Georgiana rushed through Gretna Green. Happy couples, their hands linked in bliss, stared at her with bewilderment. Their lower lips dropped down, and their eyes widened, as if the mere vision of Georgiana was a cause for facial exercise. But then she must appear ridiculous.

Her gown, which she’d once carefully adorned with ribbons and flounces, was ragged. Long tears impaled the netting.

No doubt she appeared like some nightmarish bride. This had once been her best dress, but only a few short days had rendered it destroyed.

Just like my dreams.

“Where’s your husband?” a villager called out.

“She’s ’aving doubts,” a woman shouted, and Georgiana’s face heated.

She wasn’t having doubts.

She had no husband.

No betrothed.

And now I never will.

Her parents were here, and now they knew she was ruined. At some point she’d feel humiliation and distress, but now her thoughts remained with Hamish. She’d succumbed to the man’s charms, finding the man in ample possession of them, even though her first impression of him had been of the negative sort.

Tears stung and prickled her eyes, rendering her blind to everything except the recent occurrence.

Last night—earlier than that, she’d allowed herself to imagine a life with Hamish. She should have relegated it to a schoolgirl fantasy. She’d told herself that last night hadn’t mattered, that it had been driven by curiosity, but the notion was ridiculous.

Last night hadn’t meant something because she had gained more knowledge of the world than before. For that she had only to pick up one of her father’s many tomes, the sort that he was always recommending. No, last night had meant something purely because it had been with Hamish.

It hadn’t been about knowledge or the satisfaction of any scientific puzzlement that occurred when reading certain penny dreadfuls.

It had been about Hamish.

Hamish’s hands brushing against hers. Hamish’s lips on hers. Hamish’s eyes on her. And then...Hamish inside her, and the strange ripple of emotion, of sheer physical pleasure, that had accompanied it.

They’d slept in each other’s arms last night. She’d wondered at how his body had felt so right pressed against hers, how their figures, their heights, had seemed to meld into an easy perfection.

Last night had been a fantasy.

She’d known that when he hadn’t appeared beside her this morning.

She’d known that when he’d abandoned her.

And she’d even known that when he’d reappeared, making conversation about nothing important, and showing no sign in the least that he was distressed that they would never see each other again.

The wind whirled about her, lifting up her locks in a manner that any illustrator at Matchmaking for Wallflowers might be eager to depict to her detriment. The wind threatened to swoop up the hem of her dress, and she shivered, placing her hands tightly about her.

She was cold and wet. Her slippers had been destroyed ever since that first night in which she’d wandered into the woods. Water seeped into the thin soles. A sealskin coat would be useful now, but she didn’t even have a spencer. She was dressed for a wedding, not for a cold afternoon in northern Britain.

She hadn’t found her sister, wasn’t assured that at least she was going to marry the man of her dreams. Nothing had been accomplished.

And now she would have to join her parents and listen to how she’d destroyed their dreams for her.

She paused. The tension that had ricocheted through her, ceased.

All that was left was sorrow.

Her eyes stung more, and then her cheeks dampened, and then even her breath seemed difficult to control. She swallowed and gasped, sputtered and gulped.

She sobbed.

The sound was horrid.

Weeds, damp from rain and not some idyllic dew, clung to her dress.

This was Scotland, but it was Scotland with the views of lochs, without the isles, without the mountains. The land was flat, and the mocking laughs of the villagers still echoed in her ears.

“Georgiana,” a baritone voice said.

She tensed, recognizing the sound.

It was her father.

She rubbed her face, attempting to feign some semblance of dignity, but there was none to be had. Tears smeared her face. No doubt her skin was red and blotchy, as if seeking to match her hair.

She blinked hard, willing herself to have misheard, but footsteps padded behind her.

“Now carrying handkerchiefs may require a foresight for unhappiness that I am unwilling to plan for, but I find that my cravat can be quite multifunctional.”

“Papa?” She turned her head toward him, and he unwound his cravat and handed it to her. “You must use it. Goodness knows I’ll never figure out how to put it on without a mirror.”

She smiled, despite everything, and he returned it.

He wasn’t angry.

“This is not what a cravat is supposed to be used for.”

“If it can help my little girl one tiny bit, then it’s the very best use for it.”

She smiled again, blinking away her tears. She dabbed her face with the linen. “You must think me so foolish.”

“I never could,” he said solemnly. “Your mother told me you’d gone to stop him.”

“I thought she might—”

“But it took me getting her two servings of lemon ice before she told. That’s a record for her.”

She giggled softly, though it wasn’t exactly pleasure that she felt.

“She was worried about you,” Papa said solemnly. “You know that’s why she told.”

Georgiana nodded.

“I just wish we could have gotten here sooner,” he said.

“I should have known better,” she said softly, her heart aching. “I knew better. Everyone says to stay away from—”

“Roguish men?”

She nodded, and the tears flooded. “I just thought, for Charlotte’s sake...”

“That was brave of you,” he said gently. “The reason everyone warns about it is that emotions can seem impossible to control. You’re not the first person to succumb to a scoundrel, and you won’t be the last.”

“Why are you so nice? I was impetuous and impulsive and—”

“Don’t you wonder how I married your mother?” Papa asked. “A man like me, no matter how stuffy and scholarly you might find me, is simply supposed to have nothing to do with the niece of an earl.”

She smiled.

“She took a chance on me, and you took a chance on him. It’s unfortunate that he didn’t live up to that chance—and I very nearly strangled him—”

“You didn’t, Papa!” Georgiana felt her eye widen, and her lower lip dropped downward.

He nodded. “I was the cricket champion for five years running of our green. I can wield more than a cricket bat.”

Despite everything, she laughed, and he patted her back. “There, there, my dear.”

She dabbed the tears from her face. A rain shower wouldn’t be entirely unwanted now. She dreaded walking into the village again.

“I’ve always thought it curious why that Beau Brummel goes about recommending cravats to everyone, but after reading about his gambling losses, I understand.”

“That’s not why he recommends them,” she said, smiling through her sobs. Her chest still felt hollow, her heart still ached, and goodness her breath remained uneven, but at least she still had her family.