Colin frowned at the wording of his thoughts. He had asked for a miraculous sign. “How is your evening?”
Lady Georgina startled at his voice, her eyes darting around. Whether to see who might notice her talking to someone of Colin’s ilk or looking for someone to save her he didn’t know.
“Well. Thank you, Mr. McCrae.”
“You remember my name. I’m flattered.”
“I am endeavoring to forget it, but you keep appearing.”
He nodded, searching, praying for the right words, wishing he’d been a little less obstinate in his prayers a few moments ago. He turned so they were standing shoulder to shoulder, looking out the window into the night.
“Your sister doesn’t seem to care for Lord Ashcombe.” Colin winced. That had been rather blunt.
“That is probably why they didn’t marry.”
Was that disapproval in her voice? “You think they should have?”
“He’s a very eligible match.”
Colin gave up pretending to look through the window and turned to lean his shoulder against the glass so he could see her face better. “But she doesn’t care for him.”
She flipped open her fan, a gorgeous creation covered in painted vines and roses, and stirred the air with small flicks of her wrist, managing to aim the breeze so that it didn’t ruffle her coiffure. “What has that to do with anything?”
Colin opened his mouth and snapped it shut. While it was true that practical matches were still quite widespread, he’d seen more and more love matches over the years. It was a trend he heartily approved of, given the tense atmosphere his own parents’ practical marriage had created.
“She’s your sister.”
“Yes. She is.”
What had he expected? That she would open up and confide her deepest secrets to him? “May I give you a piece of advice?”
“Can I stop you?”
“You could walk away.”
“And you might follow. I seem to keep encountering you, Mr. McCrae, and I think we both know you will not suit my purposes. If having this conversation will keep you away from me, I’d like to get it over with.” The fan moved with a bit more vigor, sending the ringlets framing her face into a frothing dance of their own.
Colin crossed his arms over his chest and smiled. “I applaud your honesty.”
“I despise your persistency.”
“Fair enough.” Colin collected his thoughts before plunging on. He was never this candid in public. He was well known for dealing honestly with people, but he never waded into personal waters. “Your family needs to come before your marital goals.”
Lady Georgina’s eyebrows rose. “Is that all? And where is your family? I would venture a guess that you are rather far from home. Not many people raised in England speak with such a brogue.”
“Aye, I am far from home.” And even farther from his family. “Which is why I know what happens when someone puts their own gain above their family.”
“You know nothing about me or my family.”
“I know you’ve been setting your cap for the duke since he returned to London.”
She tilted her chin down and looked at him through her lashes. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was flirting with him. The fan slowed to a less agitated pace. “I’ve seen you as often as I’ve seen the duke this Season. More so. One might think you were jealous, Mr. McCrae.”
“One might think you were desperate, Lady Georgina.”
Her eyes widened and the fan stilled entirely. Had he hit the mark? Why would the daughter of a duke be desperate? She had years before people started whispering behind their fans.
She snapped her fan shut and shoved it into her reticule. “You hardly know my family. Why do you care?”
That wasn’t entirely true. He’d done a good bit of business with her elder brother. She wouldn’t have reason to know that though. “Consider me a concerned romantic.”
“Romantic? You wish to see me marry for love?”
As Lady Georgina obviously cared more for social status than anything else, he couldn’t care less if the schemer saddled herself with an ancient aristocrat with a penchant for gambling away the family coffers. But Ryland was a close friend and Colin was fast coming to like Lady Miranda. “Has love found you?”
She scoffed. “Hardly.”
“Then I have no opinion one way or the other as far as you’re concerned. But I’d hate to see you trample on your sister’s heart, as she seems the kind to be searching for love.”
Lady Georgina’s eyes narrowed. “What makes you think Miranda is in love with Lord Ashcombe?”
Was the lady dense? “Nothing. She’s in love with someone else entirely.”
“What makes you the expert?”
Colin cast his eyes around the room, noting the couples that seemed more enamored with each other than their surroundings. “Observation.”
“Of a single night?”
“Of a single moment. Women in love have a certain look about them when the object of their affection is around.”
Lady Georgina turned to look over the room as well. Was she noting the same couples he did? “Simpering and weak?”
“No. Murderous. Love and hate are two sides of the same coin, you know.” Colin grinned as he pulled a coin from his pocket and flipped it in the air. “It’s always a gamble to see which way it will land.”
He caught the coin and placed it on the back of his hand, but nearly fumbled as he realized the description would fit Lady Georgina and himself. But there was no softer side to his disdain for the lady. There couldn’t be, for that way led to nothing but frustration and heartache. No doubt Lady Georgina was the emotional exception that proved the rule. One didn’t particularly need a heart to be angry.
Shoving the coin back into his pocket, he returned to his goal of getting through to Lady Miranda’s thickheaded sister. “I’m guessing it landed poorly for her with Lord Ashcombe. Don’t be the reason it goes wrong for her this time.”
Lady Georgina frowned. “I think we’re done here.”
“As you wish.” Colin bowed, hoping he’d said enough to at least make her think.
It was the longest carriage ride of her life, but Georgina kept her ire contained until they got home. Well, most of her ire. She might have berated Miranda’s social skills a time or two on the way home, but compared to how she really felt about the evening, it was a mild chastisement indeed. Once home she rushed through the house to the safety of her room, sighing as she saw Harriette setting a hot mug of tea on the dressing table.
After dropping onto the chair, Georgina wrapped her hands around the mug. The warmth from the first sip flowed through her body and brought her a sense of calm.
Georgina took deep breaths while Harriette pulled pins from the coiffure that had taken nearly an hour to create. “She’s going to ruin everything, Harriette.”
Harriette’s eyes flitted to Georgina’s reflected gaze. Her forehead scrunched in confusion beneath her smoothed-back hair. “Who?”
Georgina sighed and took another sip of tea. “My sister. She’s determined to ruin me.”
“Oh.” Harriette’s confusion was obvious as she began unlacing Georgina’s dress. “I don’t think your sister would ruin you, my lady.”
“No?” Georgina rubbed her hands over her face. “I’ll be lucky if the Duke of Marshington ever speaks to me again. How am I supposed to convince the man he wants to marry me if my sister continues to act like a simple-headed ninny in his presence?”
Harriette’s hands paused. “Lady Miranda?”
“Unbelievable, I know.” Georgina nibbled on her lip until she caught Harriette’s disapproving glare in the mirror. Right. Nibbling would make her lips look flaky and craggy. “Maybe he didn’t notice. He has been gone for nine years.”
Harriette made soothing noises as she helped Georgina change clothes.
Georgina pulled her hair free of the night rail’s neckline. “He wouldn’t have come back
to London if he weren’t looking for a bride.”
More encouraging noises came from the maid.
Was Harriette being condescending? Georgina narrowed her eyes in the mirror as she sank back into the chair. “All I have to do is show him I’m the best candidate.”
The maid began pulling Georgina’s hair into a long braid. “You’ve put considerable effort into making yourself the best possible lady in the ballroom this Season. I don’t think you’ll have to worry about drawing the notice of an attractive match.”
Georgina burst from the chair and began to pace. “I need the best match, not an attractive match. I have to be the envy of everyone if I am to protect myself.”
She swung around to face the maid, who looked on with dark, sympathetic eyes. Georgina hated the note of panic that was creeping into her voice, but everything was turning out to be a bit harder than she had anticipated. “I have to be above reproach by the end of this Season, Harriette. If they find out . . . One day I’m going to get caught, Harriette, and if I’m not married when they find out I can’t do the things a lady is expected to do, my life will be over. No one will want me.”
Harriette said nothing as she urged Georgina back into the chair and set about redoing the braid her lady’s outburst had interrupted.
Exhaustion and relief that in this room at least she didn’t have to pretend brought a slump to Georgina’s shoulders. “If only I were one year older, Harriette. I know I could have made it work with the marquis if I had been out in society last Season.”
Harriette tugged Georgina’s hair a bit tighter than necessary, drawing forth a squeak of surprise. “Lord Raebourne fell in love. There is nothing you could have done to convince him to marry you instead.”
Georgina averted her face so Harriette couldn’t see the disgruntled pout. With her braid completed, she stood and began the process of shaking out her dress from the evening, examining the trim for tears and holes. “We don’t know that.”
Gentle hands removed the dress from Georgina’s fingers. “Yes, we do. Even you have to admit what a lovely woman Lady Raebourne is. She’s been quite nice to you, despite your attempts to ruin the match.”
While it might be true, Georgina didn’t really have to admit it.
“Would you like to practice your poem for Lady Jane’s gathering?” Harriette gestured toward the dressing table, where the slim book rested, mocking Georgina with its very presence.
The blue leather binding drew the eye, and more than once today Georgina had yearned to toss the thing through the window.
With arm extended as far as possible, she flipped the book open to the marked page. At this distance the words looked like an indistinguishable river of black bleeding across the page. Given enough time she could make out a printed page using some cumbersome techniques she and Harriette had devised, but it always brought on a headache.
She’d long ago given up praying for relief. Considering God was the one who’d given her the curse in the first place, she didn’t hold out much hope of Him fixing it.
As she squinted her eyes, struggling to pick out individual words she’d already memorized, the prick of pain started directly behind her left eye. “Not tonight, Harriette. I’m too tired.”
Tired, yes, but also restless. She yanked her dressing gown from the wardrobe, finding comfort in the colorful streaks and smudges that mottled the white silk. Once the sash was yanked tight, she plopped a sketchbook into the circle of candlelight on the dressing table.
Harriette picked up Georgina’s slippers and dress but remained standing where she was, her lip caught between her teeth.
Georgina narrowed her eyes at her friend. Twelve years together, fooling the world, perpetuating the lie that Georgina could do what every other normal young lady of wealth and breeding could do, meant they’d gotten close. There was no one Georgina trusted more or knew better.
And a bit lip meant there was something worse than Lady Jane’s poetry recitation.
“You’ll make your lips craggy and flaky doing that, Harriette.” Georgina pretended she wasn’t preparing for forthcoming doom, hoping her apparent ease would help Harriette vocalize the problem.
“It’s your mother, my lady.”
Georgina’s eyebrows shot up as she looked up from her box of pastels. Her mother? She’d been managing her mother for years. It was amazing how little people expected of you when you cultivated an air of arrogant disdain for everything around you.
Harriette shifted her weight. “She wants you to help with the invitations.”
“I know. We’ve been taking care of them in the mornings.” Georgina turned back to her pastels and danced her fingers along the soft, oily edges. She selected a medium brown and slid it across the paper, mollified a bit by the bold stroke of color.
“No, not those, my lady. The ones for your ball. She wants you to help address them.”
Georgina paused in the act of trading the brown pastel stick for a red one. “When?”
Harriette shrugged. “Your ball isn’t for seven more weeks. You have a few weeks to prepare, I would imagine.”
“We’ll have to do them beforehand. She’ll be amazed at my initiative.” The bitter words were soothed by the swirls of red mingling with the strokes of brown.
A nod was Harriette’s only response. Likely she’d already formed a plan for getting her hands on the invitations. Georgina would have to take care of her own toilette for a few days to allow Harriette time to do the actual addressing, but it was nothing they hadn’t done before.
Smudging the colors with her fingers, Georgina grimaced at more than the feeling of gooey pastel on her skin. “We’ll have to make sure we have a complete list of invitees.” She speared Harriette with her gaze. “I can’t afford to have her ask me to add someone else at the last minute.”
“You can get out of it.”
“True.” Georgina had mastered the art of getting out of things. Occasionally it was something she actually wanted to do, but if she didn’t maintain an air of bored selfishness, she could get caught.
Harriette nodded and disappeared into the dressing room.
Georgina looked down at her drawing, expecting to see the face of the duke, the man she’d set her cap for as the best candidate for the role of social savior. He was an even better alliance than the marquis would have been.
Instead of the startling grey eyes and dark hair of His Grace, she saw the red-tinged curls and laughing blue eyes of Mr. McCrae.
With an angry growl she crumpled the picture and hurled it into the cold fireplace. That man was hindering her focus. It was insupportable.
She crossed to the wash basin and scrubbed the pastel residue from her hands. The colors bled into the basin, swirling and crashing against each other like the dancers at a ball, before blending into a murky mess. That was her life these days. A beautiful, well-thought-out plan with a thousand moving pieces, and it could all come crashing down in an instant.
Sleep. She needed sleep. Everything looked better with sleep.
Dropping the stained dressing robe on a nearby chair, she crawled into bed.
And proceeded to stare at the ceiling, reliving every humiliating moment since she’d met the infernal Scotsman.
It was painfully obvious she was going to have to add a new swirl to her life, because one thing was certain—she had to avoid another encounter with Mr. Colin McCrae.
Chapter 11
A strange feeling overtook Colin’s limbs as he strolled down St. James’s Street toward his club. His heart was beating just the slightest bit faster. A sensation that fell somewhere short of an actual itch ran across his skin. There was an almost overwhelming urge to hurry. He nearly broke into a jog as the doors of Boodle’s came into view.
So he stopped where he was, on a public street awash with afternoon sunlight. He refused to walk into a situation with an unknown quantity. Especially if that unknown was his own self.
The feeling wasn’t completely foreign, but it had cer
tainly been a long time since he’d felt it.
Anticipation.
He was excited to go in those doors today. Despite the fact that his routine brought him by the club no fewer than three times a week and frequently as many as six, he was anticipating today’s visit in a way he hadn’t in a very long time. Today there was nothing more pressing to do than shoot billiards with Lord Trent.
And it was making him behave like a young lady waiting for a caller.
Had his life become so much about plans and agendas that he’d stopped doing things for simple enjoyment?
Yes. Yes it had.
He shook his head as he entered the building. Even though he’d been spending a great deal of time with Ryland since his return, the visits had been with purpose. They’d been visiting Hawthorne House, trying to ascertain Lady Miranda’s social schedule, or trying to tie the last loose string on Ryland’s final case.
Supposedly Ryland was off the case, but leaving things undone had never sat well with him. Technically, Colin had never even been on the case, since he didn’t even work for the War Office.
The War Office was much more concerned with getting results than with being official.
Which was how Colin had gotten the required sponsors to join this club in the first place. The domain of the more business-minded gentlemen, a club such as Boodle’s was still considerably out of reach for a man of Colin’s social status. The men of the War Office liked the way Colin’s mind worked, though, and they wanted to provide him with access to enough people to connect the dots they might be missing.
If Colin made a profit from the same information, so be it. He invested money for more than one agent of the Crown. They would find themselves well off when they hung up their cloaks and pistols.
But today wasn’t about information or clandestine meetings. It was about something that had been missing in his life for far too long. Fun. He was going to an appointment without having anything on the line or even a secondary motive. A novel concept.
Lord Trent was already racking the billiard balls when Colin entered the back room.
An Elegant Façade (Hawthorne House Book #2) Page 11
