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Chapter Sixteen

When Georgie woke, she stretched out in her bed, feeling gloriously alive.

Something in her life had fundamentally changed, and she no longer felt so wretchedly young and useless.

Rafferty had kissed her, really kissed her.

It had been so different from the timid young men out in the country, snatching a kiss at a cotillion she wasn’t even supposed to attend.

The last of her confusion had disappeared. All that mattered was Rafferty, with his strong body and his wicked mouth and his reluctant sweetness.

There’d been nothing sweet about the kiss last night, and she treasured every moment of it. She’d been going about things all wrong, acting like an innocent. Well, technically she was an innocent, and her knowledge was spotty at best, but Rafferty saw her as merely a child.

No, that wasn’t true. That was no child’s kiss last night. And daunting as it had been, she wanted more. She wanted the rest of it. Mind you, it sounded messy, undignified, and even a bit disgusting. She should view it as her duty, not something to be sought out.

But everything about Rafferty was worth seeking. She’d read books about soul mates and true love, and he was hers, whether he liked it or not.

He’d tried to scare her away last night—he’d failed. She needed to make sure she didn’t scare him away. He would know better than she did the kind of trouble a union between the two of them might bring, and he would fight it, and her, tooth and nail.

She sat up in bed, a brilliant smile on her face. He would lose—he was already half gone. And he was hers.

Of course, he was nowhere to be found when she finally descended the servants’ stair to the kitchen. Bertha greeted her with her usual disapproval. “That’s not the stairs you should be using, young lady.”

“Where’s Rafferty?”

“Out.”

“Out where? He’s never here when I ask for him.”

“None of your business, Miss Georgie. Leave the poor man alone—he’s got enough on his plate with your crazy family. He doesn’t need you mooning after him.”

“I don’t moon after him,” Georgie said with great dignity. “I love him.”

“Oh, holy Jesus,” Bertha moaned.

“Who loves who?” Martina demanded, coming down the stairs with a tray full of dishes.

“Young missy thinks she’s in love with Rafferty,” Bertha said with a sigh.

“Oh, no,” Martina said, and there was real concern in her eyes. “Don’t do that, Miss Georgie. He’s not the man for you.”

“But what if he was?” Georgie said.

“Impossible. For all he’s the butler, he’s not a very good man. He’ll give some poor woman nothing but trouble.”

“He’s a very good man!” Georgie shot back, offended. “He’s done wonderful things for the family, for me...”

“And heaven only knows why,” Martina interrupted. “He’s a dangerous man—he belongs with people like Billy Stiles, not a young girl.”

“I’m not a young girl, I’m twenty!”

“So very ancient,” Martina said gently. “It’s only normal to have a crush on the man—he’s a great deal more impressive than the usual gentlemen who inhabit your world.

But he’s not for you.” She set the tea tray down.

“Speaking of which, your mother says you should prepare to be at home today. Mr. Salton has sent flowers, and he’s asked to speak with your father. ”

Georgie’s cheer vanished. Andrew Salton was a lovely man, but the thought of lying in his bed, letting him kiss her, was awful. He was sweet, he was charming, and he didn’t love her. “Oh?” she said in a listless voice.

“Now that would be a good match!” Martina warmed to the idea. “He’s a gentleman, so he’d treat you like the sweet young thing you are. You could have a very happy life.”

But I don’t want a very happy life, she wanted to cry. I want Rafferty. The illogic wasn’t lost on her, and her shoulders drooped.

“Now be sensible, dearie,” Bertha said. “As you said, you’re twenty now. Time to face reality. You’ll marry a good man, a man of substance, have a couple of babies and a peaceful life. It’s what every woman dreams of, and it’s being handed to you.”

“And it’s time you were in the drawing room,” Martina broke in before Georgie could respond. “Your mother’s waiting for you. The first callers have begun to arrive.”

She was going to refuse, to head straight back up the forbidden servants’ staircase to her room and bar the door, when it suddenly struck her that if visitors had arrived, someone would have to let them in. Without another word, she pushed the green baize door open and headed into the house.

There was no sign of Rafferty when she reached the drawing room, but the Manning women were holding court, and several young gentlemen were leaning on Norah’s every word. Only Andrew Salton remained immune to her charm. Suspiciously so.

“Georgie!” her mother called out before she could beat a hasty retreat. “I wondered what had been keeping you. Mr. Salton has come particularly to see you.”

Georgie resisted her impulse to bolt and walked into the room, trying not to look too hard at her suitor. She took the only seat left, next to him, just as Rafferty appeared to announce a new caller.

He didn’t look at her—of course he didn’t. He was the perfect butler, efficient, blank-faced, an automaton. She wanted to kick him. But two could play at that game. She averted her gaze, more out of self-protection than punishment, and laughed inanely at something her companion had said.

Salton looked startled, and she realized he hadn’t made a joke, and she immediately sobered. She felt the briefest touch of Rafferty’s eyes on her, and she moved closer to Salton, giving him her best dewy-eyed smile.

He wanted to talk to her father. He was going to ask leave to court her, and her father would agree, whether she wanted it or not.

Indeed, there was nothing wrong with the match.

He was young, handsome, prosperous. Just the kind of husband for a flighty young girl.

It didn’t matter. If she couldn’t have Rafferty then she planned to die an old maid, out in the country, surrounded by cats and books, ignoring the fact that cats made her sneeze and most books were deadly dull.

Give her a racy French novel and that made all the difference, but reading racy novels while she lived the life of an elderly nun might prove hazardous to her heart.

By the time she was sixty, she would have forgotten all about him. Maybe. But at least by then, she’d no longer be interested in affairs of the heart, and she could live out her days in peaceful solitude. The very thought made her grumpy.

Rafferty was standing by the door, ready to receive the next callers, and while he was refusing to look at her, there was no way he couldn’t hear her.

She’d watched Norah at work often enough to understand the art of flirtation, but she’d never put it into action.

She did now, laughing inanely at one of Andrew Salton’s sallies.

Let Rafferty see what it was like if she were to marry someone else.

He would scarcely kiss someone like he had last night if he were willing to give her up.

The few peeks she dared take revealed nothing, however, just his perfect posture and his blank face.

She had a lot to accomplish in the fifteen minutes allotted for a polite visit, and she did her best. By the time Salton rose to take his leave, she was feeling almost triumphant, until she remembered he’d asked to speak to her father.

He said something to Rafferty, and she wondered how her protégé might respond.

“Sir Elston isn’t at home,” he intoned in a carrying voice, and Georgie breathed a sigh of relief.

She had to get to her father first, to assure him there was no chance that she’d marry a nice man like Andrew Salton.

She knew who she was going to marry, and the devil take the hindmost. She wasn’t sure how she was going to manage it, but manage it she would—she had no intention of taking no for an answer.

She tried to escape then, but her mother, with a rare show of matronly determination, insisted she sit through all the visits, and it wasn’t until the last guest rose that Norah’s sweet mask dropped from her face.

“Your new suitor seems quite taken with you,” she said with an iron edge to her voice. “I vow, you must be all a-tizzy with the attentions of such a dull young man.”

“Don’t be unkind,” Lady Manning said abstractedly. “He’ll be a most pleasant husband for Georgie.”

“But I haven’t—” Georgie began, but her mother sailed right over her.

“He’s got a very Christian reputation. Georgie could count herself blessed that such a proper young man want to court her.”

“Very proper,” Norah said, her words biting, and Georgie had to wonder what her sister had against Andrew Salton. Maybe it was simply the fact that he didn’t fawn over her like every other male on the planet.

Except for Rafferty.

And then her father strode into the salon, looking much put out. “Well?” he demanded with a trace of petulance. “What’s happened to Mr. Salton? Has he changed his mind about Georgie? I’ve been waiting all morning.”

“Oh, dear. Rafferty told him you were out, didn’t you, Rafferty?” Lady Manning said breathlessly.

Rafferty inclined his head. “I’m afraid I must have been mistaken, sir. I thought you had gone to your club.”

“Well, I hadn’t,” Manning snapped. His shoulders relaxed. “Never mind—if he truly wants her, he’ll try again. You’re a sly puss, Georgie, beating your sister to the altar.”

“She will not!” Norah shot back.

“Then do something about it!” her father said in clipped tones. “Andrew Salton is a more than respectable prospect—he’s got money of his own and he is all things desirable in a husband. If you can do better, Norah, then look to it!”

“And you’d let me marry a bore like Andrew Salton?” Norah said cynically. “He’s hardly going to repair our fortunes.”

“He has enough to make a difference,” Sir Elston said. “I made a few inquiries at my club yesterday, and he’s quite warm, as they say.”