Page 31 of Evie and Louis: The Story so Far

The Mistletoe Dare

15th December 1840, Beverwyck, London.

Georgie did not come down for breakfast the next morning until gone eleven, though she was not the only one. Everyone appeared to be feeling somewhat left over after the excesses of the night before, and the breakfast table was remarkably quiet.

Evie gave her a bleary smile and smothered a yawn. “Morning, Georgie. Must you look so bright-eyed and bushy tailed? You put the rest of us to shame.”

Jules grimaced, glowering over the top of his coffee cup. “Yes, do stop it, Georgie. It’s giving me a headache.”

Georgie grinned at them and accepted a cup of chocolate from a footman. “I slept like a log and it’s hardly the crack of dawn. I can imagine Jules was up to no good, but what were you doing that has you so pale and lethargic, you naughty creature?” she asked Evie.

Evie gave a husky laugh. “Nothing at all! Well, I did drink rather more wine than was good for me. I knew I ought not for it always makes me sleepy.”

“She was flirting with Mr Hadley-Smythe last I saw,” Jules cut in, winking at her.

Evie blushed. “I was not,” she retorted.

“If you say so,” he murmured.

Georgie chuckled, amused. “Well, well. Mr Hadley-Smythe. I think I met him.”

“You did,” Jules agreed. “Third son of a baron. Good family, dreadful mother. They’re very plump in the pocket, I understand. The father is in politics. He’s a decent sort. So is the son, if a bit brainless. Nice but dim.”

They both stared at Jules, taken aback by his neat summary. “What? I pay attention to people.”

“He’s not dim,” Evie countered, looking annoyed.

“What did you talk about?” Jules asked, waving away a footman offering him a plate of sirloin with a pained expression.

“Umm, mutual acquaintances, dancing, his dogs….”

“Yes, that’s about the limit of his repertoire. For heaven’s sake, don’t ask him about art or books. He’ll run a mile. Well, unless you want him to run a mile,” he added judiciously.

“That’s not very kind, Jules,” Evie said, frowning.

“Who said I was kind?” Jules countered.

“Not me,” Georgie added with a smirk.

Jules smirked right back at her. “Touché.”

The conversation drew to a halt as Nic and Eliza entered the breakfast parlour, followed closely by the Duke of Rochford. Georgie’s skin seemed to come alive the moment he entered the room, every particle of her attention aware of his proximity. Lord, but he was big. The breakfast parlour was a family room and hardly the grandest room at Beverwyck, but it was by no means a broom cupboard either, yet it seemed so when he entered. Georgie tried to concentrate on sipping her chocolate, but her heart was tripping about making it hard to breathe and she feared she would choke. She set down the cup and told herself not to be such a ninny.

“Good morning, Lady Georgina.”

Georgie looked up, surprised to discover he had seated himself directly beside her.

“Your grace,” she replied politely, feeling ridiculously shy.

“I am looking forward to our ride out this afternoon. The weather looks set to hold fine. Cold but sunny.”

“Yes, umm… yes. It does. Me too,” Georgie managed, cursing herself for sounding like a nitwit. She looked up to see Evie watching them, her expression alight with mischief.

Georgie widened her eyes at her in a what are you smiling about expression.

Evie batted her lashes, trying to look innocent and failing. Georgie snorted.

“Pardon?” said the duke.