CHAPTER1
“Thank goodness that is over.”
A short laugh escaped Georgiana before she could help herself. Turning away from the front door, which she had closed to ensure her guests were gone, she turned to see her little sister skipping over to her.
It was difficult to scold anyone so adorable as her sister, who was newly ten years of age. Emma was a small, spritely-looking thing. While they both had their father’s light blonde hair and deep green eyes, Emma had yet to have the same growth spurt that Georgiana had despised for the better part of her life.
Too tall to be graceful but too thin to be stately. Sometimes I feel like a walking tree, and the cobblers don’t particularly help me feel any better than that. Hopefully, Emma will not have the height that Father and I share. Perhaps she’ll have Mama’s soft, small figure instead.
“I missed you!” Emma cried, before throwing her arms around Georgiana’s middle.
Georgiana hugged her around the shoulders, leaning forward not just to make sure Emma had indeed washed her hair that morning but also to soak in the familiar scent of lilac. A smile spread across her lips as she straightened.
“We broke our fast together this morning not three hours ago,” Georgiana reminded her sister with a chuckle. As Emma pulled back to pout at her, she added, “But I missed you just as much.”
“I missed you more.”
“That’s not possible.” Poking her sister in the nose, Georgiana nodded toward the parlor. “There are a few cakes left if you are still hungry.”
And just like that, she was forgotten.
Emma’s eyes rounded like saucers before she turned and fled through the large doorway. Her scampering steps faded away. However, it didn’t take long to hear her small squeals of delight.
Laughing, Georgiana followed her sister back into the parlor.
Visiting hours were usually noneventful in their little household. If she weren’t the eldest daughter of the long-widowed Earl of Lincoln, then she believed she would have had more freedom to do as she liked. But even then, she had more than most women had.
Of course, it is more than other ladies of the ton enjoy. So long as I hold up the Honeyfield family name, Father doesn’t raise a fuss. He doesn’t even acknowledge his two daughters if he doesn’t need anything from us.
It had been over a year since she’d acted as hostess for any event her father wished to host. Now that she was in her fourth Season at two-and-twenty, he didn’t even see the need to ensure a chaperone accompany her to social events.
Not that Georgiana cared much for them. She tried to attend a few whenever they were in London, but for most of the time, her father liked to keep the two of them in the country, in Devonshire. Which she and Emma didn’t mind one bit.
That would keep nosy braggarts like Mrs. Lyle and her daughter, Lady Comtel, out of this house. They show up every Season just to ensure that Elizabeth is prettier and more successful than me. It’s a competition they are happy to win, since I have no need of looks or husbands.
Or so Georgiana liked to tell herself.
She wasn’t a bluestocking, but she was tall. That was good enough of a crime for a woman on the marriage mart in London. Her father still towered over her by a few inches, just as he had towered over his petite wife, but Georgiana could look over most of a ballroom, much to the men’s dismay. They took one look at her and hurried away like she might stomp on them.
It would be amusing if it hadn’t been hurtful during her first Season. Since then, Georgiana had grown used to that.
She didn’t care for such social events. She preferred keeping her house and tending to Emma. Her ten-year-old sister had never known their mother or a governess, which was just the way Georgiana liked it. They relied on each other.
“It smells funny in here,” Emma said with her mouth full.
Wrinkling her nose, Georgiana nodded. She took her seat and offered up a napkin with a pointed look. “It was Lady Comtel’s pomade. Or her husband’s—I didn’t keep track.”
“That must have been awful. I don’t like visiting hours. They must be horrible.”
“Enjoy it while you can,” she teased. “Someday soon, you shall be out in Society, my doll, and you shall enjoy such treats and pomades and dancing and all sorts of pleasures.”
“Pomade is not a pleasure. It’s horrible.” To emphasize her point, Emma took the rest of her cake and scooted to the other side of the room. “If she’s married, why can’t she just stay at home, away from here?”
Georgiana went to the window to air out the room. A carriage passed, and two figures walked in front of their home. “Because it’s visiting hours, I told you. She just wanted to talk about how nice it is having her own home.”
She didn’t know why she said that. It wasn’t her business nor her sister’s. Turning around, she opened her mouth to correct herself.
“You have your own home.” Emma pouted.
