Chapter Twenty
The crush in the room made her search for a familiar face—Tom’s in particular—nearly impossible.
Marcus disappeared almost immediately, no doubt eager to place himself amongst the other peacocks in attendance, which served Georgiana very well indeed.
If she was going to make her escape tonight, she needed to put as much distance between her and her brother as possible.
Both the viscountess and the dowager, who somehow looked imperious though she was at least six inches shorter than everyone else, had been gracious in welcoming her and Marcus, and took great pains to introduce her to some friendly faces. Before long she found the baroness and Lily.
“There you are, Lady Georgiana,” the baroness said, putting her pince-nez to her face and inspecting her like a prized Chinese vase. “I am glad to see you are looking well, under the circumstances.”
“Thank you,” she said, then lowered her voice. “I trust you are aware of my circumstances.”
“Indeed,” the older woman replied. “I believe there is a plan afoot, my dear. Miss Duigood and Mr. Worthington have been very diligent on your behalf.”
The very mention of Tom’s name brought a fresh bloom of hope to her chest. She was eager to speak with him—to tell him at last how she felt about him—to confess everything, but the last time she’d caught sight of him, he was talking with Marcus. She needed to get him alone.
The baroness waved her hand, a column of jewels around her wrists sparkling in the candlelight.
A moment later, Miss Duigood appeared. She was looking rather pretty in a simple but elegant dress of green muslin, her black, naturally curly hair the envy of girls like Georgie who had to apply hot tongs and curling rags to not nearly as nice an effect.
“Lady Georgiana,” she said, her eyes bright with excitement. “I was worried you might not come.”
Georgie grabbed Lily’s hands.
“It is good to see you as well,” she said, giving Lily’s fingers a squeeze. It was a poor excuse for the embrace she wished to give. “Thank you for getting me this far.”
“Do not worry,” Lily said. “Mr. Worthington has been discussing options for this evening with both Mr. Osbourne, Miss Morehouse, and of course her ladyship and myself. Whatever you choose, Lord Sharpe will not have you for a wife.”
Whatever you choose.
When she’d walked into Worthington House, an unnatural calm had settled on Georgie’s shoulders. And not just because Tom and Lily were here to help her. But because she was going to help herself.
But first, she needed to get out of Marcus’s sight.
“Lily,” she said, “I need a moment, but then I want to hear everything.”
“Do you want me to come with you?”
Georgie shook her head. “Keep an eye on my brother. And if you chance a moment to speak with Mr. Worthington, let him know I have gone to find someplace quiet to hide. I need to speak with him, privately.”
Lily gave Georgie an encouraging nod. “Don’t worry. Go on.”
Georgie released Lily, then wandered through the crowds in the opposite direction of her brother, who appeared now deep in discussion with a small circle of gentlemen.
She slipped out of the ballroom, down a small hallway.
Behind one of these doors surely there was a place of refuge.
A place where she could do what she should have done years ago, a place to tell Tom how much she cared for him.
Down a corridor awash in candlelight, she found a door that yielded when she turned the knob.
She slipped inside, quietly turning the door behind her, when she realized she was not alone.
Standing in front of a tall case of books was a woman absorbed in the pages of a book.
Between the long shadows of the few candles lit in the room, it took a moment for Georgie to recognize her.
“Miss Morehouse.” Georgie was unable to contain her surprise. “Excuse me for intruding.”
“Not at all,” the woman replied, her expression one of genuine warmth. She closed the book and held it close to her chest. “I have little tolerance for crowds such as this. Mr. Worthington was very good to provide me a place of respite for a few moments.”
“He is a thoughtful man.” Georgie’s heart, unable to deflect the bittersweet pang, which lurched in her chest. Even though he didn’t love Miss Morehouse, he was still attentive to her needs. More importantly, if they had an understanding—how could she impose on it?
She couldn’t, in the end. But she also knew that regardless, the boy who was Tom Blakey needed to know the very last thing she thought of him was that he was worthless.
“Indeed, I think we shall be good friends,” Miss Morehouse said.
Georgie had been so lost in her own thoughts, she almost jumped. She pressed her lips into a tight line, determined to keep the knot of feelings at bay. She forced a smile on her face.
“I understand, “she said. “And I hope for both your sakes that friendship is enough for you both.”
“Indeed, it must be,” Miss Morehouse said, then studied Georgie, her brow dipping into a deep vee. “Have you not spoken to Mr. Worthington?”
What little composure Georgie clung to began to slip. Georgie could only shake her head, fearful the moment she opened her mouth she might do little more than blubber.
Miss Morehouse slid the book back in its place on the bookcase, then walked to the door, making certain it was firmly closed before lowering herself onto a chair.
“My lady, I am not one for giving advice. Indeed, if you ask Miss Howard, she would tell you I am not one for taking it either,” she said, smiling at her self-deprecation. “So please excuse me for doling out medicine I despise swallowing.”
She gestured to the chair beside her with the slightest inclination of her head and waited for Georgie to accept the invitation.
“I have watched you two together for the past week.” Miss Morehouse continued, “Your feelings for each other could not be more plain than if you wrote it on a sign and hung it around your neck.”
Georgie shook her head. “I am so very sorry. That was not fair to you.”
Miss Morehouse shrugged, then let go a bitter laugh.
“What is not fair is that I cannot publicly proclaim how I feel about the woman I love,” she said. “Even if I want to shout it out while standing on the Serpentine bridge.”
“That is terribly unfair,” Georgie said. She knew how hard it had been to hide her feelings for Tom, pretending they didn’t exist even when she’d rubbed the rough edges of the tiny wooden fox he’d carved for her smooth, trying to be closer to an object because he’d touched it.
“It is also unfair to me to tie myself to a man who is required to live a much more public life than I would wish,” Miss Morehouse said. “Indeed, that would not be fair to either of us.”
“I don’t understand.” Georgie swallowed, trying to calm a sudden rush of butterflies in her belly. “Are you not engaged to him?”
“It depends on you.”
Georgie blinked. “Me?”
She nodded. “If you are not determined to have Mr. Osbourne, he would suit my situation perfectly.”
“Mr. Osbourne?” It made sense. Miss Morehouse had a substantial inheritance, and Mr. Osbourne’s particular pursuits would leave Miss Morehouse and Miss Howard free to live their lives in peace.
Had Miss Morehouse broached the subject with him?
She had not encountered Mr. Osbourne this evening, an absence she noted nearly as much as Tom’s presence.
“I should find Miss Howard, before she sends a search party looking for me.” Miss Morehouse stood, started for the door, then paused, turning back to Georgie.
“I suppose the one thing that does balance the scales in the most minutest of measures is that I have no chance of being forced to marry you simply because we are alone in a room together.”
Georgie couldn’t help but smile. Indeed, sitting with any man in a room, talking intimately with the door closed would lead straight to the altar, and there would be very little that could be done to change that.
“I suppose that is something.” Inspiration welled, the excitement drawing her to her feet. “Before you leave, can I beg a small favor of you?”
“Of course.”
Georgie rushed to a small writing desk, her mind swirling with possibility.
She found a piece of parchment and picked up a quill and started scribbling, not caring if she soiled her gloves with a smear of ink.
The last time she’d communicated with Tom, Marcus had composed the letter.
She’d allowed her brother to write off her future as a girlish fantasy at best, and at worst, a shameful act that would soil the family name.
She wouldn’t allow anyone to speak for her anymore.
The ink was barely dry as she pressed the note to Miss Morehouse’s hand.
“Can you give this Mr. Worthington directly?”
“Excuse me, Mr. Worthington.”
Tom bowed to Miss Morehouse, thrilled to have his conversation with Marcus interrupted.
The man’s utter disregard for his sister and his confession that he’d written that letter which had separated them made his blood boil—and brought a crashing wave of guilt for his own response.
He’d further injured Georgie, hurling back a scathing response to a letter she hadn’t written.
“Good evening, Miss Morehouse,” he said. “Are you enjoying the evening?”
She pulled a tight, but warm smile that he was coming to understand was her way of saying “no, but I am too polite to say otherwise.” Indeed, when this was all over—even if he lost Georgie forever, he hoped that he and Miss Morehouse could become friends.
“I am about to fetch some lemonade and find a quiet corner to hide in,” she said, which he understood to be the absolute truth. “But I was asked to bring you this.”
He unfolded the note, and even before reading it, recognized the hand that crafted it.
“If you will excuse me, my lord,” he said as he tucked the note into his pocket, “I have something to attend to just this moment. Excuse me.”