Chapter Fourteen

I f anyone needed rallying, it must be poor Lord Taverston, Georgiana mused, as Jeanette brushed out her hair. Not only had the hunt he planned been a disaster, but the whole evening had fallen apart.

No sooner had they gathered in the ladies’ parlor for tea than the butler had announced the arrival of the Squire and his wife, as well as poor Jeffrey. They bustled in, full of concern and apologies, insisting they would remove Jeremy to home at once. It fell to Lord Taverston to take them to see their son and to explain to them the doctor’s orders. Jeremy was not to be moved: he must remain in bed for a week. Lord Taverston assured them it would be no trouble at all to keep him. The upshot was that the parents had left Jeffrey behind to keep his brother company and to fetch and carry for him so that the Taverstons and their guests would not be disturbed.

Of course, that meant having another chamber opened for the boy. And then, to prove Jeremy was welcome and no trouble, the men all took their dinner in his room. Lady Iversley and Mother used the opportunity to sup with the Earl. That left the girls to their own devices. Olivia suggested they eat in the garden.

Georgiana found it exceedingly pleasant. Olivia was friendly and chatty and very interested in hearing about “all the eligible men in London.” She insisted she did not regret missing another Season, saying there would be plenty of men left for her to flirt with next year. And if she didn’t “take,” she said, with a waggle of her eyebrows, there was always Jeffrey. Or Jeremy.

Georgiana told them both about Crispin’s suggestion. Olivia thought teasing Jasper was fine sport and wished she could address him as “Lord Taverston” also, but that would give away the game too quickly. As for Reginald’s odd choice of chair, Olivia confessed to complete ignorance but then wondered if it might be related to Jasper’s odd choice of saddle. She promised to ferret out what was going on. She hated—she said with a laugh—being left out.

They had had a grand time. Until the rain started, and they had to abandon their desserts and run inside.

Now, Jeanette put the last few pins in Georgiana’s hair. “ Très belle ,” she pronounced. “What do you have in store for today?”

Georgiana sighed. “Likely a tour of the house.” It was still raining. She stood. “I suppose I’ll wander downstairs and see who’s stirring.” She had spent part of the night pondering what she had read. She might have figured something out—she needed to reread that page. How she wanted that book! It almost made her wish Lord Taverston would get it over with and propose to her. The sooner they were wed, the sooner she could reveal her true self.

She was being melodramatic, of course. Save for one small quirk, this was her true self; it had to be.

There were two men in the breakfast parlor this morning: Mr. Taverston—Reginald—and Jeffrey. Reginald had his head bent over a book, with a plate of eggs and sausages next to his elbow and coffee beside the plate. Jeffrey was at the sideboard, piling two plates and trying to balance them.

Without looking up, Reginald said, with a hint of impatience, “Just ask a maid for help, for God’s sake.”

“No, no. I won’t be a bother. I said I would see to anything we need.”

“You’re going to need a broom and a mop.”

Georgiana said, “You might simply ask for a tray.”

Reginald’s head whirled. He saw her and quickly stood, while Jeffrey cried: “Oh! Splendid idea. Yes. A tray. Will they have one in the kitchen? I’ll go see.” He hurried out, leaving his plates on the sideboard.

Georgiana eyed the plates. “I gather Jeremy’s appetite was not harmed.”

“What? No. I suppose not. Good morning. Thank you. For someone who swears he won’t be a bother—”

“He’s a pestilence?”

He laughed. Georgiana picked up a plate and some toast and approached the table. There was a piece of paper next to the book. She saw now that the book was a ledger, spread open. She stepped closer. Her eyes ran down the right page to the tally at the bottom.

“Eighty-seven pounds twelve shillings three pence,” she said, “Not eighty-three, six, and three.”

What had she done? She spun around, dizzied, swaying on her feet. The plate fell from her hands and shattered on the floor. She needed to flee, but Mr. Taverston caught her wrist.

“Georgiana? Georgiana, are you all right?”

She felt his hands on her arms. He scraped his chair back with his foot.

“Sit down. Please.” He guided her into the seat.

She had no choice but to sit. Mama would— oh! —she would weep. How could she have been so unguarded? So stupid?

“Georgiana?”

“I’m fine. It’s nothing.” She tried to smile. “A little faint. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

He was regarding her much too carefully. Then he said, “I knew a fellow at Cambridge with that talent. Remarkable. Put all his classmates to shame.”

“Please.” She winced. “I’m sorry. It doesn’t…I don’t…” She dropped her head into her hands. Mama would be so disappointed in her.

“I want you to know, I did come up with the correct answer on my first try.” His voice was softly jocular. “But arithmetic is not my strength, so when I add long lists, I always tally up at least twice.” He slid a piece of paper out of the ledger and along the table in front of her. “See?”

She shut her eyes. Then realized how idiotic she must look, so she opened them. He added in groups. Next added the sums. Amateur .

Oh, God help her. She couldn’t bear it. “There.” She pointed to one of the groups. “There is your mistake.”

He stared at it a moment. She could practically see gears grinding in his brain. Then he smiled. It dazzled her.

“Yes, I see! How embarrassing. God.” He pushed that page aside and the ledger forward. “What about this?”

He pointed to the sum at the bottom of the left page. Tempting her. No, encouraging her. Then he glanced away, picking up his coffee to sip, as if aware that an audience could fluster someone working a puzzle. Ha! As if sums so simple could possibly daunt her. She could not have turned away from the numbers if she tried.

Well, then. She scanned the column eagerly, her dizziness gone. The numbers fell into place like old friends. “That’s correct,” she told him.

“It should be. I got the same answer three times. And this one?” He turned back several pages.

She shook her head. “Close. You’re off by three pounds. Because there.” She put her index finger on the offending row then jerked her hand back, resisting the strange urge to caress the page. How she missed this! “That five should be an eight.”

He squinted. “Yes. That isn’t my handwriting. That was Bradwell. But how did you know?”

“Because…” She hesitated. But it was too late now. She’d gone too far and the devil of it all was, this was more interesting than anything she had done since her debut last year. Perhaps even before that. “Because it was an eight on that previous page.”

He flipped the page then flipped it back again. “Recurring expense. But you can’t tell me you memorized the whole column.”

“No. It’s not memory. More like recognizing a pattern. From those groups you added before.”

He looked at his scratch sheet, then back at his ledger, then sat heavily beside her.

“That’s extraordinary. I’ve never seen—”

“Oh, please!” she groaned. She was making herself ridiculous. “Please don’t tell anyone. It’s horribly pushing of me to have corrected you. And then to display this…these…” She echoed her mother’s long-ago disparagement. “ Parlor tricks .”

“Parlor tricks?” His mouth twisted. “Whoever used those words is sadly ignorant.”

“The Duchess.”

He reddened. Then he said, “If she stands by her words, I stand by mine.”

“Ladies do not show such an interest in numbers .” She said it as though it was something despicable; it’s what her mother would have said had she been in the room.

“Ladies help keep household accounts.”

“Not in their heads.” She stared at the tabletop. How mortifying.

His mouth shut. Then he smiled again as if to reassure her. “I should think you would have guessed by now that Taverstons are not sticklers.”

“On the contrary,” she retorted, annoyed that he did not see what an embarrassment this was. “Lord Taverston seems to me to be quite a stickler.”

Reginald’s face shuttered down. “I see. Yes. Well, he isn’t, really. Not when you get to know him better.”

Jeffrey blundered back into the room with a maid, who was carrying an empty tray. “These. And coffee. Thank you. I can take it up myself.”

“It’s no bother, sir.”

Reginald said, “Gertie, I knocked that plate on the floor. Would you take care of it?”

“Yes, milord. I’ll bring a broom.”

“You can take the tray up to the lad first. The mess can wait.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jeffrey waved his thanks to Reginald and followed the maid from the room.

Reginald stuffed the loose paper into the ledger and closed it. He took a drink of coffee and stood.

“I shouldn’t work here. I’ll take this back to the library.”

“I didn’t mean to drive you away. You haven’t finished your breakfast.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ve had four rolls.” He tucked the book under his arm. “I believe Jasper is giving a house tour later. If you’ll excuse me until then.” He bowed slightly and went to the door, where he paused and turned. “I meant it when I said you could borrow any of the books that you might fancy to read. And if…” he hesitated. “If there is anything you’d like to discuss, from the books, I mean, if you should tire of charades and cards…”

“Thank you. But…” She shook her head. She had already gone beyond the bounds of what was proper. Reginald might have been entertained by her odd little talent in the moment, but upon reflection, he would surely find her ridiculous—as Mother had warned. After all, what use was there in a lady who did sums in her head? Ladies were supposed to have ornamental skills before marriage: painting or playing the pianoforte or arranging flowers. After marriage, they needed only to know how to run a household—and, of course, give their husbands sons. Georgiana sighed.

“No, you’re right,” Reginald said, reddening as though he had as much cause to be as embarrassed by his offer as she had for inspiring it. And then he turned and walked away.

*

Reginald had never been jealous of Jasper. People might have found that hard to believe, but it was true. He had been annoyed by him, sometimes resentful, but never jealous. They were too different. Jasper had never had anything that Reginald truly wanted.

But Crispin was right, even if he had been joking. Georgiana was too good for Jasper. He saw her as a perfect potential countess, one who was beautiful to boot, and he’d looked no further. The truth was, if Jasper had witnessed Georgiana’s parlor trick , he wouldn’t have been pleased. It wasn’t that he would see it as a fault per se, but Jasper would not want a wife smarter than he was. After all, Jasper could barely put up with a younger brother who was smarter. Hence the constant ribbing.

And Georgiana… Lud . In ten seconds, she’d caught mistakes it had taken him ten minutes to make.

He strode into the library, into his niche, and set the ledger on his desk. Crispin had been busy: Father’s chair was tucked back behind it. He wondered absently what Crispin had put in its place.

The devil. Georgiana was not only better at arithmetic; she had better sense. Pushing him away. What had he been thinking, asking her to discuss Newton with him? That he had something of more value to offer her than Jasper did? The better course was to avoid her. He had nothing to offer. He could offer nothing .

Besides, Jasper had seen her first.