Page 9 of Lyon of Least Resistance

“Margaret, it’s unbecoming to shout,” Georgiana called out.

Margaret pulled a face, and collided with James, wrapping her arms around his waist.

“I learned a hundred new French words today, brother!” she cried, her voice muffled as she buried her face in his chest.

“Hardly a hundred,” Georgiana said. “You do exaggerate. Miss Flight told me you’d learned to count to twenty.”

Margaret lifted her head. “I’ve learned a whole French poem,” she said. “I can recite it after dinner if you like.”

As Georgiana reached them and stared at Heslop. The gardener bowed, then touched his cap.

“Evening, Miss Georgiana.”

She bestowed a ladylike nod. Beautiful and elegant, Georgiana, according to their late father, was destined to make a fine match. A titled man, at the very least. And Father’s dying wish was to see that ambition fulfilled. It was the promise James had made as his parent drew his last breath, thus bestowing the title, and responsibility, onto the son who had never quite measured up to his father’s expectations.

And now it was up to James to find a suitable husband for Georgiana. Provided he could scrape together a dowry. Georgiana would have to compete with daughters of earls and dukes when presented at court, and, as only a viscount’s daughter, she’d need a dowry large enough to compensate for the difference in rank. Her beauty would attract suitors, but to maintain that attraction, she needed the promise of cash.

“Would ye like me to cut some roses for your parlor, Miss Georgiana?” Heslop said. “Them yellow ones are just in bloom, and I know ye like their scent.”

She inclined her head in a nod, much like a queen acknowledging a faithful subject.

“Very good.” Touching his forelock once more, the gardener bowed and slipped away in the direction of the rose garden.

“Are you going to take some roses to London when you next visit, brother?” Margaret said.

“Yes, Meg, I think I will,” James replied, smiling at the eagerness in the little girl’s eyes. “Heslop thought some of those lovely dark-red blooms would do.”

“Oh!” Margaret cried. “How delightful. Are they for a special lady who you visit in London?”

“Hush, Margaret!” Georgiana said. “It’s not seemly to speak of such things.”

“But you said only this morning that it’s time James finds a wife.”

“I said no such thing.”

“You did, you did!” Margaret cried. “She did, brother, I swear it.”

“Young ladies do not say she, Margaret,” Georgiana said, tilting her chin in disdain. “Miss Flight might teach you a hundred French words, but she’s taught you nothing about decorum.”

She tilted her head to one side and fixed her gaze on him.

“Are you intending to find a wife, brother?”

James nodded.

“A suitable wife, I trust,” Georgiana said. “Bedford Hall needs a mistress of the right sort—a woman of good family with sufficient fortune.”

Margaret pulled a face. “Ugh. A lady is no fun at all.”

“And how would you know, little pest?” Georgiana said. “You’ve not met any ladies.”

“You’re a lady, aren’t you?” Margaret said. “I don’t want another sister like you. I want someone who’s fun to be with.”

She took James’s hand and turned her wide, expressive eyes on him—eyes whose plea always tugged at his heart, compelling him to give her anything she asked.

“You don’t want a lady who insists we all behave properly, do you, brother? Don’t you want a wife whose company you’d enjoy? Someone whom you can actually talk to without falling asleep from boredom? Someone you can laugh with?”

He squeezed her hand in a gesture of affection. Margaret had the ability to understand what he needed, whereas Georgiana understood what was required of him.