“Not exactly. Having your own home means that you’re the lady of the house. While I am the lady of this house, it’s only because Father is widowed,” Georgiana explained. “He could remarry, and I would no longer have that position. If I marry, then I will truly be the lady of the house—my husband’s house, that is.”
Nodding to show she understood, Emma shoveled the rest of her cake into her mouth. She chewed for a long minute before asking, “Why aren’t you married?”
A smile broke free. Georgiana crossed the room to tap her sister’s nose. “Because I could be married and lady of my own house, or I could be here with you.”
“I’m glad you’re here. You don’t… wish to be married, do you?”
Giving her a nudge so they could sit close together, Georgiana shook her head. “And give up my afternoons with you? Certainly not.”
“Good.” There was palpable relief in her sister’s expression. “I want you here. I don’t know what I would do without you, Georgie. You’re the only one who tells me stories. Won’t you tell me one now? The one about the piglet and Mama.”
That was Emma’s favorite, and Georgiana was not surprised. She told the story of her mother helping their neighbor’s cook catch a piglet racing through the mud nearly every day. There had been dirt behind her mother’s ear for a good week.
“Yes, and then we shall go for our ride,” Georgiana decided. “Let’s see, where does it begin again?”
“With Mama! She was with child and had just felt me kick for the first time.”
“Ah, yes. What a sunny morning that was. Mama and I were playing outside in the front gardens back in Devonshire, collecting flowers, when she felt you kick inside her tummy. Then we heard a shout and––”
A knock sounded at the door.
She paused in surprise. Visiting hours were over now. Their last two visitors had come at the tail end of the time before slowly taking their leave. No one else had any other reason to visit. Her three friends had all married, making them busier than ever.
Didn’t I remove the knocker? I wonder who it could be. Oh, and if Rogers isn’t around…
Ignoring Emma’s groan, Georgiana nudged her sister’s legs off her lap—they had somehow ended up there. She quietly excused herself before making her way out of the room and around the hall to the front door.
There was a quiet shuffling following behind her. That would be Rogers, their aging butler. Though her father intended to recruit another, she had managed to ignore that order this long. Rogers liked feeling useful and he wasn’t ready to retire.
“My Lady?”
“I can get it,” she called over her shoulder. “Don’t worry yourself, Rogers. We shall see…”
Even though Georgiana had heard the knock on the door, she still was not prepared for actually seeing anyone there. Her words faded away as she studied the two men who had come at an odd hour without an invitation.
“Good afternoon,” the shorter one said.
She recognized him as Lord Egerton, the son of the Marquess of Carlisle. A little shorter than herself, and on the rounder side, he was around her age. They had shared a dance at the first ball of that Season back in September.
It was months ago. I wonder what he’s doing here?
“Welcome, My Lords,” Rogers said as he came up behind her.
Having him so close so suddenly made her jump. The thin, hunched man only came up to her shoulder. His voice pulled her out of her thoughts.
“Yes, welcome, Lord Egerton,” she stammered out, recalling his Christian name to be Benedict. “What a… what a pleasure to have you here. Is there…”
Benedict turned his cautious smile to the man next to him. “Yes, yes. Erm, may I introduce my cousin? This is Owen Comerfield.”
“The Duke of Winchester,” the tall man corrected.
Georgiana stood a step above the men, though the Duke was able to meet her gaze. His strong features outlined a thick jaw and sharp cheekbones. He made her think of a bull, all muscle and more intimidating than she was ready to know.
Dark green eyes stared her down as he slowly removed his hat with a serious expression. “Good afternoon, My Lady. May we presume you are the lady of the house?”
Proud tension radiated off his body. She could feel it, though they weren’t quite within arms’ reach. Every part of him seemed to tell her he was not a man to be bothered. Cold, proud, and unfeeling. Hearing the heavy beating of her heart, she fought the sudden urge to close the door in their faces.
“I… Yes. That is I. Me. I’m Georgiana.”
