Page 15 of Better Not Bet a Bluestocking (Ladies of Opportunity #3)
Gunter’s Tea Shop
Regent’s Park - Berkeley Square
That same sultry afternoon
No one is staring or whispering—excellent .
Sitting beneath the striped cream and forest green awning jutting over Gunter’s Tea Shop windows and shading the patrons from the blazing sun, Robyn and the women waited for their ices.
Alert for the merest sign that anyone recognized him or Georgine , he surveyed the genteel crowd as he tapped his fingertips atop the pale cream iron-framed table.
If Georgine hadn’t been recuperating, he would have initiated an outing weeks before. The delay in entering the public arena suggested guilt to those eager to spread more lies.
However , the postponement didn’t concern him overly much.
Introducing Georgine and himself as blissful newlyweds to a few carefully selected elites, and soon, Mrs . Wynecott’s ploy to destroy them would wither like a nosegay left to the mercy of July’s unmerciful sun.
Satisfaction thrummed through him, not because he was spiteful or vengeful, but because actions and choices had consequences, and he suspected Mrs . Wynecott , once a pillar of High Society , was about to get her well-deserved comeuppance and topple off her high horse, straight into infamy.
Yesterday , when Robyn delivered the bank draft to cover the cost of the new hymnals to Reverend Goodfellow , the usually staid man had been in a dither. So much so that he had taken Robyn into his confidence—a rare occurrence and one which revealed the man of God’s distress.
Mere days ago, St . Winifred’s churchwarden had received an anonymous tip: Mrs . Wynecott hadn’t been entirely forthcoming about her fundraising, and the entries in her ledger differed from the actual donations.
Robyn would bet his reputation that Miss Mehetabel Twigg was the nameless source, and she had evidence to support her claim. Motivated by self-preservation, Miss Twigg had too much integrity to make such a bold accusation without proof.
Though the warden had only contacted the first few patrons recorded in the fundraising ledger to verify their contributions, according to the reverend, a disturbing pattern had emerged.
Apparently , Mrs . Wynecott stole a portion of every contribution and recorded the remaining sum. It appeared she had been doing so for several years with no accountability.
Had no one thought to audit her before now?
Embarrassed by his lack of oversight, the mortified man of God swore Robyn to silence until the investigation had been completed. In short, however, Verbena Wynecott would soon become the pariah of Society she had sought to make Georgine .
Justice well served, by thunder.
Robyn couldn’t summon a jot of compassion or sympathy for the woman.
Georgine laughed at something her sister said, drawing his attention.
His heart burgeoned with emotion.
Steady on, old chap .
He was worse than a besotted youth experiencing his first infatuation. Only what Robyn felt for his wife went far beyond youthful captivation.
Far , far beyond.
He loved Georgine . Adored her. Cherished her.
Once he had admitted the truth to himself, his entire perspective on their marriage—his life—changed. And if he lived to be one hundred, a bald, hunch-backed, toothless codger, he would never tire of gazing upon her.
Even when time robbed her of her silken skin, sparkling blue eyes, shiny hair, and fetching smile. His memory—no, his soul—would forever be engraved with the woman now sitting across from him.
Until this morning, he hadn’t dared to believe she might return his regard. But that kiss…
Their kiss by the fountain suggested something altogether different.
Up to this point, he had been content to love her without being loved in return, but now…?
He could not take his eyes off her.
Seemingly undisturbed by the oppressive heat, in a particularly fetching seafoam green gown, trimmed in cool white lace and ribbons, Georgine nodded at something Matilda said, causing the jaunty white marabou feather on Georgine’s bonnet to bob.
Occasionally , someone noticed the sling cradling her arm, but after a cursory glance, directed their attention elsewhere.
She seemed oblivious to the few curious looks, or if she had noticed, disregarded them.
Her poise never failed to impress him.
The joy on her face and their sisters’ made the outing worthwhile, despite the day’s unrelenting warmth.
Waiters in smart bottle-green livery, cream waistcoats, and buff breeches moved briskly between the shop, tables, and carriages while skillfully balancing trays laden with molded fruit ices, plates of delicate sponge biscuits, and tall glasses of water ice.
Grateful that no uncomfortable encounters had ensued, Robyn allowed the tension knotting his shoulders to ease and curved his mouth into an easy grin.
A slight breeze ruffled the plane trees’ leaves and carried a mingled aroma of horse, leather, baking confections, and the faint citrus tang of lemon and orange ices.
His attention dipped to Georgine’s pink rosebud mouth.
He could still taste the sweetness of her lips, could still feel the jolt of pleasure her innocent, inexperienced response triggered as she kissed him back.
She kissed me back .
His soul fairly sang for joy.
A sharp kick to his shin jerked him back to the present.
Refraining from rubbing the abused appendages, he met his sister’s amused glance.
“ What was that for, Mittie ?”
“ You are staring at Georgine like a love-struck buck, and people have begun to notice,” Matilda murmured while fiddling with the silver spoon atop a crisply folded napkin. “ Take a look around, brother dear.”
Robyn casually perused the crowd, smiling as several gawkers swiftly averted their attention.
He leaned back. “ She is my wife. I am entitled to stare.”
“ Oh , you…” Matilda rolled her eyes, but he was saved from further censure as a handsome young waiter arrived with their ices and served her first.
Forehead puckered, Georgine looked between them. “ Did I miss something?”
“ No , nothing of import.” Matilda spooned a bite of strawberry ice into her mouth. “ Mmm . Delicious . We should do this more often.”
If it would bring a radiant smile to Georgine’s face, Robyn would pull the carriage to Gunter’s himself.
“ Enjoy , miss.” The young man gave Regina a rakish smile as he placed her ice before her, and she practically melted into a pool at his feet.
“ Fitzlloyd ?” Robyn glanced upward to see Quinten Honeybrook with Claire Granlund on his arm, wending their way through the tables.
Since when had those two begun spending time together?
Granted , they often attended the same functions, but Robyn had never noticed either had a particular affinity for each other. In fact, widowed young, Claire Granlund usually presented a cold shoulder to any man who came within five feet of her.
Wed to a much older man, hers hadn’t been a happy union, according to Georgine .
“ Honeybrook .” Robyn stood and doffed his fawn-colored felt top hat. “ Mrs . Granlund .”
“ Please accept my felicitation on your marriage.” Honeybrook’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. In truth, the taciturn fellow seemed a bit distracted.
“ Thank you,” Robyn and Georgine murmured in unison.
“ Claire . I cannot tell you how much I appreciate your help with Regina in those early days of my recovery.” Georgine extended her good hand, and Mrs . Granlund grasped her gloved fingers.
“ Think nothing of it, dearest. It is wonderful to see you have ventured out, Georgine .” Mrs . Granlund nodded to Matilda and Regina . “ I see you are enjoying an ice. Perfect for a hot day like today.”
“ It is.” Regina popped a spoonful of lemon ice into her mouth as she not so covertly searched for the attractive waiter.
Robyn would have to keep an eye on the girl.
Matilda had never been a flirt, but Regina was a miss in pursuit, batting her eyelashes at everything in pantaloons under the age of thirty.
Robyn glanced between Honeybrook and Mrs . Granlund .
How long had those two been keeping company?
The tension radiating between the two was palpable.
Not a romantic outing, he would be bound.
What then?
Georgine noticed too.
Head tilted, she eyed Claire , a question in her eyes and a crease between her eyebrows. “ I’m surprised to see you taking a stroll in this heat.”
No doubt she was just as astonished to see her friend with Honeybrook as Robyn was.
Mrs . Granlund twirled her parasol, a dainty confection of pale ivory silk with scalloped stitching and whitework embroidery around the edges. “ I would not dare without a parasol.”
She did not elaborate, raising Robyn’s suspicion further, and from the slight tightening of Georgine’s mouth, hers as well.
“ We shan’t keep you.” Honeybrook doffed his hat before extending his arm toward Mrs . Granlund .
She hesitated a fraction too long before placing her gloved palm on his forearm, not linking her elbow with his.
Interesting .
Georgine met Robyn’s gaze, and he read the silent question in her eyes.
What was that about?
Mindful they weren’t alone, he lifted a shoulder as he turned to watch Honeybrook and Mrs . Granlund’s progress.
They turned down Bruton Street .
Even more fascinating.
Honeybrook’s solicitor’s offices just happened to be along that very lane.
Georgine turned her attention to her ice, taking a dainty bite of the raspberry confection.
Robyn lifted his spoon and froze.
Hell’s clanging bells .