Page 25 of One Night with a Rake

“I’ll concede that Lady Bracegirdle provided a distraction, but no one forced you not to attend to your dance partner,” her mother reminded her.

“If I was distracted, it was with good reason.” Georgette pushed the treacle aside. She couldn’t bear another bite of its cloying sugariness. “What if Lady Bracegirdle’s turban had suddenly gone up in flames? We’d have had only seconds to save her, though I warrant her silly turban would have been a total loss.”

“But that never happened, dear. There was no fire.” Lady Yorkingham turned her attention to Nathaniel. “Here’s what really happened instead. Georgette took a disastrously wrong turn, stumbled into Sir Isaac Kiddick, who I’m sorry to say had imbibed a bit too much before arriving but had somehow made it past the guard. After Sir Isaac lost his footing, the entire line in the country dance went down like dominoes.” Her mother pressed her napkin to her forehead. “It was most embarrassing for me.”

For her? “Let me assure you, it was no lark in the woods for me either, Mother.”

“Georgette, show some respect,” came her father’s voice from the shadowy end of the table. “Your mother is only trying to help.”

“She’s trying to help me into Bedlam.” Georgette narrowly resisted the urge to bang her forehead on the snowy linen.

“My one consolation is that because Sir Isaac had a distinct whiff of spirits about him, he was blamed for the mishap,” her mother said. “But I saw what actually happened and so did half a dozen other matrons. You have no idea the interminable favors that have been called in to insure they keep that little secret.”

Georgette was quietly livid over the rehashing of the disaster. At the same time, her chest ached at her mother’s disappointment in her. If she became royal, would all the times she let her mother down be forgotten?

It might make the match with the Duke of Cambridge worth the effort.

“At any rate, we can’t allow a reprise,” Lady Yorkingham said. “I simply will not endure another humiliation like that. You’ll practice with Mr. Gooch until you can dance a cotillion in your sleep.”

Something wilted inside Georgette at her mother’s words. This match meant the world to Lady Yorkingham. She’d been throwing all her resources, all her hopes behind making Georgette a prime candidate for the royal duke.

Perhaps if Georgette wed Cambridge, her mother would finally forgive her for living when Anne did not.

Suddenly the dining room seemed to have run out of air.

“May I be excused?” Georgette murmured. Then she rose and fled from the room without waiting for an answer.

***

“Her ladyship’s on a proper tear and no mistake,” Reuben Darling announced to the staff who’d gathered in the servants’ common room below stairs in Yorkingham House.

The Family’s supper had all been cleared away and his time was finally his own till breakfast. He settled into a shabby Sheraton chair that at one time had graced the very proper parlor on the ground floor. The stuffing in the seat was a little lumpy, but it was positioned so he could look his fill at Mercy, who had claimed the rocker in the corner.

“What’s the marchioness done now?” Mercy barely looked up from the stocking she was darning by the light of a beef tallow candle.

“Her ladyship has called Mr. Gooch to come back. He’ll be here on the morrow.”

“No!” Cook said. “The man’s insufferable. Thinks he’s master of everything, not just dancing. Do you know he actually had the gall to suggest what he called ‘improvements’ to my mince pie receipt?”

There were gasps throughout the room. Not even Mr. Rigsby, the butler who was still quietly feuding with Cook over the bust of Purcell incident, could defend Mr. Gooch over that.

“Lady Georgette left the supper table in tears, I tell you,” Reuben reported.

“I didn’t see that,” Mr. Rigsby said.

“You was in the pantry seeing to the after-dinner coffee when it happened,” Reuben explained to the man who was nominally his superior.

Of course, they all bowed to Mr. Humphrey, the house steward. He ruled as lord in all but name of the below-stairs folk.

Mr. Humphrey laid aside his paper and leaned forward in his chair. “Where is Lady Georgette now? If she’s left the supper table, Miss Atwood, ought you not to check on her?”

“If she needs me, I expect she’ll ring,” Mercy said with a shrug. “My lady isn’t so much a dainty doily as ye might think. There’s a bit of toughness about her a body would never suspect.”

Reuben was sure there was a bit of softness about Mercy too, but she hid it exceedingly well. He still wanted the chance to find it.

He’d certainly enjoy the search.

“It’s terrible that Gooch is coming back and all,” Mr. Rigsby said. “But I can’t see that there’s anything we can do about it.”