The house had spirit again, was more than a dusty mausoleum inhabited by grunting men folk. It felt like his mother had come back to them all in some small way. It felt warm now, hopeful and near perfect.
Nearbecause Crawford’s wife Lisibeth had brought her debutante sister. Unmarried and moon-eyed over Josiah. Currently, the chit—Miss Dorinda Darlington—was stretched up on her tiptoes, searching the room. For him no doubt. He ducked farther behind the plant, found another ribbon poking him in the eye, a twig, too. He cursed, swatted it away, and cursed again. Couldn’t see a thing now. Meant no one could see him. Good. Nothing would tempt him to reveal his hiding place.
“Lady Georgiana Hunt,” the butler announced.
Josiah popped to his full height, knocking the plant over. It wobbled. He caught it, keeping his gaze trained on the woman in the doorway. What the devil was Georgie doing here? When he’d asked her last month if she would attend, she’d said—and he’d never forget it—she’d rather clean her navel with a dirty boot scraper. Colorful. Direct. Every word perfectly Georgie.
She stood tall and regal, defiant, before the room. She was stunning in red velvet. She’d stopped wearing mourning clothes after three months, and he’d been glad for it. Black brought out the jagged ice in her. Her maid had piled her hair high and thread a gold ribbon through it. She looked well. Very well. Intimidating, too. Excellent. Exactly what he needed—a beautiful miracle to scare curious debutantes away.
He ducked behind the plant once more, peeked his head out, and hissed at her. “Gee!”
She blinked, looked to the side of the room, toward him.
“Pst! Gee!” He rustled the plant, revealed his face between the boughs.
Their eyes locked, and her eyebrow arched slowly toward her hairline. She wove a sure way toward his hiding spot, and when she reached him, she crossed her arms over her chest and spoke to the room, not to the plant.
“Hiding? Or do you have a special affection for this particular tree?”
“Not a tree. A plant.”
“Oh? What kind?”
“I don’t know. The green kind. Mayhap it’s a tree. It’s not important.”
“Oh, I disagree. I’ve just discovered that this estate’s manager does not know when a plant is considered a tree.”
“Not my area of expertise,” he ground out. “Now help me, and I’ll show you to the cake. Sarah’s requested stacks of it be made for the party.”
Her eyes became gems. Shimmering with malice or eagerness, he could not say. But finally, her red lips parted, and she said, “How may I be of service?”
“Do you see the young lady there, with the blonde hair, standing next to Crawford’s wife?”
“Ah yes. Her sister, I think.”
“Her sister, Miss Darlington, and the thorn in my side.” His grumble was rough enough to shake the tree. Plant? No matter.
Georgiana chuckled. “Set her sights on you, has she?”
“Of course. I’m terribly good looking.”
“I suppose some women would find you appealing. That good-natured grin.” She studied him with an academic tilt of her head.
“Wicked, you mean.”
“Thick black hair with that ever-dangling lock right on your forehead.”
He pushed his hands through his hair, knowing it would make that lock fall, jaunty and tempting.
She tilted her head in the other direction. “Good nose. Eyes blue as the sky and full of merriment.”
He fluttered his lashes at her.
She rolled her eyes. “A good build, too, sturdy and strong and tall. A true man of the country. Yes, I can see how you might turn some small portion of the female population silly. Poor Miss Darlington. Did she ever have a chance?”
“Not likely.”
Georgiana rolled her eyes again and studied the young lady across the room. She crossed her arms over her belly and tapped her arm with one finger. “Hm.Howshould I help you?”
