Lord Sebastian's Secret (The Duke's Sons #3)(62)

He’d gone with Randolph to show off the church, Georgina realized. It was just like him. She reached the landing as the two men came to the foot of the stairs. “Papa!”

They looked up at her, startled. “What’s wrong?” asked her father.

“I need to speak to you.”

“Well, there’s no need to shout. Great gods, I thought the house must be on fire.”

The front door opened just then, and Sebastian entered, blinking at the sudden shift from sunlight to dimness. He’d taken two steps before he noticed the scene before him. Stiffening, he started to retreat. It was like a tableau representing the current lamentable state of her life, Georgina thought. “I must speak to you now, Papa!” she snapped.

All three men flinched at her tone. If she hadn’t been so focused on her mission, she might have enjoyed their expressions. They looked like small boys called to account for some piece of mischief.

“I’m entertaining our guest,” her father replied. “Can’t it wait?”

“No.” Georgina marched down the stairs and practically dragged her father into the library, ignoring curious glances from the Gresham brothers.

“What the deuce is the matter with you?” he said when the door had clicked shut behind them.

Georgina stood quite close to him, her hands on her hips, her eyes fixed on his. What was she to say to persuade him? Words came in response to the thought. “So, Papa, it seems that my happiness means nothing to you.”

“What? What are you talking about? Of course it does.”

“And yet you are bent on ruining my wedding.”

“Is that what this is…? My dear, you simply don’t understand the ramifications of…”

“Stop it!” She hadn’t meant to shout. It had just come out that way.

Her father stared at her, astonished.

“Stay right here,” Georgina commanded. “Don’t move. I mean it.” Putting every ounce of will she could muster into her gaze, she waited until he gave her a sulky nod. Then she rushed out, scarcely pausing to notice that Sebastian and Randolph were gone, and hurried down corridors and up stairs. At the top of the stone tower, thoroughly out of breath, she collected Mr. Mitra by the simple expedient of grasping his forearm and hauling him to his feet. Ignoring his questions and protests, she hustled him back to the library. She was quite relieved to find her father still there. He’d moved over to the shelves and was examining a book.

“Sit there,” she commanded, directing Mr. Mitra to a chair at a large table in the center of the room. He dropped into it with patent relief.

“Georgina,” said her father.

She gave him a burning look. He fell silent. “You can sit there, Papa.” She pointed to a chair opposite Mitra. After a moment’s hesitation, he obeyed.

“What in blazes is wrong with you?” he asked. “This sort of behavior is—”

“Just what I learned from observing my parents,” she finished for him.

Her father blinked, his mouth hanging a little open.

Georgina stood at the head of the table and gazed at the two men, her elders and superiors in intellect and knowledge. And she didn’t care about that. Not a whit. “I’m out of patience,” she said. “You are always talking, Papa, but this time you’re going to listen to me.”

“You are still quite a young woman,” her father began. “You must defer to wiser heads in serious matters such as these.”

“Wiser I will not concede,” she replied fiercely. “How many times have I heard you say that years of study may not yield wisdom?”

“Yes, but I didn’t mean… I wasn’t talking about myself,” he sputtered.

She wasn’t enjoying this, Georgina thought. She didn’t wish to argue with her father, only to redeem her future. She turned to their silent companion. “Mr. Mitra, I have heard you say, on more than one occasion, that the exploration of one’s past lives is a delicate and complex endeavor. And that it is difficult to draw absolute conclusions.”

“Very true,” their guest replied.

Georgina knew that Mr. Mitra was pained by Joanna’s recent excesses, particularly the “ancient sayings” the governess had begun to offer. Their supremely polite guest had even suggested that one or two made no sense. When Joanna had loftily informed him that they were far beyond any current level of understanding, Mr. Mitra had actually scowled at her. Georgina wondered in passing if Joanna would appear in her regalia tonight. And was she thinking of these irrelevancies to avoid the conflict in front of her?

She made herself continue. “You have also said that a being’s growth and change determines the progress of their lives over the, er, centuries.” As she spoke, Georgina realized that she’d picked up quite a bit from the interminable dinner table discussions. “If, for example, someone had actually lived a previous life as a Welsh…”

“Savage!” interrupted her father. He was recovering from her initial rush and was by no means cowed.

She looked at him. “Tribesman,” she said. “Chieftain, perhaps. Prince, even.”

“Grand labels make no difference,” he replied. “They were all savages.”

“And yet you have always told us, Papa, that we should not judge people by their external trappings, but rather by evidence of their inner nature.”