Chapter Six
It had taken all of Georgie’s nerve not to bolt as she, Miss Amanda Fairfax, and Miss Morehouse were escorted to the private parlor to meet the winning contestants of tonight’s game. If it weren’t for the pair of rather burly men flanking them, she very well might have.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon organized the social occasion that followed the game to allow the ladies the opportunity to learn more about the gentlemen who’d entered the contest. In the end, she’d counseled, it was up to them to choose who amongst the winners would be the most well suited to wed.
Miss Amanda Fairfax, who was by anyone’s standards a beauty, walked alongside Georgie as they made their way to the private gaming parlor. She was elegance personified, and her only sin, apparently, was that her father had gained their considerable fortune in trade.
“Did any of the gentlemen catch your particular attention?” Miss Fairfax asked.
“None in particular,” Georgie replied, forcing a smile through that bald lie.
Try as she had to focus on the other gentlemen, Tom had commanded her attention from the moment he’d walked into the parlor.
“But there was so much activity, and when it was my turn to stop the music, I was too nervous to look.”
“There were several there who seem like quite good candidates,” Miss Fairfax said. “Mr. Worthington is particularly handsome. And Mr. Green. It was such a shame he was eliminated in the end.”
“According to the information I was given, Mr. Worthington is looking for a bride with excellent connections,” Miss Morehouse said, piping up from behind. “It is unfortunate, given your physical compatibility. You would be quite handsome together.”
Miss Morehouse’s casual observations about the physical compatibility landed like a lead weight in Georgie’s insides.
An odd, possessive compulsion soured her already precarious mood as the two discussed him as if he were a favored object, like a pretty bonnet in a shop window.
They hadn’t known Tom like she had. Didn’t know that he loved dogs and had an aversion to overly sweet foods.
They didn’t know that he’d had a particular fondness for poetry, or thought Romeo and Juliet were far too overwrought to be considered a romantic couple.
Miss Fairfax and Miss Morehouse continued their discussion, moving through others on the list. Mr. Osbourne, who nearly tripped over Mr. Green getting to a chair. Mr. Bottomley, who despite his awkwardness, seemed to have enjoyed himself. And Mr. Harding, who very clearly had not.
The discussion was interrupted by their arrival at the parlor.
The room was beautifully decorated to resemble a glittering garden, complete with flower garlands that festooned the walls.
A dining table held court in the center of the room, while a smaller sideboard was festooned with elaborate floral arrangements that featured a bowl of punch.
While Georgie hadn’t eaten in hours, knowing Tom would be entering the room any moment, her appetite had disappeared completely.
How on earth could she face him, especially now?
If she’d had even the smallest glimmer of hope he’d forgiven her for her refusal all those years ago, he’d properly extinguished it.
The very idea that he would be here as a contestant…
that he would know the story she’d told him earlier was a complete and utter lie…
the embarrassment rushed through her with such ferocity she was certain her face would make her dress seem like a pale pink by comparison.
Only the threat of marriage to Lord Sharpe kept her here. After all, there were five other perfectly suitable gentlemen in the room, and none of them, as far as she could tell, hated her.
“If I may, Lady Georgiana,” Miss Fairfax said, “you are absolutely stunning. I fear the rest of us will not have a chance to entertain our prospective beaus with you in the room.”
“Thank you for the compliment,” she said, smoothing her gloved hands over her pink silk gown.
Pink had always been her favorite color, even though her father once complained it was too strong a color for a girl.
“But I think we are all dazzling ladies here tonight, and we all will dazzle just as well in our own way.”
“I am trying desperately not to be nervous,” Miss Fairfax said.
“Just remember that these gentlemen are here because they are interested in something we have—money, connections, or both,” Miss Morehouse said. “And the choice is truly ours. And I, for one, intend to make the best of it. We must all do the same.”
Georgie nodded at the sageness of Miss Morehouse’s advice, then silently chided herself for the petty jealousy that had gripped her earlier.
Miss Morehouse and Miss Fairfax were not competition, and Tom would not bestow any attentions on her.
She’d made sure of that years ago when she refused him, and if she’d had hopes of forgiveness, he’d dashed them earlier today.
As if she’d conjured him, he entered the parlor along with Mrs. Dove-Lyon and the other gentlemen who’d succeeded at winning the first of the parlor games. She announced them one by one.
“Mr. Thomas Worthington,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon called out as he stepped forward.
Georgie’s breath hitched at the sight of him. Heavens, but he was a vision…just as beautiful as she’d always remembered, and somehow even more dashing than when they’d first met in the garden earlier today.
His gaze swept over the room, temporarily resting on her. She felt his surprise like a slap, before her body ran hot with embarrassment.
What must he think of her?
Of course, he’d made it perfectly clear what he’d thought this afternoon in the garden.
Was it solace that he’d been cutting with her? At the time, no. But now, she ran toward that pain to steady herself.
His gaze settled on Miss Morehouse, and he walked to her, and accepting her hand, gave it a chaste kiss.
Realizing she was staring, she turned her attention back to the other gentlemen, one of whom, she reminded herself, she would marry. One by one they came forward. None were as handsome as Tom, but that had not been her primary requirement.
As she was considering the crowd, Mrs. Dove-Lyon approached her with a gentleman on her arm.
“Lady Georgiana,” she began, gesturing to the man beside her, “allow me to introduce Mr. John Osbourne. Mr. Osbourne is the third son of the Earl of Penford.”
Of average height, Mr. Osbourne had wavy dark-brown hair, dark eyes, and an amiable countenance.
As the third son of the Earl of Penford, Georgie guessed that meant that despite that pleasant smile, he was looking for something to live on.
Which was fine. She had a respectable dowry, and Mr. Osbourne was not thrice her age nor looked to have a particularly dour disposition.
Mr. Osbourne bowed smartly.
“Lady Georgiana,” he said. “I am honored. If I may, descriptions of your beauty pale compared to seeing you in person.”
“Thank you, Mr. Osbourne,” she said. “You flatter me.”
“Not at all,” he said. “I am surprised you have not come down for a season. Or perhaps I should be grateful. You would have been snapped up so quickly, and I wouldn’t have this opportunity.”
Georgie forced a smile at the awkward compliment. If Mr. Osbourne was as nervous as she, his words might not frame themselves as well as they might.
It took several moments for all the gentlemen to be announced, and while Mr. Osbourne engaged Georgie well enough in conversation, the sound of Tom’s voice as he conversed easily with Miss Morehouse and Miss Fairfax seemed to deaden the sound of everything else in the room.
It took all of her concentration to stay focused on Mr. Osbourne, who’d brought her a glass of wine.
Once dinner had begun—a sumptuous meal with several courses expertly prepared—Georgie was able to relax just a little.
Through some stroke of luck, she and Tom were seated along the same side of the table, and far enough apart that it was not easy to converse or even see each other without deliberate effort to do so.
Not that there wasn’t a moment or two when she swore she felt his gaze on her.
Her entire body seemed to be aware of him, and she wondered if he had the same sensation.
Probably only as one is aware of a pebble in one’s shoe. She could hear the low tones of his laughter, rich and warm, and it took all of her manners to stay focused on Mr. Osbourne who, once introduced to her, had stuck to Georgie’s side like a bit of burdock in late summer.
“Do you like horses, Lady Georgiana?” Mr. Osbourne asked between sips of white soup.
“I have a horse I enjoy riding,” she said, and while she like the beast, she would hardly call herself an enthusiast. “And I enjoy riding along our estate.”
He nodded. “Your family home is Whetherby, is it not?”
“You are correct, sir.”
“Is it true what they say about Whetherby?” he asked.
Georgiana pasted a smile on her face. She knew what was coming. “Pray, I don’t know what you speak of.”
“That it is cursed,” he said. “Or at least, has had a staggering run of bad luck.”
“No more or less than any other place,” she said, a little defensively.
Plenty of estates suffered from similar woes.
It was the reason why some of these men were here—and indeed, why Miss Fairfax’s trade wealth would be seen as an opportunity for a man with enough practicality to value her money over her lack of connections.