Historical Romance June 2017 Books 1 - 4. Annie Burrows
frowning over what looked like a hand of whist with Mr Pargetter. The poor man had, earlier on, looked as out of place as Georgiana had felt, amidst all the titled, privileged guests. It was good to see he looked much more at ease, now he was playing cards. And being much more useful, to Georgiana’s way of thinking, by keeping Stepmama occupied.
She gave a sigh of relief, fixed a smile on her face and sauntered in the general direction of Sukey’s sofa. As soon as Stepmama had noticed her, nodded her approval and returned her attention to her hand, Georgiana veered off towards the furthest, quietest corner of the room. She had just turned and leaned back against the wall, when the footman stationed at the door announced the arrival of yet another guest.
‘Lord Ashenden!’
For a moment, a wave of such raw fury gripped her that she forgot to breathe. And it wasn’t just because of the way he’d rebuffed her proposal. It was all the years and years of rejection that had come before. Which brought on a wave of pain so intense it made her throat close up.
And then she went light-headed.
Then the fear of fainting away and humiliating herself in front of all these sophisticated people, just because Edmund had walked in, got her breathing again. And firming her knees and her spine. And schooling her features into an expression of what she hoped would pass for indifference.
She was only just in time, too. He’d been looking idly round the room, but his cool grey gaze snagged on her in recognition. And then, as if it wasn’t enough that he was actually here, his lip curled in distaste as he raked her from head to toe.
He couldn’t have hurt her worse if he’d slapped her. Come to think of it, he couldn’t have hurt her at all if he’d tried anything like that. She’d have had her guard up and deflected the blow.
A reflection that served to turn the knife in the wound. For he’d been the one to teach her how to defend herself, and, remembering how close they’d been once only made her more painfully aware of how far apart they were now.
Oh, Lord, why did he have to be here tonight, when she was wearing a gown that made her feel like a...a trollop?
Trollop. The accusation rang in her ears. It had been Edmund’s housekeeper who’d first used that word to condemn her behaviour, when she’d found her in his sickroom, that day she’d spent collecting all those butterflies to cheer him up. Which had been the last time she’d ever managed to sneak into his house. Nobody else had ever called her that name again, but whenever she’d heard anyone else called a trollop, in connection with some scandalous behaviour, it had felt as though they were raking their nails across her skin.
Now, the way he was looking at her made her wonder if he’d thought it all along.
She gasped.
Was that why he hadn’t written to her, even though he’d said he would? Had someone persuaded him, between their exchange of notes and his arrival in the Scilly Isles, that he’d do better to cut the connection? She’d always just thought he’d forgotten all about her once he’d left the country, that he had found more interesting companions, but...it might explain everything. It would certainly explain the way he’d behaved when he’d come home. Instead of going straight to their usual meeting place by the stream, or tucking a note between the loose stones by his gate post to explain why he wasn’t coming, he’d completely ignored her.
Stepmama had explained that she shouldn’t expect him to recognise her in public, once his father had died, and he’d become the Earl. Besides which, he wasn’t a boy any longer, but a man who’d travelled and gained all sorts of experience. She’d taken another, longer look at him then. And seen that this fashionably dressed, sophisticated man would have regarded the letters she’d written to him as the outpourings of a childish idiot.
She’d gone cold inside as she’d finally understood how pathetic she’d been about...so many things. And promptly vowed not to be so pitiful one moment longer. If he didn’t want to have anything to do with her, then she would not embarrass him, or herself, by letting anyone suspect she’d been pining for him.
So the next time she’d seen him, the night he’d strolled into the local assembly in Bartlesham, she’d fixed a smile on her face and stuck close to Sukey and her throng of admirers. And instead of ignoring the leftover ones that Sukey didn’t have time to dance with, she’d offered to stand up with them for once. Most of them were so bemused they couldn’t think of a polite way to refuse her, so, for that one night, Georgiana had never lacked for a partner.
But it hadn’t impressed Edmund. At least, not the way she’d hoped. He’d looked at her exactly the way he was looking at her now. As though she disgusted him.
So she did exactly what she’d done that night as well. She lifted her chin and turned her head away, as though there was something more interesting to look at elsewhere. Her gaze came to rest on the baronet, who was standing by the piano, piling his plate with food. And slipping every third sandwich into his pocket.
The sight of a guest stealing food was so shocking that it did actually distract her from Edmund. For a moment, anyway. By the time she glanced back at the place where he had been standing, he was no longer there.
Instead, he was striding across the room, looking as though he was thinking of strangling her.
Her heart started banging against her ribs. She didn’t know what she’d done to put such a look on his face, but at least he was coming over. Every other time they’d been at the same function he’d made a point of ignoring her. Spoken to just about every other person in the place, but accorded her only a chilly nod as he’d stalked past on his way out.
Not that he had any right to look at her like that. In fact, she had far more right to be angry and to be shooting dagger glances at him. If he’d only been more...reasonable, she might not have had to part with Whitesocks, or see Stepmama spend the money that had been left to her by her father on foolish extravagances, or been shoehorned into ridiculous outfits and obliged to put up with the unwelcome attention such gowns attracted from men who ought to have better manners. She might not have had to come to London at all.
By the time he reached her side, she’d curled her hands into fists, she was so angry with him. Every bit as angry as he looked. For a moment or two, neither of them spoke. Instead they just stood there glaring at each other.
‘I see you are set on taking London by storm,’ he said, giving the edge of her décolletage one scathing glance.
He might have said something vile, but at least he had been the one to weaken and speak first. So it felt as if she had scored the first point.
‘I see you have left your manners behind in Bartlesham,’ she riposted.
‘Touché,’ he said, raising his hand to acknowledge the hit. Which made it two to one. ‘But if you want me to make a complimentary remark about your appearance, I am afraid you will be waiting a long time.’
She supposed he’d meant to wound her, but since he couldn’t possibly hate the gown more than she did, the thrust had gone wide. What was more, now that he’d spoken to her so rudely, she felt perfectly justified in speaking her mind as well.
‘I have already learned that waiting for you is a waste of time.’
‘I attended you at the trout stream the very day I got your note,’ he said, looking a touch uncomfortable. ‘And I did call upon you a day or so later, to tell you that...’ He shook his head. ‘Never mind that now. It must be obvious that by the time I had calmed down, you had already left for London and what might have been said upon that occasion is now completely irrelevant.’
‘You called upon me? At Six Chimneys?’ That hadn’t been what she’d meant about waiting for him. It had been the years while he’d been abroad, during which she’d pined for his company, which she now regarded as so much wasted time. Because she’d always hoped that when he came back, things would have returned to the way they’d been...
Which just went to show how silly she’d been. They’d both been