Page 23 of The Wallflower’s Great Escape (The Wallflowers’ Revolt #1)
G eorgie stood in the center of the Pembroke drawing room, twisting her hands together and feeling very much like an imposter.
The room was almost absurdly elegant, tall windows draped in pale green silk, a gleaming rosewood pianoforte tucked into the corner, delicate French chairs upholstered in cream damask, and a chandelier dripping with crystal.
The air smelled faintly of fresh flowers, and the silver tea service gleamed on the low table in front of the settee.
She’d thought herself prepared for life in a grand house. After all, she’d grown up in one, but this was another thing entirely. Why, this was as grand as Bea’s father’s house.
All Georgie could think about was whether she’d made a mistake asking for her own room this morning at breakfast. It seemed like the obvious thing to do, after Pembroke had offered her a whole wing.
Clearly, he wanted her in an entirely different part of the house than he was.
And why wouldn’t he? No doubt he intended to go about his life as if he hadn’t even taken a wife.
Oh, God. Would he have a string of mistresses? That would be embarrassing, but it was no more than she deserved. Why, oh, why hadn’t she taken the man up on his offer to return her to the coaching station?
She took a deep breath. There was no use going over it again and again in her mind. She’d been doing so all morning and it changed nothing. What’s done was done. She’d worry about her room and the wing she lived in later. At the moment, she was waiting for someone. Two someones, actually.
She smoothed her skirts and checked the tea tray one last time, as though it might somehow help her feel more like a proper lady of the house and less like someone playing dress-up.
She’d already written Martha a letter and had it dispatched to Bath posthaste.
No doubt it had been an inadequate letter.
And certainly one that would confuse her poor friend with its contents.
But Georgie had shared the relevant facts, namely that she’d married Lord Pembroke instead of Lord Henderville and would write to explain more at her earliest opportunity.
It would just have to be enough…for now. Oh dear, what Martha would think when she read it. Indeed, what the entire ton was thinking right now. She couldn’t even guess. Instead, she resumed her hand twisting.
She hadn’t waited five minutes longer before the door opened, and a footman announced, “Lady Beatrix Winslow and Miss Poppy Montfort.”
Georgie briefly closed her eyes. Oh, thank heavens they both had made it. She expelled her breath with relief as her two friends swept into the room.
Bea looked as composed and regal as ever in a bright pink walking dress, while Poppy practically bounced with excitement, her coppery-red hair a fiery halo under her yellow bonnet.
“My dears,” Georgie said warmly, rushing forward to greet them.
They embraced her in turn before settling themselves on the settee, their eyes already darting around the room with unconcealed curiosity.
Poppy was the first to speak.
“Well,” she breathed, “I must say… this is very fine indeed. I could scarcely believe it when I got your note this morning.”
Bea arched a brow. “Indeed,” she said coolly. “When you wrote to request we visit you at Pembroke House , I was quite certain you’d made a mistake. Or perhaps you’d fallen out of the coach and experienced a head wound during your flight.”
Georgie flushed faintly as she poured tea. “Yes, well. I nearly thought so myself.”
Once the tea was served, Bea fixed her with a penetrating gaze. “Well? Out with it. How did this happen? The last we saw of you, you were rushing down the street in your wedding gown. And now here you sit— married . To an entirely different man.”
Poppy leaned forward eagerly. “Yes,” she said, picking up her cup. “Do tell.”
Georgie spent the next half hour recounting the details of what had happened since she’d last seen her friends.
“Well,” Bea began, “so much for the first volley of the Wallflowers’ Revolt.”
“Yes, but you have to admit, Georgie,” Poppy added, “it’s rather romantic, the way he swept you up on the horse like that. It’s practically a fairy tale.”
Georgie pressed her lips together, unsure whether to laugh or groan. “Romantic is hardly the word I’d use,” she muttered.
Bea snorted. “Nonsense. Pembroke shouldn’t have put his nose where it didn’t belong. No one asked him to interfere.”
Georgie opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted by the faint sound of a throat clearing behind her.
Her stomach dropped as she turned to see Jason standing just inside the doorway, his green eyes inscrutable.
Oh, no.
How much had he heard?
He inclined his head to the ladies with impeccable courtesy. “My apologies,” he said smoothly. “I don’t mean to interrupt.”
Poppy’s cheeks pinkened, while Bea met his gaze without flinching.
Jason’s mouth quirked faintly, though it was impossible to tell if it was amusement or something else.
“I simply wished to let Lady Pembroke know,” he continued, his eyes flicking to Georgie, “that I took the liberty of arranging for Madame Duval to come by within the hour to see to her new wardrobe.”
Georgie froze. “Oh, that won’t be necessary—” she began, already shaking her head. Madame Duval was the most expensive, most sought-after modiste in town.
But Bea cut her off briskly. “Lady Pembroke shall be ready at the allotted time,” she declared.
Jason’s brows rose faintly, and one corner of his mouth curved just slightly before he bowed again. “Very good,” he murmured. “I’ll leave you ladies to your visit.”
As soon as the door closed behind him, Poppy let out a low whistle. “Is he real?” she demanded.
Bea huffed softly. “I suppose he is , though I still maintain he oughtn’t have meddled. And you deserve a new wardrobe, Georgie. It’s no more than his duty to provide it.”
Poppy nudged Georgie with her elbow. “All I’m saying is—revolt or not, if my husband looked like that and hired Madame Duval to dress me, I wouldn’t be arguing.”
Georgie flushed hotly and stared into her tea, feeling more overwhelmed than ever…and more aware of Jason Pembroke than she cared to admit.
But she couldn’t agree with Poppy. At the moment, her hasty decision to marry felt more like a nightmare than a dream.