They continued walking along, speaking on the subject of horses and their mutual curiosity about the course of the matchmaking games to come. He returned her to Miss Howard, then bid her good day, and headed back inside. Along the way, he heard the telltale sound of Georgie’s laughter from somewhere beyond the verge, causing his heart to thrum again just as he’d gotten it under control.
As he walked back into the gaming hell, his eyes taking a moment to adjust to the cocoon-like atmosphere, he headed back to the library for that drink. Right now, having a wife content to be left alone in Essex with her horses, needing nothing from him except a perfunctory child—which would join two families and provide more than enough societal cachet to meet his requirements of his inheritance, was exactly what he needed. Mariah Morehouse didn’t want to claim his heart—not that he’d ever willingly give it up again. Georgie Hawthorne had seen to that.
As he sat down in one of the rich leather seats with his glass of port, he checked his pocket watch. If he could endear himself to Miss Morehouse…have her see him as the right potentialhusband for her, this would all be worth it. The cost of the entry fee, this ridiculous charade of a game he’d agreed to play, which very well could involve charades for Christ’s sake, would be nothing at all, especially compared to the humiliation he’d faced that fateful night he’d pledge his heart to Georgiana.
Let the games begin.
Chapter Five
There had beenjust enough time for Georgie to race back to her temporary lodgings in Mayfair to change for tonight’s event at the Lyon’s Den. Any thoughts she’d had about lingering at the gaming hell had evaporated the moment she’d seen Tom in the garden. Tom Blakey.
Except he wasn’t Tom Blakey anymore.
How could Gabriel not have written to her with the news? Of course, mail from the Continent was notoriously unreliable, but in his last letter he’d said nothing about Tom’s impending arrival back on British soil. Unless Marcus had learned the truth and kept it from her…but to what purpose? He’d been the one who’d discovered Georgie’s youthful affection for the steward’s adopted son. He’d been the one who’d threatened to tell their father. The discovery would have meant Mr. Blakey’s dismissal.
Their unexpected meeting had left her thoroughly rattled. She knew he didn’t believe her story about being at a notorious gaming hell on a dare, but she could never admit to him of all people she was in search of a husband. While Miss Duigood—who insisted upon being called Lily—must have sensed Georgie’s distracted mood, Georgie had brushed it off as simple nerves given the matchmaking games that were about to begin.
It wasn’t entirely a lie, but she could hardly confess that she’d just found herself unexpectedly reacquainted with the one person she’d fallen in love with. The one person who now despised her.
I should have known that you could never be more than your father’s perfect daughter, doing exactly as you were told, no matter who it hurt.
Tears pricked at the back of her eyes at the memory of that letter he’d left for her after she’d rejected him, but she swallowed that torrent of unwanted emotion with a sip of brandy that her patron, the Baroness D’Anville, had sent up to Georgie’s room. The baroness was an associate of Mrs. Dove-Lyon through a series of dizzying connections that had resulted in the eccentric aristocrat assisting several of the Lyon’s Den’s more vulnerable clients to escape the notice of their families as they went in search of, or even chose to escape, a marriage. While Lily was steady and watchful, the baroness flitted around Georgie like a mother hen, ordering servants about, fussing over all manner of details in a way that Georgie found at once confounding and comforting. She had few memories of her mother, and no sisters to speak with. As the only female in a large male household, being surrounded by women in this way was novel—and lovely.
Georgie completed her toilette and chose her gown with more care than she had in a very long time. All the while, the baroness sat on a nearby settee with Lily, making suggestions about everything from how to pin up her hair, to the gloves that might best complement her gown.
“The husband hunting begins,” the baroness said, her eyes bright with anticipation. Decades living in England had done little to dull her Burgundian accent, and she gestured broadly with her hands while she spoke. “Though hunting is perhaps the wrong word. Consider it more like going to the modiste and choosing the fabric for a special gown.”
Georgie wasn’t at all sure she appreciated the analogy—gowns were worn, then set aside. Once upon a time, she’d imagined something so fantastical that she’d scarcely dare utter it aloud…a love match. But those were for fairy tales, not for ladies of the ton. The marriages of ladies were to secure the fortunes of men. Her father had made that clear in no uncertain terms that her marriage to the right man would not only secure her future, but would help secure the future of Whetherby itself.
Lily helped Georgie with her gown, a warm-pink silk that had been amongst her favorites, and selected a simple pearl necklace to complement the simple lines of the dress.
“Are you sure you do not wish to borrow my sapphires,ma biche?” the baroness asked, cocking her head to one side, studying Georgie’s appearance. “They would complement the fabric and give the gentlemen yet another reason to fall head over heels for you.”
“You are too kind,” Georgie replied. “But I think they might be a bit too indulgent for tonight’s activities.”
Even though it was a relatively simple evening, Mrs. Dove-Lyon had prepared a supper before the first event, giving the three ladies the chance to meet the men who’d entered the matchmaking game. Over the years, her father had kept her social engagements to a minimum, citing economy and the lack of requirement, given that she’d already been promised to Lord Sharpe. Why spend the money, he reasoned, when it could be put away for her dowry, especially for a man of such restrictive habits as the baron.
“You are going to meet your future husband tonight,” the baroness clucked, her mouth hitching into a mischievous smile. “There is nothing too indulgent for such a portentous occasion.”
Georgie bit back a sigh. When she was very young, her father and mother had continued the tradition of the harvest balls at Whetherby—a tradition now only a memory. The lastof them had been so long ago she could barely recall it, though Mr. Blakey himself had once shared the stories of remarkable celebrations that had taken place to celebrate the strong harvests of the autumn.
Those days were long gone.
Once the pearls were on and the ribbon sash secured under the bodice of her silk gown, she turned to Miss Duigood and the baroness.
“Have I just signed my life away, do you think?” she asked.
“Not at all,” Lily replied, cocking an eyebrow and giving Georgie a wry smile. “That doesn’t happen until you marry.”
No truer words had been spoken. Was it so wrong, then, if she had to give up everything, that she might want a little something—a little happiness—in return?
“Do you know who is taking part in this matchmaking game?” the baroness asked.
“Mrs. Dove-Lyon did provide us a list,” Georgie said, pulling a folded piece of paper from her dressing table. “I’m afraid I’ve been outside society for quite some time.”
The baroness took the paper, and with a dramatic sweep of her arm that Georgie could only ascribe to her natural French flair, pulled a lorgnette to her nose that she kept pinned to her bodice with a light-blue velvet ribbon. Holding up the paper to the light near the window, she took a moment to study the list.
“Mr. Phillip Leland,” she began. “He likes his cards, this one. The only problem is they tend not to like him back.”
