Page 47 of Prince of Scandal

Everyone turned and looked at her. Grandmother and Rupert both looked furious, her father even more anxious than usual. But Xavier’s expression was annoyingly unreadable. When had her outrageously rakish big brother become so mysterious? Gah.

“You must,” snapped Grandmother.

“Why must she?” asked Xavier lazily. “The scandal will blow over. They always do.”

Lady Kingsford made a hissing sound. “Because the stupid girl is pregnant.”

Oh God.

Once again, mortification scorched Georgiana’s cheeks. This notion had been bad enough in front of her father and Gabriel and Finn back in London, but somehow it was so much worse in this small, sparsely furnished, candlelit parlor with her brother and Rupert.

Stifling. Suffocating.

Rupert sat forward. “If Gigi is carrying my child, then of course we must marry. I will not permit a bastard to sully my line or yours.”

“I am not,” said Georgiana hotly.

“Oh?” said Lady Kingsford, raising one eyebrow. “You’ve had your menses?”

Georgiana folded her arms, wishing the devil’s handmaiden all the way to the fiery depths of hell. A part of her wanted to scream yes. To have this whole debacle done. But all her grandmother had to do was ask Mary or one of the other maids. They all knew no cloths had been requested, nor had she required her sheets or clothing receive extra laundering due to a stain, or a tonic or hot compress for belly gripes. A wellborn lady had no privacy whatsoever when it came to such matters.

“No,” Georgiana muttered, glaring at the elderly woman.

“Then it is settled,” said Rupert, now looking supremely smug. “The Osbourne and Nash families shall be united as one. I am sure, Kingsford, you’ll be more than generous in dowering your beloved youngest daughter’s hand.”

Xavier slowly sat up. “Oh, haven’t you heard?” he said cheerfully. “The earldom is barely making a living. My brother-in-law Exton is attempting to turn it around after some investment mishaps, but it’s like sailing a warship down the Thames. You do remember Exton from the army? Formerly Colonel Jordan-Ives?”

“Yes,” said Rupert sourly. “How could I not? His name is mentioned in every other military conversation. But if the earldom is struggling as you claim, His Grace would surely step in. Or perhaps your other brother-in-law, the new Marquess of Pinehurst. Shall we begin negotiations, then? Gigi, my dear, why don’t you trot off to bed? Can’t have the mother of my child looking peaky on our wedding day.”

Trot off to bed? Like a moppet to the nursery?

The man was exceedingly fortunate that there were no figurines on the mantelpiece. It might be unladylike, but it would feel marvelous to break a dancing dog or cat with a parasol over his head. How had she ever fallen under the spell of this utter cretin? He wasn’t commanding and protective, just obnoxious and patronizing. Not to mention eager for an infusion of funds, as well. Was Rupert struggling financially?

Georgiana chewed her lip, her thoughts a chaotic jumble as she considered and discarded ideas. Time. She needed time. A few weeks to have the man thoroughly investigated. If she could show her father some cold hard facts, or even better, show Gabriel and Finlay, they could exert influence and stop this debacle. Or, she might finally get her menses and a wedding wouldn’t be needed anyway. But if she was pressured into a special license ceremony at St. Laurence’s tomorrow, she would never be free of Rupert.

“I am not getting married here,” she blurted.

“Beg pardon?” said Rupert frigidly.

“Yes, you are,” said Grandmother. “It’s been decided.”

Knowing there was only one person in the room she could truly appeal to, Georgiana strolled up to her father and carefully knelt beside his chair. “Papa,” she said reproachfully, mentally crossing her fingers at the outrageous lie she was about to tell. “You aren’t really going to make me have a shabby little wedding in a country church, are you? When my whole life I have dreamed of a ceremony in front of society at St. George’s?”

Lord Kingsford hesitated. “Well, ah, Gigi sweetheart…”

She pouted, even managing to squeeze a tear from one eye. “Please, Papa. May I not have a proper wedding in London? With Lilian and Pippa to carry my train? I want to wear a special gown and have beautiful flowers and eat a magnificent breakfast. You wouldn’t deny me that…would you? Your baby?”

Had that been too much? It had almost choked her to say the words and bloody Xavier’s shoulders were actually shaking as he struggled to contain his mirth. But only one response mattered.

Georgiana held her breath, the longest wait in the history of the world. But at last, her father turned to her and smiled indulgently. “If a St. George’s wedding is your dearest wish, then of course you shall have it, sweetheart.”

“Papa!” she shrieked, leaping to her feet and wrapping her arms around his shoulders, hugging him too tightly in her acute relief. “Thank you!”

“Kingsford!” snapped Grandmother. “No.”

Surprisingly, her father held his ground. “Gigi shall have her dream wedding, Mother. We’ll return to London and have the banns read at St. George’s. That will also give me more time to come to terms with Major Lord Osbourne…I’m sure the lawyers and bankers and whatnot will want to be involved. And Exton. Good man, the duke. I trust a wedding in three weeks will be acceptable, Osbourne?”

“Naturally, it will,” said Xavier, shooting a warning glance at Rupert.