Page 8 of Better Not Bet a Bluestocking (Ladies of Opportunity #3)

Fernleigh House Drawing Room

Several days later—afternoon

For the fourth time in forty-five minutes, Robyn stealthily paced past the open drawing room door. He glanced inside at his houseguest, content-as-a-cat-in-a-cupboard-of-cushions. Georgine appeared engrossed in the Jane Austen volume Matilda had loaned her.

Pure foolishness if you ask me.

All it takes is one slip, one little misstep, and Georgine might further injure her arm.

Hadn’t Doctor Tinsdale warned about that very thing?

Indeed , he had—this morning, as a point of fact.

“ A fall could permanently injure Miss Thackerly’s shoulder. Once permitted to leave her bed, she must be accompanied by no fewer than two attendants, preferably male, so they can catch her if she starts to tumble—taking the utmost care not to jostle her arm and shoulder, of course.”

Which , by God , could be better managed if Georgine weren’t a pig-headed, mulish, feminine dervish, too stubborn for her own good and everyone else’s.

She became more headstrong and contrary each hour she remained confined to her bedchamber, and more than once in the past week, Robyn had gnashed his teeth in frustration.

She seemed hellbent on opposing him at every opportunity.

Today , Georgine had refused to stay abed or in her room, proclaiming she would go mad from inactivity and boredom.

Despite his misgivings about her leaving her chamber, empathy pricked Robyn . He wouldn’t have lasted as long as she had. Idleness didn’t mesh well with him, but he hadn’t nearly turned up his toes a fortnight ago either.

Georgine , on the other hand, had escaped death by a hair’s breadth, according to the doctor.

Did she understand how deathly ill she had been?

That reinfection or reinjury prolonged her stay at Fernleigh House , and the longer she stayed, the greater the chance her reputation might become smudged?

Tarnished ?

Compromised ?

Had that little detail that had worked her into a froth that first night here escaped her?

Robyn wasn’t so stupid as to remind her of that pertinent fact…yet. They had been at odds this past week, and knowing Georgine as he did, she would likely demand a carriage be brought round and toddle herself home in a trice.

No , by God .

The mulish minx would insist on driving herself.

Nevertheless , wasn’t she the one forever going on about impropriety, appearances, her reputation, and all that rot?

Well , perhaps not rot —the haut ton extolled men sowing their wild oats while casting a gimlet eye at any female who merely blinked wrong.

Still , he’d heard Georgine’s concerns so many times, he could recite them by rote.

Regina had offered to play whist in Georgine’s bedchamber—a tremendous sacrifice for the flighty girl—but Georgine only shook her dark head.

“ No . I am leaving this chamber. Today . Now .”

For a moment, Robyn thought she might actually stomp her foot.

And now here she was, sitting on a once plush armchair covered in faded floral damask, with bastions of equally faded and worn cushions and pillows surrounding her…just in case.

Robyn felt no discomfort or embarrassment at Fernleigh House’s aging and dated content. As long as things remained functional, what need was there to spend funds to replace them?

Who cared if the rugs had grown a bit threadbare or the wallpaper and tapestry were better suited to two or three decades ago?

He preferred the lived-in, time-worn comfort of well-used and well-loved furnishings. Not that he couldn’t afford to refurbish if he desired.

He simply did not wish to.

If he married, his wife could tackle that task, if she so chose. In fact, his nonexistent wife could refurbish the whole blasted house—except for his study. That private, masculine oasis would remain just the way it was.

Oh , very well.

He might permit his wife to replace the draperies and carpets. Something Turkish would do.

The Fitzlloyds ’ wealth came primarily from importing and exporting fine textiles, especially high-quality wool and cotton supplied to domestic and international markets.

The booming demand for English cloth secured them lucrative contracts with mill owners and merchants.

Robyn also invested in the East India trade, profiting from tea, spices, and other coveted goods.

Never let it be said that the Fitzlloyds skimped on their tea.

Only the best would do.

Orange Pekoe , Imperial , and Flowery Congou .

Beyond textiles, he held interests in shipbuilding and maritime commerce, owning shares in merchant vessels that carried cargo across the Atlantic and throughout the British Empire . Though these ventures carried risks, they provided a steady income.

While they never rivaled banking dynasties or the great landed aristocrats, the Fitzlloyds ’ prudent financial management sustained a refined lifestyle, including a respectable household, well-bred horses, and occasional participation in the social season.

Descended from gentility, they occupied the space between the traditional gentry and the rising class of industrialists.

It had never bothered Robyn that he didn’t hold a title, though he claimed several titled peers as friends.

The Fitzlloyds rubbed elbows with London’s elite when it suited them, but did not aspire to anything loftier.

Smelling of the shop , kept a few doors closed to them, but not many.

Neither Robyn nor Matilda had any desire to associate with those snobs.

He knew little of Georgine’s family, only that her father had died when she was a teenager, and her mother had gone to meet her maker two years ago.

Not wealthy, Georgine and her sister survived on a small inheritance from Georgine’s maternal grandmother—and that questionable gambling income from the Ladies of Opportunity .

Robyn allowed himself a few moments to observe Georgine covertly.

Color had returned to her cheeks, and the addition of solid food this past week had removed the hollows from her cheeks.

Her sable hair, threaded with coffee-brown and molasses shades, shone in the afternoon light.

She wore the luxurious cascade down, with a pale blue ribbon across her crown and tied at her nape.

All in all, she looked remarkably well—a lovely delicacy too pretty for mere words.

He narrowed his attention on her shoulder.

The infection had subsided, but her shoulder had a long way to go before completely healing, according to the doctor.

And given the nature of her wound, the risk of reinfection lurked.

Erring on the side of caution to ensure Georgine wasn’t exposed to any illnesses, the no visitors order remained in effect.

That also worked well to help conceal her presence in the house, and although he had explained the delicacy of the situation to the servants, that didn’t mean some of them hadn’t blabbed.

Even the best, most loyal servants gossiped.

Not Bichard , the butler, however.

That man would cut his tongue from his head with a butter knife before revealing the smallest private detail about what went on in Fernleigh House .

Nonetheless , to be thorough, Robyn and Matilda had also not been home to callers.

Regretfully , that had not prevented Mrs . Verbena Wynecott from pounding upon the entrance door twice in the last fortnight, no doubt with her oversized ledger containing his and Matilda’s pre-selected volunteer duties for her annual Charity Garden and Fancy Fair .

Mrs . Wynecott would extol what an honor it was to serve while delicately implying the previous year’s donation was just a touch modest .

Last week, her loud objections to being turned away had carried upstairs. Robyn half feared the intrusive dame would shove past Bichard and march through the house until she cornered him or Matilda .

The woman bullied everyone, and not for the first time, Robyn wondered why Reverend Obadiah Goodfellow allowed Mrs . Wynecott to remain the charity’s patroness.

“ I can hear you, Robyn .”

Georgine’s irony-filled voice jerked him back to the present.

Feeling very much like a lad in a skeleton suit caught with his fingers in the bonbon dish, he stopped mid-step, peeking over his shoulder.

She continued to read, or at least she remained bent over the book.

Regina giggled and twisted on the settee to grin and waggle her eyebrows at him.

That one was a walking vexation, by God .

How Georgine dealt with her antics and larks, he could not imagine. Matilda spent half her time contriving entertainment and outings for Regina , and the other half caring for Georgine .

Matilda sent him a sympathetic smile before returning to arranging the flowers she’d picked this morning. No fewer than three vases held treasures from the garden.

Matilda’s talent for growing things had developed beyond a mere hobby.

Robyn shifted his feet, and the floorboards squeaked.

“ Oh , for pity’s sake.” Georgine sighed and laid the open book in her lap, spine up. She gave him an arch stare. “ You’re worse than a caged panther, Robyn Fitzlloyd . Either join us or take yourself off, so I can read in peace.”

Rubbing his jaw, Robyn wandered into the drawing room.

For modesty, Georgine had draped one of Matilda’s wrappers, a pretty thing fashioned from printed cotton with a delicate pattern of pale blue sprigs scattered over a cream background and indigo vines edging the hem and cuffs, over her nightgown.

Her comfortable attire hid the bandages, and a sling held her arm in place, ensuring her shoulder did not move. Given her restricted ability, maneuvering into a gown proved impossible, probably for several weeks to come.

Matilda tilted one last purple dame’s rocket before stepping back to admire her handiwork.

After giving a satisfied nod, she glanced at the inlaid brass mahogany clock atop the walnut fireplace mantel.

“ It’s almost tea time. Regina , why don’t you and I prepare the tray today?

Every lady must know how, even if she has servants to wait upon her. ”