Page 71 of The Mistletoe Dare

He grinned at her and strode off into the house.

Georgie was almost ready for dinner before she had time to speak to her mother in private. Meg was brushing her hair out before she pinned it up, but dipped a curtsey at sight of the countess, secured Georgie’s hair in a simple knot at the back of her head, and left them alone.

“It’s good to have you back, darling,” Mama said, resting her hands on Georgie’s shoulders.

“It’s good to be back,” Georgie said, meeting her mother’s eyes in the looking glass.

“And so….”

Georgie laughed. “I’m astonished you waited this long.”

“Oh, I’m bursting,” Mama admitted. She took Georgie’s hands and pulled her to her feet. The two of them arranged themselves comfortably on the bed, her Mama’s anticipation palpable. “Well?” she demanded.

“Well, what?” Georgie said, all innocence.

“Oh, Georgina! You know very well what,” Mama protested. “Did you complete your dare?”

Georgie bit her lip, blushing, and then nodded. “Aye.”

“Who? Who was it? What’s he like? Will I like him? Will your father like him—no don’t answer that, he won’t like anyone. Tell me everything!”

Georgie laughed. “I will, if you let me get a word in edge-wise!”

Her Mama mimed buttoning her lip.

“I wonder how long you can stay that way,” she said, amused. “Oh, Mama. How I have wanted your advice these past weeks. I do not know if I’ve done the right thing or not.”

Her mother looked like she was about to burst with the effort of not interrupting, but waited for Georgie to continue. Georgie sighed and pulled a pillow into her lap, hugging it tightly. “Do you know anything about the Duke of Rochford, Mama?”

“The Duke of Rochford! The scarred duke?” her mother exclaimed, all the colour leaching from her face. “Oh, Georgie, it wasn’t him, surely. They say he’s a big, ugly horror of a man who can’t keep servants because he terrifies them and disregards every invitation from polite society. Do you mean that Duke of Rochford?”

Georgie scowled. “I don’t think there can be more than one, but he’s not ugly, Mama, and Pa disregards every invitation from polite society too.”

Her mother frowned. “Not every invitation,” she countered. “And his refusals are always very polite, but yes. I take your point. And I should know better than to listen to gossip. I’m sorry, Georgie, I apologise.”

“Thank you.”

“But tell me about him. Do you mean to say this is the man you kissed under the mistletoe?”

Georgie nodded, clutching the pillow tighter still. “Yes,” she said with a sigh.

“So,” her mother said cautiously. “I take it he’s misunderstood, that he’s not so bad tempered and unreasonable as he’s made out to be.”

Her mother’s eyes grew wide as Georgie wrinkled her nose. “Well,” she said uncertainly, trying to be fair. “Sort of.”

Unsurprisingly, her mother did not look reassured. “You don’t sound very sure of that, Georgie.”

“I’m not,” she agreed. “But I invited him to come here, and I know he will because he wants to marry me.”

“Marry you? But you’ve just met him,” her mother protested.

“Ma, you proposed to my father within minutes of meeting him and travelled to Scotland with him, unwed and unchaperoned the next day,” Georgie pointed out, because it was true.

Her mother blushed. “That was entirely different, and you know it. I did not have your advantages, and the world was a different place then.”

Georgie laughed and took her mother’s hand. “I’m not saying I’m going to marry him, though I’ve known him longer than you think. He was a guest at Beverwyck, a friend of Jules’.”

She watched her mother take a breath and compose herself, to listen fairly to what Georgie had to say. “Very well. What is he like then?”