
Cat was here? Despite the way Georgiana had fled the library last night, Cat had come back?
No.No.She shouldn’t want that. She ought not wish for Cat’s presence. For her forgiveness.
But still, Georgiana turned inanely toward the desk, where a looking glass would have been balanced had she been at home.
There was no glass, of course. Her brains were made of mutton. She scraped her fingers through her hair, thrust her arms into her dressing gown, and wrapped it tightly around her person.
Or—no. Ought she untie it? Should she let it slip down off one shoulder?
She directed several vociferous curses inward, left the dressing gown the way that it was, and answered the door.
Some baked-in decorous reflex still evidently had hold of her. Despite the uneasy combination of shame and fear and hope swimming about inside her person, Georgiana managed to look Cat in the eye and say, “Good morning.”
Cat was already dressed for the outdoors, her familiar wool cloak set about her shoulders. Her mouth was caught in a frown, and Georgiana hated the unfamiliar expression on Cat’s face. Wanted to kiss it away.
“Would you like to come in?” Georgiana heard herself ask. Like anidiot.
“No,” Cat said flatly.
Georgiana told herself that she was not crushed by this response and her heart had not crumbled into powder.
“I came up to see if you’d spoken to Graves,” Cat continued.
“To Graves?”
“Yes. I went down hours ago because there was no coal in the scuttle this morning, and my fire went out.”
“Oh”—Georgiana backed hastily into the room—“youshouldcome in, then. It’s warm in here. I can—”
“But when I went down,” Cat went on, heedless of Georgiana’s words, “I could not find any evidence that the coal-cutter had been here this morning, nor at all in the last several days. And then I could not find Graves either.”
Georgiana blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“I searched through the kitchen, which was cold and dark and somewhat short of food. There’s no breakfast set out. There’s no Mort—though to be perfectly honest, I’m not entirely certain there ever was a Mort. And I could not find Graves anywhere.”
“Did you check her chamber? Could she be indisposed?” Georgiana felt a stab of concern for the spectral housekeeper.
But Cat was shaking her head. “I went down to the servants’ quarters in the northern wing, but it was all dark. I don’t think there’s anyone in there.”
“That can’t be right.” Georgiana had been told that Renwick House would be staffed for the entirety of her stay, which was meant to be a full fortnight. Surely Graves would not simply vanish.
Would she?
Cat raised her brows. “You’re welcome to see for yourself, my lady. If you canfindthe servants’ wing, of course.”
Georgiana’s lips parted reflexively, and then she shut hermouth with a snap. So that was how it was to be, then? Their rivalry—their animosity—back in place?
She could hear it in Cat’s voice—in her arch tone, in the quick snap of her retort.
But she could not chafe against Cat’s words, even if their implications stung. Georgiana would not allow herself to take offense.Shehad brought them back to this place—with her accusations first of all, and then with the way she’d fled from the library and left Cat there alone without even a farewell.
