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Chapter Thirteen

The day was bright and cheerful when Martina pushed open the curtains, the first day Georgie had seen the sun in ages. “Time to wake up, sleepyhead,” Martina announced, setting the breakfast tray across her lap. “You don’t want to be wasting this beautiful weather.”

Georgie pushed her hair back from her face and reached for her cup of tea. “Where is everyone?”

“Miss Norah’s still abed, as is your mother. Your father’s gone to his club, your brother is in the breakfast room with a pounding headache, and Bertha’s in the kitchen. Was that what you were wanting to know?”

Georgie refused to rise to the bait. “Of course,” she said. “Where are the maids? Do we still have them?”

“They’re cleaning. That amounts to everyone, then, does it?” An impish smile tugged at Martina’s strong mouth. “Oh, there’s Rafferty, of course. But then, you wouldn’t care where he was, would you?”

“You are a miserable human being,” Georgie said flatly.

“I’ve warned you he’s not for the likes of you,” Martina said, not without kindness. “Besides, haven’t you got a gentleman who’s been showing you marked attention? Much better to keep your mind on him.”

Andrew Salton’s handsome face swum in her mind for a moment, and she considered her future.

He seemed to like her, and he was very kind.

But he wasn’t as tall as Rafferty, and he didn’t have Rafferty’s piercing blue eyes.

And falling in love wasn’t a practical thing—she could hardly just decide to do it.

If she could, she would have chosen someone more sensible than their unconventional butler.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, reaching for her toast.

“Certain, you don’t,” Martina said. “There’ll be no visiting hours today, given that everyone else is still abed. You need something to take your mind off things.”

“What things?” she asked innocently.

Martina just gave her a meaningful look, then sighed. “What were you planning to wear, Miss Georgie? The striped green one would suit the day.”

“I can dress myself, Martina. I’m used to it.”

“You shouldn’t have to be,” Martina said. “I’ve got my orders and I mean to see to them.”

The sooner she was dressed, the sooner she could find Rafferty. It would be easy enough to come up with some excuse, or she could simply wander into the kitchen to talk with Bertha. Rafferty would turn up sooner or later.

He didn’t.

“Don’t look so morose, Miss Georgie,” Bertha said briskly from her spot by the stove. “It’s a beautiful day and you need to be out in it.”

“I need Rafferty to accompany me,” she said stubbornly. “Where is he?”

“Too busy for walks in the sunshine,” Rafferty said from the doorway, and Georgie felt her color rise. “You’ll have to take Martina.”

“She’s busy with my mother and Norah,” she argued. “I doubt they’ll let her go.”

“I’ll see to it,” he said in his oddly classless voice. When they’d first found him, he’d sounded like he came from the streets, but now he sounded, if not aristocratic, then not like a shopkeeper either. He was like a chameleon—he could fit anywhere.

“I’m willing to wait for you to accompany me,” she said, trying not to sound too desperate. He was avoiding her, and she knew it, but short of outright pleading, she didn’t know what to do.

His extraordinary eyes glanced over her just briefly, not really seeing her in her beautiful green-striped dress with the pink ribbons. She might as well not exist.

“I have work to do for your father, Miss Georgiana,” he said. “And your maid is a more suitable companion for an outing.”

But I don’t want to be suitable , she wanted to cry. I want you! But he’d already left the kitchen, whatever he’d come for forgotten in his need to escape her presence. For some stupid reason she wanted to cry.

Bertha was watching her with a sympathetic eye. “How about a nice cup of tea?”

“No, thank you.”

“Your gentleman sent you flowers again.”

“Oh? That’s nice,” she said, moving listlessly around the kitchen.

“Well, Miss Georgie, you can stay here and sulk, or you can go out with Martina and enjoy the day,” Bertha said briskly. “Never let a man know his decisions matter—they take advantage of it, they do.”

Georgie’s eyes widened. “Why, Bertha, I didn’t know you knew anything about men.”

Bertha harrumphed. “A great deal more than you do.”

“I know nothing about them.”

“That’s the God’s truth. I was married back when I was a lass.

A handsome man he were, though not a patch on Rafferty.

Still, I thought he hung the moon, I did.

But it wasn’t long before he began his cheating ways, taking my money and knocking me about.

So I decided pretty is as pretty does and I could do much better without ’im. I’ve never regretted my decision.”

“Rafferty would never take my money and knock me around,” Georgie protested.

“Rafferty’s never going to lay any kind of hand on you—you’d best learn to accept it. He’s the butler, you’re the young lady of the house, and a fine, prosperous man is courting you.”

“How do you know he’s prosperous?”

“Lady Manning told me. She seems to think it’s practically all sewn up.”

“He hasn’t offered,” Georgie said, aware of a tightening in her stomach.

“He will. And you’ll be able to leave this crazy household and live an ordinary life.”

“I don’t want an ordinary life!” she cried. I want Rafferty! She didn’t say it out loud, but she might as well have. Bertha was looking at her with a sorrowful expression.

“I’ll tell Martina to hurry up. You know the weather—it could turn cloudy and cold before you realize it. Put on those nice new shoes you got, and I’ll send her up to you.”

At the thought of her beautiful shoes, she nearly burst into tears, but she stiffened her back instead, moving up the back stairs to her room.

She was being a child, she told herself, weeping for the moon.

It was time she grew up, and married, and had children herself.

There was even a steady gentleman who appeared interested.

Though she could hardly imagine lying beneath him and letting him do the things men did.

She didn’t want a steady gentleman, she wanted Rafferty! Shockingly enough, she wanted his body in bed with her. The truth should make her blush. But there was no denying the fact—he didn’t want her. It was time for her to accept it.

It was hard to stay morose when the sun beat down, she thought several hours later as she and Martina made their way down the crowded streets.

They spent a great deal of time in the shops, looking at everything, buying nothing, though Martina insisted that Rafferty would see to things.

The only thing that caused Georgie a pang was a beautiful night dress they found at Madame Racette’s shop, a sample, the modiste said, for a discriminating gentleman.

“A man wouldn’t wear this!” Georgie said, scandalized.

Madame Racette laughed. She was a skinny woman with a long nose but cheery eyes, wearing the best of her trade. “A gentleman would buy it for his lady love.”

“For his wife?” Georgie said, looking at it with interest. It was truly a lovely thing, if a bit...indecent.

“No, Miss Georgie, for his mistress,” Martina explained patiently. “These things aren’t worn by proper women. I wonder you brought it out!” She addressed the modiste. “Don’t you know a lady when you see one?”

The modiste was all apologies, starting to pull the night dress away, but Georgie put her hand out to touch it. It was so soft, almost featherlight. How would it feel to wear something like that? What would Rafferty think if he saw her in it? Would he want to...?

“And I don’t wonder at you blushing, Miss Georgie,” Martina carried on, misreading her reaction as she hustled her out of the shop. “I can’t imagine why that woman would bring out anything so outrageous. Hasn’t she dressed you for years?”

“Yes,” Georgie said, remembering all the childish frocks and enveloping night rails that had been her lot.

“It’s that bloody Rafferty,” Martina said, then bit her full lip. “I beg your pardon, miss. Clearly the woman got the wrong idea when Rafferty arranged for your new clothes.”

“What kind of idea?”

Martina never blushed, a fact that Georgie found interesting. Instead, she sighed. “You are an innocent, aren’t you? Well, stay that way. It’ll be for your husband to enlighten you.”

“Is that what you would want?” Georgie countered. “To be kept in ignorance until it was too late to do anything about it?”

Martina looked at her with real trepidation. “What do you mean by that?”

“The night dress is made for a man’s mistress. And Madame Racette must think that, because Rafferty somehow arranged for my clothes, that I must be his mistress. Which is absurd—I’m hardly the seductive type. And why me and not Norah?”

“He didn’t buy the clothes for Norah,” Martina said grimly.

“He didn’t buy the clothes for me,” Georgie said. “My father did.”

“With what money?” she countered, leaving Georgie in shock as she ushered her into one of the new tea shops that had recently arisen.

There was no way she could respond, as she followed Martina’s swaying figure to a small table, but a warmth had flooded her insides, filling her with happiness instead of the mournfulness that had plagued her all day.

It didn’t matter if he was trying to avoid her.

He’d bought her those pretty dresses, those beautiful shoes. He must care about her.

They had cake at the tea house, sweet bars of lemon and treacle, and she devoured three out of sheer relief, sipping at the hot tea. “What are you suddenly looking so happy about?” Martina demanded, eyeing her suspiciously.