He bit the inside of his lip, fighting the urge to press her.
A part of him wondered whether he ought to leave entirely, but instead, he dipped his head once more and made his own wayback to the drawing room. If he were forced to sit in a corner, in silence, during her receiving hours, then he would. He would not give up on this duty of chaperoning, no matter how much she might wish him to.
As he walked back, he couldn't help wondering whether there was more he could have said. Might she have been more willing to listen if he had apologized for the way he had spoken in the park? Did she reject his warning simply to snub him for it?
He paused at the terrace doors and closed his eyes. Looking back, he might have done so many things differently.
Perhaps he had already failed entirely in his duties, but at least he had tried.
There was only so much he could do. After all, he was not her father. A father might have dragged her upstairs and locked her in her room to keep her from unsuitable gentlemen, but he knew she would loathe him forever for such actions.
With a sigh, he opened his eyes again, and entered the house, putting on the mask of the duke, the man who would silently will any unsuitable men from her drawing room.
Whether she was right or not, George was determined to remain guarded, both with the Lord of Greystone and all of the others.
His only relief was that he would not have to go it alone.
He was glad when he returned to the drawing room to find that Walter was still in attendance, and it appeared he had no intentions of leaving anytime soon.
When, finally, Lady Cecelia graced them with her presence, the audiences started in full swing, and George was glad when Walter came to sit beside him.
“You look as if you swallowed a bee whilst in the garden,” his friend commented quietly, so as not to draw attention away from the young ladies who were in soft conversation with their callers. “Is all well?”
George's hands tightened into fists where they rested on his lap.
“Yes,” he said through gritted teeth, though he knew from the raised eyebrow that Walter did not believe him.
His friend leaned back in his chair with a deep sigh.
“I think I might require a drink after this,” he said, and George saw him look at him out of the corner of his eye. “Might you see fit to join me at Whittington’s?”
George cringed. He hadn't attended the gentlemen's club since he returned home. It was a place he, Walter, and all their male friends had spent a lot of time in before the war, encouraged there by their fathers to make prosperous connections for the future.
And the thought of going there now did not hold the same excitement as it had previously.
He inhaled sharply before suggesting, “I shall consider it.”
Walter leaned across the distance between them and nudged him hard. “Don't be such a spoilsport.”
George's lip twitched in the beginnings of a smile. He simply could not remain down in the dumps with his friend present. He, at least, made this time bearable, just as he had done during the war.
“If nothing else comes up,” he sighed, “then I suppose one drink wouldn't do any harm.”
“That's the spirit!” Walter said, clapping him on the back.
The noise drew the attention of everyone in the room, and though they all quickly returned to their business, Lady Cecelia remained glowering at them both for several long seconds.
Again, he considered taking his leave. Perhaps he might leave his duties to Walter, considering that the man did not attempt to leave himself.
It was clear that whilst Lady Mary remained in the drawing room, so would he. And so, when Lady Cecelia looked away, and he had recovered from her scathing glare, he said, “Things appear to be going well for you, at least.”
He inclined his head towards Lady Mary, who, though she was engaging in conversation with her sisters and their callers, continued to glance in his direction at every opportunity.
George's chest tightened. If only a young lady might look at him that way, maybe then he might not be so cynical all the time. Maybe then he might be able to believe that he was wrong about the Viscount of Greystone. Maybe then he might be able to believe that Lady Cecelia was right.
***
Why George agreed to go to the gentlemen’s club, he wasn’t entirely sure. Perhaps it was because he had no intention ofgoing home. A place he would sit alone in his study and ponder over all that was going on, thinking of Lady Cecelia in all kinds of inappropriate ways, longing for the way Lady Mary had been looking at Walter all afternoon.
