Page 118 of Better Love Next Time
Georgiana scrambled to her knees. “Herescuedyou? The last time I saw you both, he could not look at you. He was a right, proper arse.” Georgiana shook her head. “Oh dear lord, I remember now. When you were dragged away by your father, Julian was there in the reception hall. And then Anthony announced he meant to be your knight in shining armor.”
Kitty faltered. “Anthony Philips?”
“Of course. They were forever competing against each other. But Julian rescued you.” Georgiana sank back on her heels, flushed. “How wonderful.”
Anthony Philips had planned to rescue her? Her marriage was owed to masculine rivalry?
“Your father said he sent you away,” Georgiana said. “Until I received your first letter I worried he had done foul. And Julian was gone, but I assumed he was with those reprobate friends of his.” Georgiana palmed her head. “It was right there in front of me for two years. What a lark!”
A lark? Yes, it was, wasn’t it? It was clear now what Julian had been thinking when they had married. Something along the lines ofAnthony should be here, not me.
Georgiana asked, her blue eyes fierce. “Did he marry you?”
“Pardon?”
“Julian. Did he marry you?”
Oh, she did not want to lie. But if she left with Father Dunlevy, Georgiana would hunt Kitty down with her finest racing steed. So she shook her head.
“Ah. Of course. My cousin only half rescued you,” Georgiana said, throwing up her hands. “An aimless rake until the end.”
A streak of protectiveness shot through Kitty. Why were people judged by their failings instead of their accomplishments? Julian had far more of the latter, but because he did not flaunt his achievements, his closest friends and family recollected only the imperfect.
And naming Julian aimless was merely a milder form of worthless.
“That is not fair,” Kitty said. “He rescued me. And provided for me during our travels. I would be married to a fat old lecher and imprisoned in Yorkshire if not for him.”
“Rest assured, I will write to my cousin and bring him to the point.”
Kitty caught her breath. “No.”
“Why not?”
“I do not want to marry anyone.”
“Please. You’ve been in love with Julian since you were seven. How could you not want to marry him?”
“Please do not write him,” Kitty said, thinking quickly. “You know how stubborn he is. If you demand something of him, he will do the opposite.”
“Hmmm.” Which meant Georgiana would not press further until a later time. “Then you must remain here until I can lure him in. There is the steward’s cottage if you wish for privacy. Or we could go to Eastwick House in London. Julian is sure to be there.”
Kitty swallowed at the notion that Eastwick House was a stone’s throw from Julian’s father’s London residence. “No, I would prefer to stay in the country.”
Lord Eastwick arrived to claim Stephen for dinner, and Georgiana pleaded more time to spend with Kitty. Her husband kissed her mouth and told her he would see her in the morning.
Kitty weaved a tale of her continental travels. After Georgiana returned from putting her boys to bed, they changed into their nightclothes and sipped hot chocolate beneath the thick covers. Georgiana urged Kitty to tell her more, so Kitty went on until she had nothing else to say that wouldn’t be lies.
Georgiana’s racing string had won numerous matches and the lauded Fordyce Stakes. Her marriage was glorious with just the right amount of quarrels. Her dearest friend enlightened Kitty on the easy delivery of her sons and, blushing, the enjoyment of creating them.
In wavering candlelight, sleet sheeting the windows, Georgiana plucked at Kitty’s cross pendant, her eyes agleam. “You know, Julian and I have a longstanding wager on Mr. Thomas Dunlevy.”
Kitty caught Georgiana’s fingers, squeezing them in desperation. “Please do not say it. Even if you suspect him of… that is, it is dangerous.”
“That he is a Catholic priest and not an Anglican honorary curate who ministers throughout the countryside? My lips have always been sealed on that account. Though Sir Jeffrey was hardly discreet about his leanings. No, our wager was of a more personal bent. Julian wagered a guinea Thomas Dunlevy was your true father.”
Kitty pushed up on her elbow. “He did?”
“I wagered against the idea, since your mother was a saint. But I see a distinct resemblance in your eyes. Your kindness. Your smile, which I’ve yet to see today.” Georgiana squinted. “It would explain a lot. By the by, your brother’s gone and purchased a commission, did you know? He offered for Barbara Stockton and she accepted.”
