“It’s starting to sound very appealing.”

He made a crooked grin. “That’s because you’ve never ridden in a mail coach.”

“We could take one and elope?” she said hopefully.

“NO!” roared her mother.

And his mother.

Georgie startled. She’d thought she’d been speaking under her breath.

“Banish the thought,” Lady Bridgerton said.

“I was joking, Mama.” Georgie turned to the rest of the table, rolling her eyes. “I was joking.”

No one seemed to be amused. Except for Nicholas, who said, “I thought it was funny.”

“It’s a good thing I’m marrying you, then,” she muttered.

“Tomorrow,” he said suddenly.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Tomorrow.” He paused, somewhat dramatically. “We will marry tomorrow. And leave immediately thereafter.”

This was met with immediate resistance, the loudest of which came from his father who said, “Don’t be daft, son. You can’t pack a household that quickly.”

Nicholas shrugged. “Then the next day. Either way, I’m leaving. I must get back. I’d rather not leave Georgie to travel north on her own …”

“She can’t do that,” his mother said.

He smiled. “Then we are agreed.”

And somehow, they were. The parents who had just been arguing that they couldn’t possibly send them off to Scotland in under a week seemed to have no problem with two days’ time when the only other alternative was one.

Georgie stared at him in wonder. He was good. She couldn’t even begrudge his smirk. He deserved that smirk.

Two days. She would be married in two days.

Or to be more precise, she would be married and off to a new country where she knew absolutely no one except her soon-to-be-husband. She had to find a new home, set up a household, make new friends, learn new customs.

She should be nervous.

She should be terrified.

But she wasn’t.

And as everyone talked around her, the parents making plans and Nicholas taking notes, she realized she was smiling. Grinning, even.

This was going to be grand.

Chapter 13

It wasn’t going to be grand.

The wedding was lovely. The wedding breakfast delightful.

But the journey north …

No one was going to come out of it alive unless something was done about Cat-Head.

The other two cats were easy. Judyth had curled up in her basket like a proper feline and gone straight to sleep. Blanche had felt the need to demonstrate her contempt for all humans, so she’d spent a few minutes fussing and hissing before finally parking herself as deeply in the corner of the padded coach bench as possible.

But a furious Blanche Georgie knew how to handle. Blanche would be sullen and resentful, but she was easily bribed with a nugget or two of cheese.

Cat-Head, on the other hand …

Cat-Head moaned.

Cat-Head howled.

Cat-Head made noises Georgie would not have thought possible outside purgatory or hell.

And while Georgie might have been able to withstand such torture on her own, the traveling party had grown to fifteen, and she wasn’t sure how long she could inflict him on the others.

GRAO!

Georgie peered nervously at Nicholas, sitting across from her in the carriage. He was doing an admirable job of hiding his flinches. Much better than—

GRAO!

—Marian, Georgie’s trusted maid, who seemed to have developed a tic in her left cheek.

GRAO!

“Cat-Head, hush,” Georgie said, patting him on the head. She didn’t know why she thought that might make a difference. It wasn’t as if she’d met with success the first one hundred and sixty-three times she’d said it.

GRAO!

“How long have we been on the road?” Marian asked.

Georgie attempted a cheerful tone. “I’m not carrying a timepiece.”

“I am,” Nicholas said without looking up from his medical journal. “It’s been three hours.”

“That long?” Georgie said weakly.

GRAO!

Marian’s eye began to twitch.

Georgie gave Nicholas a hard stare, the kind where one widened one’s eyes and jutted one’s chin forward. It clearly meant Do Something.

He returned with the sort of expression where one widened one’s eyes but instead of a jutted chin one tipped one’s head to the side, as if to say a shrugful What?

Georgie jutted her chin.

Nicholas tipped his head.

They both widened their eyes.

“Is something wrong?” Marian asked.

GRAO!

“Besides that,” she muttered.

“Nicholas,” Georgie said pointedly, “perhaps Marian would like a sip of your whiskey.”

He blinked, then gave Georgie an expression she was fairly certain meant—How was I to glean that from your buggy eyes and jutty chin?

“Er, Miss—”

GRAO!

“Miss Georgiana,” Marian croaked. “I don’t know how much longer I can—”

“Whiskey?” Nicholas asked, thrusting a flask in her face.

Marian nodded gratefully and took a swig.

GRAO!

“Georgie,” Nicholas said, “is there anything to be done?”

He probably deserved her admiration for lasting this long before saying anything, but three hours of constant cat-moaning had left her nerves well frayed. “If there were,” she said peevishly, “don’t you think I would have done it by now?”

GRAO!

Marian drained the flask.

“Will it continue like this the entire trip to Edinburgh?” Nicholas asked.

“God help us,” Marian muttered.

“I don’t know,” Georgie admitted, finally pulling her eyes off her maid, whom she’d never seen drink more than a quarter-glass of sherry. “I’ve never taken him in a carriage before. The other two are managing well enough.”

“Are you sure about that?” Nicholas asked. “That one looks like its plotting your death.”

Georgie peered down at Blanche. She’d been quiet for most of the trip, and Georgie had thought she’d resigned herself to the situation, but at some point during the past few hours the sun had shifted far enough to shed light on her position in the corner of the coach bench. Thus illuminated, it was now clear that Blanche’s repose was really the stiffened I-cannot-BELIEVE-you’re-doing-this-to-me stare of utter betrayal.

Georgie silently handed Blanche a piece of cheese.

GRAO!

“Maybe that one would like some cheese, too,” Nicholas suggested.

Georgie shrugged. At this point she was willing to try anything. “Cat-Head?” she said sweetly, holding the creamy nugget in her hand. Cat-Head scarfed up the treasure, and they all breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t a particularly quiet eater; there was plenty of tongue-smacking and whisker-snuffling, but it was better than—

GRAO!

“Can you give it more cheese?” Marian begged.

“I might have more whiskey,” Nicholas said.

“We’re not giving whiskey to my cat,” Georgie said.

Nicholas and Marian exchanged a glance.