She put a hand to her brow, ruing her own stupidity. Of course he would have been much too young. She ought to have known that, if only she hadn’t been so muddled by a certain scoundrel’s teasing. Oh, that Mr. Wright.
“It’s not Everhart’s condition we should worry about,” Papa went on. “It’s Philippa’s. I can only think of one reason she should have been married so hastily and so far from her family.”
Philippa, pregnant. By neutered Peter Everhart. It was all too much.
“I just don’t understand it,” Eliza said, numb. “She was so taken with Lord Brentley this past summer.”
Her father harrumphed. “Then she had a close escape. We all did.”
“What do you mean?”
“Brentley’s insolvent. It’s all over the papers this week. Been coming on for some years, they say, but the creditors wouldn’t be held at bay any longer. That’s probably why he was hiding in Norfolk at all.”
“The poor man,” Georgie said.
Poor man, indeed.
Eliza had a sinking feeling she knew just who to blame for his misfortunes. His scandalous, dissolute, no-good “friend,” Harry Wright.
If Mr. Wright weren’t always dragging his friend into card rooms and gaming hells, surely Lord Brentley could have avoided financial catastrophe. He might have married Philippa, and with the help of her dowry, put his estate on solid footing again.
Now the man had no hopes, and poor Philippa must bear a child by that shocking seducer, Peter Everhart… If Eliza hadn’t been misled to believe the man was a eunuch, she might have thought to warn her sister.
This had to be Mr. Wright’s doing, all of it. That was the inescapable truth written between the lines. Everyone knew the man was a bad influence. It made Eliza ill to recall what a bad influence he’d been on her. In the months since their parting, it had been tempting to imagine better of him—because thinking better of his character allowed her to think better of herself.
But the truth was clear. The man was a scoundrel, and Eliza was a fool.
She hated him. Hated that no matter how long she lived, he would always be her first dance, her first kiss.
She bit back a growl, and it was as though she could hear his dark, knowing laugh.
There’s my tigress.
With a few mumbled words of apology, she rose from her chair and left the room.
Georgie followed her into the corridor, quickly catching Eliza by the wrist. “Oh, Eliza. This is wonderful.”
“Wonderful? How is it wonderful? Our sister has been ruined.”
“They’re married now. No one will know. Or if they do suspect, they won’t say anything. Such things happen all the time.” Georgie slid her hand to capture Eliza’s. “But this is wonderful for us. For you.”
“One less sister ahead of me, you mean? I’m that much closer to my debut?” Eliza gave her sister’s cheek a fond touch. “That’s kind of you to think of me, but I’m not forming any plans. I’d never rush you, Georgie. After Margaret’s marriage to Sir Snail-Face and Philippa’s scandal with Everhart…” She put her hands on Georgie’s shoulders. “You are my dearest sister, and I daresay the best of our lot. It would break my heart to see you married without the deepest, truest love.”
Georgie smiled beatifically. “But I already have that, you see. The deepest, truest love. I’ve had it for years now.”
Eliza peered at her. “Are you devoting your life to the Church?”
Her sister laughed. “No, no. I’m in love. With a man. With Captain Lessing, to be precise.”
“William? William Lessing?”
Eliza was shocked. The Lessings were their nearest neighbors here in the country—and some vague sort of cousins on their mother’s side. The two families’ youngest generations had been close all their lives, and William had always been a particular friend. He wasn’t a flashy, charming young gentleman—but intelligent, patient, and kind. Even after going away with the army, he’d made it a particular habit to visit Cade Manor whenever he returned.
Or perhaps he’d made it a particular habit to visit Georgie.
“We’ve been in love for years,” Georgie confessed, “and secretly engaged since my first season. We knew nothing could come of it just yet. He had his service to fulfill in the war, and I… Well, I hated to leave you, Eliza. You’ve had to be so patient these long years. And so have I, in a different way.”
“A much more difficult way. I can’t even imagine.”
Oh, sweet Georgie. She truly was too good for this world. Tirelessly listening to all Eliza’s complaints and moaning about missing out on “life,” and all while knowing her beloved faced death daily.
“Now that Philippa’s wed, I’ll send a letter to William at once. He can write to Papa for permission, and we can be openly betrothed at last. And you”—Georgie smiled broadly—“may finally have your debut. It’s too late for this year, sadly. We don’t want to call attention to Philippa’s mistake. But by next spring, Papa cannot refuse. Aren’t you happy?”