is not necessary to escort me,’ she said to reinforce the signal, snapping the fan open and giving it a furious flutter. ‘I must attend to necessities.’ It would have been so much easier had he been the sort of fellow who trod on hems. Short of ripping her gown herself she had no excuse to give other than a call of nature, to hide in the lady’s retiring room. Let him think what he wished about her reasons for going there, as long as she did not have to say aloud that she was trying to escape from him.
He gave a nod of defeat and let her go. But she knew, by the creeping feeling of the hairs at the back of her neck, that he watched each retreating step to make sure of her destination.
Once safely behind the door, she dropped into the nearest chair, ignoring the bustle of the ladies around her. Why was it that the most unappealing men were always the most persistent? The fact that Sir Nash was from her stepmother’s family made it all the more awkward. Marietta was continually singing the man’s praises in hopes of a match that, if George had any say in it, would never occur.
She shuddered again. As much as she did not like Marietta, she must make some effort to maintain peace for Father’s sake. But that did not mean she had to dance more than a courtesy set with Sir Nash.
‘Georgiana!’ Her stepmother’s voice cut through her introspection like a shard of glass.
‘Yes, Marietta,’ she said with a sigh.
‘Sir Nash says you are unwell.’
‘And you came to see if it was true,’ George finished for her.
‘I do not want you malingering in the retiring room when you should be enjoying yourself.’
‘I am enjoying myself,’ George replied, unable to contain the truth. ‘I find it much more enjoyable to be here, alone, than dancing with your cousin.’
‘Horrible, wilful girl.’ Her stepmother was looking at her with the usual, thinly disguised loathing. The woman liked her no better at nineteen than she had seven years ago, when she had married Father. George had long ago given up trying to gain an approval that would never come.
Now she resisted the urge to pull a face and behave like the spoiled child Marietta proclaimed her to be. ‘I am trying to be polite. If I have no interest in his suit, it would be cruel of me to give him false hope.’
‘If you think rejecting him without reason is a virtue, you are sorely mistaken,’ Marietta snapped.
‘I have reason enough,’ she said, glancing around. Their argument was drawing enough attention without her elaborating on the sordid details of her time with Sir Nash.
‘If I thought that your desire to hang on your father’s coat-tails was a reason to avoid marriage, then I would agree with you.’
‘Were it true, it would be no different than marrying me off to your cousin, so you can get me out of your house,’ George said sharply. ‘I am more than willing to go. But not if I must marry Nash Bowles.’ Now her face contorted in the grimace she had been trying to contain. But she could not help it. At the mention of the man’s name, all that was in her recoiled in revulsion.
‘Georgiana!’
It was the beginning of what was likely to be a colourful harangue about her deficient character, made all the more humiliating by the dozen or so women and maids who were pretending that they were not listening to every word. She would not stand for it. She would go and sit in the carriage if she had to. Perhaps, if she begged, the driver would take her back to the country where she belonged, for she’d had not a moment’s peace since the day they’d arrived in London. George shot up and out of her chair, pushing past Marietta and through the door, slamming it behind her.
She had not thought it possible for the evening to get worse. But on the other side, she all but ran into the only person she wanted to see less than Sir Nash.
Mr Frederick Challenger was lounging against the wall just opposite the door. What reason did he have to lurk outside the ladies’ room? Or was he possessed of some evil instinct that drew him to be where she was, so he might prevent her from regaining even a little of her pride?
Now he behaved as he did whenever he saw her. He did not bother with the sort of polite acknowledgement she would have got even from a rotter like Sir Nash. Instead, he glanced in her direction with a half-smile and then looked through her, as if she didn’t exist.
It was just as he’d done since the first moment they’d met. If one could call a glimpse that had not ended in an introduction a meeting. It had been at Almack’s, some weeks past. Marietta had been all but dragging her by the ear towards him. ‘You must meet Mr Challenger, Georgiana. He is the second son of the Earl of Roston, a hero of Waterloo, eligible and rich!’ She had said it loud enough for all in the vicinity to hear.
At least, it had been loud enough for Mr Challenger to hear and be insulted. He had cast a blank look in their direction, then turned and walked away before they could speak to him. And so it had gone at each meeting since. Apology was impossible, since they had not been introduced. Not that she should have to be sorry for a thing that was none of her doing. In fact, if he were a gentleman, he should have pretended not to have heard words that were clearly not meant for his ears.
But it seemed that his chief talent was sticking his perfect nose where it did not belong. Wherever she went, he was there, always watching her while pretending not to notice, never speaking, but always smiling as she made one faux pas after another. Why should she be surprised that he’d caught her red-faced and angry, fresh from the latest argument?
For a moment, their eyes met, accidentally, she was sure. His were already sliding away to make her painfully aware of his disinterest. In response, she directed all the petty irritations of the night at him in a wordless cry that was part anger and part exasperation.
He awarded her with a slightly raised eyebrow, as if to say he was aware of her presence, but thoroughly glad he did not have to speak to her.
She took a deep breath to regain control and answered with what she’d hoped was a dignified sniff that would declare him rude and beneath her notice. Then she swept past him, towards the outer doors.
That was the moment she discovered her skirt had caught in the slammed door behind her. Her grand exit was marred by the sound of ripping gauze and a confetti shower of spangles on the rug at her feet. Since the retiring room was one of the many places she’d been trying to escape, there was no point in going back for a repair. Instead, she grabbed what was left of her skirt and ran for the door, followed by the faint sounds of a man’s chuckle.
* * *
‘...and then she ran through the ballroom, with her petticoat exposed, almost to the waist.’
‘It was an accident,’ George muttered for what seemed like the hundredth time. She sat in the carriage seat opposite her stepmother, elbow on the windowsill and her chin resting on her fist, gazing outside at the London traffic.
‘Peace, Marietta.’ Her father’s voice drifted from where he sat beside his wife, staring out of his own window. ‘She did not mean to do it.’ Then he sighed.
Even as he defended her he sounded faintly disappointed. He had loved her once, George was sure. But lately, when he spoke, he always sounded tired. Was it of London and the demands of Parliament? Or was he simply tired of her?
‘Georgiana has far too many
