“Our arrival in town this morning has already brought with it some invitations,” her father said. “It is important for your brother to be seen in society.”
Marcus’s search for a bride had been a fraught one. Ironically enough, he might have been well suited for one of Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s matches. He had a title, and many properties which her father had refused to give up, but the family needed the fortune of an heiress to attempt fixing the leaking roofs, to update the kitchens, and to bring much needed repairs to the tenant cottages on the estate. Indeed, it might have been worth enduring a tolerable bit of scandal, but Marcus’s ability to tolerate any challenge was very little indeed.
“If you had given me notice of your arrival, I am certain the baroness would have been most pleased to host a soiree on his behalf,” Georgie said. “Indeed, I would have been pleased to stay on there to assist with the arrangements.” It would have given her enough time to make her plans with Mr. Osbourne. She’d only been at Ashcombe House a few moments and already she felt the walls closing in around her. Her ability to escape her family’s watchful eyes would be difficult. However, if Marcus was to be out in society, all hope for an easy escape might not be lost.
Of course, Mr. Osbourne would have to be canny enough to help her. While he was affable enough, she was less confident in his ability to plan a quiet exit. Tom on the other hand…
Enough.
Her father settled in his chair, the creaking furniture underneath him dragging her attention back to him. The gentle smile had disappeared, the light in his eyes dimmed once more,his lips pressed into a thin line, as if he’d just swallowed an ill-prepared dish.
“There is no reason to trespass on the baroness’s hospitality further,” he said, then rose to his full height, towering over Georgie, blocking the late afternoon sun streaming in the windows behind him. “Indeed, it is a happy fortune that we are here, as I happened to meet with Lord Sharpe at my club and invited him to dine with us on the morrow.”
Fear slithered down Georgie’s spine, and she was uncertain that years of her governess’s training had been enough to keep her from flinching at Papa’s announcement.
“Indeed,” she said at last, trying to muster even the smallest pretense of enthusiasm and failing miserably. She could not dine with him. Her mind raced, looking for some way to delay. “I am afraid I have already made a promise to dine with the baroness tomorrow. She has invited the Duke and Duchess of Weymouth. It would be rude to change my plans.”
It was a total fabrication of course, but if she’d hoped her father would be impressed by the guest list, she was sadly mistaken.
“Plans are canceled every day, and I am certain Baroness D’Anville will not be bothered by it,” he said, waving away her concern as if he was swatting at a bothersome insect. “This is important, Georgiana. Baron Sharpe has been an excellent friend of the family, and we must honor that friendship. I will have Norton send a note.”
“I am shocked he has returned to England,” she countered, not willing to acknowledge her father’s demands. “He is so committed to properties in the Caribbean.”
“Indeed, I came to town upon learning his plans,” he said, his animated countenance suggesting he was quite pleased with the turn of events. “He agreed to come to town to meet with me to finalize a bit of business between us.”
Georgie curled her fingers into her palms, the edge of her nails burying into her skin.
“Father.” The forcefulness of her tone clearly shocked her father, but desperation drove her to ignore the rising color in his cheeks. “Please tell me you are not committed to this idea of having me marry him.”
“I see having you stay with the baroness may have been a mistake,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back as he walked to the other side of his desk, standing over her. “This outrageous behavior does not become you.”
“I am sorry, Father,” she replied, her apologetic words an attempt at placation rather than remorse. “But you must see that Lord Sharpe is not my only option. There are plenty of gentlemen for whom a link to the Ashcombe family would be a great honor.”
“True,” he said, almost as an afterthought, but shook his head, as if the incongruity of her suggestion was somehow too much of a deviation. “This has been planned for years. Indeed, since you were but a child.”
“A child?” she said. “Father, he is three times my age. He has been married since I have been alive. I do not understand this.”
“I don’t expect you to understand these matters,” he said, his condescension more infuriating than any anger he might have displayed. “But the marriage contract has been signed. He comes tonight to celebrate the occasion, as will you.”
“But what if I don’t love him?”
“Love? My dear, you do not need to love him,” her father said, incredulous. “After your mother’s death, I had become far too lax in the oversight of your education. You have been distracted by these novels and fantastical ideas. Lord Sharpe will be an attentive husband.”
“I do not wish his attention,” she said. “How can you wed me to someone who is more senior than you? Indeed, he could be your father.”
“You are young,” he said. “And I will not hear one more word on this subject.”
“But what if I met someone else?” she asked. “Someone else I wished to marry.”
He looked at her, his eyes narrow.
“Who?”
“Mr. John Osbourne,” she said.
“I knew sending you to London was a mistake,” he said. “A temporary lapse in judgment.”
“You haven’t answered me,” she said.