First Comes Scandal (Rokesbys #4)(66)

Georgie then looked at Nicholas. Was he going to say something? Should she say something? Was it even their place to do so?

Nicholas let out a breath, and for a moment he seemed to sink further into his chair.

Then, with a weary inhale, he stood up.

“Milord?” Mr. Kipperstrung called out. “Did Martha make a mess of the dinner? She’s as useless as her—”

“No, no,” Nicholas said, and Georgie watched him spread a smile across his face that did not reach his eyes. He patted Martha on the shoulder as he stepped deftly around her. “She’s neat and quick. My wife and I are most grateful.”

The burly man did not look convinced. “You need only tell me and I’ll have ’er—”

Nicholas did not let him finish. He held up a hand, then turned to Martha and said, “If you please, my wife is hungry and tired. Would you see her to her room and make sure she has whatever she requires?”

And before Georgie could say, “Now wait just a moment,” to Nicholas, he’d started for the door.

“My good man,” he said in a tone that Georgie thought almost pompous, “I am a doctor, and the boy I saw a moment ago has a burn on his arm in which I am quite interested.”

Mr. Kipperstrung let out a loud snort. “’Tis but a scratch, milord. He’s a clumsy boy, and he’s lucky I keep him. He needs to learn his job proper and he won’t get hurt.”

“Nevertheless,” Nicholas said, his voice just slightly clipped. “I haven’t treated a burn of that nature in quite some time, and I could do with the practice. After all, it’s not like we can go and burn people for the purpose of healing them later.”

Georgie choked on a highly inappropriate bubble of laughter. That last sentence had been for her benefit, of that she was sure.

Mr. Kipperstrung seemed not to know what to say, especially as Nicholas was already walking smoothly past him. In fact, he only seemed to regain his power of speech once Nicholas had already disappeared through the doorway, and even then, all he could do was splutter and stomp after him.

Several moments of extended silence followed. Georgiana blinked. Then she blinked again. Had she just been completely dismissed?

“What just happened?” she said out loud.

Martha eyed her warily, clearly not sure whether the question was rhetorical.

Georgie set down the spoon she only just realized she was still holding. She looked up at Martha.

Martha managed the weakest of smiles. “Should I take you to your room?”

Georgie shook her head, murmuring to herself, “I can’t believe he just left me here.”

“I … ah …” Martha wrung her hands, watching the kitchen door as if she expected flames to shoot forth at any moment.

“I could help, you know,” Georgie said. She looked at Martha. “He didn’t even ask.”

“Ma’am?”

Georgie stood.

“Ma’am.” Now Martha sounded a little panicked.

“Please take me into the kitchen.”

“What?” Martha’s face drained of color. “I mean, are you sure?”

“Entirely so,” Georgie said in her best I-am-a-woman-of-means-and-I-shall-not-be-crossed voice.

It was a somewhat new voice for her, but she’d had very good role models.

“But ma’am, it’s the kitchen.”

“I assume that is where Mr. Kipperstrung just took Mr. Rokesby.”

“You mean the doctor?”

“The very same.”

“Oh, no, ma’am,” Martha said. “You don’t want to go there.”

Which made Georgie quite sure there was no place she’d rather be.

Georgie held her smile firmly in place. “I rather think I do.”

“But you’re a lady.”

This didn’t seem to be a question, so Georgie did not answer it. Instead she started to make her way around Nicholas’s now abandoned chair. Martha looked fit to cry.

“If you please, ma’am, my lady.” Martha scurried forward, practically throwing herself between Georgie and the door. “The doctor—your husband, he said—”

“I believe he said something about whatever my needs were.”

“Your meal …” Martha said weakly. “I could carry it up.”

There was a resounding crash from the kitchen. Martha made an awkward step toward the door just as Nicholas strode back through it, ducking to clear the doorway with a limp boy slung over his shoulder.

“Georgie!” Martha called out in what was clearly concern and surprise.

That stopped Georgie cold. “Excuse me?”

“Georgie,” Martha said, pointing at Nicholas.

“His name is Georgie?” Nicholas asked Martha.

“Me clotheid brother,” Martha said, using the colorful Scottish modifier without a lick of a Scottish accent.

“And his name is Georgie?” Georgie asked Martha.

Martha nodded.

“My name is Georgie,” Georgie said, her palm flattened on her chest.

Martha looked aghast. Whether she was horrified at the prospect of a lady with a man’s name or at a lady suggesting a tavern maid call her by said name—this was unclear.

She also seemed entirely unaware she was making such a dramatic face.