Brimstone just shook his head and sat down across from him, one long leg crossed over the other, foot swinging.
‘Do you want her badly enough to not just overlook her faults, but to count them as virtues? Do you understand that she’ll never make a model wife? That any attempt to make her into one will result in one thing: a runaway wife. And that her friends will support her in her flight? Do you understand?’
Ivo cradled his coffee between his hands, savouring the warmth in the cold room. ‘Do you think I’m stupid?’
Brimstone chuckled, a low, wicked sound that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. ‘No, my lord. I think you’re dazzled.’
Ivo shrugged before taking a large swallow of coffee. ‘That’s not an inaccurate way of putting it.’
‘What I can’t fathom, what none of us can, is why George?’
Ivo let his breath out through his teeth, blowing his lips loose in frustration. ‘Did George ever tell you how we met?’ Her bulldog shook his head. ‘Ask her, then ask me that question again.’
Brimstone gave him a curious look, black eyes piercing, brows raised. Firelight licked his glossy boots, winked back from the diamond in his cravat.
‘On to another topic, then. George isn’t to be left alone until we’ve settled the matter of her highwayman. I’m sure you agree?’
Ivo nodded. How could he not?
‘She’s hardly likely to allow you to squire her about when we return to town, but that will leave you free for other duties, like visiting Addington at Bow Street.’
‘So I’m suddenly approved of?’
Brimstone met his gaze, his expression serious. ‘It’s not necessarily approval, Somercote, it’s resignation.’
Ivo swallowed the last of his coffee and set the cup down on the tray. Resignation was better than obstruction. ‘So I’ll handle hiring a runner, and you’ll handle George.’
‘Precisely. And the first action I’m going to take in that capacity is to evict you from the premises.’
George came downstairs to find everyone restrained and silent. Those who hadn’t witnessed the proposal had obviously heard the entire story. She caught Lady Tilehurst covertly watching her, while her eldest niece wore a pained expression. The idea of being the recipient of a seventeen-year-old girl’s pity was mortifying.
Every time the door opened, everyone but George turned to see who it might be, the air of expectation palpable. Those who’d missed yesterday’s scene clearly felt they’d been deprived of a prime treat.
George toyed with her breakfast while chatting about inconsequential, innocuous topics with Morpeth and Alençon, all the while waiting for Dauntry to walk in. Her stomach was in a knot, her throat almost too tight to swallow even tea. When she finished her toast she quickly retreated to the library, where she spent the morning reviewing the lists of things the tenants had mentioned at the fête.
Helping to manage the estate’s concerns was a wonderful distraction. She was busily making notations in Lord Glendower’s ledger when Gabriel wandered in and propped himself inelegantly on the edge of the desk.
‘Mrs Stubbs says luncheon is almost ready, and Cardross is preparing to leave. He’s feeling decidedly out of curl, having missed your contretemps. Second-hand gossip of such an extraordinary nature doesn’t please him at all. So I’ve come to drag you back out into the world.’
He stood and went to examine the shelves, giving her his back. ‘You needn’t worry about bumping into Somercote; we threw him into a carriage hours ago and sent him on his way.’
He plucked a volume from the shelf, flipped it open, and paged through it. He put it back, turned to face her again. ‘Give him a few days to think about what he wants and how he wants to go about getting it. Give you a few days to do the same.’
George shot her friend a hard look, but all he did was stare her down, lips pressed into a stern line. He’d dealt with her for far too long to be easily snubbed or intimidated. Damn him.
‘I’m serious, darling. You need to be clear. Do you want to marry him or not? No, no,’ he held up a hand to silence her, ‘but remember, you can’t keep the man dangling forever.’ He came around the desk and extended his hand to her, ignoring the glare she gave him. ‘Come along, sweetheart, let’s go and join the others for luncheon and say au revoir to Cardross.’
George sighed and momentarily wilted in the chair before taking his hand and allowing him to escort her to luncheon.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Lord S— has returned to Town long before he was looked for. Perhaps he has already received his congé?
Tête-à-Tête, 6 January 1789
George’s coach rocked to a stop in front of her house on Upper Brook Street. She shivered as the door opened and cold air flooded the interior. Her face felt the icy breeze whip past her, doing its best to rip her tippet loose.
The steps were let down with a protesting clatter and her ancient butler appeared to hand her from the coach. A flurry of snowflakes swirled about them, sticking to her eyelashes.
January in London was truly dismal. Or at least it was when one was chilled to the bone, the hot brick having long ago become nothing but an icy stone beneath her feet.
She clutched her hands together inside her muff. At least she’d arrived home safely, regardless of how tedious the trip had been. The dozen armed grooms Lord Glendower had insisted upon must be frozen quite solid. Not to mention her coachman.
She’d make sure a vat of rum punch was sent down to the mews for them. And she’d have a cup herself. The only answer to cold like this was to be warmed from the inside.
George went straight past the empty salon and up to her boudoir where she huddled as close to the fire as she could until she was warm enough to shed her pelisse. The
