Page 42 of The Virgin Who Humbled Lord Haslemere
“Maths, for one. It appeals to analytical minds because numbers are rational, dependable things, unlike, for example, poetry.”
Or people.
“Are you good at maths?” Freddy asked doubtfully.
“Very good. So good I teach it.”
“You mean you’re like Mr. Chilcote?” Freddy looked quite impressed.
“Yes, though I teachyoung ladies.”
“Freddy,” the duchess interrupted gently. “It’s impertinent to ask so many questions.”
“Thank you for sharing this with me.” Georgiana handed the British Isles back to the boy.
Freddy took the piece, then hesitated. “You will come back again, won’t you, ma’am?”
Before Georgiana could reply, the duchess said, “Freddy. You’re keeping Mr. Chilcote waiting.”
“Yes, Mama.” Freddy offered Georgiana one last grin, showing off the gaps in his gums, then shoved the British Isles in his pocket, trotted to the door, and darted through it. A moment later, however, he peeked back around the corner again. “I’ll see you again very soon, won’t I, Uncle Benedict?”
“Yes, Freddy, you will. I have some business in London, and I don’t intend to leave until it’s completed.” But Benedict wasn’t looking at Freddy. He was looking at his sister. “I’ll start by paying a visit to Lady Archerthis evening.”
The duchess, who could hardly fail to understand him, shook her head. “You’d be much better off returning to Surrey, Benedict.” She didn’t give him a chance to reply, but shifted her attention to Georgiana. “It was kind of you to visit, Miss Harley. I daresay it will be some time before I can returnthe courtesy.”
It was plain to see the duchess wasn’t pleased with her, and no wonder, what with Lord Haslemere storming into her drawing room and demanding answers after Georgiana had sworn to keep this business a secret from him.
She bit her lip. How had she managed to bungle this so badly? Now she’d have to confess to Lady Clifford that she’d angered the Duchess of Kenilworth. Lady Clifford would know how to repair the rift, but until then, there was only one thing Georgiana could do.
She dropped into a curtsy. “As you wish, Your Grace.”
Chapter Ten
“Will this do?” Georgiana peeked around the door leading into Lady Clifford’s private parlor. “I hope so, because it’s thebest I can do.”
Lady Clifford was tucked into an overstuffed chair near the fire, her fat pug dog, Gussie, snoring in her lap. “Come closer, so I can get a better look at you.”
Georgiana didn’twantanyone to look at her—not Lady Clifford, and certainly not Lord Haslemere—but as there wasn’t any help for it, she moved into the middle of the room, caught a fold of the dark red silk gown she was wearing, and dipped into a mockingcurtsy. “Well?”
Lady Clifford cocked her head to the side. “Is that the gown Emma wore to Sophia and Lord Gray’sholiday party?”
“It is, yes, which explains why it’s too big in the bosom and waist, and several inches too short.” Georgiana plucked at the gaping neckline where her bosom was meant to be overflowing her stays. She felt like an utter fool already, and she hadn’t even leftthe house yet.
No doubt she looked a fool, too. Finery didn’t flatter her the way it did other ladies. Silk gowns and corsets only seemed to emphasize her tall, gangly form, and she ended up looking like an awkward giraffe. It didn’t bode well for an evening surrounded by the most fashionable members of thetonat Lady Archer’s faro table.
Lady Clifford rose to her feet, set Gussie down in her place, and drew closer, her critical gaze sweeping over Georgiana. “Hmmm.”
Georgiana plucked nervously at her skirt. “Lady Archer and her ilk are very…I don’t have the right…everyone will know at a glance I don’tbelong there.”
“Hmmm.”
“It’s very bad, I know, but I haven’t anything else that’s suitable.” There was a shocking lack of party gowns in her wardrobe. “If this won’t do, I suppose I can wear the bronze gown again.”
Rich colors bring out the threads of gold in your hair…
Georgiana flushed right up to the roots of said hair. Threads of gold, indeed. Her hair was brown. It had never been anything other than brown, and never would be anything other than brown, no matter what color she wore. Lord Haslemere was so accustomed to flattering ladies the compliments flew from his lips without asecond thought—
“Are you too warm, dearest? Youlook flushed.”
