“You’re going to have to marry someone,” Violet said. She gestured crassly toward George’s abdomen. “Unless you intend to take a protracted tour of the continent.”
“Broadening the mind by travel—” Euphie started. “I have no intention of touring the continent.” George cut Euphie off before she could gather wind and babble about traveling until they reached London. “Perhaps I could marry Cecil Barclay.”
“Cecil!” Violet gaped at her sister as if she’d announced her intention of wedding a codfish. One would think Violet would be a little more sympathetic, considering her own near predicament. “Have you gone raving mad? You’ll trample Cecil as if he were a fluffy bunny rabbit.”
“What do you mean?” George swallowed and pressed her hand to her belly. “You make me sound like a harpy.”
“Well, now that you mention it…”
George narrowed her eyes. “Mr. Pye is quiet, but at least he never backed down from you.” Violet’s eyes widened. “Have you considered what he’ll do when he finds out you’ve run away from him? It’s the silent ones who have the worst tempers, you know.”
“I don’t know where you get these melodramatic ideas. And besides, I haven’t run away.” George ignored her sister, pointedly glancing around the carriage, which was presently bumping out of Yorkshire. “And I don’t think he will do anything.” Her stomach rolled at the thought of Harry finding her gone.
Violet looked doubtful. “Mr. Pye didn’t strike me as the kind of man to just sit back and let his woman find another man to marry.”
“I am not Mr. Pye’s woman.” “I’m not sure what else you would call it—” “Violet!” George clutched the tin basin under her chin. I will not cast up. I will not cast up. I will no—
“Are you feeling quite the thing, my lady?” Euphie piped. “Why, you look almost green. Do you know, your mother bore that exact same face when she was”—the companion leaned forward and hissed as if a gentleman might somehow hear her inside the moving carriage—“increasing with Lady Violet.” Euphie sat back and blushed a bright pink. “But of course that can’t be your problem.”
Violet stared at Euphie as if mesmerized.
Tiggle buried her face in her hands.
And George groaned. She was going to die before she made it to London.
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHE’S GONE?” Harry tried to keep his voice even. He stood in the front hall of Woldsly. He’d come here to see his lady, only to have the butler tell him that she’d left over an hour ago.
Greaves backed up a step. “Exactly that, Mr. Pye.” The butler cleared his throat. “Lady Georgina accompanied by Lady Violet and Miss Hope left quite early this morning for London.”
“The hell you say.” Had she received urgent news about a relative, maybe one of her brothers?
“Mr. Pye.” The butler drew himself up in offense. “I’ve had a very hard night, Mr. Greaves.” And a harder morning. Harry passed a hand over his aching forehead. “Was a letter brought to my lady? Or a rider? Did a rider come bearing some kind of news?”
“No. Not that it is any concern of yours, Mr. Pye.” Greaves stared down his thin nose. “Now, if I may show you the door?”
Harry took two quick steps and grabbed the butler by the shirtfront. One step more and he slammed the man against the wall, cracking the plaster. “As it happens, what my lady does is my concern.” Harry leaned close enough to smell the powder on Greaves’s wig. “She’s carrying my child and will soon be my wife. Is that understood?”
The butler nodded, sending a fine dusting of powder onto his shoulders.
“Good.” Harry released the other man.
What would make her leave so suddenly? Frowning, he took the curving main stairs two at a time and headed down the long hall to his lady’s room. Had he missed something? Said the wrong thing? The problem with women was that it could be damn near anything.
Harry threw open the bedroom door, scaring a maid cleaning out the hearth. He strode to Lady Georgina’s vanity table. The top had been cleared. He opened drawers and flung them shut just as fast. They were empty save for a few hairpins and a forgotten handkerchief. The maid scurried from the room. Harry straightened from the vanity and surveyed the room. The wardrobe doors stood ajar and empty. A lone candlestick sat on the table by her bed. The bed itself had already been stripped. There wasn’t anything to indicate where she’d gone.
He quit the room and ran back down the stairs, knowing the servants were aware of his movements. He knew he must seem a madman, racing about the manor and claiming the daughter of an earl as his bride. Well, damn them all to hell. He wasn’t backing down. She was the one who had brought it this far. She’d laid down the gauntlet and then run for it. This time around he wasn’t going to wait for her to come to her senses. Who knew how long it would take her to get over whatever snit she’d gotten herself into? He might be a commoner, he might be poor, but by God, he was going to be Lady Georgina’s husband, and his wife needed to learn that she couldn’t just light out every time she got a bee in her bonnet.
Harry mounted the poor mare, already half asleep, and turned her in the direction of his own little cottage. He’d pack the barest essentials. If he was fast, he might catch her before Lincoln.
Five minutes later, he opened the door to his cottage, thinking about what to bring, but all thought stopped when he saw the table. The leopard stood on it. Harry picked up the carved animal. It was exactly the same as the last time he’d seen it in her palm. Except that it was no longer in a cage.
She’d set the leopard free.
He stared at the wooden creature in his hands for a minute, rubbing his thumb over the smooth back he’d so carefully whittled. Then he looked at the table again. There was a note. He picked it up with a shaking hand.
My Dear Harry,
I’m sorry. I never meant to cage you. I see now that it wouldn’t be right for me to force myself on you. I’ll take care of matters myself. Enclosed is something I had drawn up when last in London.
—Georgina
The second paper was a legal document. Lady Georgina had given him the Woldsly estate.
No.
Harry reread the fine script. The document remained the same.
No. No. No. He crumpled the paper in his fist. Did she hate him that much? Hate him enough to give up part of her inheritance to get him out of her life? He sank into a chair and stared at the balled scrap in his hand. Perhaps she’d finally come to her senses. Finally realized how very far beneath her he lay. If so, there would be no redemption for him. He laughed, but it came out more a sob, even to his own ears. He’d spent the last weeks pushing Lady Georgina away, but even as he’d done so, he’d known.