First Comes Scandal (Rokesbys #4)(14)

“Family?” Georgie suggested.

Violet let out a loud bark of laughter just as they entered the drawing room. Edmund handed her the glass of sherry he’d already poured for her with an amused smile. “What’s so funny?”

“You,” she said. “Everyone in this room, actually.”

He turned to Georgie.

“She’s right,” Georgie said.

“I may need to head back over to the less feminine side of the room,” Edmund joked.

“Oh, please,” Violet returned, linking her arm with his. “Don’t act as if you haven’t the numbers at home. It’s four against one.”

He kissed her hand. “You’re easily worth five of us.”

Violet looked over at Georgie. “I’m not sure that was a compliment.”

“I would take it as such, regardless of his intentions.”

“Good evening to you, too, sister,” Edmund said, offering Georgie his usual mischievous smile.

Georgie returned the gesture with a quick kiss on his cheek. “I take that back,” she said to Violet. “Disregarding his intentions presupposes that he had intentions. Most of the time when he speaks, the words just spew forth like …” She rolled her hands in front of her face in a rough approximation of a verbal tumbleweed.

“You are evil,” Edmund said approvingly.

“I learned from the best.”

“Yes, you did, didn’t you?”

“Has Nicholas arrived?” Violet asked. “Georgie mentioned he would be coming. Do you know why he’s home?”

Edmund shook his head. “Billie and George are here, but they said that Lord and Lady Manston and Nicholas are coming separately.”

George Rokesby was the heir to the earldom, and he and Billie also lived at Crake with their three children. Lord Manston often said that Billie was the finest thing to happen to the Rokesby family since they’d gained their title in 1672. She was passionate about farming and land management, and Crake’s agricultural output had nearly doubled in the decade since she’d married George.

Billie was quite a bit older than Georgiana, though, and while they’d never been terribly close, that seemed to be changing as Georgie moved further into adulthood. The nine-year age gap that had been so daunting when Georgie was sixteen was not such a huge thing at twenty-six.

“I should go greet Billie,” Georgie said, leaving Edmund and Violet to make their usual dove eyes at each other. It was hard sometimes to be around them. They were so much in love. Georgie had never met two people so obviously made for each other.

She loved them both, she really did, but tonight they were a reminder of all the things she would never have.

No husband. (Not unless she agreed to marry Freddie Oakes, and that wasn’t going to happen.) No children. (One needed a husband for those.)

No everything else that followed.

But she did have more than most people. She had a loving family, and she never had to worry where her next meal might come from, and she supposed if she gave herself enough time to ponder it, she’d find some sort of new purpose in life.

Her mother was right. She couldn’t molder in her room forever. She probably was justified in taking a few more weeks of feeling sorry for herself, but after that she would have to move on.

“Georgie, darling,” Billie said when Georgie reached her side. “How are you holding up?”

Georgie shrugged. “Eh.”

“Is Mama driving you mad?”

“Just a little bit.”

Billie sighed. She’d visited several times since the scandal had broken, often just to distract their mother so that she would not smother Georgie with her concern. “She means well.”

“I know. That’s what makes it bearable. And occasionally even nice.”

Billie took her hand and squeezed it. “Have you heard anything from Mr. Oakes?”

“No,” Georgie said with some alarm. “Why, have you heard something?”

“Not really. Just little rumblings that he might still be trying to press his suit.”

“That’s not new news.” Georgie’s mouth flattened into a grim line. She’d received a letter from Freddie Oakes the day after she’d returned home to Kent. It had been full of drippings and drivel, and she could hear his smarmy voice in his words of undying love and devotion. The way he told it, he’d been overcome with the need to make her his.

Rubbish. All of it. If he’d wanted to make her his, he should have bloody well asked.

“We shall do our best to distract you this evening,” Billie said. “There is nothing like the banded multitudes of Rokesbys and Bridgertons to make one laugh.” She considered that. “Or cry. But tonight, I think laugh.”

“Speaking of multitudes, do you know why Nicholas is home?”

Billie shook her head. “I saw him only briefly. He looked rather grim.”

“Oh, dear. I hope nothing is wrong.”

“If that’s the case, I’m sure he’ll tell us when he’s ready.”

“How unlike you to be so patient.”

“It can’t be anything too serious,” Billie said. “I can’t imagine there is trouble at school—he’s always been so clever. But why else would he be down?”