It took Tom and the rest of the gentlemen in this ridiculous game precious seconds to react. But once they did, the mad scramble for a seat began. And as promised, one man was left standing.
“Mr. Hornsby,” the widow declared. “You are removed from the game.”
One of the staff escorted the gentleman away from the others.
“Gentlemen, restore your places and stand,” the widow said, before encouraging the crowd to make their bets once more. While they did so, another chair was removed, making the circle of chairs a little smaller. When the music struck again, Tom paid closer attention, watching the others, watching the chairs. With each successive round, the music seemed to speed up, feeding on the energy of the crowd which found itself entranced by this simple, yet competitive little game. After four rounds, there were seven left, including Tom and Mr. Osbourne, who’d nearlycollided with another of the contestants before claiming the last seat.
The music started once more. The lively notes ofLady Mary Ramsayfilled the hall from two violins. It was one of Georgiana’s favorites, and she’d played it at a Boxing Day recital at Whetherby. He’d remembered her cheeks glowing as she played it for the servants at the meal to celebrate the season. Nostalgia washed over him as he recalled the day when everyone at the great estate could forget their troubles, and just be—lord and servant, steward and master, Tom and Georgie.
The fiddles stopped, and the frantic dash toward the chairs brought Tom out of the memory. He raced for the last seat, nearly tipping over the chair as he did so, leaving a Mr. Anthony Green standing, red faced before he stalked away.
“Well, I’m glad that is over,” Mr. Osbourne said, rubbing his hands together as if he’d claimed a personal victory. “I will need some cake and a bit of brandy after all that.”
Tom couldn’t help but smile at Mr. Osbourne. The man wasn’t wrong. One ridiculous game over. He could use a little brandy as well.
“Aren’t you interested in meeting your potential bride?” he asked. Tom wanted time to ingratiate himself to Miss Morehouse. While he had no idea how the remaining two games were to be played, Mrs. Dove-Lyon had made it clear that in the end, it would be the ladies who would choose. Though he’d been thoroughly rejected by the one woman who’d claimed his heart, he was not a lovestruck boy any longer.
His heart was no longer on offer and any of the three women waiting in the parlor who understood that would be his wife.
Chapter Six
It had takenall of Georgie’s nerve not to bolt as she, Miss Amanda Fairfax, and Miss Morehouse were escorted to the private parlor to meet the winning contestants of tonight’s game. If it weren’t for the pair of rather burly men flanking them, she very well might have.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon organized the social occasion that followed the game to allow the ladies the opportunity to learn more about the gentlemen who’d entered the contest. In the end, she’d counseled, it was up to them to choose who amongst the winners would be the most well suited to wed.
Miss Amanda Fairfax, who was by anyone’s standards a beauty, walked alongside Georgie as they made their way to the private gaming parlor. She was elegance personified, and her only sin, apparently, was that her father had gained their considerable fortune in trade.
“Did any of the gentlemen catch your particular attention?” Miss Fairfax asked.
“None in particular,” Georgie replied, forcing a smile through that bald lie. Try as she had to focus on the other gentlemen, Tom had commanded her attention from the moment he’d walked into the parlor. “But there was so much activity, andwhen it was my turn to stop the music, I was too nervous to look.”
“There were several there who seem like quite good candidates,” Miss Fairfax said. “Mr. Worthington is particularly handsome. And Mr. Green. It was such a shame he was eliminated in the end.”
“According to the information I was given, Mr. Worthington is looking for a bride with excellent connections,” Miss Morehouse said, piping up from behind. “It is unfortunate, given your physical compatibility. You would be quite handsome together.”
Miss Morehouse’s casual observations about the physical compatibility landed like a lead weight in Georgie’s insides. An odd, possessive compulsion soured her already precarious mood as the two discussed him as if he were a favored object, like a pretty bonnet in a shop window. They hadn’t known Tom like she had. Didn’t know that he loved dogs and had an aversion to overly sweet foods. They didn’t know that he’d had a particular fondness for poetry, or thought Romeo and Juliet were far too overwrought to be considered a romantic couple.
Miss Fairfax and Miss Morehouse continued their discussion, moving through others on the list. Mr. Osbourne, who nearly tripped over Mr. Green getting to a chair. Mr. Bottomley, who despite his awkwardness, seemed to have enjoyed himself. And Mr. Harding, who very clearly had not.
The discussion was interrupted by their arrival at the parlor. The room was beautifully decorated to resemble a glittering garden, complete with flower garlands that festooned the walls. A dining table held court in the center of the room, while a smaller sideboard was festooned with elaborate floral arrangements that featured a bowl of punch. While Georgie hadn’t eaten in hours, knowing Tom would be entering the room any moment, her appetite had disappeared completely.
How on earth could she face him, especially now? If she’d had even the smallest glimmer of hope he’d forgiven her for her refusal all those years ago, he’d properly extinguished it. The very idea that he would be here as a contestant…that he would know the story she’d told him earlier was a complete and utter lie…the embarrassment rushed through her with such ferocity she was certain her face would make her dress seem like a pale pink by comparison.
Only the threat of marriage to Lord Sharpe kept her here. After all, there were five other perfectly suitable gentlemen in the room, and none of them, as far as she could tell, hated her.
“If I may, Lady Georgiana,” Miss Fairfax said, “you are absolutely stunning. I fear the rest of us will not have a chance to entertain our prospective beaus with you in the room.”
“Thank you for the compliment,” she said, smoothing her gloved hands over her pink silk gown. Pink had always been her favorite color, even though her father once complained it was too strong a color for a girl. “But I think we are all dazzling ladies here tonight, and we all will dazzle just as well in our own way.”
“I am trying desperately not to be nervous,” Miss Fairfax said.
“Just remember that these gentlemen are here because they are interested in something we have—money, connections, or both,” Miss Morehouse said. “And the choice is truly ours. And I, for one, intend to make the best of it. We must all do the same.”
Georgie nodded at the sageness of Miss Morehouse’s advice, then silently chided herself for the petty jealousy that had gripped her earlier. Miss Morehouse and Miss Fairfax were not competition, and Tom would not bestow any attentions on her. She’d made sure of that years ago when she refused him, and if she’d had hopes of forgiveness, he’d dashed them earlier today.
As if she’d conjured him, he entered the parlor along with Mrs. Dove-Lyon and the other gentlemen who’d succeeded atwinning the first of the parlor games. She announced them one by one.
“Mr. Thomas Worthington,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon called out as he stepped forward.
