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I blinked, resisting the urge to fidget with my shirt. “Uh, yes. I suppose that would be me. I’ll, um, promise not to take advantage of your stepson. Or anyone else, for that matter.”
I tried to sound haughty, but it was hard when this woman was an actual aristocrat, and I was dressed with less propriety than a member of the cleaning staff.
Georgina continued to peruse me up and down.
“It’s a very important time for us, you know,” she said. “A very important time. Frederick has finally caught the eye of the royal family. Even been invited to some of the events at the palace. Kensington, not Buckingham. The smaller ones, you know, not the ones everyone makes a fuss about in the papers. At least not at first.” She crooked a delicately plucked brow. “He’s got it in mind to run for his father’s old place in parliament, haven’t you, darling?”
Frederick peered at her, then back at me with hooded eyes. “It would appear that way.”
She turned back to me. “I’m sure you understand. We need all the spotlight on him. Not on a…distraction. Especially one the tabloids seem to adore.”
She pulled a rolled-up paper from under her arm and waved it in front of me. I recognized the same article I’d seen earlier with pictures of Xavier and me at the airport.
I looked up. “Xavier says to pay those no mind. And what does it matter to you if the tabloids like Xavi? He can’t help it, can he?”
“There’re only so many spaces one can occupy in the minds of those in power. We can’t have them taken up by things”—she looked disdainfully at the picture of Sofia—“that in the end, don’t matter. And if they think association with us includes a scandal…”
My mouth dropped. “She’s his daughter, not a scandal.”
One of Georgina’s brows arched again. “So you say.”
“Mother.” Frederick’s voice, for the first time, sounded less than bored. “Shouldn’t we…”
Georgina blinked. “Yes, of course. We are hosting Lord Ortham and his family for dinner tonight,” she informed me with another searing drag up and down my body. “If you must attend, see that you are dressed…appropriately. And be quiet, if you can manage that.”
And before I could say another word, she turned on her heel and left, Frederick in tow.
THIRTEEN
It took another twenty minutes of wandering around Corbray Hall like a lost mouse, but eventually, I did find Xavier again when he rushed out of another double-doored room.
“There you are,” he proclaimed, spotting me. “Sorry about that. Been waiting all day for those two. It’ll take a lot of money, but they can get us out of that mine. And then Jagger called with another fire at one of the restaurants.” He sighed wistfully, clearly wishing to be doing that work in London, rather than being stuck here.
“It’s all right,” I said. “I just chatted with your stepmother. She was a…” I tipped my head back and forth, trying tactfully to explain my impressions. “Snooty bitch” didn’t seem appropriate.
“Nightmare,” Xavier supplied to my relief, taking my hand in his and pulling me down another corridor. “Ignore her, always. Before she showed up, I meant to show you your room, anyway.”
“Good.” I confirmed. “I need to get changed for dinner. Duchess’s orders.”
“What do you mean?” He looked down at my clothes, which still consisted of the black leggings and T-shirt I’d worn on the train. “I think you look fine. It’s a dinner, not a ball.”
“But aren’t you hosting the Douglases?” I asked. “Or is it Ortham? Orthams? That’s Imogene’s family, correct? Are they the same people?”
Xavier nodded. “Yes. Their last name is Douglas. The title is Ortham, so that only applies to Imogene’s parents. It’s confusing, and frankly, I think they all do it on purpose.”
I tried not to make a face, though it wasn’t because of the naming conventions. The idea of sitting at a fancy table on my first night here, across from someone who basically looked like Elsa fromFrozen,sounded less than appealing. Imogene’s entire outfit today had probably been worth more than every item in my closet back home.
Xavier’s wry expression told me exactly what he thought of that. “I suppose we should. Lady Ortham likes to wear her furs whenever she dines here. Even in August.” He pulled me farther down the corridor with renewed urgency. “At any rate, it’s just down here. I imagine you’d like to rest a bit before I wear you out later.”
“Xavi…” I warned, though I loved the mirth in his eyes. It was so much better than sadness.
Xavier ignored me, turning the knobs on a pair of tall double doors which were inlaid with irises. And opened onto what could have only been called a paradise.
I’d thought I understood luxury. After all, Xavier liked nice things. He’d stayed at the nicest hotels in New York, paid for the best food, and lived in a penthouse fit for a king.
Or it would be if this room didn’t exist.
My jaw dropped. This wasn’t a bedroom. It was an entire apartment. Or rather, it was a museum in every sense of the word, filled to the brim with priceless antiques, gilt millwork curling toward twenty-foot ceilings, gaping windows draped with priceless tapestries, and the biggest bed I’d ever seen dressed in sumptuous blue linens so thin they were practically one with the breeze that occasionally floated in from the balcony.
