Chapter 31 - GEORGINA—ALMOST HOME

At the grand dining room table, I sat in my chair listening to the violinist the duke had hired to serenade us through dinner.

The beat was lively, quarter time, I think. I shuffled my slippers under the long white table skirt.

Going to Anya House had become part of our routine, a steadying force for the Wilcox girls. On Tuesdays and Wednesdays, we stayed and dined and laughed.

Well, Lydia and Scarlett laughed.

Sometimes I’d slip in my solidarity with Katherine and let out a chuckle at the performers His Grace had provided to give us entertainment.

Acrobats entered with juggling balls and whipping flames as they paraded around his dining room table.

“Everyone enjoy.” The duke held up his glass of berry-colored claret. Scarlett and I had matching goblets. Katherine and Lydia had water, with no chance of it becoming wine. That was fine. They both needed other miracles—a restoration of a bitter heart and a permanent healing of a currently healthy little body.

Lydia stood and clapped. “Again, again.”

The child was in heaven.

Even Katherine’s stoic face seemed to crack a smile.

The jugglers headed out after we offered them our rapturous applause.

The violinists stayed, playing a joyful tune.

Waving his finger to the rhythm, the duke asked, “Are you all pleased?”

Was he joking? The man entertained as if the room was stacked with all the highbrow of the ton.

“It was good, Your Grace,” I said. “But you needn’t go to such expense or trouble.”

“Why not? If I know you deserve to be indulged, shouldn’t I give you that?”

Affectionate Lydia leapt into his lap, hugging his neck. “You’re the bestus. Thank you for such a good time. I look forward to these days forever.”

“Time for a bath and bed, Lydia,” Katherine said. “You finished dinner hours ago.”

Lydia offered her a terrible pout. “Too much excitement. The duke does everything so nice.”

“True. But, little one, Lady Hampton is only doing what she thinks is best for you. Plenty of rest will keep you strong.”

“No, she’s not. If she wanted what was best, she’d figure out how to be here all the time.”

The face he offered Katherine, all of us, wasn’t a gloat but a countenance of radiant joy. I’d never seen him so happy. He’d found a way to claim that peace he’d been searching for.

The man loved having us here. We weren’t a nuisance.

My heart agreed with Lydia. The duke was the bestus.

This felt more like home than across the river. Every time we returned, 22 Ground Street seemed sad, empty.

“But I still smell good.” Lydia’s voice was soft and whiny.

“Yes, you do,” the duke said with a chuckle, “but you obey Lady Hampton, and there may be a surprise on the bed table.”

Her little brown face glowed. “What, Your Grace?”

“Your own bottle of cologne water. I think it’s lilies.”

The child’s eyes grew large. She jumped down and headed straight to the personal maid he’d hired for her.

He’d hired one for each of us. When we were younger and Papa’s business was growing, we had a lady to do the cooking and another for the wash. We’d also had a lady’s maid that we shared.

One glance at my older sister and I could feel the weight of condemnation falling upon her shoulders. Her posture slouched. Her eyes followed Lydia, holding hands with the kind woman in a blue-checked blouse and billowy white apron leading our Lydia out of the room.

Wanted to utter that our change of circumstance wasn’t her fault.

In truth, it was.

Now I was a doxy in the public papers and my sister, rather than be the Duchess of Torrance, would be a territorial fluttering tit in private, wearing gray mourning feathers for the entirety of her season as the duke’s mistress.

“The dressmakers will be here tomorrow,” the duke said. “They need a last fitting before finishing your gowns.”

“Your Grace.” Katherine sat back. She seemed to lack the strength to roll her eyes. “You’ve given the girls enough.”

“Bollocks. Never enough.”

He clapped his hands and the musicians played louder. “Now we dance. I must see if we—”

Mark came into the room. “Your Grace, Lady Hampton, Miss Wilcox, Miss Scarlett Wilcox.”

He made a grand bow. “Sounds as if the ball has already begun.”

“If that were the case, there would be dancing.” The duke passed me and Katherine and presented himself to Scarlett. “Madame Science, at my balls, everyone dances. I know Miss Georgina can. I suspect Lady Hampton was dazzling on the arm of the viscount—”

“No.” Katherine sipped at her goblet. Her tone was sharp, ringing like shattered glass. Then she lowered her voice. “No balls as Lady Hampton. Never had the opportunity.”

Both Mark and the duke glanced at her, then away, as though they’d stumbled upon her private grief.

But it wasn’t private.

It was shared by all of us. Her choices had made us reclusive.

My love for my sister was without measure but our blind devotion to her had led us here.

Then my rash actions made things worse.

But now I could fix all. “I understand, Katherine. Finally, I do. I can sacrifice too.”

Her gaze cut to me. A well of anger and fear covered those familiar eyes. “Don’t. Don’t do anything rash.”

“Rash should be my second name.” I lifted from my chair.

“Lord Mark,” Katherine said in a panicked voice, “will you dance with Georgina?”

Reddened cheeks, he looked hesitant.

“At least a Wilcox asked this time before entangling you,” the duke said as he offered his hand to Scarlett. “Dance, sir. Wilcox women are the finest ladies in London. Then go to Dido for consolation. She will remain with us until after the ball.”

The painting in his music room would console him? Before I could ask what the duke meant, the musicians changed from playing a reel to something regal.

Mark had my hand.

As Katherine watched, the four of us performed the minuet, then switched to the cotillion.

The formidable footwork tangled up my genius sister. Scarlett wobbled, forgot when to turn, but the masterful duke made her actions seem more fluid, less stiff.

Mark was superb. As easy on the pianoforte’s keys, it seemed my music teacher could float us about the room and bring me with him to the clouds.

“Have you finished your submission?”

“I, ahh. No. Been distracted, helping the duke interview candidates.”

“A new position for his science meetings? A research patronage?”

“No, candidates for you, for the silly bet he has with Lady Hampton.”

I knew the duke was doing something. He wasn’t the type of man to let anything go. Yet, to conduct interviews without me being present sounded very heavy-handed.

“Talking about me and my desires must bore you. That’s stopping your muse.”

“My muse is you. I’m glad no one is coming up to snuff. The sooner the duke realizes that none of these men are for you, the sooner he’ll end this farce.”

What was the farce? That my future husband could be chosen based on interviews? That there was someone in London for me? Or that I couldn’t find happiness unless it was with Mark?

“Don’t you think it ridiculous what Torrance is doing?” he asked. “You should tell him and end this.”

End the bet and end the fantasy we lived on Tuesdays and Wednesdays?

Take away the care and attention Lydia received?

And Scarlett?

When I spied her, she seemed to be keeping up with the duke. The girl who’d rather be reading was laughing and remembering the footwork Mama had taught.

Scarlett was twenty, the age to be presented. Had Katherine and Tavis’s marriage not been ostracized, our younger sister might have invitations all about town. Her world could be so expanded beyond the books where her imagination lived.

“Georgie, are you all right?”

“Just remembering something Mama said about . . . dancing. Mark, if you’ve made no progress, how will you make the deadline?”

He twirled me away. When I returned for the next part of the dance, he said, “I have time. If not this year, then next.”

“But what will you do for a whole year?”

“My mother will have me design music rooms for some of her friends. She’s good at finding things like that for me.”

He wasn’t to be his own man this year, not if he depended upon his mother’s favor. He was the doting version of Tavis, a kinder, no-gambling version.

“You stopped, Georgie. Have I tired you?”

“No . . . my lord. Not at all.”

But actually, truthfully, I was fatigued, fatigued at thinking I could wait for Mark to show me that I could put my faith in him.

“Georgie. You will be lovely at the ball. It will be a shame that you must break our secret engagement.”

“Yes. A shame.”

“Pick no one. Neither will win the bet if you do not choose.”

The answer was obvious. I needed to do what Katherine had been unable to do, marry the right man. “Time waits for no man. Let’s switch partners.”

Mark looked hurt, but he handed me off to dance with the man with a plan.

The Duke of Torrance was an excellent partner. Light on his feet and mine. As he always did, he gently turned me about the room.

The breath I held burned my lungs when I finally released it. “I accept.”

“Accept what? That the rhythm is too slow, my dear?”

“No, Your Grace. I will comply with whatever, or whoever, you choose. I know that you only have my welfare, my family in mind.”

“Always my utmost concern.”

Mark tried to bump into our path.

As if he had a set of eyes in the back of his head, the duke turned a different way. “Excellent, you will not—”

“But I want to be a part of the process. Let Scarlett and me sit in on your next examination session.”

“The parade of men.” He stopped dancing. Then, as if the notion hadn’t occurred to him before, he clapped. “Excellent. That will add to the process. You will complete this logical investigation. Brilliant.”

He swung me around, not quite like a rag doll, maybe a congratulatory puppet.

Though Katherine and Mark looked on with glum faces, I knew this to be the best for me. A proper dignified marriage out of the shadows would restore the Wilcoxes to the glory our parents meant for us to claim.

And my dear friend would keep his fantasy family, his found peace, for at least a year.