Chapter Fifteen
Years of playacting at calm and serene in the face of constant, punishing disappointment should have prepared Georgie for this moment.
But even as she forced the smile on her face, she could not bear to even glance in Tom’s direction.
The mask would slip, and with it, any fantastical notion she had that losing the opportunity to reclaim a life with Tom was nothing short of heartbreaking.
Perhaps this was fate providing her a taste of the bitter medicine she’d given Tom once upon a time. Perhaps this was the infamous Whetherby bad luck, following her all the way to London. Tom and Gabriel had each chosen to run away from their pain.
A sliver of solace found its way into the pit of despair that loomed ahead.
Georgie wasn’t left behind anymore. She’d found a new friend in Lily, and even Miss Morehouse could be counted on as a friendly acquaintance.
She would have her pick of two perfectly fine partners.
Either one would be a perfectly acceptable marriage.
She would have a special license and be married before her father even knew what was happening.
She would be free from Lord Sharpe.
It was her turn to run.
“Each of the ladies were instructed to provide me with their preferences in order,” Mrs. Dove Lyons said. “Mr. Worthington, you may escort Miss Morehouse to the garden.”
Miss Morehouse’s gaze darted upward to the gallery, where Miss Howard, along with Lily, were watching from above.
Georgie was struck by the utter lack of triumph in her competitor’s countenance.
If anything, it may have been bittersweet relief.
Georgie did her very best to be gracious as she watched Tom greet Miss Morehouse.
His expression was pleasant, but she could see the subtle tension in his jaw as he walked to the woman he was about to marry.
“Mr. Osbourne, you may escort Lady Georgiana to the garden.”
It was only the sound of her own name that seemed to snap Georgie out of the mire of her own thoughts. Mr. Osbourne, who seemed quite pleased with the outcome, came to her side. There was a pleasantness in his smile that took a little of the sting out of the moment.
A very little.
“My lady,” he said, “shall we take a turn on this lovely day?”
“Of course,” she replied. Behind her, she heard the utter joy of Miss Fairfax at being paired with Mr. Crowley.
At least one of the three ladies seemed to be genuinely happy with their partner.
The irony that the technical last place finisher in the game was by any yardstick the winner in terms of happiness was not lost on Georgie.
Mr. Osbourne offered his elbow, and she took it. In truth, she wanted to be as far from the Lyon’s Den as she could possibly go, but at the moment, the garden would have to do.
“I am quite pleased with today’s outcome,” he said. “I think we shall make a good match.”
“I agree,” she said, more to convince herself perhaps than Mr. Osbourne. “And I hope you are not averse to making the match as soon as possible.”
If her request surprised him, he gave no sign. “Not at all. I am very eager to get back to my ponies. I miss them so very dearly. And I think you will like them as well. Particularly Freya, my big golden mare.”
He continued to list off another half dozen animals, describing them each in exquisite detail, from their physical attributes to their temperaments.
The affection he had for his four-legged friends was such that if Georgie actually had any particular feeling for Mr. Osbourne, it might have made her a little envious.
While he enthusiastically discussed his steeds—all, as far as she could tell, named for gods and goddesses of one pantheon or another, she could have sworn she’d heard Tom’s voice through the verge, and sensed him around the next corner.
It didn’t matter. He was to marry Miss Morehouse.
She would have the pedigree his grandmother required of him to win the fulsome amount of his inheritance.
“Indeed, Perseus,” Mr. Osbourne continued, dragging her attention back to him as he talked of one of his favorite horses, “was an instrumental clue to help with one of the more perplexing items on Miss Morehouse’s list.”
“Well,” Georgie began, trying to drum up enthusiasm even as she felt her attention waning, “that is a very good thing.”
“Indeed. Did you know that Miss Howard is quite fond of horses? Miss Morehouse mentioned it several times. I have invited them to visit once they are settled,” he said, then seemed to catch himself. “I hope you do not mind visitors. Sometimes my enthusiasm gets the better of me.”
A marriage in name only. The likelihood that Miss Morehouse—the soon to be Mrs. Worthington—would visit with anyone else but Miss Howard was unlikely. And she didn’t dislike the ladies. Not at all.
“I am certain they would be lovely guests,” she said. “And perhaps I would invite Miss Duigood and the Baroness D’Anville as well. I believe Miss Duigood in particular would enjoy some time in the countryside.”
“Excellent,” he said, then turned serious. “Should I call upon your father, my lady? I should like to make my intentions known to him as soon as possible.”
“Indeed, that is not necessary,” she said. “I will write to my brother Gabriel and advise him. My father, alas, would not approve. But I have money from my mother’s family that should help establish us very well indeed.”
“Of course,” he said. “Where shall I call upon you?”
Where, indeed. Her father would be expecting her at Ashcombe House before the dinner hour. The very thought of returning to the oppressive despair and desperation of her father’s company made her want to linger even longer with Mr. Osbourne.
“If you could send word to Baroness D’Anville, I will make haste to meet you there two days hence. Do you think that will be enough time to get a license?”
“I shall do my very best,” he said.
By the time she’d climbed into the carriage with Lily, Georgie was certain that she passed a very pleasant hour with Mr. John Osbourne.
She remembered he smiled, and the smile seemed real enough; he kissed the back of her hand, and she might have had the presence of mind to smile sweetly back at him.
The horses, his home in Lincolnshire, the fact that she would be entertaining the woman who’d won a game and claimed Thomas Worthington for herself…
all of it had become a blur, dulled by the blanket of relief that this plan of hers was over.
By Saturday afternoon, she would remove herself from Ashcombe House for the last time.
Mr. Osbourne had done her the kindness of seeing her to the carriage and waved as it pulled away.
“Do you have to go immediately to your father?” Lily asked, not bothering to hide her concern. “You could return to the baroness’s residence and refresh yourself first.”
“As much as I would love to,” she began, looking away from the window where her companion was looking at her just a little too carefully, “it would only put off the inevitable. He will already be pacing the halls expecting me. This is the longest I have been away from him.”
“But you will be married soon,” Lily said, “and all of this will be far behind you.”
Not soon enough. Georgie pushed the thought aside.
“Mr. Osbourne has agreed to a special license, and I hope to be married before the end of the week.” She turned back to Lily, reaching for her hand.
She needed someone to hold on to. This past week had opened Georgie’s eyes to how alone she’d been for so long.
Urgency rushed through her. “I hope you and the baroness might come, since I have no one else to stand with me.”
“I would be honored, my lady,” Lily said, her face lighting up with such surprise that Georgie could not help but reach out and take both Lily’s hands in her own.
The very idea of friendship such as she’d come to know with Lily was so new and comforting…
this was one relationship she had to hold on to.
“Once I am settled in Lincolnshire, I hope you will come and visit,” she said. “Indeed, I hope you come and stay as long as you like.”
“Thank you, my lady,” Lily said. “That is very kind.”
“And please, you must call me Georgiana,” she said. “If that is not too forward. There is no obligation of course.”
A peculiar expression passed over Lily’s face—so fleeting that if Georgie hadn’t been paying attention, she might have missed it.
Was she uneasy about the invitation? Or had Georgie simply imagined it?
While Georgie knew only the barest of details of Lily’s past, it was clear from her status as a companion to Baroness D’Anville that she was of gentle, but humble circumstances.
The social chasm between them was vast; Georgie didn’t care.
She needed someone in her life she could count on.
It was only then she realized she was still holding Lily’s hands and let her go.
“Again,” Lily replied, “that is very kind, though it may take some getting used to.”
“Well, you can try it in private, when you come and visit.”
To Georgie’s great relief, Lily brightened a bit at the idea, which provided Georgie the most meagre of comforts as the red-bricked facade of Ashcombe House came into view.
She poked her head toward the glass, grappling with a creeping sense over her as they approached.
Indeed, she spied Marcus in the front window, her brother’s expression as stone faced as the building itself.
Letting go a low breath, she sat back in her seat, reminding herself that soon she would be married and to a man who, if not entirely of her own choosing, would be a far better match.
She looked over at Lily, whose expression had gone pale.
“What is it?”
If Georgie had been uncertain about Lily’s mood a moment ago, there was no guessing it now. She seemed struck, as if she’d just come upon a surprise…and not of the good kind.