Page 46 of Scandal’s Daughter

They sat in silence for a while, until Sebastian heard the chink of a decanter and looked up as Beau offered him a small measure of brandy. He grimaced and turned away, but the glass was forced into his hand.

“Hair of the dog,” Beau said, his voice gruff. “Make you feel better.”

He downed the measure in one go and shuddered. “Oh, God.”

“You have no idea how I am enjoying your suffering,” Beau said, his voice dark. “But what do you intend now?”

Sebastian swallowed, the acidic taste in his mouth making him want to retch. He looked up at Beau, needing to know the answer to his question before he could reply to that.

“Did ... did she truly not know who I was?”

Beau returned an incredulous look.

“Of course she didn’t know, you fool! You believe she could fake a reaction like that?” He got to his feet and stalked over to the chair, glowering down at him. “You’d damned well better sober up fast because I want to hit you again!” Turning on his heel he marched to the door and grabbed the handle. “And I give you fair warning, Sin. I meant what I said. I’m going to marry her, and I’ll be damned if I’ll let you or anyone else get in my way.”

With that he slammed the door on Sebastian and left him alone.

***

They stayed at home for the next few days, a respite that Georgiana was only too relieved by, but she knew she couldn’t hide forever.

So tonight, they were out, to a grand ball, though she couldn’t find the interest or the will to discover whose or where. It would be just another sea of critical faces, all of them judging, all of them believing they knew what she was about, whether they viewed her kindly or not.

The idea that she might have to face the Duke of Sindalton on top of all that was not a thought that helped in the slightest.

Sebastian Grenville.

Sebastian.

She tried to fit the new name to him but somehow it felt foreign and awkward to think of him like that.

Beau, however, ... the Marquess of Beaumont lived up to his name quite perfectly.

She remembered her thoughts when she’d first encountered Sebastian. He hadn’t been what she’d expected of the notorious rake. Beau, however, Beau was exactly what she had believed him to be, just as she had imagined. Though in truth her imagination couldn’t have conjured a face and figure that embodied masculine beauty to quite such a perfect degree. He was breathtakingly handsome, charming, witty, indolent, and rather kinder than she had expected.

In a last-ditch effort to cheer her up and take her mind off tonight’s trial, Céleste had suggested a trip back to Hatchard’s. She had told the countess all about the fabulous book shop and her friend had been just as eager to sample its delights. So, a pleasant morning had been spent among its thousands of books and she did indeed feel a little lighter in spirit. Until they reached home, and she saw the serious look on Lord Falmouth’s face.

“Georgiana, might I have a word with you please?” he asked, and though he smiled at her his eyes remained grave.

“Of course,” she replied as her stomach turned with anxiety.

Céleste went to turn away and give them privacy but she reached out and grabbed her friend’s arm. “No, there’s nothing you can’t hear, and I think I might need the support,” she said, laughing though she was only half joking.

Céleste smiled in return and squeezed her hand and they followed the earl into the masculine confines of his study.

Georgiana had always liked this room. It was quite sparsely furnished compared to the rest of the house, but the dark wood panelling and shelves upon shelves of books gave it a cosy feel. Especially on a cold, damp day when spring was not yet making its presence felt.

The fire crackled with a merry snap in the fireplace and the room smelt subtly of cognac and cigars. The earl took his place behind a massive oak desk and she sat and waited as Céleste settled herself in the chair beside her.

“I had a visit from your uncle this morning,” he said with no preamble. The look of disgust in his eyes gave her the clear impression he had been as unimpressed by the baron as she’d been.

“Oh,” she said, her heart sinking.

“Oh, indeed,” Lord Falmouth replied with a grimace. “And a more ill-mannered, over-stuffed piece of self-importance I’ve never had the misfortune to deal with.”

“I’m so sorry,” she muttered, blushing at the idea he’d had to deal with one of her obnoxious relations because of her.

He waved her apology aside. “You cannot be held responsible for your relations, Georgiana. Not in my mind at any rate,” he added, as they all knew among the ton everyone could and would be held responsible. “But the man is intent on causing trouble. It appears you missed an appointment to meet your cousin, Mr Rufford?”