No Gentleman for Georgina (2 page)

Only the older she got, the longer she knew Paul and the more she saw her friends marrying men they truly loved, the more she had begun to question the future her father foresaw for her.

But there were things no one could ever change. She was foolish to hope for more when it was very likely more would never come.

Georgina looked up from the paper and could hardly contain her excitement. “Papa, did you read the news?”

Her mother and father had been talking, but now both shifted their attention to her. “What news?” her mother asked.

“Madame Tussaud’s traveling wax exhibit is back in London after years touring the countryside,” she said, turning the paper so they could see the advertisement. “I hadn’t realized it returned a few months ago, but with everyone coming to Town for the Season, they’re doing a special showing with new figures.”

Her mother’s eyes, dark blue like her own, suddenly filled with worry, and her father’s face drew down with a frown.

Georgina rushed to avoid the refusals that were clearly on their lips, hoping she could find a way to convince them. “I’ve always wanted to see the figures,” she said. “You know that many very important people have posed for Madame. Even the titled.”

Her mother shot a side glance at her father before she answered Georgina. “I think I recall you asking to see the exhibit when it first came to London. You were less than ten, and of course we couldn’t allow it.”

Her father snorted out a derisive laugh. “Just as we won’t allow it now, Eugenia.”

Georgina sucked in a breath. “Oh, Papa! You know her figures are all the rage.”

His eyes narrowed. “Many things are the ‘rage’, Georgina. Many very inappropriate things that could damage you.”

“Papa, I’m not asking if I may ride astride in Hyde Park,” she argued. “This is art! No one could think that it would be inappropriate to—”

“The very idea of it is garish and disgusting,” her father interrupted with a wave of his hand. “It is one thing to go look at a pretty portrait in the gallery or to learn needlepoint, but to take death masks of those who were killed in the Revolution? Or to mold a woman’s body out of wax and dress it up? That is
not
art, Georgina. And I shall not have my daughter taking any part in it.”

Georgina pushed the paper aside, frustration mounting in her. Hadn’t she done everything her father had asked of her over the years? Hadn’t she primped and prepared and said yes when she meant no and danced with men with bad breath only because someone called them “my lord”? Why couldn’t he allow her this one pleasure?

“Papa,” she began. “Please, you must listen to me—”

“I said no and that is the end of it,” he said, slapping a hand down on the table.

She turned to her mother, hoping to find an ally, but she merely shook her head gently and Georgina slumped in her chair. It seemed she was destined to be stuck in the life her parents designed for her. There would not even be release for a little diversion like seeing the wax exhibit.

She took the section of the paper with the advertisement for Madame Tussaud’s exhibit and quietly excused herself from the table. And tried very hard, as she trod up the stairs to her chamber, not to cry with disappointment that seemed to mount each day.

Paul sat at the desk in Marcus’s study, looking over paperwork his employer had asked him to review that afternoon. They had once held these meetings in the office above the main room of the hell Marcus owned, but in the two years since Marcus’s marriage to Annabelle, Paul had found himself in their home more and more. And there he was witness to the loving bond that was shared between husband and wife.

On one hand, he was truly happy for his friend. Marcus had helped him in ways the other man probably didn’t even realize, and seeing him content as he was pleased Paul. But it was also a form of torture. Marcus and Annabelle’s sideways stares and lingering touches only illustrated just how alone in the world Paul was.

He shook his head and pushed the chair away from the desk. He was being maudlin, something that was bound to happen when he spent too much time poring over figures. And since Marcus had slipped from the room half an hour before, Paul hadn’t even had someone to talk to in the hopes he could clear his mind.

He moved to the sideboard to pour himself tea, but as he neared the door, he heard voices in the hallway. Female voices, lifting and falling as if there was an argument happening. Curious and needing to stretch his legs, he stepped into the hallway and came to a short stop as he found Annabelle standing in the foyer with Georgina.

The women were so involved in talk that for a moment they didn’t notice him. He couldn’t make out exactly what they were saying, but Georgina was speaking rapidly, her face and tone revealing her upset, and she was waving around what looked like a piece of newspaper.

He should have simply turned around and walked back to the study to complete his work. But seeing Georgina here was too strong a draw. He found himself walking toward the women, his legs moving almost without his permission.

As he entered the foyer, he heard Annabelle say in a soothing tone, “Dearest, please, you are making no sense at all. You must calm yourself and come with me. We’ll sit down and have tea and work out whatever is wrong—”

At that moment, he cleared his throat and both women jumped as they realized his presence. Georgina’s face went bright red and she shoved the torn paper in her hands down into the reticule dangling from her wrist.

“Oh, Paul,” Annabelle said with a smile. “I’m sorry, we didn’t see you there. You remember Georgina, of course.”

Georgina still did not look at him even as he bowed slightly. “Miss Hickson. I’m sorry to disturb you. I was merely stretching my legs and I heard voices. I don’t wish to interrupt.”

Georgina looked at him at last. “You aren’t, of course, Mr. Abbot. I didn’t know you were here.”

Annabelle gave her an odd look. “If you and Marcus are taking a break from your work, perhaps you will join Georgina and me for tea?”

Paul continued to look at Georgina, wishing he could comfort her in some way even though he didn’t know why she was so upset. “I’m afraid I don’t know where Marcus went. He made some reference to an errand a short while ago and left me to my own devices.”

Annabelle blinked. “An errand, was it? Interesting. Well, come and join us regardless.”

He knew he should decline, especially since Georgina obviously had something private to discuss with Annabelle, but the opportunity to sit with her without her mother and father clucking their tongues in disapproval was too rare to pass up.

“I will come in for a while, thank you,” he said.

“Excellent,” Annabelle said as she linked arms with Georgina and led them both into the parlor.

As she rang the bell, Paul watched Georgina pace across the room to the window that overlooked the garden. Her expression was pensive and sad as she stared out over beautiful flowers and well-manicured bushes.

“Miss Hickson—” he began, but was stopped when a servant entered with refreshments. The young woman set her tray down, then leaned in to say something to Annabelle. The other woman blushed, but smiled as she looked toward her friend and Paul.

“Won’t you excuse me a moment? Marcus has requested my company.”

The light in her eyes made Paul turn his head. So
that
was the something Marcus had left him for. Some surprise for Annabelle.

“Of course,” Georgina said, her tone flat as she turned to face her friend. “I will be fine alone if Mr. Abbot has his work to attend to.”

Annabelle waved her hand. “Don’t be silly. I’m certain he will be happy to keep you company.” She smiled at Georgina. “I won’t be long. I promise.”

Georgina nodded and Annabelle left, leaving the door just slightly ajar for propriety. Paul stared at it. He had never been so alone with Georgina before. He had always spent his time with her in ballrooms and parlors filled with people.

She shifted, and her awkward smile told him she was thinking the same thing. But was she uncomfortable with their state of privacy? Was that why she had said she would be fine alone?

“You must not have thought you would be relegated to governess duty today,” she finally said, moving toward him.

He shook his head. “What?”

She blushed. “You came here to work, not be forced to keep my company. I know you were only being polite not telling Annabelle you wished to leave.”

He took a small step toward her. “Actually, I do not mind spending time with you at all, Miss Hickson,” he said softly. “It is always a pleasure. But if you’d like me to leave—”

“No!” she said, the sudden and strong tone of her denial making him smile wider. Her cheeks grew even darker. “I mean, I would certainly enjoy your company.”

He motioned her to the settee and then poured her tea. After years of watching her, he knew how she took it, so he prepared it and handed it over. She took a sip and looked up at him in surprise.

“Th-thank you,” she stammered.

He poured his own refreshment and sat down across from her. “I have not seen you since Lord and Lady Hartholm’s soiree a few days ago.”

She nodded. “Yes. I was sorry you left before I could say goodbye.”

He shrugged. “I am not particularly comfortable at such events, I fear. It is not my world.”

She shifted. “Perhaps not, but that does not mean you are not welcome there. I know many a lady watches you at those events, wishing you would dance with them.”

He drew back in surprise at that statement. “You must be joking.”

“No.” She dropped her gaze. “I am asked about you on a regular basis. Because we are…we are friends of a sort.”

He nodded. Friends. He was lucky to be able to call her that. And yet sitting here, looking at her, knowing she was hurting and it was not his place to help her…he wanted so much more.

“How much did you hear between Annabelle and me in the hall?” she asked.

He was caught off guard by the soft question. “Not much,” he admitted. “Enough to know you have been distressed by something. Perhaps whatever was in the newspaper you tried to hide when you saw me in the foyer.”

She looked down at her clenched hands in her lap for a moment, and he could see the struggle on her face. She obviously wanted to talk to someone about her troubles, and with Annabelle out of the room, here he was. He shouldn’t have allowed that, knowing it was inappropriate for her.

But he didn’t care.

“If you would like to share what has happened with me, I promise not to judge you.”

Her gaze jerked up and she met his eyes. Her stare was so deep and blue and beautiful that he couldn’t tear himself away. She held there for a short time before she removed her reticule from her wrist and withdrew from it that crumpled piece of newspaper.

He took her offering and smoothed the wrinkled paper out. He scanned the words, looking for whatever could have bothered her. When he was silent too long, she whispered, “The advertisement.”

His gaze fell on the small square in the corner that touted a return of Madame Tussaud’s wax figures to London.

“The exhibit?” he asked, looking up.

She nodded. “That is what I came to talk to Annabelle about, though I hadn’t yet explained it. You must think me very silly.”

He furrowed his brow, still uncertain why this would cause her such strong emotion. “Not at all,” he said as he handed the paper back. “It’s a wonderful exhibit—you will enjoy it, I’m certain.”

Her face fell and she reached out to rest her fingers on the paper she had placed beside her on the settee. “No, I will not,” she said, her voice barely carrying. “My father won’t allow me to attend.”

He drew back as the pain in her voice became clear. “Why not?”

She looked at him for a very long time. Long enough that he wondered if she intended to answer the question at any point. “My father has a certain desire for my future. And he will refuse me the right to anything that isn’t in his plans for me.”

Paul couldn’t stop his frown from deepening. “And so he will eliminate any pleasure from your life?”

The moment he asked the question, he heard the double entendre to it. One he hadn’t meant but which now sent his errant mind on a journey of kissing this woman. Undressing her. Making love to her.