Chapter 20 #3
Lizzie knew, without any doubt, where this new conversation would lead. She coughed. “Shall we take dessert in the salon?”
But Rory grinned at Eleanor, as if amused. “I almost caricaturized Prinny, so you should be pleased I exercised some small discretion after all, Auntie.”
Before Eleanor could reply, Georgie said, “Our countrymen are hardly selling their political souls!” She was aghast.
Rory faced Georgie from across the table, his smile intact. “I would beg to differ, Miss Fitzgerald, but I prefer not to engage in debate with a woman.”
Lizzie winced. Well aware of her sister’s passionate views, she sensed an interesting discussion.
Georgie did not even attempt to smile. “Why?” she asked swiftly, leaning on the table, quite forgetting her elbows. “Do women not have intellect? Do our opinions not matter? Or is it my opinion that hardly matters, Mr. McBane?”
Rory started. “Women do have intellect, Miss Fitzgerald,” he said swiftly. “Of course they do! And I am very sorry if I have ever given the impression that they do not. And your opinion certainly matters,” he said, but he clearly realized he had fallen into her trap. He was blushing now.
Georgie smiled at him. “I am relieved to hear that,” she murmured. “It is my opinion that your cartoon is seditious.”
Lizzie bit her lip, uncertain whether to be entertained or not. Rory’s eyes were popping while Georgie looked rather pleased with herself. In fact, very sweetly, Georgie smiled at her aunt. “Shall we adjourn to the salon for that rum raisin cake and brandy now?”
But Rory leaned across the table toward Georgie. He was no longer smiling. “You accuse me—at the supper table—of sedition?”
“I do, sir. You malign the good names of our countrymen, the men who speak for us on all important matters in the Parliament of the Union. That is slander—that is sedition!”
Rory was momentarily speechless. Lizzie had never seen such a comical expression of disbelief upon his face.
“But of course, you can defend your point of view, if you wish to debate me. Unless you fear to be bested by a woman,” she added with casual negligence.
Lizzie choked with laughter and tried to hide it behind her hand.
Papa and Mama exchanged astonished glances. Mama said, “Georgina May! We are adjourning to the salon.”
Georgie stood up with a careless shrug looking far too smug.
Rory leapt to his feet as well, but Lizzie did not think it the automatic behavior of a gentleman. “She is determined to engage me in a debate!” he cried to no one in particular.
Georgie did have the good sense to hesitate. “I am not afraid of debating you, sir,” she said softly. “And I am still waiting for you to rebut.”
He gaped at her incredulously.
“Or you could concede defeat.” Georgina smiled sweetly.
And Lizzie saw the extent of Rory’s struggle not to be provoked. “Miss Fitzgerald, I know of no gentleman who would genuinely debate a lady. You are very determined, but I will not humor you!”
Georgie rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Humor me? I think not, Mr. McBane.”
He shook his head, leaning on the table now. “Perhaps you are too witty for your own good,” he said tersely, and their regards locked.
Mama was staring with fascination at them both, as was Lizzie. Papa, however, stood. “I am ready for that brandy,” he said. “And I do agree, a gentleman should not debate a lady.”
Lizzie was relieved that the near crisis was over.
She put her arm firmly around her sister.
“We are going to take cake in the salon,” she said, but now she was intrigued; oh, yes.
Georgie, who had definitely held her own, seemed very agitated, and Rory was staring at her with extreme speculation.
She had never seen him look at any woman that way.
Georgie nodded and mumbled, “Excuse me,” suddenly hurrying from the dining room.
Lizzie turned to Rory, but found him watching her sister out of narrowed eyes.
In that moment, she recognized the hunt even as it began.
How he suddenly reminded her of Tyrell. “Please forgive her,” she said.
“She is very politically minded—and very outspoken. I am sure she did not really mean to accuse you of slander. She is as impassioned as you, I think, on the subject of Ireland.”
Rory tugged on his cravat, perhaps loosening it, and faced her. Finally, he smiled. “There is nothing to forgive. And your sister is not the first to take offense at my cartoons. Perhaps one day I can persuade her to my side.”
Lizzie had to laugh. “I truly doubt that. No one is as—” She stopped, having been poised to tell him just how stubborn and opinionated her sister was.
“No one is as what?” he pressed sharply.
“No one is as clever as my sister,” Lizzie said sweetly, smiling. But Lizzie knew that she must be the clever one now.
He did not guess her thoughts, for his gaze had already wandered into the other room.
They had finally adjourned to the salon.
Rory and Papa were sipping cognac and discussing the horse races; Mama was seated with Georgie and Eleanor on the sofa, taking Georgie to task for being so outspoken and so politically opinionated.
Georgie was refusing to speak at all, clearly not interested in defending herself.
Lizzie did not mind. It had turned into the most pleasant evening she had had in months.
Tyrell’s image instantly came to mind, but she would not become aggrieved now.
She forced his image aside and went over to the two men. She smiled at them both.
“Papa? I know you must want a smoke. I am certain Aunt Eleanor would not mind if you used the terrace.”
Papa smiled fondly at her. “Dear Lizzie, you are as thoughtful as ever. I am fine.”
She turned to Rory. “Do you wish to smoke?”
“I do, but my dear, it is freezing outside.” His green eyes sparkled as he smiled at her. He was now relaxed, his long legs crossed, his expression one of his usual mild amusement. His regard wandered to the sofa where the three women sat.
“It was uncalled for, Georgina, to entrap your cousin—your very own cousin—in such a manner,” Mama was saying.
Georgie murmured some indistinct, noncommittal reply.
Lizzie studied Rory as he watched her sister. His body remained languid, but not his eyes. They were darkly intent. Suddenly realizing that she was staring, he turned his gaze on her and smiled. “Does she need to be rescued?” he asked.
Lizzie smiled back. “You, of all people, should now know that she can defend herself if she so wishes.”
He chuckled. “Yes, I do.”
“Do you wish to smoke in the game room, then? We could turn it into a smoking room—”
“I am fine,” Rory said, standing and seeming to stretch his long frame as he did so. His gaze wandered casually about the salon for the hundredth time. He leaned close. “And how are you, Lizzie? How are you, really?” His gaze became searching.
Lizzie tensed. “I am better,” she said, and was surprised that it was the truth. “Your visit has lifted my spirits considerably.”
He touched her cheek briefly. “You seemed sad when I first walked in and I feel certain that I know why.”
Lizzie wet her lips, filled with tension, aware of the sadness that lurked behind her, waiting to overtake her. “It has been hard,” she said finally. “Very hard.”
He hesitated. “May I speak freely?”
Lizzie was afraid of what he might say.
“I am as fond of you as I would be of my own sister, if I had one. I am glad, fiercely so, that you left Wicklowe.”
Lizzie looked away. “There was no choice,” she said unsteadily.
“I am sorry, I hadn’t realized that this subject would remain so painful for you.” He took her hand.
Lizzie dared to be as truthful. “I still love Tyrell deeply.”
Rory grimaced. “He does not deserve your loyalty! Not after the way he treated you. His behavior was disgraceful.”
Lizzie did not want to hear any more. She quickly changed the subject. “Will you be in London long?”
“Yes. I cannot draw my cartoons if I do not attend the political fray in this town.”
“Then you must visit us frequently,” Lizzie said. “Oh, please, Rory. We have no amusing callers. Aunt Eleanor’s friends are old and gray and hard of hearing.”
He chuckled. “Then I shall be a bothersome pest.”
“Good,” Lizzie said, and they smiled at each other.
Then Rory’s gaze wandered. Lizzie turned to glance over her shoulder and saw that Georgie had removed herself to the far end of the room, where she stood by the windows. But she was not looking outside. She was watching Lizzie and Rory with rapt attention.
Rory bowed and excused himself. Lizzie realized that he was heading directly toward her sister. Clever fellow that he was, he paused to chat briefly with Eleanor and Mama before approaching her.
“Lizzie?”
Lizzie faced her father. “Mama seems so happy,” she said somewhat anxiously. They had not been face-to-face and alone like this since that awful day at Wicklowe.
“She is very happy,” he agreed. “She is rather infamous now, but her company is much sought after.”
Lizzie bit her lip. Mama was infamous because of her. “I am so sorry, Papa,” she cried. “Have you forgiven me?”
He took both of her hands in his. “Yes, my dear, I have forgiven you. But can you ever forgive me? God, Lizzie, you are my heart, my very heart, and I still do not know how I could have said what I did that day.”
“Papa, there is nothing to forgive,” Lizzie said, tears rising. “I know how terribly I disappointed you. I wasn’t thinking clearly. The choice I made was the wrong one. I never thought to cause you and Mama so much pain and unhappiness.”
“We know that. I love you so,” Papa said. He pulled her close. “We will never speak of this again, Lizzie.”