Page 66 of When the Marquess Was Mine
Chapter 22
The arrival in London of a bachelor as eligible as the Marquess of Westmorland was noticed. Lady Sidlow read it from her favorite gossip sheet at breakfast.
“‘To the delight of many an unmarried lady, the Marquess of W was present at the opera on Tuesday evening’—Georgiana, do be careful, you’ll chip the china,” scolded Lady Sidlow.
“I’m sorry,” she babbled, blotting up the tea that had splashed onto the table when she dropped her spoon into it. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Her chaperone gave her a curious look, peering over the spectacles she wore to read. “What gave you such a start? You’re not usually clumsy.”
“I was woolgathering,” she said quickly. Her heart had taken a giant leap at the sound of Rob’s name, and her hands still shook.
“Indeed,” murmured Lady Sidlow. She turned back to her paper, but did not read anything else aloud.
Georgiana ate her toast in silence, her mind galloping along and leaping like a horse over hedges. Rob was back in London. Why? He ought to be at Salmsbury Abbey recovering from his injuries.
Unless, of course, he had. After several days at his parents’ home, he must have regained his memory in full, come back to all his senses and feelings, and returned to take up his rakish life again. She felt a sharp sting of regret for several minutes, then realized what she was doing.
She might think she knew Rob, but she most assuredly did not know Lord Westmorland. What he did mattered little—nothing—to her. He could come to London or go to Scotland or sail to China, and it did not matter to her. She should be glad he was his old self, because then there would be very little chance of them meeting ever again.
Still, the Colbournes’ ball a few days later made her unreasonably tense. It was late in the year for society events elegant enough to tempt a bored marquess, but the Colbourne ball would be one of them. The gossip papers, obviously starved for material these days, had mentioned his presence at several fashionable affairs, and Georgiana walked into the ballroom braced for anything.
Several of her friends were at the ball, and there was a flurry of conversation about him—eligible, handsome marquesses being rather rare—but no sign of the man himself.
Thankfully.
“I was having such a splendid time tonight, until that news,” murmured Joanna Hotchkiss behind her fan. “Dreadful man.”
Georgiana flinched. “It hardly matters to either of us where he goes.”
Joanna sighed. “Perhaps. But I can’t help despising him.”
“Oh, Joanna!” Georgiana tried to laugh. “Don’t waste your thoughts on him.”
Her friend turned to her in disbelief. “He and Lord Heathercote told Lord Marlow I’m a vapid little leech.”
“I doubt Lord Marlow remembers.”
“But they all laughed!” Joanna whispered angrily. “And who knows who else he told? Mr. Parker-Pierce asked me to dance three times before that, and then never again afterward.”
Georgiana’s head began to hurt. She didn’t want to defend Rob any more than she wanted to think of him being so spiteful. “Prove them wrong by being kind and gracious, and no one will remember it.”
Joanna sighed. “Perhaps you’re right. But it’s so hard to forget! Mr. Parker-Pierce was charming. I hoped he’d call on me.” Her chin wobbled. “If he listens to Lords Heathercote or Westmorland, he never will.”
Georgiana felt a pang of sympathy. Joanna’s family was respectable and wealthy, but she was neither a great beauty nor brilliantly clever. She was kind and warm, but shy, with a great fondness for animals and books. She didn’t have a raft of suitors to ease the sting of cruel sobriquets. “You have friends who will stand by you, no matter what anyone else may say. And if Mr. Parker-Pierce is so stupid as to listen to no-account scoundrels like Lord Heathercote, you don’t want him to court you anyway. He would have proved himself utterly unworthy of you.”
Joanna’s face dissolved in gratitude. “Dear Georgiana. I don’t know what I would do without you. No one else would have said that to me.”
“And that is why we love her so,” said an amused voice behind them.
Georgiana swung around to see her fiancé. “Sterling,” she said in surprise. “I didn’t expect you to be here tonight.”
He laughed, making a very gallant bow. “A last-minute decision, and a very happy one for me. I hope you’ve not promised all your dances?”
She smiled. “Of course not.” She hadn’t felt much like dancing of late, but hopefully that would change now that he was here. She bid Joanna farewell and took his hand.
“What dreadful terror have you saved Miss Hotchkiss from?” he asked as they took their places for the country dance.
She waved one hand. “Malicious gossip—or rather, her fear of it.”
