First Comes Scandal

He nodded. “I will walk you to the house. It’s still dark enough. No one will be about.”

“It’s not necessary. I can always say I went for a walk.”

He looked down at her. “Dressed like that?”

“I’ve done stranger things.” She shrugged, but she couldn’t stop herself from tugging the collar of her dressing gown closer together.

He let out the tiniest of sighs. “Indulge me my gentlemanly tendencies and pray allow me to see you to the door.”

For some reason this made her smile. “You’ll be able to see me from here. Almost the entire way.”

He did not look happy, but he did not argue.

She swallowed. It was now or never. “Before I go, I wanted to ask you …”

His eyes met hers.

“Is it …”

This was so hard. And it was her own fault that it was.

“I was wondering,” she began again, not quite looking at him, “if …”

He shifted his posture, clasping his hands behind his back. “What is it, Georgie?”

She looked up, because this was the sort of thing that deserved something more genuine than her gaze on the ground.

He deserved more.

“I would like to reconsider your offer of marriage,” she finally said.

And then he said—

“Why?”

What the devil?

“Why?” she echoed. She had not thought he would question her. He would say yes, or he would say no, and she would carry on from there.

“Why,” he repeated. “You were quite firm this afternoon.” He frowned. “Yesterday afternoon, I suppose it is now.”

“You surprised me,” she said. It was certainly the truth, and surely it was best to be honest. “I should have taken the time to think before answering, but everyone has been so pitying and it has been awful, and all I could think was that you felt sorry for me, and wasn’t that a terrible reason to ask someone to marry you, and I didn’t want you to regret it.”

But then she realized this wasn’t quite what had happened. She took a deep breath and said, “No, that’s not true. I wasn’t thinking about you. I was thinking about myself, which isn’t as selfish as it sounds, or at least I hope not, but it’s a horrible thing to be pitied. It’s just horrible. And I couldn’t see past that.”

Her words came out like a flood, but his expression remained even. Not emotionless, not unkind, just … even.

She wasn’t sure if this scared her.

“What changed your mind?” he asked.

Finally, an easy question. “I got home and realized I was being an idiot.”

One side of his mouth hitched up. Almost a smile. That had to count for something.

But he did not speak, which meant she had to, and now that she’d managed to say the important part she wasn’t sure she had anything left.

“I think … I think …”

I think I can make you happy. I know I will try.

I think if I go with you to Edinburgh I might find that I’m not the person I always thought I was.

Maybe I’m someone better.

“Georgie?”

“I will be a good wife to you,” she said.

“That was never in any doubt.”

“I was going to come see you tomorrow.” She looked up at the sky as if she knew how to tell time by the stars. Stars that weren’t even out. The clouds still hung heavy, but it didn’t feel like rain. “Today, I suppose. I have no idea what time it is.”

“I was planning to leave for Edinburgh.”

“I was planning to come very early.”

“Were you?”

She nodded. There was something teasing in his voice, and it left her with a feeling she could only describe as fizzy.

“I was. But then all this happened”—she waved her arm behind her, assuming he’d correctly interpret that to mean Freddie Oakes and his broken arm—“and then I saw you …”

This seemed to amuse him. “You saw me?”

“Tending to Freddie’s arm.”

“Technically,” he said, “I saw you tending to Freddie’s arm.”

“You’re making this very difficult,” she muttered.

He crossed his arms, not in an angry way; rather, there was something almost sarcastic to it, as if the very motion said—What did you expect?

“You were practicing medicine,” she said. It seemed far too formal a phrase for the moment, but she didn’t know what else to say. And so she continued in her apparent quest to have the most awkward conversation of her life. “There was something very attractive about it,” she mumbled.

“About practicing medicine?” he asked, and she couldn’t quite tell if he was dubious or amused.

“You knew what you were doing,” she said with a helpless shrug.

“You like a man who knows what he’s doing?”

“Apparently I do.”

His eyes settled on hers, and she could not look away. She didn’t want to look away.

“Well, then, Miss Bridgerton,” he said. “I suppose I will ask you again.”

Her breath caught. It wasn’t a surprise. She’d known he would renew his offer; he was too honorable a man to refuse her. But she had not anticipated just how anxious she would feel, regardless.

He took her hand. He had not done that the first time around.

“Georgiana Bridgerton,” he said, “will you marry me?”

She nodded solemnly. “I would be honored.”

And then … nothing.

They just stood there.

“Right. Well,” Nicholas said.

Georgie swallowed. “That settles it.”

“Indeed.”

She rocked on her feet, wondering how on earth she felt more awkward now than she had when she was actually asking him to marry her.

Or rather, when she was asking him to ask her to marry him. Which was quite possibly worse.

Finally, he broke the silence. “It’s almost dawn,” he said.

She looked to the east. There was no pink or orange to be found, but at the edge of the horizon, the sky was a lighter shade of blue.

“I should go,” she said, without actually making a move to do so.

“Right.” He brought her hand to his lips. “You should know that I am not a wealthy man. My family is, but I, myself, am not.”

“I don’t care.” It was the truth. And while Nicholas might not be wealthy in the manner of an earl or a viscount, he would certainly never be poor. As his wife, she would want for nothing important.

“I will work for a living,” he continued. “Some might call me a cit.”

“No one whose opinion matters to me.”

He held her gaze for a few more seconds, then murmured, “It is almost morning.”

“You should kiss me,” she blurted out.

His grip tightened on her hand.

“Isn’t that what people do?” she asked, trying to cover her embarrassment.

He, too, looked a little uncomfortable, which made her feel better. “I suppose it is,” he said.

“I’ve never kissed anyone,” she whispered. “Freddie tried, but …”

He shook his head. “It wouldn’t have counted, even if he succeeded.”