“I see,” Tom replied, taking a sip of his wine, masking the need to steady himself. “Is he here? Sharpe, that is.”
“Indeed, he has lived in the Caribbean these last four years, seeing to his investments,” he said. “But he has returned and intends to secure a special license so there will be no impediment to marriage.”
Investments no doubt meant sugar, a crop that brought delight to many, made a few very rich, and created a brutal system for far too many. Given what Tom knew of Baron Sharpe’s relationship with his former wife, who must have died alone while he was an ocean away, he knew there was nothing he would not do to ensure Georgie was safe from this man’s clutches.
“Is that why your sister is in London?” Tom asked, forcing himself to be calm. He caught sight of Georgie, deep in conversation with several ladies, including Miss Morehouse and his stepmother. She was clad in her favorite color, but despite the pretty pink that warmed her skin, there was a deniable strain that tempered her smiles.
“Yes,” Marcus said with such certainty that it was clear he had no idea as to his sister’s actual plans. “She had stayed with Baroness D’Anville, a friend of our mother’s, to help her secure a few fripperies for the wedding.”
A few fripperies, including an entirely new husband. What miracles of planning had she orchestrated to arrange such a trip?
“Well, I shall have to tell the Blakeys,” Tom said. “They were always fond of your sister.”
At the mention of his adopted parents, Marcus’s gaze narrowed.
“I cannot believe you removed Mr. Blakey from Whetherby,” Marcus said, his voice low, as if the loss of his steward was some kind of personal affront.
“I am certain there will be many fine candidates to take on that role,” Tom answered, not wishing to give in to Marcus’s glowering.
“But none nearly so well qualified, nor for such a salary,” Marcus replied without the slightest bit of self-awareness. When Tom discovered that after over twenty years of service, Mr. Blakey had been given hardly any increase in his income despite years of faithful service, he was outraged. “I almost think you did this on purpose.”
“I offered the people who raised me the chance to be close to me because I have regard for them,” Tom said, giving his head a shake. “Why on earth would you think I’d done this to you?”
“Because of Georgie, of course.”
Tom stilled, unsettled by the mention of Georgie on Marcus’s lips. Had he discovered what had happened at the Lyon’s Den? That couldn’t have been it. She would have been packed up and sent to a nunnery if she’d been discovered.
“I haven’t even spoken to—” Tom caught himself just in time, “Lady Georgiana in years.”
“Of course not,” Marcus said, rolling his eyes. “I wasn’t having my sister ruin our family over some nobody. Could you imagine the scandal?”
“You wrote that letter?”
“Of course I did,” he said, the bastard managing to look indignant. “Do you think Georgie’s education was up to that task? Perhaps now, it would have been different.” Marcus shrugged, as if the action that had separated Tom and Georgie—and created so much animosity on Tom’s part—had been nothing.
A flood of memory and sensation—the hurt, the anger and bitterness that had ruled Tom for so long, that he’d leveled straight at Georgie, prickled hot under his skin.
Tom looked for his opportunity to escape, the implications of what he’d just heard settling on him. Cold fury ran down his back, but he had no outlet for it now. For years, he’d blamed Georgie not just for the rejection, but for the particularly cold and petty tone of it. Those words had sliced him open, and he’d retaliated with his own harsh response.
Except the words hadn’t been hers.
Chapter Twenty
The crush inthe room made her search for a familiar face—Tom’s in particular—nearly impossible. Marcus disappeared almost immediately, no doubt eager to place himself amongst the other peacocks in attendance, which served Georgiana very well indeed. If she was going to make her escape tonight, she needed to put as much distance between her and her brother as possible.
Both the viscountess and the dowager, who somehow looked imperious though she was at least six inches shorter than everyone else, had been gracious in welcoming her and Marcus, and took great pains to introduce her to some friendly faces. Before long she found the baroness and Lily.
“There you are, Lady Georgiana,” the baroness said, putting her pince-nez to her face and inspecting her like a prized Chinese vase. “I am glad to see you are looking well, under the circumstances.”
“Thank you,” she said, then lowered her voice. “I trust you are aware of my circumstances.”
“Indeed,” the older woman replied. “I believe there is a plan afoot, my dear. Miss Duigood and Mr. Worthington have been very diligent on your behalf.”
The very mention of Tom’s name brought a fresh bloom of hope to her chest. She was eager to speak with him—to tell him at last how she felt about him—to confess everything, but the last time she’d caught sight of him, he was talking with Marcus. She needed to get him alone.
The baroness waved her hand, a column of jewels around her wrists sparkling in the candlelight. A moment later, Miss Duigood appeared. She was looking rather pretty in a simple but elegant dress of green muslin, her black, naturally curly hair the envy of girls like Georgie who had to apply hot tongs and curling rags to not nearly as nice an effect.
“Lady Georgiana,” she said, her eyes bright with excitement. “I was worried you might not come.”
