Page 66 of The Marquess Wins a Wife
“Thank you,” Georgie said, his voice slightly muffled within the folds of Luke’s coat. “I’ll take good care of it.”
Awkwardly, Luke let his arm fall around Georgie’s slim shoulders. Probably he had not expected such an exuberant display of affection. It was plain enough by the faint furrow of his brow that he had not the slightest idea of how he was meant to react to it. But he managed a pat on the back, and extended his hand once Georgie had stepped away. “You’ll give it your best effort,” he said, clasping Georgie’s hand in his own. “And mind your teachers.”
“Yes. I will. I promise.” Georgie lifted his chin resolutely.
“And write your sisters on occasion.”
“Every week at least,” Lizzie sniffled.
“And you will in all ways conduct yourself as a gentleman,” Luke said.
“I will, Luke.” There was a sort of pride shining in Georgie’s face, as if this rite of passage, this instruction from Luke meant more to him even than the watch. A man to man talk, for the first time in his young life.
A nod of understanding passed between them, and then, “Off you are, then,” Luke said.
No, not just yet! “Oh, wait—let me go with you,” Lizzie said. Just an hour longer, and then she could wait out the next eight weeks. But Luke stayed her with a hand on her shoulder when she would have rushed forward.
“Some things a man must do on his own. Isn’t that so, Georgie?”
“Right.” A dimple glowed in his cheek as Georgie climbed into the carriage. “And it’s George, now, thank you.” He gave a little wave through the window as the footman closed the door of the carriage, and within moments the carriage was off, proceeding down the street.
And Lizzie watched it depart, carrying George, who was suddenly ever so much more grown up than he had been only moments before.
“The boys tend to poke fun at anyone who arrives in the company of their family,” Luke confided, long moments later, well past when Imogen, Jo, and Willie had wandered back indoors. “You’ve done him a service by staying behind. Trust me on this.” And a moment later there was a faint crinkle of paper, and he shoved a stack of invitations into her hand. “Pick one,” he said.
Her heart lifted on a strange, hopeful beat to see them there, those invitations she had discarded at his last rejection. “What?”
“Susan says I have been negligent in my duty to you,” he said, and his voice shifted from the warmth that Georgie had merited to an aloof, remote tone. “Pick one, and I shall attend.”
Duty. Of course. Hope died a bitter death. Someday, perhaps, those words would not wound so deeply. “Of course,” she said. “I’ll be certain to inform you.”
But she wouldn’t. Not ever again.
Chapter Twenty Five
Arm in arm with Susan, Lizzie walked the halls of Ambrosia on a guided tour of sorts, courtesy of the manager, Mrs. Knight. Whoever had set the expectation that a proper lady never raised her voice had clearly never set foot inside the club—Lizzie had never heard such a racket in her life.
“You’ll find the smoking room to your left,” Mrs. Knight said, with a graceful gesture in the direction and a well-timed pause to allow time for the shrill cries that had gone up in a nearby room to fade, “and the gaming room to your right.”
“This can’t be correct,” Lizzie murmured to Susan, who squeezed her arm with a little laugh. Gaming?Smoking?
“Should you require a meal, our kitchen is open at all hours. Simply find a member of the staff to make your request,” Mrs. Knight said. “We close only on Sundays, and though our evening hours are by far our busiest, you can find refuge here no matter the hour. Can I interest you in a drink, Lady Ashworth?”
“Oh, no, I don’t think so,” Lizzie said, restraining the impulse to shout to be heard over the din. “I mean to say, I’m certain it wouldn’t be proper.”
Mrs. Knight turned on her with a knowing smile, her bright blue eyes sparkling with barely-contained mirth. “If spirits are not to your liking, we also serve coffee, tea, and drinking chocolate,” she said. “And the reading room is just down that hall,” she said with a wave. “It’s the quietest room in the club, should you require a place to relax the mind.”
“Oh. I—I suppose drinking chocolate would be lovely.” Lizzie felt some of the tension loosen from her shoulders, and she let herself glance about the place. Somewhere off to her right, there was the clatter of dice, the curious whooshof cards shuffling. It trulywasall ladies, she realized. Even the staff, dressed in their impeccably starched livery, were female.
“To the gaming room, if you please, Jenny,” Susan said to Mrs. Knight, and she gave a firm tug to Lizzie’s arm, steering her toward it.
“Oh, no,” Lizzie said, digging her heels in. “No, thank you—I have the most wretched luck when it comes to gambling.” And a father with a fondness for little else. “Really, Susan. I’d much prefer the library, if you must know.” Books had been something of a rarity in her small town, and they had become especially so once Lizzie had had to sell the contents of their library only to have enough money to keep the children in properly-fitting clothing.
Susan gave a great sigh of resignation, and Mrs. Knight gave a small nod of acknowledgement before she swept away. “If you insist,” she said as she changed tack and headed for the long hallway stretching toward the rear of the building. “Though I would encourage you to take a look at the betting book when you have a free moment—Mrs. Cowper once wagered five hundred pounds against Lady Markham that a particular raindrop upon the windowpane would reach the sill first.”
“Five hundred pounds for araindrop?”
“Oh, yes. And that’s justonesuch wager to be found within,” Susan said, patting Lizzie’s hand. “I daresay women are just as bad as men in that regard. So perhaps it’s for the best, then, that you’d choose not to gamble after all.”
