It didn’t matter. He had to protect them, even if it meant kicking them out into the real world. Mother was still in mourning for Father, so her hiding could be excused for a while, but Rosabel had to find a husband now that her own mourning period was over. It was the only way Geoffrey could be sure she wouldn’t end up worse off than she was presently. In England, a titled husband would be the best kind of protection money could buy.
“You’re right,” he said. “That musicale was . . . difficult. But none of us were prepared, having never been to anything that grand in Newcastle. That’s precisely why we must hire people to help you . . . us.” He forced a smile. “So you don’t spend another social engagement hiding in a corner where no one can notice you. And you heard Mother’s friend—Mrs. Pierce’s company, Elegant Occasions, can ensure that.”
He hadn’t been in town long enough to do the research he customarily did with anyone whose business he meant to frequent, but even if he could have taken the time, it would have made no difference. London was a place all its own, where he had no friends except some engineers, and none of them moved in high society. But since Mrs. Pierce had surprised him by agreeing to his request that he meet with her and her staff today, he’d seized the chance to survey the company in person. At the last minute, he’d decided to bring his mother and sister along, which he probably should have planned to do in the first place.
Being an older brother began to wear on him.
Rosy stared down at her hands. “I don’t have to have a Season. I could stay at home the rest of my life with you and Mama. Or I could travel with you to anywhere you want to build tunnels and bridges and all that. I can keep house for you.”
That was out of the question. Unfortunately, he dared not tell her why. Rosy wasn’t the chatty sort, but if she slipped up and revealed the truth about Father to Mother or anyone else—
He shuddered at the thought. Realizing his mother had noticed his reaction, he reached out to clasp his sister’s hands. “And when I go to Belgium and stay there months at a time? What about Mother? Would you leave her alone when I can’t be with her?”
“Don’t drag me into this,” Mother said. “I’ve already tried—unsuccessfully—to win her over to the idea of having a Season.”
He squeezed Rosy’s hands. “In any case, you deserve a home of your own, poppet, with a husband and children you cherish. I firmly believe you will find someone who suits you if we can merely prepare you for a London Season. I daresay once you meet the staff of Elegant Occasions and feel comfortable with them, half the battle will be won.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Have you ever known me to feel comfortable with strangers?”
“No,” he conceded, “but perhaps it’s time you learned.”
“So I can dance with a succession of gentlemen who are only interested in me for my fortune?”
“That’s nonsense. You’re a very pretty girl.”
She tugged her hands free. “You have to say that. You’re my brother. But I’m stout, and I can’t help noticing that gentlemen don’t like stout ladies.”
“I do.”
“You don’t count. Again, you’re my—”
“Brother. Right. I’m just pointing out that men like all sorts of ladies, including your sort.”
Their mother patted Rosy’s arm. “That nice Lord Winston Chalmers seemed to find you quite fetching at the musicale. Why else would he have called on you the next day?”
“Because he and I both love Beethoven. All we talked about was music and poetry. Oh, and art.” She blushed. “He was very interested in my sketchbook.”
“I’ll wager he was,” Geoffrey muttered.
Rosy shrank down in her seat. “What do you mean?”
He had to bite his tongue to keep from pointing out that art, music, and poetry were generally well-loved by ladies, so the scoundrel had made sure he knew all about them, as any good fortune hunter would.
At his continued silence, she paled. “Now the truth comes out. You think no man of rank would want me for his wife unless it was for my dowry.” With desperation in her voice, she stared down at her gown. “Certainly I’m too dull and plump to hold the interest of a man like Lord Winston.”
“Forgive me, angel, I didn’t mean any such thing,” Geoffrey protested. “And if I thought you boring or ‘plump,’ why would I be willing to spend on Elegant Occasions what will probably amount to a fortune, just so you would feel more at ease for your damned Season?”
“Language, Geoffrey,” his mother murmured, as she did at least five times a day of late.
Rosy merely directed her gaze out the window.
Geoffrey gritted his teeth. If only he could directhisgaze there, too. No, there would be no point. They’d long ago crossed the bridge. He’d have to take a trip out to see it after they were settled into Grenwood House.
Forcing his attention back to the matter at hand, he said, “As for Lord Winston, you are far too good for the likes of him. I asked around about him. Don’t let his honorific sway you—he’s merely the fourth son of a marquess, so he has only an allowance, nothing more, and not a great one at that.” When she blanched and Mother looked surprised, he added, “Neither of you knew that, did you?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Rosy sniffed. “You warned him off, so I won’t be seeing him again anyway.” She nervously tugged at her tight gown, refusing to look at him.
That worried him. “I can’t keep him out of other people’s balls and parties. I merely wanted to caution you about him and others of his ilk.”
