Page 29 of Ironvine

Georgina

She’d won.

This evening Georgina had set her sights on a goal, and she’d seen it through. What she wanted had come to fruition.

She’d saved herself from marriage to Sir Reginald.

Thomas had dragged her through the garden and ordered her to stay at his side for the rest of the evening. If they were to leave the ball now, it would be obvious that something was amiss. Everyone would attempt to guess what had happened, rumours would spawn, and it would be a nightmare.

He brought her to a table where her sister and her mother pretended to eat the supper that had been served. Her mother let out a breath as she carefully placed her fork on her dish. “Where have you been?”

Thomas explained.

Philippa gasped. Their mother’s eyes narrowed, and her signature withering gaze descended attempting to shrivel Georgina.

This time, it did not work.

“Did you not think how making a show of yourself with that man in front of everyone would have consequences? This is the very thing we were trying to avoid.”

“I danced with that man, as I danced with a number of other fine gentlemen. I even danced with His Grace, the Duke of Oakley.”

“You did more than dance, sister,” remarked Philippa.

“Do you know what kind of man the Earl of Ryvves is?” Mother’s voice was pinched and made her stomach twist.

“Like all men.”

“And what do you know of men?” her Mother hissed at her, her lips pursed, her face stony. Disgust.

Later, in their carriage, they were all silent. Once home, their mother immediately retired to her chamber, and Philippa, Georgina, and John went into the drawing room. Thomas was out with his friends.

Philippa sipped on her sherry. “Lord Ryvves may be a peer of the realm with a historic lineage and an outrageous income, but he—”

“He is a gentleman in want of a wife,” Georgina interrupted.

“Tonight, he may have taken a fancy to you for all to see. But tomorrow he may attend a luncheon, a dinner, a tea, the theatre and take a fancy to another young lady, hmm? Perhaps all he wants—”

“He wants the same as you—an impressive congress of prestigious connections and bloodlines. An heir or two to secure his family’s future.”

“You must watch your tongue, sister.” Philippa glanced at her husband.

John sniffed in air, placing his empty glass on the mantel. “The Montclares are a family of decadents going back generations.”

“Indeed.” Philippa’s eyebrows flared. “He’s probably forgotten all about you already. I am quite sure he will not come tomorrow.”

“He will come,” replied Georgina.

Philippa let out a stifled grunt. “John, if he does come and asks for her hand, will you refuse him?”

“How can I?” John’s lips drew into a thin line. “It would be spectacularly foolish and utterly ridiculous to refuse such a man, such a connection. This is a bloody fine mess.” He slapped his hand on the mantle.

Philippa straightened her back as the servant filled her glass once more. “He may not come. He may be all wind.”

Another servant entered the room with a letter for John. Tearing it open, John read before the fireplace, the firelight making his taut features dramatic. His lips a snarl, he lifted his gaze to her, his eyes boring into Georgina, their glint obvious even in the dimly lit room, making her flesh prickle with ice. “I warrant you will rue the moment you invited his attentions.”

“I did no such—”

He lifted his hand for her to stop, a grimace on his face. “Foolish, foolish girl. I am most displeased.” He raised the letter in his hand. “Sir Reginald has quit London.” He tossed the letter into the fire, and it crackled and flared in the flames.

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