Page 126 of Better Love Next Time
“Who cares? She’s a saint.”
“She is not a saint.”
“Right here, he writes it. S-A-I-N-T. Do you know why? Because she has made him a better person. The wretch. Why does he tell me this? He is aware of my partiality to you. This is gloating, pure and simple. And I vow, yes, I vow not to know him either. No, I will not. He can go to the devil.”
Oh, Julian, you are a devil. You play most unfair.
Kitty bit her lip. “He must love this Madame Féline deeply.”
Georgiana kicked a footstool. “Profoundly.”
“He named his love profound?”
“Yes.” Her friend crushed Julian’s letter and threw it at a porcelain flute player with enough force to topple it. She fell back to the glass doors, beseeching the ceiling with teary eyes. “How could he have gone and fallen in love with—withnot you?”
Georgiana slid down to the floor, planted her brow to her knees, and sobbed. Kitty had never seen her friend in such a state of grief except when her parents had died.
Lord Eastwick towered at the sitting room entrance. “What has happened?”
Georgiana lifted her wet face. “Julian has gone off and fallen in love with a woman.NotKitty. He has married her.”
Lord Eastwick and Kitty shared a look before he walked to his wife and crouched before her. “George?—”
“No. Do not tell me all will be well. It will not.”
Lord Eastwick lifted his hand, trying to decide where to place it on his wife while she renewed her crying. He settled for brushing back her crimson hair. “George, perhaps we should ask Miss Babbington how she feels about this.”
Lord Eastwick looked over his shoulder at Kitty. His brows lifted and the expectation was clear. Kitty was to do and say, lie, whatever it took, to soothe Georgiana’s fractured spirit.
She is with child, Lord Eastwick mouthed.
This explained everything.
Kitty rose from the settee. The clip-clop of horses filtered in from the drive, and Stephen, with a joyous shout, ran off.
Kitty joined Lord Eastwick, easing to her knees. “Georgiana, I am most happy for Julian. I suspect he wrote you the letter because you had written him, demanding he marry me. A humorous sort of tit for tat.”
Georgiana cried harder. Lord Eastwick sent her a killing glance to do better.
Kitty took a breath. “When Julian and I returned to England… remember when I said I had to be careful? I chose to disguise myself, you see. I am Madame Féline. Julian did come to the point. After he rescued me, we were married over the anvil.”
Georgiana lifted her head.
Lord Eastwick curled an arm about his wife. “Who is Madame Féline?”
“Me,” Kitty said. “The woman Julian married. Though I’ve only been Madame since June in order to hide my identity. I apologize for not admitting the truth, but I am in danger. More importantly, Father Dunlevy is.”
Georgiana hiccupped. “You are married to Julian.”
“I am.”
She dug the heel of her hand at her eyes and stared into the distance. After a stretch of silence, she said, “What sort of danger?”
Someone cleared their throat from the doorway. Rupert, Georgiana’s surly, ancient gardener turned butler. “Pardon, m’lady, m’lord, but we’ve got visitors. Mayhap their majesties and their court.”
“It’s an old man,” Stephen exclaimed, scooping through Rupert’s spindly legs. “And a prince. And more coming!”
“Let’s go see.” Lord Eastwick departed the room with Stephen and Rupert.
