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Chapter Nine

By the time Georgie reached her bedroom door, her cheeks were flaming and her eyes were full of unshed tears. Stupid, stupid man! Didn’t he see what stood right in front of him?

Of course he did. He saw her very clearly, better than she saw herself.

What with Norah’s histrionics and Neddy’s drinking, her parents barely noticed she was around, but Rafferty was the only one who looked in her eyes and actually saw her.

The question was, what did that mean, besides new dresses and a sudden social life?

She threw herself down at her dressing table, searching her reflection.

She didn’t have Norah’s elegant nose—hers was more the upturned sort.

She didn’t have Norah’s mysterious lavender eyes—her own were blue and guileless.

Her hair was an unremarkable brownish-blond, and brunettes were in style this year, and it seemed every year.

She wasn’t petite and slim—she’d been looking like an overgrown schoolgirl for so long that the young woman looking back at her was a stranger.

She tugged at the neckline again. It wasn’t that low, but she wasn’t used to so much being on display. Most women had much lower necklines, but most women didn’t have her curves.

And Rafferty couldn’t care less about her curves. He wanted to foist her off on some marriageable man—why? So he wouldn’t have to worry about her? But then, why was he? She was the patron, he the protégé. She should be worried about him.

Not that she needed to be. He was the best butler they’d ever had—her mother flirted with him, her father liked him, even grumpy Bertha seemed to have a soft spot for him. Only Norah disliked him, and as far as Georgie was concerned, that was a point in his favor.

In fact, his only flaw was his sudden interest in seeing her married, when such a thought hadn’t entered her mind.

She didn’t want to marry a...what did Rafferty call him.

..a suitable young man. She didn’t want to marry anyone, she wanted to have her own household with Rafferty taking care of her.

He could be her butler, or her friend, it didn’t matter.

She just didn’t want to be saddled with anyone else.

She stuck out her tongue at her reflection, only to jump when she heard a pounding on her door.

Norah flung it open, eyeing her with a malicious gleam.. “Had a fight with your little darling?” she cooed.

Georgie made a face. “What little darling?”

“Your new house pet, Rafferty. He won’t stay long, you know. We can’t pay him, and we’re too much trouble. He must hate you fawning all over him.”

“I don’t fawn over him!” Georgie shot back, glaring back at her. “He’s my?—”

“Yes, he’s your protégé. You’ve already told me that, several times. Much as it pains me to tell you, but a protégé is not quite what you think. Not nowadays.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!

Oh, do go away, Norah!” she said in frustration.

One of Norah’s favorite pastimes was to goad Georgie, to remind her of just how unattractive she was, but Georgie was no longer so vulnerable.

She’d learned that if she didn’t respond with tears, then Norah grew bored quite quickly.

Norah moved closer into the room, a spiteful expression on her beautiful face. “Every time you call him your protégé, you’re telling him you expect his services,” she hissed.

Georgie sighed. Norah was in one of her moods, and her only choice was to ride it out. “I do expect his services,” she said flatly. “He’s the butler, after all.”

“That’s not the kind of service I’m talking about.”

Georgie swung around on the padded bench to glower at Norah. “Then what are you talking about?”

But Norah simply gave her a cat-like smile. “You are such a child. I wonder that Father allows you out at all. A young woman should be discreet, innocent, charming...”

“You’re playing off half the men of the ton. Why don’t you marry and save us all the worry?” she snapped back.

“At least I’m not trying to seduce the butler,” Norah said sweetly.

Georgie was shocked into silence. “Seduce?” she echoed.

“You heard me. Men don’t like that sort of thing—they find blind adoration tiresome.”

“They do?”

“Of course they do. They want to be the pursuer, not the pursued. They want to feel as if they’ve won the woman, not that they themselves were the prize.”

“That has nothing to do with Rafferty and me,” Georgie said firmly.

“Doesn’t it?” Norah arched one perfect eyebrow, a trick Georgie had tried and failed to master. “You’re embarrassing yourself and us with your fixation on Rafferty, the way you look at him and follow him around.”

Georgie had had enough of her game. “You’re being ridiculous. Rafferty wouldn’t look at me twice.”

“True enough,” Norah jumped in.

Georgie turned to look at her reflection in the mirror. It was the sad truth that Rafferty wouldn’t be interested in such a plain Jane. He might think he could marry her off, among all his other extraordinary accomplishments, but she knew just how unlikely that was.

“I’m going downstairs,” she said smoothly, rising from her table.

She was hoping she could glide past Norah, but her sister reached out to pinch her arm, hard, another bad habit.

“You’ll always be in my shadow,” Norah hissed. “They may look at you, but they’ll want me.”

“And they,” Georgie said calmly, “can have you.”

For her enforced re-entry into society, Georgie would have chosen someone other than the Islingtons.

The earl and countess were her parents’ age with a tendency to throw lavish soirées to showcase any number of hopeful young ladies eager to display their meager talents.

Since the Islingtons were tone-deaf, they seemed to particularly delight in off-key sopranos and the stumbling poetry preferred by romantic damsels, and Georgie was terrified that she’d be coerced into showing off her nonexistent accomplishments.

Norah, of course, had a clear, bright soprano, and she could recite with drama worthy of a Covent Garden extravaganza, making Georgie’s failings even more noticeable.

If called upon, she would simply refuse.

That, or she could recite “The boy stood on the burning deck” with all the fervor of one of her mother’s blasted acolytes and bring the room to tears.

That, or give them “the boy stood on the burning deck, eating peanuts by the peck,” and be thrown out on her ear.

In fact, she’d be safe from showing off her wares. Too many other young women were determined to snatch their prize from the marriage mart—Georgie wished them luck. She would find a potted plant and hide behind it until it was time to go home. Back to Rafferty.

It was only her second outing into society—the ill-conceived treasure hunt had been the first—and she knew no one but her sister, who of course wanted nothing to do with her. Georgie, abandoned by her family, immediately went in search of cake.

Georgie loved to eat, and while the Islingtons’ soirée tended to be painfully dull, they also happened to employ one of the best pastry chefs in London, which was just about the only reason Georgie had agreed to go in the first place.

She was wearing the lavender gown, and even she had to admit she looked.

..nice. But Rafferty’s eyes had simply passed over her when he ushered them to their carriage, and while he helped her mother and sister up into the equipage he left her to scramble after them all by herself.

It was no wonder she needed cake and solitude.

She found her potted plant in an alcove a safe distance from the painful performances and she placed her heavy-laden plate on the chair next to her.

The cakes would keep her busy long enough, and then she could feign a headache.

They would all have to accompany her back home in the family carriage, and Norah wouldn’t like it.

As the beauty of the season, she commanded adoration and obedience from the other young ladies, and she delighted in the glow of approval from all and sundry.

She most definitely did not like having her awkward younger sister tagging along after her.

“You need something to drink.” The voice came from behind her, startling her so violently that she almost lost her cake.

The next moment a young gentleman came around in front of her, two glasses of champagne in his hands.

“All that cake must make your mouth dry.” He smiled at her, a crooked smile, and Georgie’s original temptation, which was to throw her cake at him, faded, and she found herself smiling back.

“I’m hiding,” she confided, reaching out for one of the glasses.

“I know you are. Would you mind telling me why?”

“I don’t want to be called upon to perform. In fact, I didn’t want to be here in the first place, but my parents insisted. They seem to think I’ll make a good match.” She made a face at the notion.

He laughed. “Don’t you want to get married?”

“No. At least, I don’t think so. I want to be an old maid with goats and chickens and Rafferty to keep me busy.”

“I know what goats and chickens are, but I’ve yet to hear of a Rafferty. Is it some strange exotic camel-like animal?”

Despite herself she laughed. “Rafferty’s our butler.”

“A very wise part of your plan,” the young man said. “I always prefer to have my butler as part of my plans for the future. May I sit?”

Georgie scooped the plate off the seat, dusting crumbs off her satin skirts. “Of course. I’ve been rude—excuse me. I haven’t been out in society for very long.”

“I’m astonished,” he said with a straight face. “Since there’s no one here to introduce us, would you mind if I was so gauche as to do it myself? My name is Andrew Salton.”

She inclined her head with perfect grace. “I’m Miss Georgiana Manning,” she replied.

“Manning? Does that mean you’re related to that bewitching character over there?”