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Chapter Seven

Rafferty, however, was proving surprisingly elusive. Once she was dressed in one of her shabby day dresses, she went straight to the kitchen in search of her prey.

“He’s gone out,” Bertha said.

“Where?”

“Never you mind, Miss Georgie. He’s the butler, and he’s got all sorts of things to do. Everything’s gone to rack and ruin in the last few months, and he’s got more than enough things to do without you bothering him as well.”

“I wasn’t going to bother him,” Georgie protested. “I just wanted to thank him for my shoes.”

“What shoes?” Bertha demanded.

Georgie lifted her skirts to her ankles, exposing the beautiful leather, and Bertha shook her head in disapproval. “Where’d he get those?”

“I expect from Cooby and Sons. They’ve made shoes for me in the past.”

“And where’s all this money coming from, I’d like to know!” Bertha snapped. “We’ve got two new maids, enough food to feed an army, and God knows what he’ll bring back whenever he decides to reappear.”

“It can’t be his money,” Georgie said. “He was a penniless beggar when I found him.”

“Well, maybe he’s your fairy godmother or something, because this house is starting to look like it used to, and a new shipment of gowns was delivered just an hour ago.”

Georgie felt a pang of envy. “Norah already has too many gowns,” she protested.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Georgie.” Her mother swanned into the room, a predatory expression on her ageless face. “A girl can never have too many gowns her first season. We wouldn’t want to look so desperate that she had to wear the same dress twice.”

“I wear the same dress all the time,” Georgie protested.

“Yes, dear, but the situation is very different. Norah was born with extraordinary physical endowments, and we need to take advantage of those while we can. In the meantime, your clothes will have to wait.” Her eyes narrowed as she spied the elegant walking shoes, clearly visible beneath the too-short hem of Georgie’s dress.

“And where did those come from?” she demanded.

“Rafferty arranged for them,” she said.

Liliane frowned at the footwear. “I wonder if Norah could fit in those? They’re awfully cunning, and she could do with a new pair of walking shoes.”

“They’d be too big,” Georgie said quickly. She was not giving up her shoes for the sister who already had everything. “She’d trip in them, and you know she can’t afford to look clumsy.”

Liliane stared at the shoes a moment longer, then shook her head. “No, you’re right. I wonder if they’d fit me—I have slightly bigger feet than you...”

“No!” Georgie snapped. “They’re mine, and I intend to hold on to them.”

“Really, Georgie, it’s not like you to be so selfish. I’ve a good mind to tell your father.”

“Her father would tell her to keep the shoes,” Bertha piped up, earning Liliane’s look of displeasure. “Let the poor lass have something of her own.”

“I’m hardly going to argue with a servant about what I consider necessary as far as my daughter is concerned,” she said haughtily. “And exactly where is Rafferty at the moment?” She cast her sharp gaze around the kitchen, as if she expected him to pop up from one of the large pots on the stove.

“Off seeing to things,” Bertha said, giving the same answer she’d given Georgie. “Best leave him alone—there’s no quarrelling with success.”

Liliane opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again. “I’ve had them put the new dresses in the mauve bedroom. It should have the least dust of all the rooms...”

“The maids have already seen to it, my lady,” Bertha said sullenly. “And when’s Miss Norah going to be going through them? There might be something she’s willing to pass on to her little sister.”

“They’re not the same size, silly!” Liliane said.

“Besides, why would Georgie need ball gowns? She’s not out yet.

” She sighed, temporarily lost in her own thoughts, then became alert again.

“I suppose we can thank Rafferty for the dresses. The modiste had refused to extend us any more credit, and then suddenly a large order appears, which I’m certain are the ones I ordered.

There are even two or three that might do for me.

” She looked quite pleased with herself.

“I think I’ll wake Norah so we can go through them and decide what she should wear tonight.

Viscount Rothschild will be attending tonight’s rout, and while we might decry some of his heritage, his fortune is breathtaking, worthy of our darling Norah.

” She glanced at Georgie. “The Islingtons are not the height of society—you’ve been invited to attend, though I doubt you have anything to wear. Your one evening gown smells of goat.”

Georgie looked at her in surprise. This was the second time she’d been invited to go out with her family, and for a moment she wondered if they were trying to marry her off without the expense of a season.

It didn’t matter—her mother was right. She had nothing to wear. And she needed to remember not to wear her new shoes in front of her sister, or size or not, she’d lose them.

The shriek could be heard from several stories overhead, a scream of pure rage filtering down to the kitchen. “It’s Miss Norah,” Bertha said dryly.

“So it is,” Liliane said with a sigh. “I would have thought she’d be happy with her new clothes, but then, her temperament is so sensitive. She feels things so dreadfully.”

Another shriek, and it was enough to get Georgie moving. “Something’s wrong!” she said worriedly, pushing through the baize door, Liliane and Bertha following close behind as she raced up the two flights of servants’ stairs to the mauve bedroom.

Norah was standing in the doorway, her beautiful black hair pointing in all sorts of strange directions, an expression of such fury twisting her face that Georgie almost thought she might explode.

She was wearing a dress completely unsuited to her—it was a soft rose, much simpler than the usually fussy gowns Norah preferred, and the dress was slipping down her narrow shoulders.

“These are all wrong!” she said, and behind her Georgie could see the shambles of what had once been a modiste’s pride and joy.

Gowns lay tossed about, the colors muted but glowing, and Norah was already tearing at the dress she wore, yanking it off her tiny body, throwing it on the floor and stamping on it.

“But how could Madame Racette be so mistaken?” Liliane cried. “Those aren’t even your colors, much less your size. I might fit them, but they would be entirely unsuitable. Those are the dresses for a young girl just making her debut...”

Lilianne Manning was shallow and selfish, but no one ever accused her of being stupid. She turned to look at Georgie, her face like a storm cloud.

Norah didn’t miss that look, and after kicking the dress one more time she advanced on Georgie, her face contorted with rage.

“What are these doing here?” she demanded, her voice still loud and strained.

“These plain, dumpy things are clearly for you. What did you have to do for Rafferty in order to get a whole new wardrobe? I warned you, Mother, that he was up to no good. How dare he buy clothes for Georgie?”

But Lilianne’s anger had vanished, and she was looking at Georgie with a thoughtful expression. “You know, you might look quite presentable in one of those gowns, Georgie,” she said slowly.

“I didn’t have anything to do with them...” she protested, keeping a wary eye on Norah in case she decided to pounce. Norah was very adept at slapping and hairpulling.

“Of course you didn’t, dearest. It’s merely a case of our very zealous butler seeing to things we’d let slide.

Stop your caterwauling, Norah!” she snapped.

“We were ready to accept the clothes if they were meant for you. We shall count ourselves very fortunate if Madame Racette was moved to an act of charity.”

“It’s not fair!” Norah whined.

“Nonsense, my dear. And I’m sure this is not a complete loss—that shade of lavender would look quite striking with your eyes. We could see to getting it altered for you, if your sister doesn’t mind.”

Georgie did mind, but she was in too much of a daze to say so. Rafferty had done this? How could he possibly have arranged it in so little time? And why?

“I’m not giving up my dresses for Georgie!” Norah said. “They’re entirely inappropriate—she can’t even go anywhere important!”

“In fact, she’s giving up one of her dresses for you, darling,” Liliane corrected her. “I’m certain you’ll look charmingly in it. And Lady Islington has been kind enough to invite her tonight. She can wear one of them.” Lady Manning looked Georgie up and down with a calculating expression.

Words had failed Norah—she made a sputtering noise as she stared at her mother.

Finally she spoke. “We need to send the dresses back,” she announced flatly.

“You know as well as I do that Papa can’t afford wardrobes for both of us.

If you think a pudding face like George can attract as wealthy a husband as I can, then you’ve taken leave of your senses.

We need to send the dresses back and request the ones you ordered. ”

“I don’t think your father’s paying for these dresses,” Liliane said slowly.

“Then who is? The butler?” Norah demanded with a hoot of laughter.

“I neither know nor care,” Liliane said. “If we’ve run into a sudden streak of luck, I’m not about to argue with it. Take your dresses, Georgiana. We need to see if any of them need to be altered. I expect Madame Racette would be happy to make certain her artistry is well-displayed.”

Georgie wasn’t going to give her a second chance. A moment later, she was heading to her room, her arms full of silk dresses and petticoats, the lavender one hidden between them as she went.

Bertha, who’d been an interested witness to all that melodrama, followed her into her bedroom, closing the door behind them. “Now let’s look at what we’ve got, Miss Georgie,” she said briskly. “If there’s something that needs a little adjusting, I can probably manage it.”

“They’ll fit,” Georgie said, spreading them out on the bed to admire them.

There were five in all—three day dresses in soft shades of rose, blue, and, most surprisingly of all, pale yellow. Her mother had always insisted that most women could never wear yellow, but Georgie took one look at it and fell in love.

There were two elaborate ball dresses, one in a rich, creamy shade and the lavender one that Norah had coveted. She should probably let her have it—the neckline was lower than anything Georgie had ever worn, and probably indecent for a young girl.

Except she wasn’t a young girl. At age twenty, she was closer to a spinster. And she was going to wear the lavender dress, eventually, and shine in it.

She picked up the yellow dress and held it out. “I’m wearing this,” she announced pugnaciously.

“What’s stopping you?” Bertha said.

Stripping down to her worn petticoats, she reached for the dress, pulling it over her head. As the yards of fabric floated down around her, she emerged, pulling the neckline down. And down. And down.

“It’s too low!” she said in shock.

“Not for a young lady, it’s not,” Bertha announced, moving behind her to begin fastening it. “Your sister wears day dresses that are much lower than that. You’ve got a fine bosom—it suits you.”

Instinctively, Georgie clasped her arms around her torso, trying to hide the wide expanse of flesh, but Bertha simply batted her hands away. “I can’t...” Georgie said.

“Don’t be missish. Your mother may be a crack brain, but if I say it’s all right, then you know you can trust me. Don’t you?” Bertha eyed her with a dangerous glint in her eye.

“Yes, Bertha,” she said meekly.

“Good girl.” Bertha spread the skirt over her petticoats. “Now I want you to walk in this dress like you own it. Back straight, young lady.”

Georgie had hunched over in an effort to minimize her chest. In truth, she wasn’t that large, but her breasts were bigger than Norah’s, and her sister had always mocked her. She straightened up, then caught sight of herself in the mirror and froze.

The pale yellow was perfect on her. Her cheeks were flushed, her blue eyes sparkled, and for the first time in her life, she no longer looked a poor relation. She looked like a young woman, and if she was still a far cry from Norah’s legendary beauty, she was quite acceptable. Almost...pretty.

She turned, examining herself from every angle, while Bertha scooped up the dresses and put them in the clothes press. “Now don’t be getting conceited,” Bertha warned her. “We’ve already got Miss Norah swanning around. Pretty is as pretty does.”

Georgie looked at her in surprise, then back at her reflection, and she gave herself a dazzling smile. “Where’s Rafferty?”

“Oh, no, you don’t!” Bertha said.

“You know he’s responsible for these. I have to thank him.”

“You get such thoughts out of your head, missy. He’s the butler and you well know it.”

“Yes, he is,” she said dreamily. She turned to look at Bertha, whose mouth was set in a stern line. “He’s quite wonderful, isn’t he?” She sighed.

Bertha shook her head. “We need to find you a husband,” she said, her voice a dire warning. “That will get you over this foolishness.”

She didn’t want to get over this foolishness, she thought stubbornly, running a surreptitious hand down the soft muslin of her skirt. She didn’t want the only kind of husband she’d be likely to get. She wanted...

She wasn’t going to think about what she wanted. She didn’t dare. So she simply nodded demurely, trying to look biddable when she’d never been biddable in her life.

“Harrumph,” said Bertha.