She wasn’t sure if she wanted to speak of it at all. She could hear her mother’s voice in her head, what her mother would say to her in this situation:This is the way of things, Georgiana. Just be glad you are the wife and not the mistress. You are the one with security, with power, with the potential to birth the heir to an earldom.
“Perhaps you could call tomorrow?” Georgiana finally asked. Even if she decided against letting Felicity in on her troubles—which was how she was presently leaning. Fitz struggled enough feeling close to them. Georgiana didn’t want to be the cause of any more distance—she would enjoy her sister-in-law’s company.
She caught Felicity’s gaze, and she saw so much concern there, her eyes blurred. Shite. No. She would not cry here. She cleared her throat and glanced around, looking for distraction.
Felicity reached forward and squeezed Georgiana’s hand. “That sounds perfect. And since you look like you need cheering up, I thought you’d like to know that Lord Wessex couldn’t make it tonight because one of my snowballs hit him so hard in the tallywags, he needed to stay home and ice himself. Ironic, since I hit him with a ball of ice.”
Georgiana’s eyebrows shot up. “No,” she breathed.
Felicity discreetly patted herself on her shoulder and smiled. “Perhaps this will give me a few days of fidelity!”
Georgiana barely contained her snort. “You are wicked, Fliss. Absolutely wicked, and it is utterly fantastic.”
Her sister-in-law sent a discreet wink her way. Something caught Felicity’s attention, and her entire demeanor changed. A soft, polite smile curved her lips, and her gaze lowered to the floor.
Georgiana turned and promptly sucked in a breath. Lord Dunmore and the Duke of Ironcrest walked shoulder-to-shoulder through the guests directly toward them. The two men cut quite a pair. Both taller than average, they towered over almost everyone they passed. Where the Duke was broad, with the breadth of a blacksmith, Lord Dunmore was lean, all sharp angles. Both had jet-black hair—the Duke’s cropped short, and Dunmore’s longer than fashion dictated. They oozed arrogance, confidence, insouciance. It was all Georgiana could do not to take a step back. They were predators. Predators that made one want to be their prey.
The men stopped before them. The Duke’s lips were set in a firm line, the scar that ran down the side of his face, eye to cheek, stark against his pale skin. Lord Dunmore’s lips, on the other hand, curled up in a sardonic half-smile. It was an indecipherable smile. He could be seducing you. Or he could be laughing at you.
There was nothing kind in the smile. No softness, no warmth, no lop-sided bashfulness. And to Georgiana, it was entirely lacking.
“Lady Felicity, Mrs. Jennings,” Lord Dunmore drawled.
Georgiana quickly lowered her gaze and dropped into a curtsy with Felicity at her side, returning the men’s greeting. This was the first time she’d seen either rogue since she had propositioned the Duke. The night she had wound up betrothed to Fitz. And with the way the Duke eyed her now, his gray gaze nearly tangible, he hadn’t forgotten.
Felicity peered at the men beneath her lashes. “I hope you are having an agreeable evening, Your Grace, my lord,” she said softly.
“It just became much more agreeable,” Lord Dunmore said, his smile widening. “We saw a pair of beautiful ladies standing alone without refreshment, and we knew we must rectify the situation immediately.”
“Wine, ladies?” the Duke asked, his voice deep, rich…emotionless. He gently proffered a glass to Georgiana while Lord Dunmore held out one to Felicity.
Georgiana smiled and murmured her thanks, taking the glass from the Duke. His fingers grazed over hers, and he paused, holding onto that contact. Her gaze shot to his, and she sucked in a breath. He didn’t smile, his lips didn’t move, but somehow his expression turned wolfish. She swore she saw victory in his eyes. And it would have been. Before.
“How lucky we are to have such upstanding gentlemen looking out for us,” Felicity said, smiling sweetly at the men. Nothing but perfectly polite.
It was shocking to see the woman who had just been swearing, discussing throwing snowballs at her fiancé’s ballocks, turn into a soft-spoken, demure young miss. One would think she was made up of sugar and flowers and kittens. Not snowballs and headlocks and curses.
“I noticed Lord Wessex is absent. I had thought he intended to attend,” Lord Dunmore said offhand.
“Unfortunately, he is indisposed and could no longer make it,” Felicity said.
“I am sure he is,” the Duke said under his breath.
Lord Dunmore’s lips quirked behind his tumbler.
Felicity’s smile turned brittle, and Georgiana took a discreet step closer to her sister-in-law, her shoulder leaning into Felicity’s. Silent support. Lord Wessex’s gallivanting was no secret. This wasn’t the first time it had been mentioned this evening, and Georgiana doubted it’d be the last. Lord, how did the woman stand it? Georgiana was barely holding herself together after finding out about Fitz and his mistress. And this poor woman had to bear it nearly every time a new gossip column was published.
“Well, I have to say his loss is our gain, my lady,” Lord Dunmore said. “It should be a sin to leave ladies such as yourselves neglected like this.”
“Oh?” Felicity blinked innocently at Lord Dunmore. “And let me venture a guess, we would be in much better care in your hands?”
Georgiana bit back a grin at the subtle barb, knowing for a fact Felicity believed the exact opposite of her statement.
Lord Dunmore grinned, green eyes glittering with challenge. He cocked an arrogant brow. “There are ways of finding out the answer to that question.” He studied Felicity. “I have always wondered, Lady Felicity, if you are truly as prim and proper as you appear to be.”
Apparently, the man hadn’t missed Felicity’s slight.
Felicity gave a small, faux gasp, covering her mouth with a gloved hand. “Lord Dunmore, I pride myself for my adherence to decorum.”
