He climbed into the carriage outside with an odd realization blazing through him. One he had never noticed, nor considered, before.
Miss Georgina Whitmore was beautiful.
Glass clanged against the wobbling silver tray, as Georgina pried open the bedchamber door. The room was motionless. Morning light glowed pink from behind the satin draperies, but as they had been secured shut, no warm sunlight streamed across the cream- and rose-colored furniture.
“Nellie is down at the meat market this morning, so I thought I would bring this up myself.” Georgina settled the tray to the small bedside stand. “Hot chocolate, a bit of fried ham, and a seedcake. Although do not worry”—Georgina poured the steaming brown chocolate into a cup—“I made certain Cook left off any caraway, as I know you quite despise the taste.”
The lump on the bed remained unmoving.
A snag caught Georgina’s throat. How many days would her cousin remain this way? How many days had it been already? A week?
The doctor had come and gone. The baby was well, he assured, though would be much stronger if the mother would indulge in exercise and a more substantial diet. “Which you should make certain she attains,” the man had scolded.
As if Georgina could do anything.
Indeed, she could not even make her cousin speak to her—let alone finish the meals on every tray sent up, or bathe in the copper tub Nellie prepared, or dress in the waiting gowns they draped across the bed.
What did he promise you?The question throbbed, as Georgina settled on the edge of the bed. She pulled back the covers, hesitated, then brushed a quick stroke down Agnes’s tousled brown hair. “Dear, what did he do to so destroy you?”
Agnes blinked hard.
“We used to tell each other everything.”
Another blink.
“I told you how frightened I was of the old clergyman on Sunday mornings, for in his black cassock, he seemed quite the terror to me. You laughed and called me ridiculous. I believed you.” Georgina eased her fingers through the tangles, smoothing them away, one by one. “You told me how that sometimes, late at night, you thought you heard your mamma coughing and calling to you, just as she did before she died. I told you people still talk to us from heaven. It was not true, but it always seemed to make you happy.”
Tears slipped from the staring eyes, rolling down her cheeks, dripping into the white-cotton pillow.
“Agnes, please say something to me.”
“I have nothing to say.” A threadbare whisper. “I have nothing to live for.”
“You have everything to live for.” Georgina leaned closer to her, rubbed her trembling back. “You have me and this town house. You have your friends the Gilchrists. You have the baby.”
“The baby I lied about.”
“What?”
“It does not belong to Simon. You knew that all along. It belongs to…to the man I was in the room with.”
“Let us not speak of him.”
“He lied to me.”
“I know.”
“He said if I told such a story, we would have nothing holding us back. That we could be married. That we could be together without me having to…having to sneak away in the night when no one could see us.” Her shoulders caved forward, eyes closed with pain. “He said we would walk down the street together, proud as anyone. He said our baby would have nice things. He said we would be happy, but he…he…”
From behind, the bedchamber door creaked open. “Miss Whitmore?”
“I shall be out in a moment, Nellie.”
“Oh, but I have the most pleasant news. You must come quick.”
Confusion stirred through Georgina, until she turned to see the smile brightening Nellie’s face. “Mamma?”
Before the maid could answer, Mamma squeezed into the room—dressed in a gown too fine for travel, a purple feather waving from her hair, with cheeks as round and gleeful as they ever were when she enticed her gentlemen. “My two pet darlings.” Mamma clapped both chubby hands, a ray of light glittering from one finger. “I have the most magnificent surprise.”
