Chapter Eleven #2
When they exited the maze, they returned to the blossoming cherry tree near the entry back to the Lyon’s Den.
One of Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s trusted servants greeted them and bade the ladies to follow her inside to a small parlor that had been kept for their particular use this evening.
Miss Howard left for the servants’ parlor, leaving Georgie, Miss Fairfax, and Miss Morehouse to meet with Mrs. Dove-Lyon.
“Welcome, ladies,” she said, greeting the ladies. “I am sure you are eager to know the results of this evening’s event.”
Georgie helped herself to a glass of wine from a servant’s tray and sat down before taking a generous sip.
After the excitement of the evening, and most especially her encounter with Tom, had started to pass, the heat of the evening had left her filled with something else…
a gnawing sense that she’d just made a colossal fool of herself.
Had she really poured her apology out to him? Had he even cared? Instead of merely despising her, perhaps he thought her pathetic too. Begging for a kiss.
What on earth had she been thinking?
“Our three successful gentlemen are Mr. Osbourne—”
The mention of John Osbourne’s name brought a measure of relief. He had seemed interested in some kind of arrangement with her. And while her father would be incredibly angry at first, Mr. Osbourne was the third son of an earl and from a good family. Perhaps in time, Papa would forgive her.
“—Mr. Crowley, and Mr. Worthington.”
Miss Fairfax had clapped at the result, while Miss Morehouse merely nodded. She did not exchange a glance with Georgie.
Georgie sipped on her wine.
“I believe the three gentlemen would make each of you a fine husband,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said.
“In two days’ time, we shall have the final game.
I shall send word with instructions tomorrow.
In the meantime, if you wish to partake in a game of whist, there are tables available in the private gaming parlor this evening. ”
“I thank you,” Miss Morehouse said, “but I must decline. If you could send for my carriage, I would be much obliged to you.”
“Mine as well,” Georgie added. While she did not mind cards, her evening had been far more taxing than even she anticipated.
She was tired in body and spirit, so she placed her wine glass aside and pulled herself to her feet.
“Thank you, Mrs. Dove-Lyon, for your inventive game and your invitation, but I’m afraid I’m not naturally given to late evenings. ”
Besides, it was likely Tom was still in the building, and she couldn’t bear to face him.
Soon, both she and Miss Morehouse, along with Miss Howard and Lily, who’d accompanied Georgie this evening, were dressed and waiting for the carriages. A lingering awkwardness remained even as the ladies were escorted to their carriages, where a footman was dutifully waiting.
Miss Morehouse paused, nodding to Georgie. “We shall see each other in two days.”
“Of course,” Georgie said, then paused before turning back to her.
“I am staying with the Baroness D’Anville, in Mayfair.
I would be more than pleased if you and Miss Howard would like to come for tea tomorrow.
You will find the baroness a very welcome hostess.
Some say she is an eccentric, but I find her very good company indeed. ”
It was an impulsive invitation to be sure. But Miss Morehouse had made her preference for Tom’s hand clear, and Georgie wanted the opportunity to know his bride better. To know that he would be in good hands.
“Thank you,” Miss Morehouse answered. “I shall be by promptly at two.”
Georgie and Lily hopped into the carriage, Georgie closing her eyes. She was worn to the bone, and her encounter with Tom had been a wonderful and yet cruel reminder of everything she might have had. And everything she’d lost.
“That was very kind of you to invite Miss Morehouse to tea,” Lily said, “given she is your competition.”
“I hardly view her as such,” Georgie replied.
“You each get to choose your partner,” Lily replied. “The next game must be between the three of you, and not the gentlemen.”
Georgie sat up straight. It would make sense, in a way. Unless Mrs. Dove-Lyon was going to have them pull a name out of a hat, which, given her penchant for theatrics, hardly seemed like the way to end the game.
“I thought you might try and win, so you may choose Mr. Worthington.”
“Whatever do you mean?” she said. “He’s not mine to choose.”
“He seemed terribly interested in your well-being yesterday, when we were in Hyde Park,” her companion replied.
“We are old acquaintances,” Georgie replied. “That is all.”
“If you win the next match, he could be more than that.”
It was dark, so Georgie must have imagined that twinkle in Lily’s eye.
She closed her eyes, feigning fatigue. The fairy tale that she might reclaim something she’d so thoroughly lost felt like too much to hope for.
And for the Hawthornes, hope had been elusive for so long.
Her father had hoped for better yields and for investments not to fail.
She and her brothers had hoped their mother would not succumb to the illness that claimed her.
Marcus had hoped he might marry, and Gabriel had hoped for their father’s good will.
And for years, Georgie had hoped that if she was a good enough daughter, her father would have one less worry, and she might be able to claim a bit of happiness for herself.
Hope had failed them all.
“I wouldn’t give up,” her companion said. “Maybe you just weren’t ready for each other then. And now you are.”
Georgie looked out the window, Lily’s last words playing in her mind.
Four years ago, she hadn’t the strength to orchestrate a meeting with the infamous owner of London’s most notorious gaming hell.
Neither would she have put on a mask, walk alone in a garden after dark, and ask a man to kiss her so thoroughly.
Was she ready to try again?