The Leopard Prince (Princes #2)(39)

“Mmm.” Violet shrugged one shoulder.

At least she was still alive. What had happened to her vivacious younger sister? The one who was constitutionally unable to refrain from exclaiming about every little thing?

“I do like soft-boiled eggs,” Euphie fluted from the other end of the table. “Of course, it is very important that they still be moist and not at all dried out.”

George frowned as she took a sip of tea. Hadn’t Euphie noticed the almost deathly quiet of her charge?

“Kidneys are nice as well,” Euphie continued. “If they’ve been prepared in butter. But I can’t abide gammon in the morning. I don’t know how anyone can, really.”

Perhaps it was time to find a younger companion for Violet. Euphie was a dear but a tad absentminded at times.

“Would you like to go riding today?” George asked. Maybe Violet just needed fresh air. “I saw a lovely vista the other day, and I thought if you brought your pencils, you could sketch it. Tony says—”

“I’m sorry.” Violet leaped from her seat. “I… I can’t go today.”

She ran from the room.

“Young people are so abrupt, aren’t they?” Euphie looked puzzled. “When I was a girl, I’m sure my mother told me a hundred times, ‘Euphemia, do not rush about. The true mark of a lady is her ability to be sedate.’ ”

“Very enlightening, I’m sure,” George said. “Do you know what is bothering Violet?”

“Bothering her, my lady?” Euphie cocked her head like a bird. “I don’t know that she is actually bothered. I think any little change from her normal behavior might be blamed on her youth and certain monthly happenings.” She blushed and hurriedly took a drink of tea.

“I see.” George studied the older woman thoughtfully. Perhaps she would be better employed as M’man’s companion. Her absentmindedness would certainly do no harm there. “Well, I thank you for your insight. And now if you will excuse me?” George stood and walked out of the breakfast room as Euphie was still murmuring her consent.

She hurried up the stairs to Violet’s room.

“Violet, dear?” George knocked at her door.

“What is it?” Her sister’s voice sounded suspiciously stuffy.

“I wanted to talk with you, if I may?”

“Go away. I don’t want to see anyone. You never understand.” The key turned in the lock.

Violet had locked her out.

George stared at the door. Fine, then. She was certainly not going to engage in an argument through solid wood. She stomped down the hallway. Euphie was in her own little world, Violet was sulking, and Harry… George opened the door to her bedroom so forcefully it banged against the wall. Harry wasn’t anywhere to be found. She’d had her gig at his cottage at seven this morning, and he’d already left. Coward! And men thought women faint of heart. He was probably out doing male things in the delusion that work needed being done, when in reality, he was simply avoiding her. Ha! Well, two could play at that game. She struggled out of her day dress and yanked on a riding costume. She turned in a complete circle, trying to fasten the hooks in the back before she conceded defeat and rang for Tiggle.

The maid arrived wearing the same half-mournful, half-consoling expression she’d worn since the previous disastrous night.

George nearly lost control at the sight. “Help me do this up, please.” She presented her back.

“You’re going riding, my lady?”

“Yes.”

“In this weather?” Tiggle looked doubtfully at the window. A wet tree branch lashed against it.

“Yes.” George frowned at the tree branch. At least there was no lightning.

“I see.” Tiggle bent behind her to reach the hooks at her waist. “It’s a pity about last night—that Mr. Pye turned down your invitation.”

George stiffened. Did all the servants feel sorry for her now? “He didn’t turn me down. Well, not precisely.”

“Oh?”

George could feel the heat stealing up her face. Drat pale complexions. “He asked me what I wanted from him.”

Tiggle, who was picking up the discarded day dress, stopped and stared at her. “And what did you answer, my lady? If you don’t mind me asking.”

George threw up her hands. “I didn’t know what to say. I mumbled something about never having done this before and he left.”

“Oh.” Tiggle frowned.

“What does he want me to say?” George paced to the window. “ ‘I want you naked, Harry Pye?’ Surely it’s usually done with more finesse than that? And why demand my intentions? I can’t imagine most affairs de coeur begin on such a lawyerly note. I’m surprised he didn’t ask for them in writing: ‘I, Lady Georgina Maitland, do request Mr. Harry Pye to make very fine love to me.’ Really!”

There was silence behind her. George winced. Now she’d shocked Tiggle. Could this day get any—

The maid started laughing.

George turned.

Her maid was doubled over, trying to catch her breath. “Oh, my lady!”

George’s mouth twitched. “It isn’t that funny.”

“No, of course not.” Tiggle bit her lip, plainly struggling. “It’s just, ‘I want you naked, Ha-Ha-Harry Pye.’ ” She went off again.