“Making off with the Bridgerton chit,” she mimicked. “That’s forward thinking of you. She’s got four hundred thousand a year, I’ve heard.”

She didn’t.

Have four hundred thousand a year, that was. No one did. But exaggeration made the story better, and if anyone had a right to embellish it was she.

“Didja tup her? Do the deed? Poke her good?”

Dear God, if her mother could hear her now.

And what would Freddie say to such a question? Would he lie? Would it matter? Even if he said they hadn’t had intercourse—

And they hadn’t. Georgie’s knee to his ballocks had more than made sure of that.

But even if he told the truth and admitted that they had not slept in the same bed, it did not matter. She’d been alone in a carriage with him for ten hours, then alone in a room with him for another three before she’d managed to metaphorically dismember him. She could possess the world’s most intact maidenhead and she’d still be deemed deflowered.

“My hymen could be three feet thick and no one would think me a virgin.”

She looked over at the cats. “Am I right, ladies?”

Blanche licked her paw.

Judyth ignored her.

And Cat-Head … Well, Cat-Head was a boy. Georgie supposed the old orange tabby wouldn’t understand, anyway.

But all the indignation in the world could not stop Georgie’s imagination from running back to the clubs of London, where the future leaders of the nation were undoubtedly still gossiping about her downfall.

It was horrible, and awful, and she kept telling herself that maybe they weren’t talking about her, that maybe they’d moved on to things that really mattered, like the revolution in France, or the state of agriculture in the north. You know, things they should be bothering with, since half of them were going to be taking up seats in the House of Lords at some point.

But they weren’t. Georgie knew they weren’t. They were writing her name in that damned betting book, setting the odds that she’d be Mrs. Oakes by the end of the month. And she knew enough of callow young men to know that they were writing ditties and laughing uproariously.

Georgiana Oakes, princess of the pokes.

God, that was awful. And probably accurate. It was exactly the sort of thing they’d say.

Little Miss Bridgerton, isn’t she a … a …

Nothing rhymed with Bridgerton. Georgie supposed she should be grateful for that.

She’ll have to marry you now, oh ho ho.

Georgie’s eyes narrowed. “Like. Hell.”

“Georgiana?”

Georgie tipped her ear toward the door. Her mother was coming down the hall. Wonderful.

“Georgiana?”

“I’m in my room, Mama.”

“Well, I know that, but—” Her mother knocked.

Georgie wondered what would happen if she did not respond with the expected, Come in.

Another knock. “Georgiana?”

Georgie sighed. “Come in.”

She really wasn’t that contrary. Or maybe she just didn’t have the energy.

Lady Bridgerton entered, shutting the door carefully behind her. She looked lovely, as she always did, her eyes made especially blue by the cornflower silk shawl draped over her shoulders.

Georgie loved her mother, she really did, but sometimes she wished she wasn’t quite so effortlessly elegant.

“Who were you talking to?” her mother asked.

“Myself.”

“Oh.” This did not seem to be the answer her mother was looking for, although in truth Georgie could not imagine what would have been preferable—that she was in deep discussion with the cats?

Her mother managed a small smile. “How are you feeling?”

Surely her mother did not want an honest answer to that question. Georgie waited a moment, then said, “I’m not really certain how to answer that.”

“Of course.” Lady Bridgerton sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. Georgie noticed that her eyes were a little puffy. She swallowed. It had been nearly a month, and still, her mother was crying every day.

She hated that she was responsible for this.

It wasn’t her fault, but she was responsible. Somehow. She didn’t really feel like working out the details.

Georgie picked up Judyth and held her out. “Want a cat?”

Lady Bridgerton blinked, then took her. “Yes, please.”

Georgie stroked Blanche, and her mother stroked Judyth. “It helps,” Georgie said.

Her mother nodded absently. “It does.”

Georgie cleared her throat. “Was there something in particular you wished to tell me?”

“Oh. Yes. We are expecting guests for dinner.”

Georgie avoided a groan. Just. “Really?”

“Please don’t take that tone.”

“What sort of tone does one take at a moment like this?”

Her mother set Judyth down. “Georgiana, I understand that this is a very difficult situation, but we must forge on.”

“Can’t I forge on tomorrow?”

“Darling.” Her mother took her hand. “It’s just family.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“What does that matter?”

Georgie stared at her mother. “Is that not what the partaking of a meal is all about?”

Lady Bridgerton’s lips tightened, and under any other circumstances, Georgie would have awarded her mother points for not rolling her eyes.

“Everyone is coming to dinner, Georgiana. It would look very odd if you weren’t there.”

“Define everyone.”

“Everyone who cares about you.”

“Anyone who cares about me will understand why I am not hungry. Ruination, Mother. It’s quite the appetite suppressant.”

“Georgiana, don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Georgie demanded. “Make light of it? It’s all I can do.”

“Well, I can’t.”

“You don’t have to. But you have to let me do it. Because if I don’t I’m going to cry.”

“Maybe you should.”

“Cry? No. I refuse.” Besides, she already had cried. All it had done was make her eyes hurt.

“It can make one feel better.”

“It didn’t make me feel better,” Georgie retorted. “Right now all I want to do is sit on my bed and say hateful things about Freddie Oakes.”

“I support your hateful musings, but eventually we will have to take action.”

“Not this afternoon,” Georgie muttered.

Lady Bridgerton shook her head. “I’m going to have a word with his mother.”

“What will that accomplish?”

“I don’t know,” Lady Bridgerton admitted. “But someone should tell her what a terrible person her child is.”

“She either already knows or she won’t believe you. Either way, all she’s going to do is advise you to make me marry him.”

That was the rub. Georgie could make all of her problems go away. All she had to do was marry the man who’d destroyed her life.

“We certainly won’t force you to marry Mr. Oakes,” Lady Bridgerton said.

But there was a wistful hint left unspoken—that if Georgie decided she did want to marry him, they wouldn’t stand in her way.