Page 21 of Miss Wylde and the Wynd

Impossible!

Yet, dressed as she was now, and hair arranged with delicate curls about her face, if was very much possible.

Blast! How could he have been so blind?

“I still cannot believe your parents allowed you to go off on your own.”

“Neither my mother nor father could be away from Accetta Panetteria so it fell to me to find my sister.”

He frowned again.

“If you must know, not that it is any of your concern, Father had at first forbidden me while my mother stood by not certain if she should give me her blessing or keep me home since one daughter might already be lost. I reminded them that I was old enough to make my own decisions on the matter and that I would find Grace and bring her home, hopefully before it was too late.”

“At least they showed some sense unlike their daughter,” he grumbled before he took a drink of wine and wandered to the window.

“You know nothing about me, Damian. Nor do you know my parents, who had been fretting, my mother becoming ill, after Grace had disappeared. Someone needed to find my sister and it fell to me. They know where I am and I have promised to write to my parents and keep them informed of my progress, even though there will be a delay in my news reaching them due to the distance.”

Damian slowly turned, not certain what he could say, but prepared himself to face her again only to find her frowning, eyebrows drawn together, mouth pursed.

“What is wrong?”

“I must write a letter to them before I set out for London. Where might I post it?”

Damian pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head.

“Daughters are certainly raised differently in Italy than they are in England,” he grumbled.

“I am certain that they are raised the same. It is my parents who are different,” she assured him. “Likely because there are no sons and since I am the eldest, I am allowed more freedom and carry more responsibility. Protection breeds ignorance. When mistakes are made, learn from them, and do better.”

“Is that your philosophy?” he asked.

“My father’s.” She smiled at him. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have a letter to write. When I return, you can tell me where I might post it for delivery to Italy.”

Except, instead of leaving the parlor, she paused at the threshold and turned. “Would you have a quill and ink that I might borrow? I failed to bring the necessary items with me because I could not travel with my writing desk and did not want to risk spilling ink on my belongings.”

He pointed to a small desk near a window. “I am certain Caroline will not mind. It should have everything you need.”

At least her parents had argued with her, yet Georgie had still gone off on her own.

If he had such a headstrong daughter, he would keep her locked in her room.

Except, Georgie wasn’t a child.

Was she really three-and-twenty?

He studied her, seated at the smaller desk, designed for a woman based on the height and carved scrolling, far more delicate than what his brother used in the library. She’d found everything she needed and was quickly scratching out a message to her parents.

She did carry the maturity of someone beyond the age he had assumed she was, but those braids, that pert nose, freckles…He shook his head.

She was probably writing that she had arrived in Southampton safely without giving details of how she had gotten here, and what she knew of where Grace could be found. Would she mention America?

He would not because such news could send her parents into a panic. It would be better to tell them only when it was confirmed or there was no longer a choice.

Georgie tilted her head and studied the parchment before her, reading what had been written, her lips pursed and eyes narrowed as if she were contemplating what else she might say or if her words were enough.

No, she may not look like she was three-and-twenty years, but that did not mean that she was not pretty. He liked pretty.

Usually, he was drawn to women who one could describe as a classic beauty with artfully arranged hair, clothing designed to make a man entertain wicked thoughts, and just a touch of cosmetics added to cheeks and lips to invite a kiss—just as Sterling had reminded him.