Chapter Six #2
Still, Mr. Osbourne was not wrong. There had been years of crop failures.
The estate was aging, and the repairs seemed to outstrip Papa’s ability to keep up with them.
The constant strain of waiting for the next disaster that seemed to come without warning but with a disturbing sense of regularity had taxed the entire family.
Throughout her life, Georgie had sensed that pressure and had spent her life trying to be the one thing her father didn’t have to worry about.
The one aspect of his life he could rely on.
What on earth would Papa think of her now?
She took a sip of her wine, swallowing down her guilt.
“I apologize if I have offended you,” he said, before taking another spoonful of soup.
“Not at all,” she replied, shaking off her ill mood. “I am a little protective of it, that is all.”
“Are you attached to Cheshire? Can you see yourself in Essex do you think?” he asked. “My father has a smaller estate there that might do for us. It needs a little investment however, but I think it might suit very well. The stables are excellent.”
Georgie smiled. Nothing like getting down to the heart of it, wasn’t it?
By some cruel punishment, she heard Tom’s laugh. It was a rich, low rumble that reverberated through her body. He was, apparently, enjoying Miss Morehouse’s company.
Where was the Worthington estate? Was it in Cheshire, with its rolling hills and nice walks along the little canals that crisscrossed the county? Perhaps it was miles away, in Devon or Sussex, overlooking the sea. It was a mystery that loomed in her mind, unwelcome.
“I’m certain it might,” she said, forcing her attention back to the moment. Of course, Mr. Osbourne needed her money—that was why he was here, of course. And didn’t Georgie herself tell Mrs. Dove-Lyon that her only requirement was kindness?
Mr. Osbourne was a little awkward, but he seemed kind, though it was difficult to tell.
“May I ask about your interests?” she asked, hoping it might give her insight into his character.
“Horses are my passion,” he said, which made Georgie immediately wonder about his need for money. “And I do enjoy art.”
“Do you paint?”
“Oh, heavens no,” he said. “But I do enjoy collecting it. A few years ago, I went to the Continent—to Rome. My heavens, but the sculpture there is sublime.”
Horses. Art. She was beginning to see something of a pattern. Harmless pursuits—and certainly not anything cruel, but both rather expensive.
“Do you paint or play an instrument, Lady Georgiana?”
“I can paint, but not well enough for it to be anything but an idle pursuit,” she said.
“And I play pianoforte well enough. Truthfully, I enjoy learning about agriculture.” After so many problems at Whetherby, she couldn’t help but be consumed by an interest in it.
She’d stolen books from her father’s library on all manner of things, like soil properties and animal husbandry, in some desperate bid to uncover some mystery that might help turn around the estate’s fortunes.
It had been silly, but she could hardly bear the pall of sadness and sense of impending disaster that had over the course of her short life seemed to rob her dear Papa of all his joy.
“Well, that is hardly usual,” he said, his smile never leaving his face. “I’ve never heard of a lady interested in dirt.”
“I would spend a lot of time out of doors,” she said, thinking back to her days playing with Tom and Gabriel. “And while on visits to the tenants, I found I took an interest in their methods for getting a yield out of the ground.”
“You are a most interesting woman, my lady,” he said with that tone one that suggested “interesting” was not exactly an insult, but certainly not a compliment. “Not every father would indulge such learning. My sisters were never so fortunate in their tutors.”
Her father had many flaws, Georgie realized.
He was sullen, given to dark moods, and absolutely stubborn when it came to Georgie’s future.
But he never failed his tenants. He often went to visit them and took an interest in the soil.
In fact, she wondered if he’d felt like he’d failed all of them somehow.
Tom knew every inch of Whetherby. He often followed his father—or at least, the man everyone thought was his father—on his rounds.
Mr. Blakey was still there, much older now, and there had been talk about his replacement.
Had he, along with everyone else, assumed that Tom would step into the role?
Or had he always known that he had—at least potentially—an estate of his own in waiting?
It took all of her will not to slide her gaze down the table to where Tom sat, no doubt fawning over the other ladies. Curse her foolish heart and that dull ache that seemed to return at the thought of it. How could she forget why she was here?
Before Georgie had the chance to answer, Mr. Osbourne turned back to his food, his attention caught up in conversation from the other side of the table, where Miss Fairfax was telling stories about her father’s shipping business.
The next course was served. Georgie paused to take a sip of her wine, the din of several conversations falling over each other.
She picked up her fork and idly stabbed at a roasted carrot on her plate.
After several years outside of society, she realized how unaccustomed she was to these sorts of events.
It was tiring and exhilarating in equal measure.
But with so much on the line—her future in fact—she was determined to make certain Mr. Osbourne was a suitable enough match.
Of course, he needed to get through the next game, but as of this moment, he seemed a likely enough candidate.
She picked up her glass again, when a prickling sense of awareness caused her to pause. Carefully setting the glass down, she sat back on her chair, carefully resting her hands in her lap. Looking to her right, she caught Tom’s profile down the length of the table.
He was sipping on his wine, and nodding amiably as he gave his attention to Miss Morehouse, but there was something—a stiffness in his movements, ever so subtle, that gave her pause. Then he threw his head back and laughed so fully she wondered if she’d imagined it.
She picked up her wine, blinking away the heat pricking at the back of her eyes, as she tried to picture Baron Sharpe, with his cold, watery, blue eyes.
He had a perpetual sort of hardness to him, and a meanness that struck without warning.
Certainly, she could get through two more occasions in Tom’s company before she’d never have to see him again—or at least, not like this.
And perhaps he’d lose on the next round, and he’d be gone out of her life again.
Funny how that didn’t make her feel any better.
As the dessert course came to a close, Mrs. Dove-Lyon stood at the end of the table, signaling the end of the event.
“My dear ladies and gentlemen,” she said, presiding over the crowd, “I hope you have enjoyed this evening. We will meet again in two day’s time, in the garden, for the next challenge and the penultimate event.
Gentlemen, you may retire to the smoking parlor or to the gaming floor, as is your prerogative.
Ladies, you are similarly invited to linger here for a time, or take your chances at the gaming tables in the ladies’ gaming lounge. Until then, I bid you a good evening.”
The gentlemen rose, and the ladies followed. As she waited for the gentlemen to leave, Mr. Osbourne went to Georgiana and nodded.
“It was a pleasure, my lady,” he said. “I look forward to seeing you at the next round.”
Georgie nodded politely and watched him go. Tom had already left, and she found herself letting go a breath of relief now that the ladies were alone.
By the time she’d had a servant go fetch Lily, she was ready to make for the carriage.
Georgiana was dying to get back home and crawl into bed, even though the baroness and Lily would insist on hearing all that happened.
And with Tom Blakey—correction—Thomas Worthington sitting only a few feet away from her, his disdain for her emanating from him like a beacon, he was the very last thing she wanted to talk about.
The two climbed in the carriage and settled in when Georgiana realized she’d left her reticule behind while pulling on her cloak.
“I’ll go fetch it,” Lily offered before Georgie could refuse. “I’ll only be a moment.”
Georgie sat back in her seat and closed her eyes. Leave it to her to be in such a rush to leave that the act had delayed their parting even more. But not a moment had passed however, before the door opened again, and Georgie sat up.
“My, Lily, I didn’t realize you could—”
She stopped as she realized the person sitting in the carriage was far too large a figure to be Lily Duigood. Far too large, and far too male. She opened her mouth to call out when a male voice cut through the darkness.
“What in the sweet blazes are you doing here, Georgiana Hawthorne?”