Читать книгу Historical Romance June 2017 Books 1 - 4 - Энни Берроуз, Annie Burrows - Страница 19

Chapter Nine

Edmund could never understand why so many people he scarcely knew persisted in sending him so many invitations to events they must know wouldn’t interest him in the slightest, whenever he came to Town.

Nevertheless, tonight he was glad that Lady Twining had invited him to her daughter’s come-out ball. Because Lord Havelock had informed him that his wife had somehow managed to get Georgiana’s name on the guest list, too. And although on first hearing this, he’d just been pleased to see that his ploy was working, that Georgiana was, gradually, getting to know females who would encourage her to discover her true self again, as the hours had ticked by he’d found himself increasingly unable to concentrate on his work. Because he couldn’t stop wondering what sort of reception she’d get. Just because Lady Havelock had managed to get her name on the guest list, it was no guarantee that people would receive her cordially once she got there. They would be just as likely to take one look at her stepmother, draw their own conclusions and cut her dead.

Society tabbies could be incredibly cruel. Especially those with unmarried daughters who would regard both Georgiana and Sukey as a threat to their own matrimonial ambitions.

In the end he tossed his pen aside, changed into evening clothes and sent one of his footmen to fetch him a hack, since it was raining too heavily for him to walk.

He need not waste his entire evening, after all. He could just take a look in to see how Georgie was faring and, if it looked as though she was not being well received, he would...

As his footman shut the door of the cab behind him, Edmund wrinkled his nose in distaste. And not entirely because it smelled as though a previous passenger made their living boiling onions. No, it was mostly because he’d realised that if he wanted to make sure Georgiana was enjoying herself, he’d have to go through all the rigmarole of approaching her stepmother, and asking permission to dance, or for the honour of escorting her into supper, or some such foolery. He’d have to spend enough time with all of them to demonstrate that he endorsed their presence in the polite world.

* * *

A footman bearing an umbrella opened the door of Edmund’s hired hack the moment it drew up. But the unfortunate man received only a baleful glare in return for escorting him up the front steps to the open door. Because light and noise were streaming out in about equal measure, proclaiming that Miss Twining’s come-out ball bore all the hallmarks of being what people referred to as ‘a squeeze’.

People were queuing up the stairs inside, chattering and laughing and jostling those who were trying to descend. People who’d clearly had enough and were attempting to leave. For a moment Edmund considered turning around and joining them.

But then he remembered the way he’d found Georgiana cowering in a corner at Lady Havelock’s gathering, gave a deep sigh, surrendered his hat and coat to yet another footman, and joined the end of the queue.

When he was about two-thirds of the way up the staircase, a mature lady attempting to go down gave an exaggerated start and came to a halt.

‘Good heavens! Lord Ashenden?’ Lady Tarbrook clapped her hand to her heavily jewelled bosom. ‘I never expected to see you here, of all people!’

Several responses sprang to mind. All of them rude. On any other occasion he would have selected one and tossed it carelessly at her feet, hoping she would stumble over it. Because she was one of those gossipy, hen-witted matrons with whom conversing was a colossal waste of time. He wouldn’t have cared if he offended her. He didn’t care what females of her type thought of him, or said about him.

But tonight he didn’t have only himself to consider. Georgiana’s position in society was far from assured. She couldn’t afford to offend any one of these tabbies. Therefore, tonight, for her sake, nor could he.

So he confined himself to merely raising one eyebrow, and saying, in what he hoped was a manner sufficiently off-putting to discourage further conversation, yet not cold enough to leave any lingering hostility, ‘Indeed?’

Lady Tarbrook appeared to regard his bland response as an invitation to linger, even though she was preventing the people on the stairs behind her from getting past.

‘Yes, I should have thought you would consider this ball far too frivolous a way to spend an evening,’ she said archly, ignoring the portly gentleman on the step above her who was noisily clearing his throat.

‘You are correct,’ he bit out, realising his error too late. There would now be no escape until he’d furnished her with some sort of explanation. ‘I would not normally waste my time at such an event. However,’ he continued, ‘some people who hail from the environs of Fontenay Court, who have recently come up to Town, are attending. And I thought it would be a neighbourly gesture,’ he said, feeling a muscle at the corner of his eye give a twitch, ‘to take a look in and see how they are faring in the Polite World.’

There, that should send out the message that he approved of the Wickfords. As their life-long neighbour, who was better placed to know what kind of people they were? And what better person to whom to divulge that information than one of the busiest gossips in England?

He gave her a nod of dismissal, and, as the queue surged upwards, climbed the next two stairs.

‘Neighbours, you say?’

To his acute annoyance, tossing her that bone had not satisfied Lady Tarbrook. On the contrary, as she fell into step beside him, her eyes alight with curiosity, he saw that all he’d done was whet her appetite.

‘Anyone I know?’

‘I should not think so.’

‘Oh? I would have thought—that is, since your mother is also here tonight I had assumed they must be here under her aegis, since they are such close neighbours of yours.’

‘She is here?’ Damn.

‘You did not know?’

‘No.’ He’d managed to avoid her since coming up to Town, even though they were both currently residing in Ashenden House. It wasn’t all that difficult. Ashenden House was enormous and their vastly different habits meant that they scarcely even passed each other in any of the corridors.

‘I do not share her tastes,’ he said. He spent most of his time in London amidst the intellectual set, whereas she cared for nothing but ton parties. Moreover, his secretary always warned him if Lady Ashenden intended to dine at home, when the fellow knew Edmund didn’t have a previous engagement, so that he could seek refuge at his club.

‘Well, I am sure she will be vastly pleased to see you here tonight,’ said Lady Tarbrook, with a knowing smile.

Yes, dammit, she would. His mother made no secret of the fact she believed it was past time he was married. As soon as he’d come down from Oxford she’d started introducing him to nobly born females of whom she approved. At previous ton balls, she’d done it in such a way that he never felt he had any choice but to lead the poor chit on to the dance floor. Which was another reason for avoiding events such as this.

Still, forewarned was forearmed.

Though he didn’t think his mother would waste much time before attempting to introduce him to somebody, he suspected. As they reached the landing Lady Tarbrook went scuttling off down the corridor which probably, knowing his mother’s penchant for games of chance, led to the card rooms.

He permitted Lady Twining to gush over him for a moment or two when he reached the head of the receiving line, however. It gave him an opportunity to scan the ballroom beyond.

He soon spotted Mrs Wickford, amidst the other chaperons, sitting out the dance in progress. She was fanning herself briskly, leaning in close to Lady Havelock as though sharing some confidence, and looking mighty pleased with herself.

Sukey was on the dance floor with a well-heeled baronet, whom he knew by reputation.

But he scarcely gave the couple more than a passing glance. Because he’d also seen Georgiana, dancing with Major Gowan. And she was wearing another scandalously low-cut gown. Major Gowan was making no attempt to disguise his hope that the next energetic move might have her bouncing right out of the confines of her stays. His tongue was practically hanging out, his eyes glued so fixedly to Georgiana’s frontage that he was paying no attention to where he was going. And since he was such a large man, it meant that other dancers were obliged to take evasive action.

He stifled the urge to stride across the room and trip the damned rogue up. Though it would give him the greatest pleasure to see the Major stretching his length on the floor, he had no wish to embarrass Georgiana by making her the centre of such a spectacle. There were enough lecherous bucks watching from the sidelines with avid expressions as it was.

Instead, set-faced, he strolled around the perimeter of the room—not looking at the dancers even out of the corner of his eye—and made his bow to Lady Havelock.

‘Oh, Ashe,’ she said, her face lighting up with pleasure. Or relief? She couldn’t possibly be enjoying sitting tête-à-tête with a woman like Mrs Wickford and might well be hoping he’d come to rescue her. ‘Thank you so much for putting me in the way of finding a friend for Julia,’ she said, nodding her head in the direction of Georgiana. ‘She is so much happier now she has someone to talk horses with and to go riding with.’

‘Why, Lord Ashenden,’ put in Mrs Wickford, her eyes widening as Lady Havelock revealed his part in bringing the two girls together, ‘I never dreamed we had you to thank for our good fortune.’

‘No?’ Why on earth did she think Lady Havelock had introduced her husband’s wealthy half-sister to a family with no connections in Town, unless she’d done so as a favour to a friend? Why else did she think Lady Havelock had arranged for invitations to be sent to an event such as this, come to that?

He took out his pocket watch and gave it a cursory glance. Which was a singularly stupid thing to do. There was no way he could estimate how much time he would have before his mother came to the ballroom to find out what he was doing there. It would depend entirely upon the state of play.

He snapped the case shut and replaced the watch in his waistcoat pocket as the orchestra wailed to a crescendo. The dancers all stopped capering about, bowed to their partners and began to disperse.

The baronet arrived first.

‘Thank you so much for the pleasure of that dance,’ he said, making a bow which included both the stepmother and Lady Havelock.

Mrs Wickford preened as her daughter sat down. She clearly thought Miss Mead had made her first conquest. Little did she know that Lord Freckleton was not interested in females in the slightest. He only sought out those his family would consider completely ineligible, or the perennial wallflowers who always drooped around the edges of the room, in an attempt to throw dust in their eyes.

‘Lord Ashenden,’ said Lord Freckleton next, giving him a mocking smile. ‘What an unexpected pleasure to see you here.’

Edmund couldn’t return the compliment. Lord Freckleton always eyed him with a little too much interest for his peace of mind.

And then the Major returned, with a flush-faced Georgiana on his arm, and Edmund’s lack of a smile turned into a decided scowl. At some point the Major must have got so close to her that he’d trodden on her hem because she was trailing half a yard of sparkling, gauzy stuff that clearly belonged with the rest of the flounces and frills adorning the lower quadrant of her gown.

‘My thanks for the dance,’ the Major said, bowing over her hand with a flourish. ‘Haven’t enjoyed one so much in ages. A pity you cannot stand up with me again. A great pity.’

‘Oh, but you have stood up with my stepdaughter twice already,’ Mrs Wickford protested with a false titter. ‘Besides, she is promised to Lord Freckleton for the next,’ she said with a great deal of satisfaction.

And then several things happened in rapid succession.

First, Georgiana’s blush turned a deeper shade of pink as she tugged her hand from the Major’s grip.

Which gave Edmund a strong urge to punch the smug, lecherous look off the Major’s face. And to upend her stepmother’s chair. He also wanted to rip off his coat, drape it round Georgiana’s exposed shoulders and take her somewhere safe.

And then, while he was still wrestling himself under control, Lord Freckleton shot the Major a withering glance and stepped forward, obliging the oaf to yield his ground as he extended his arm to Georgiana.

At which point Edmund saw that Lord Freckleton was exactly the sort of man Georgiana thought she wanted to marry. He would definitely leave Georgiana unmolested. Not only that, but Freckleton would probably be so grateful to any woman who would make it look as though he was doing his duty to his family name, whilst making no demands on him in that regard, he would probably be extremely generous. In his own way.

With just a word or two in Freckleton’s ear, and a short explanation to Georgiana about what kind of man he was, Edmund could arrange the kind of future she claimed she wanted.

He looked hard at Freckleton’s bland face. At his slender shoulders. His neatly manicured nails.

And his whole being revolted. A man like Freckleton might be able to provide Georgiana with what she thought she wanted. He’d leave her alone, right enough, but he would do so because he didn’t care about her. He would never stir himself to encourage her to live her life to the full. To strike off the shackles her stepmother had weighted her down with. In fact, he’d probably impose a whole new set of rules so that she could play the part he wanted her to play.

All of this flashed through his mind in less time than it took for Georgiana to lift her hand and place it on Freckleton’s sleeve.

Which meant that it never reached its destination. For Edmund intercepted her movement, taking her hand firmly in his and laying it on his own sleeve before she could make such a terrible mistake.

‘You won’t mind if I cut in, will you, Freckleton?’

Lord Freckleton raised his eyebrows, his eyes dancing with amusement.

‘I am not able to spend a great deal of time here tonight,’ said Edmund, tucking Georgiana’s hand possessively into the very crook of his arm. ‘You understand,’ he said, and then, without waiting for Freckleton’s reply, he tugged her in the direction of the dance floor before anyone could voice any objections.

‘What do you think you are doing?’ Georgiana asked as he led her inexorably to the bottom of the newest set that was forming.

‘I might ask you the same question,’ he retorted. Because he was angry. At himself for acting so impulsively, at Freckleton for being Georgiana’s answer even though she hadn’t yet asked him the question and at the Major for...being the Major. ‘You were smiling at him,’ he found himself growling, rather than saying anything to the point.

She frowned at him in confusion. ‘Who?’

‘Gowan,’ he snapped. ‘While you were dancing.’

‘Why should I not have been smiling at him?’

‘No reason, if you actually liked him. Which I thought not to be the case.’

‘Perhaps,’ she said through a grimace that showed all her teeth in the parody of a smile, ‘beggars cannot be choosers.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘Well,’ she said, dipping a curtsy as the music began, ‘do you see any other suitors clustering round me?’

He’d seen Freckleton. He would be a much better match for her, in some respects, than the Major. Not that he was ever going to let her find out, he decided as they formed a square and honoured their partners to the diagonal.

‘You have been in Town less than a month,’ he said when they next came close enough for him to say anything without the words being heard by the others in the set. She crooked one eyebrow at him as she turned and went back to her place.

‘You have plenty of time to meet eligible men,’ he said the next time he got the chance.

‘You know very well,’ she said with a brittle smile, ‘that I have no interest in meeting eligible men.’

‘So you intend to marry that great lump of beef then, do you? Oh, this is intolerable.’ One could not hold a rational conversation whilst dancing and this one went on for another three hours. Or at least, that was what it felt like. The moment it ended, he took Georgiana’s hand in a none-too-gentle grip and towed her in the direction of the refreshment room.

‘You are supposed to return me to my stepmother,’ she hissed up at him.

‘After two dances with the Major, and one with me, you are entitled to a drink of lemonade.’

‘Well, yes, I would be, if I wanted one,’ she pointed out.

‘Don’t be facetious. You can see I wish to talk to you. And one cannot hold a sensible conversation whilst capering about like a...like a...cricket.’

‘What,’ she asked as they passed through the doors that led to the refreshment room and took their place in the queue, ‘did you wish to talk to me about?’

He scanned the room for signs of either the Major or Freckleton, but there were none. They’d either gone to the card room, or left altogether. Both of which suited Edmund equally well.

‘Husbands,’ he said grimly. ‘I thought you did not wish to get married, but now you are positively encouraging the first man to show a decided interest in you.’

She shrugged her shoulders. Looked at a point somewhere beyond his left ear. ‘I have to face facts. I am going to have to marry somebody. And since there doesn’t seem to be much difference between one man and the next, I thought I just might as well get it over with as quickly as possible.’

‘Georgie, no.’ He gasped, his stomach roiling at the thought of those meaty great hands getting hold of what they so clearly wanted to grope. Of those blubbery lips slobbering all over her. Her face, her body...

‘No,’ he repeated, more decisively. ‘It is intolerable to think of you in his keeping.’

‘Well, I thought so at first, but then...’ she sighed ‘...upon reflection, I think he might not make a terrible sort of husband.’

‘How can you say that?’ The queue shuffled forward. And there were couples behind them now, as well as in front.

‘Well, he does appear to be a fairly decent sort of man, from what Stepmama has been able to discover. He isn’t terribly clever, but then wouldn’t that be to my advantage?’

‘In what way?’

‘Well, I could... That is he’d be easier to...um...manage than a more intelligent man.’

The expression on his face must have clearly conveyed what he thought of that, because her stubborn chin went up and her eyes flashed defiance.

‘And at least he would understand my need to go riding. I’m sure he’d let me have as many horses as I wanted.’

‘As many as he could afford, you mean, or, to be more precise, his father could afford.’

‘I know he doesn’t have what you would probably call a great deal of money,’ she said defensively, ‘but then I’m used to living fairly simply. And he’s a second son, too. Told me outright that it meant he could marry to please himself, so long as his bride didn’t mind living on his income. Which means he must really like me, mustn’t it? I mean, a lot of younger sons go after fortunes and even he must have realised by now I don’t have two brass farthings to rub together.’

‘That doesn’t mean you have to settle for him,’ he snarled as they reached the table where footmen were ladling out drinks from a variety of cutglass bowls. Edmund procured a glass of cloudy-looking lemonade for her, then took one from a bowl that most of the gentlemen ahead of him seemed to prefer. It was a rather more propitious shade of amber.

‘Have you no higher ambition from a husband than that he would like you tolerably well and would permit you to have a horse?’

She shrugged morosely. ‘You know very well that I don’t wish to marry at all. The whole notion of...’ She shuddered and then took a gulp of her drink, as though to wash away a nasty taste. ‘But I don’t have the luxury of choice. I have to get married, or face...’ She shrugged. ‘Well, I don’t know what.’

‘You have no home to go back to, I do know that, now. But surely your father did not leave you unprovided for?’

‘He left it all in Stepmama’s hands, saying she was the most capable person he knew of to handle a girl’s future. And she firmly believes the best way to invest my inheritance is by launching me into society as lavishly as she can, so that I can find a good husband.’

‘To say nothing of her own daughter,’ he snarled.

She shrugged again.

‘That is preposterous,’ he said. ‘There must be something else...’ But of course, there wasn’t. Not for a girl like her. Of good family, but limited education, what could she do but marry well? Now was the time he ought to tell her about men like Freckleton. Men who would agree to a marriage on her terms, because just having her at their side would disguise their true inclinations.

Why on earth had condemning Georgie to such a fate seemed like a good idea, back in Bartlesham?

She was already struggling to be the kind of female her stepmother wanted her to be. Marrying a man who would use her as a sort of smokescreen would mean she’d spend the rest of her life pretending to be someone she was not.

At least Major Gowan appeared to like her enough to actually consider her likes and dislikes. He would attempt to make her as happy as he could, in his bumbling, fumbling way. Except that he wouldn’t be able to make her anything but miserable. Because he’d want to bed her.

He drained his glass and set it down on a convenient window ledge with a decisive snap.

‘Don’t make any hasty decisions,’ he said. ‘Once you are married, there will be no escaping it. It will be for life.’

‘I know that.’

‘So you will make no promises to Major Gowan until I have had time to...to...’

‘To what, exactly?’

‘To find a better solution to your problem.’

‘And just how do you propose to do that? If indeed it is any of your business, which actually, I don’t think it is.’

‘Of course it is. You came to me in the first instance, specifically asking me...’ he wavered, amending what he’d been about to say ‘...for help.’

She glowered at him. ‘Yes, and you refused to be the man to come to my rescue,’ she said bitterly. ‘In no uncertain terms.’

He winced. ‘I was not in a position to make an informed decision, since you left out several pertinent facts,’ he said in self-defence.

‘Oh, and it would have made you reach a different decision, would it, if I’d succeeded in making you listen to what you didn’t want to hear?’

‘I...no...I...but I would have handled the encounter differently had I known how very desperate your circumstances are. I could never have imagined your father leaving you so wholly dependent on that woman.’

She made a derisive noise halfway between a snort and a cough.

‘I would also have explained,’ he said loftily, ‘before you left for Town, that there are many ways in which I was prepared to help you, without—’

‘Actually going to the lengths of marrying me yourself,’ she finished for him bitterly.

‘Did your stepmother never teach you it is the height of bad manners to interrupt a man when he is doing his damnedest to explain how he intends to help you get out of a fix?’

‘Oh, she taught me all sorts of lessons in manners. Do, pray, continue,’ she said with a falsely sweet smile. ‘I cannot wait to hear the brilliance of your ideas.’

He clenched his teeth. He did not, actually, have any brilliant ideas. Not a single one, to be perfectly honest. But he had no intention of admitting that.

‘You cannot just marry the first man to show an interest in you in case nobody better comes along,’ he snapped. ‘You need to think it all over, in a rational manner.’

‘In a rational manner,’ she repeated, with scepticism.

‘Yes,’ he said firmly. ‘For example, it might help if you were to draw up a list of factors which would make living with some man...’

She tilted her head to one side. ‘Bearable?’

‘I was trying to think of a more positive word, but, yes, in your case, since you have a ridiculous aversion to the whole idea of matrimony, perhaps the word bearable would do.’

‘You are a fine one to talk,’ she said, setting her own empty cup next to his on the windowsill.

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘Only that it’s common knowledge that you are not the marrying kind.’

‘Not the marrying kind?’ His whole being swelled with outrage. How dare she imply that he was of the same ilk as Lord Freckleton? He had a good mind to drag her into one of the convenient alcoves set aside for the purpose and make violent love to her until she had no doubt about his proclivities.

None whatsoever.

The idea of kissing her into submission...or...no, he could not see Georgie being a submissive partner. She’d either fight him off, or become an enthusiastic participant.

‘I’ll have you know,’ he said indignantly, ‘that I bedded my first woman while I was at Oxford. And have had a score of mistresses in my keeping since then.’

Her eyes widened in shock. ‘I don’t think you are supposed to talk about that sort of thing to...to someone like me.’

‘Well, I needed to make it clear.’

‘Yes, I suppose...I mean, I dare say a lot of men prefer to keep a string of mistresses rather than tie themselves to just one woman. That was one reason I thought you might not mind, um, giving me a home. As long as you knew I wouldn’t demand fidelity, or...’

‘What?’ Now she was insinuating he was loose in the haft. It was a good job he hadn’t been taking a drink at the time because he had a notion he’d have just sprayed it all over the curtains. ‘You knew about my mistresses?’

She widened her eyes as though what he’d said was rather stupid. ‘Everyone in Bartlesham knows about your mistresses. People gossip about everything you do, since there is so little going on down there. And you have lived such an exciting life...’

‘Me? Exciting?’

‘Yes. First of all going off to the Scilly Isles, for all those years, which everyone said was as good as going on the Grand Tour for a young gentleman nowadays—’

‘It was nothing of the kind! My health—’

‘And then you went off to university and created a scandal by getting involved with the daughter of your bedmaker—’

‘It wasn’t a scandal! Betty was—’ He pinched the bridge of his nose. This was making no sense. If she knew he’d been active in that way, for so long, then she couldn’t possibly suspect him of being...

No. Of course not. Georgiana was far too innocent to know about that sort of thing. Which brought him neatly to the next point.

‘Nobody should have repeated such gossip to you, at that age. Why, you could hardly have been more than...’ Actually, she hadn’t been that much younger than Betty. Which reflection made him feel rather flushed.

‘Oh, they didn’t,’ she said blithely. ‘But I couldn’t help overhearing things, sometimes.’

Now it was her turn to blush and look uncomfortable.

The whole situation was deuced awkward. She clearly knew details about his life he wasn’t at all comfortable with her knowing.

Though he supposed that was marginally less unpleasant than having her suspect he did not find women attractive at all.

‘Well, you shouldn’t have! You should not repeat the things you’ve overheard, either, especially not to me.’

She sighed. ‘I beg pardon. I know I’m always blurting out things I shouldn’t. It’s just—well, it’s so hard not to be frank with you, now that we are talking again. I keep forgetting that we aren’t...friends any more.’

‘Of course we are friends!’ He stared at her, feeling almost as shocked as she looked. And then something flared in her eyes. A sort of wistful look. And she leaned a little closer.

But then whatever it was died.

‘No,’ she said, with a rueful shake of her head. ‘Stepmama says that single ladies cannot be friends with single gentlemen. It isn’t proper.’

He was about to say that was nonsense, when he recalled that actually, it was true. It wasn’t proper. So he clamped his mouth shut.

‘And that being so,’ she said, ‘I think you ought to return me to Stepmama now. Don’t you?’

‘No, I don’t. We still haven’t made any progress in defining what sort of man you could tolerate marrying.’

‘What, you still think I ought to draw up some sort of list?’

‘It couldn’t hurt,’ he said. ‘As a mental exercise, it would certainly help you to get your thoughts in a less chaotic state than they are in at present.’

‘My thoughts are not in a chaotic state.’

‘They are. Otherwise,’ he said, when she drew breath to object, ‘you would not think it a good idea to marry Major Gowan, nor would you be talking to a man about what mistresses he keeps whilst in the same breath implying—’

‘Implying what?’ She looked up at him in confusion.

He felt a touch confused himself.

He never blurted out what he was thinking—or to be more precise, feeling. Especially not what he was feeling. He could normally keep a cool head during any debate, no matter how heated other participants might become.

‘Never mind what I thought you were implying,’ he ended up saying, since he was definitely not going to explain that one, some men did not find women attractive, two, he’d thought she’d thought he was one of those men, three, he resented her assumption, and so on and so forth. It would take far too long and only end in embarrassment all round.

‘It is time I returned you to your stepmother.’ He’d lost track of time whilst bickering with Georgie. Any moment now his mother would be hauling some husband-hunting debutante up before him and insisting he dance with her.

‘I shall call upon you in a few days,’ he said, taking her by the elbow and steering her out of the refreshment room at a brisk pace. ‘Which will give you time to set your thoughts down on paper. And then I can see what I can do to match you up with your...ideal man.’

She shot him a look of resentment.

‘You do not need to bother.’

‘Oh, but I do,’ he said firmly. ‘If you think I’m going to have a moment’s peace, if I stand back and watch you throw yourself away on the likes of Major Gowan, then you are very much mistaken.’

‘But, Edmund—’

‘But nothing, Georgie. He’d make you miserable.’ And so would Lord Freckleton, albeit in an entirely different way.

And he didn’t want her to be miserable.

He walked her back to her stepmother, was aware she said something, and he said something back, and that people were chatting and laughing and somewhere in the background music was playing. But he was only half-aware of any of it. Because he was reeling at his last unspoken thought. He’d meant it, too, with every atom of his being, without even knowing he felt that way.

And it made no difference what she’d done, or not done in the past, or even what she thought of him now.

He couldn’t bear to think of her being miserable.