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Chapter Twenty-Eight

Martina climbed the stairs, balancing the breakfast tray carefully as she went. It was a dark, stormy day, perfectly matching her mood. She should be delighted—the impoverished Mannings were no longer impoverished, Billy Stiles was dead, and Neddy cared about her.

But Neddy didn’t know who she was, and it was past time to tell him. Rafferty had disappeared, leaving nothing but his butler’s uniform behind. And she was going to have to tell Georgie he was gone.

At least there was one happy ending in the Manning family, for Norah, the one who least deserved it.

She would marry Andrew Salton now that a marriage settlement was no longer necessary to ensure the Mannings’ future.

There was nothing for Georgie. Rafferty was a fool and a half—the girl wasn’t going to fall in love with a proper young man.

She was going to love Rafferty till the day she died, Martina was sure of it.

And that left two miserable human beings among the people she loved.

And she was doomed to join them. At least she had a real reason for heartbreak, not a bunch of foolish notions about society and what it demanded. Georgie didn’t care one bit about society, and yet she was being sacrificed on its altar. And Rafferty refused to understand.

Georgie’s door was shut against the morning chill, and Martina knocked softly.

There was no answer, but she pushed open the door, moving into the shadowy room.

“Good morning, Miss Georgie,” she said softly, setting down the tray and moving to the curtains, pulling them back to reveal the gloomy day.

“You’ve slept for hours past your usual time, so I thought I’d go ahead and bring your breakfast tray.

Bertha said I was to tell you to get up and not be such a slugabed, and I?—”

Georgie hadn’t moved, or responded, and Martina’s words petered out as she approached the bed. Georgie lay there, pale with fever-flushed cheeks, and Martina put a quick hand to her forehead. The girl was burning up with fever.

“Georgie!” she cried, and Georgie opened her eyes for a moment, then closed them again.

“I think I’m sick,” she said in a soft, raspy voice.

“I’d say you are. I’ll send for the doctor. Don’t you worry, you’ll be right as rain in a couple of days. You just lay still until the doctor gets here.”

Georgie tried to sit up and failed, slipping down in the bed, and then she started coughing, great hacking sounds that broke Martina’s heart. “You can send Rafferty for the doctor,” she managed to wheeze, and Martina would have given anything to be able to lie.

“Rafferty’s gone, miss,” she said.

Georgie’s eyes opened fully, staring at her, and then closed again. And those was the last words she spoke for two weeks.

It was a strange, nightmare time, Georgie thought later.

She would go through stages where she was shivering with cold, followed by unbearable heat, and her coughing was so bad it felt like she was ripping her throat out.

People came and went, but she was only vaguely aware of them as she travelled down the path of her sickness.

She only knew that Rafferty wasn’t there.

But slowly, slowly, she began to emerge from the cocoon of illness, and when the doctor declared her well enough to allow visitors, she finally sat up in bed and faced the shambles of her life.

Rafferty was gone, disappeared as if he’d never been there, and all she had to show for it were a few pretty dresses and a wonderful pair of shoes.

“You’re finally better,” her mother announced as she breezed into the room, an extravagant new dress flowing around her.

“I declare I was so worried about you I could barely eat. I would have come to see you, but you know I’m sadly sensitive to suffering, and it wasn’t the thing.

But now that you’re well, you can get up and celebrate with us.

” Her mother stayed by the door, in case Georgie’s illness was catching.

“Celebrate?” she echoed in a raspy voice. “You mean my recovery?”

“Oh, that too, of course!” her mother said hastily.

“I declare, we’ve been so worried about you we haven’t had a chance to celebrate our good fortune.

And you must not have realized it, but Rafferty has left us.

Such a handsome man,” she said with a soulful sigh.

“But we have a delightful new butler. Not as good-looking as Rafferty was, but full of such dignity that even I feel awed. You shan’t have him for a project, but it’s time we focused on getting you married as well. ”

“I’m never getting married,” she said in her raspy throat. “I’m going to live in the country with cats and books and be very happy.”

“Oh, not that again. You’ll change your mind soon enough once you meet the right man.”

She had met the right man, and he was gone. She watched her mother go in a sail of silk and closed her eyes. Two more weeks in bed seemed like a fine idea, but Martina knocked at her door an hour later, a worried expression on her face.

“Are you feeling up to getting dressed, Miss Georgie?” she asked. “The family is celebrating in the drawing room and they want you to join them.”

What were they celebrating? She didn’t really care. “I’d rather stay in bed,” she said listlessly.

“The doctor said you were well enough to come downstairs,” she persisted, flinging open the curtains to let in the fitful autumn sunlight.

“The doctor was wrong. I’ll come down tomorrow.”

There was a wealth of sympathy in Martina’s dark eyes, and, for a brief moment Georgie thought back to the young man who’d saved her life. Had she dreamed that?

But in truth, she didn’t care. She lay back and closed her eyes, shutting out the daylight. Rafferty was gone, and nothing else mattered. Martina tried a few more times, but Georgie simply closed her eyes, shutting out everything.

It continued this way for several days. Much to Georgie’s dismay, her body grew stronger and lying in bed was growing tedious, but she was loath to leave the sanctuary of it.

She didn’t want to join in her family’s celebration, which seemed to infuse the entire household with revolting good cheer. She just wanted to hide away.

It was the morning of the fifth day when she heard the footsteps approach her bedroom door, firm, determined footsteps, and her door was flung open, revealing a stern Bertha.

“It’s time you got up, Miss Georgie!” she announced, brushing flour off her apron. “It’s time for you to face the day and get on with it, and no more nonsense.”

Georgie had sat up in bed, and she looked at her as tears started in her eyes. “Oh, Bertha!” she said brokenly, and she began to cry in earnest. “He’s gone, Bertha!” she wept. “I’ll never see him again!”

Bertha held her as she cried, patting her shoulder and murmuring comforting things. “There, there, Miss Georgie. It’s not the end of the world. You knew he was never going to stay for long.”

“But I love him!” she cried.

“Of course you do, “ Bertha said. “Anyone could see that. But no butler is going to marry the young lady of the house.”

“He’s not just a butler.”

“No, we could all see that. But he’s gone, and he’s not coming back.”

That bleak truth should have sent her off in waves of fresh tears, but for some reason, it dried them. She’d mourned long enough. Now it was time to do something.

She pushed her tangled hair away from her face. “I’ll come down,” she said wearily. “What are we celebrating? I hope it’s Norah’s upcoming marriage to Andrew Salton.”

“That’s not what they’re celebrating, you silly goose,” Bertha said fondly. “They’re celebrating the money.”

“What money?” Georgie echoed.

“Goodness me, you mean to tell me you don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“Your family’s come into a fortune,” Bertha said. “Your mother’s spent the last two weeks shopping and it hasn’t put a dent in it.”

“Came into a fortune? How?” She sat up straight in the rumpled bed.

“It was up on the roof, of all places! Master Neddy found it. He figures it must belong to the old judge who once owned this place, but since he was a criminal and died without heirs, he said he’s keeping it.”

“He can’t!” Georgie protested. “That was Rafferty’s money.”

‘I don’t think so, Miss Georgie. He left after Master Neddy found it and he made no mention of taking any. He was just anxious to be gone. But see, you do have something to celebrate. There was a fortune hidden in that chimney pot—who would have ever thought such a thing?”

“Who would?” Georgie echoed. She pushed the covers off her legs and swung them around. “I’m getting up.”

‘Thank the Lord,” Bertha said.

“Don’t thank him just yet. I’m going after Rafferty.”

For a moment, Bertha said nothing. And then she grinned. “You find him, lass, and teach the man a lesson or two.”

“Don’t worry,” she said grimly. “I will.”

Two days later

“Do you suppose she’ll convince him?” Neddy said, as he watched the elegant carriage disappear into the London traffic.

“I gave them clear instructions to the house in Hampshire,” Martina replied. “If anyone can change Rafferty’s mind, it’s Georgie. He’s in love with her and he just won’t admit it, and Georgie’s not going to settle for anything less. I’m surprised you don’t mind.”

“His connections have a lot to recommend him,” Neddy drawled. “And I’ve broadened my opinion on suitable alliances. Which brings me round to a question.”

Martina’s stomach tightened in a knot. She’d known this was coming—they were growing closer and closer, and the truth couldn’t be put off for much longer.

He’d be horrified, disgusted, and her heart would be broken.

Rafferty had warned her, but she’d fallen in love with the drunken little boy anyway.

Not so drunken—he hadn’t touched the bottle in weeks, and seemed to have no interest in it.

Weeks of talking, and playing cards, and flirting, and kissing. Weeks of her lies.

“Oh, don’t ask me questions,” she said brightly, trying to avoid the inevitable. “We’ve just got George safely off to claim her true love—I don’t want to worry about anything else.”

“Nothing to worry about, my dear,” Neddy said. “It’s easy enough. You know I’ve bought a house on Clarges Street. I want you to come along with me and be its mistress.”

Martina kept the distressed expression from her face. “You mean be your housekeeper?”

“No,” he said gently. “Become its mistress, and mine.”

She could hide the truth no longer. She could simply disappear, never tell him, but that wouldn’t be fair to either of them. “I don’t think that would be a good idea,” she said carefully. “I haven’t had a blameless life.”

“Who has? Give me one reason why you don’t want to live me.”

“It wouldn’t be good for you.”

“Now you’re acting like Rafferty, and we just sent Georgie off to make him see reason. Allow me to be the judge of what’s good for me.”

“I lived in a brothel!” she said abruptly.

He simply nodded. “I know you’ve had a hard life. All the more reason to make it easy. Come with me.”

“I can’t!” she said, tears filling her eyes. They were in the middle of London, outside of the house on Corinth Place, and she was going to have to tell him. And what would he do? At best, he’d simply walk away from her in disgust. At worst...

He caught her, his hands on her upper arms, holding her gently. “Tell me why, my dear. I thought we understood each other tolerably well—what’s troubling you?”

“I’m not what you think I am,” she said brokenly, afraid to look into his dear, kind face.

“Then tell me. What’s this deep dark secret?”

She pulled free and turned her back on him, taking a deep breath. “I’m not really a woman,” she said. “I’m a man.”

She heard him make a strange noise, and she wondered if he was going to be ill in horror at the thought. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you,” she said, starting to turn. “I understand if you’re disgusted, if you hate me, if you...are you laughing?”

He wiped his streaming eyes. “My dear, what kind of idiot do you think I am? I’ve known since the day I stopped drinking. Now will you stop this shilly-shallying and kiss me?”

“In public? For all to see?” she demanded, shocked.

“In public. For all to see,” he echoed, and pulled her into his arms.