Flowers and herbs filled the drawing room. Any books that had once graced the surfaces had been shoved aside, and Georgiana’s eyebrows darted up.

Papa seemed similarly flummoxed. “Where is my Plato?”

“Darling!” Mama fluttered her hands. “You don’t need Plato! Your daughter is getting married. Charlotte is getting married. It’s a miracle.”

Charlotte’s complexion never ventured far from pale, but it managed to grow lighter now.

Georgiana cringed on her behalf.

Her mother needn’t seem so surprised that Charlotte had managed to secure a husband, even though it seemed unlikely that a wallflower had somehow captured the match of the season: a duke, and one under the age of thirty.

“Nonsense.” Papa piled the books back on the parlor table, as if being in such proximity to the titles would convey wisdom. He paused and picked up an herb. “Is that sage on my copy of Plato’s Republic?”

“Don’t move it,” Mama exclaimed.

“Is there a particular reason why you have placed sage on it?”

“For our youngest daughter’s eternal happiness. It represents wisdom, and it will go into her bridal bouquet.”

“If she believes that clutching dried herbs will lead to a life of wisdom, there is no hope for her.”

“No doubt you would suggest she stride down the aisle with a philosophy book.”

“For instance.” Papa stroked his sideburn. “It is always good to ponder the meaning of life.”

“Charlotte has already found the meaning of life,” her mother said happily. “Marriage.”

“Plato would disagree.”

“Then he was a foolish man.”

“I doubt Plato carried a bridal bouquet of sage on his wedding day,” Georgiana said.

“Quite right,” Mama said. “He probably should have done that. Though a boutonniere of course. Far more masculine.”

“Plato wore a toga,” Papa grumbled. “He couldn’t possibly have worn a boutonniere.”

“You don’t know that,” Mama said merrily, concentrating on arranging the herbs. “Just because the statues don’t show boutonnieres, doesn’t mean men didn’t wear them.”

“Mother has a good point,” Georgiana said, and her mother smiled triumphantly.

“Besides, he never married,” Papa said.

“You do know you are just proving my point, dear?” Mama said.

“Hmph.” Papa continued to scrutinize the room. “Please tell me that isn’t garlic.”

“Would you desire our child to be without goodness?”

“The garlic will ward off any invitations for misbehaving.” Papa turned to Charlotte. “I’m no proponent of misbehaving, but do you really want garlic in your bridal bouquet?”

“If Mama desires it,” Charlotte said. “It really does not matter.”

Georgiana frowned. Charlotte had been surprisingly nonchalant about the whole wedding. It was almost as if she were not madly in love with the duke, and if she were not in love with him, perhaps he was not in love with her.

Despite her fondness for her sister, even Georgiana had to admit the strangeness of their match.

Their mother would have considered it a victory if Charlotte had merely danced with the duke, an occurrence to bring up on dull, cold nights in Norfolk, but instead Charlotte had appeared with a Scottish heirloom on her finger and the duke’s vow to be permanently at her side.

“I always thought Georgiana would marry first,” Mama said.

“Because she’s the oldest?” Papa settled into an armchair, apparently satisfied to have discovered his copy of The Republic and leafed through the pages, occasionally brushing away strands of dried herbs.

“Because her thighs are the largest and more conducive to birthing,” Mama said, obviously unaware that she’d managed to insult both of her children at the same time.

Charlotte concentrated on her sewing.

Their mother was wrong. Charlotte was pretty, though it wouldn’t matter if she wasn’t.

Georgiana’s sister had always been thin, perhaps because she’d always been sickly. She’d retreated into the world of books and music, barricaded in the family’s drawing room.

Until she’d become engaged.

Before Georgiana.

Georgiana was happy for her sister. Truly she was. Still, Georgiana had the impression that Charlotte was refraining from sharing everything with her, and she did not exactly delight in the raised eyebrows by some in the ton. They thought it odd that Georgiana, who was in her third season, had managed to be bested by someone who was in her first season. Since Georgiana was supposed to have all the advantages of health, they seemed to delight in pondering what disadvantages in personality she possessed.

She sighed.

In two days, her sister would be married and whisked off to some castle in Scotland, and Georgiana would remain in London.

Georgiana busied herself with some crocheting. The task was hampered by visions of broad shoulders and large green eyes. The man’s Scottish brogue seemed to continue to whisper into her ear.

Voices sounded from the entry, but this time Georgiana was less confident than normal, despite knowing the identity of the visitors. She smoothed her dress, though it would hardly be an unbecoming wrinkle in her fabric that was likely to mar the visit.

The duke’s younger brother had attempted to bribe her in an effort to prevent the wedding from occurring and then had insulted her morals by kissing her. She seethed.

There was still time to confess everything to her family. She could leap to her feet and lock the door or at least drag one of the heavier chairs to block the entrance, since she’d never actually seen a key for the door before.

Papa might chase the duke’s brother from the house, as was entirely appropriate. But would he chase the duke away as well, believing the lack of character in the man’s younger brother indicated a lack of character in the duke? Georgiana wasn’t certain, and she had the dreadful idea Mama might be happy to shout “compromised” if she learned her daughter had been alone with a man who was under the age of thirty-five and resided in a castle. And dear Charlotte, what if she put an end to the wedding, after feeling herself unwelcome in the Montgomery family?

No, it was better for Georgiana to remain silent and to only discuss weather if asked to converse. She gave a quick glance to the window. The sky was gray, and it appeared to be drizzling outside.

Good.

She could work with that. She could say, “When will the rain ever stop?” and “I much prefer sunshine to drizzle.” She smiled and raised her chin.

“My son!” Mama called out, leaping from her seat in a manner not precisely advocated by etiquette books. “He is here. With his dearest brother.”

“Are you certain?” Georgiana asked, aware too late that her voice had somehow managed to become hoarse. She coughed.

Her mother turned her head toward her. “Please tell me you’re not becoming ill.”

“N-no.” Georgiana shook her head with vigor, but the increased rapidity did not lessen the narrowing of Mama’s eyes.

“Are you quite all right, dear?” Mama placed her right palm over Georgiana’s forehead.

Evidently Georgiana was not quite as successful at feigning confidence as she’d hoped.

Fiddle-faddle.

“I’m perfectly well, Mama.” Georgiana forced herself to smile, but even though lip moving was a skill she was certain she’d mastered, her attempt must have contained a wobble, for her mother continued to scrutinize her.

Footsteps struck against the corridor, evidently unhampered by the carpets. The noise was the sort that could only be achieved by muscular men wearing Hessians.

It will be fine. It will be fine. It will be fine.

At least the duke’s brother had decided to make a more conventional entrance this time.

It would be quite nice to slink up to her room and avoid him, but who knew what the man might say to Charlotte? No, she would remain here. At least she could glower at him if he approached her sister. Her lips twitched. And perhaps he would stay away from them both if he thought she did have some contagious disease from a faraway land that would flummox any doctor or surgeon here.

“Your health is vital,” Mama said. “What if you were to make the duke ill? What if he could never marry dear Charlotte? Why, you could have typhoid. Malaria.”

“I don’t have typhoid or malaria,” Georgiana said, managing to step away from her mother’s enthusiastic attempts at giving medical administrations. “How could I have gotten them here?”

“This isn’t Norfolk,” her mother said. “There are a number of ships from all sorts of foreign places sitting in the Thames. Why they could be filled with all sorts of deadly diseases.” Her mother leaned closer. “Some not even identified. You could be the first case on English soil.”

“I feel much better,” Georgiana said hastily.  

For some reason her mother looked almost disappointed, as if the prospect of being the mother to the first Englishwoman to succumb to a newly discovered tropical illness was beginning to appeal to her imagination.

“Are you well, Miss Butterworth?” The faint Scottish brogue of her sister’s fiancé sounded. It was concerned and proper, but Georgiana’s heartrate still quickened.

For if the duke was there, then his brother was likely also present.

And even though Georgiana had decided she despised the man from the moment he’d invaded her chamber, the memory of his lips on hers still managed to be pleasant.

Would he announce that he knew her already?

Naturally not.

He wasn’t a fool. If he didn’t want his brother to marry dear sweet lovely Charlotte, who had all the advantages of temperament, he wouldn’t want to go about announcing that he’d compromised her sister.

Slowly she glided her gaze to the entrance. The duke managed to look as handsome as ever, but beside him was his arrogant brother.

How odd that two men who resembled each other in appearance could be so drastically different in temperament. Though his hair was darker than his brother’s, their shoulders were of similar widths, and their legs were of similar lengths. Their noses did not differ in the steepness of their slopes, and their chins were both of the wide variety.

“I’m quite fine.” Georgiana drew back, unsure what precisely he might say, and not caring to inspire him to action.

“It looked like you were ill,” the duke’s brother said, his voice cool.

“Er—no.” She flushed. She should be prepared for the man’s lilting, sonorous voice, but it only reminded her of last night’s kiss.

“I thought the same thing. But now I do believe she was only overwhelmed at the prospect of meeting you,” Mama said, utterly unhelpfully. “Such excitement for my poor child. You must be the dear duke’s brother.”

“Yes.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you.” Her mother dipped into a low curtsy. “Your brother has told us so much about you. An architect!”

“My specialty is in the Scots baronial style.”

“How interesting.” Mama fixed a bland smile on her face, the kind she wore when she was utterly bemused, but thought a smile appropriate. “History is important.”

“Indeed. I think it vital that people not forget the cruelty of the English in past interactions with the Scottish.”

An awkward silence followed, and then her mother laughed.

“You are really too charming.”

The duke’s brother’s face did not change. “History is no comedy.”

“Er—quite right,” Papa said. “Would you like some tea?”

Georgiana smiled. Papa had never been an enthusiastic tea drinker before, but he seemed eager to have something with which to distract himself. He soon launched into a soliloquy on the types of tea, one which did not seem to intrigue the duke’s brother, no doubt because of it did not involve trespassing. 

“It is a pleasure to finally meet my brother’s betrothed.” Lord Hamish Montgomery directed his gaze in Georgiana’s direction.

Georgiana shifted on the sofa. The pillows were soft, but not soft enough to ease the tension in her body.

This was when she was going to be discovered.

This was when he would discover she was not in fact her sister, and that she had had no business speaking with authority on the engagement.

“Dear child, you look so pale,” Mama said abruptly.

“Perhaps you require more tea,” Lord Hamish Montgomery said. “Apparently it has a great many restorative powers.”

Papa clapped his hands together. “Oh, indeed. We could even bring out the green variety.”

“I’m quite fine,” she said weakly.

Tea was expensive. It was the sort of delicacy appropriate to serve to a duke and his brother, but she could hardly have two cups of it.

Her parents had intended that the family would leave London earlier, when it was evident that Georgiana had yet again not acquired a fiancé, but her sister’s unexpected betrothal had changed all of that.

Georgiana would be glad when her sister married, and they could return to Norfolk and its pleasant countryside, away from the grime of the capital.