Page 69 of Prince of Scandal

Abruptly her knees buckled and she crumpled onto the floor, the tears of sheer gratitude that had been gathering rolling down her cheeks and dripping onto her nightgown. She wasn’t having Rupert’s baby. There would be no lasting bond with him; he could now become no more than a brief, uncomplimentary footnote in her memoirs.

“My lady! Is something wrong?”

At the sound of the maid’s voice, Georgiana barely suppressed a yelp—she hadn’t even heard the older woman enter the room and most certainly did not want her nearby. Especially because this maid was new and her loyalties uncertain.

Clumsily, she attempted to get up onto her hands and knees, but got hopelessly tangled in her dressing gown hem and flopped rather inelegantly onto her rear. “I am quite well, thank you,” she replied briskly. “Just trying to use the chamber pot.”

To her horror, the maid poked her head around the screen. “I thought I heard…oh my lady, you’re bleeding! Oh no! Oh dear, you poor, poor thing! I shall fetch Lady Kingsford at once!”

Georgiana cursed softly. Naturally, the other woman couldn’t mind her own damned business. Not in Kingsford House. “That is not necessary…”

“Of course it is,” said the maid soothingly. “You need the care of an experienced lady in your time of grief. I’ll be right back.”

Covering her mouth with a wad of nightgown, Georgiana screamed into the cloth with pure frustration. Lilian and Pippa had lovely maids who were more like friends and wouldn’t dream of betraying their mistresses. But no, she had to have one who tattled straight away to the only person other than Rupert who would be dismayed at the “loss.”

Beyond furious, Georgiana finished her ablutions, then stormed over to the porcelain bowl on her nightstand to freshen her face. If she was about to go toe to toe with her grandmother, she needed to don all available armor before the criticisms about every damned thing started.

“Georgiana.”

She clenched her jaw. How could her name sound so wonderful and sensual and delightful when Ashton said it, and so awful when it was hissed by the Dowager Countess of Kingsford?

“Grandmother,” Georgiana replied, attempting to walk past her.

A bony, bejeweled hand shot out and grasped her wrist. “What did you do?”

She glared at the elderly woman standing there in her lilac dressing gown, all loathsome and judgmental.

“I didn’t do anything other than finally get my menses,” Georgiana snapped. “I’m completely certain I was never with child; you and Rupert were the only two who believed I was. My sisters assure me that no physician in England would pronounce a lady pregnant simply because one bleed was a bit late. Especially without any other symptoms.”

Lady Kingsford shuddered. “Your sisters are foolish. And how vulgar you are…not even saddened by this most unfortunate event! But heed me thus: do not dwell a moment more on this setback. We shall simply pretend this has not occurred and all is as it should be.”

Her jaw dropped. “What?”

“For heaven’s sake. Why must I be the only person in this household with a functioning mind? Major Lord Osbourne need not know. The wedding can still go ahead, and you’ll simply try again for his heir.”

Revulsion crawled along Georgiana’s skin like an army of spiders. Her grandmother was out of her senses. Marry Rupert? Bed him? Not for all the guineas in England. She’d been reluctant enough when the man had scuttled away to France like a coward. But with everything she knew about him now, including his history of blackmail and dead wives…Good God, no.

“There are no circumstances,” said Georgiana slowly and clearly, so there could be no misunderstanding, “where any of that will happen. Major Lord Rupert Osbourne is the worst man in England, bar none.”

Lady Kingsford tilted her head, her gaze frigid. “And yet you behaved the whore for him. Repeatedly. What does that say about you, my dear?”

Georgiana flinched. “I made a mistake.”

“You always make mistakes. Such a stupid girl. Who do you think will marry you now that you’re soiled goods? No one of appropriate standing. The only way the Nash family’s hallowed name can be restored is by you wedding Major Lord Osbourne. And that is what you will do. In fact…your father was far too indulgent in permitting a reading of the banns at St. George’s. We still have the special license. I shall simply summon a vicar, and when his lordship returns from Surrey, the two of you will be joined in holy matrimony. Everyone will be happy.”

“I won’t be,” said Georgiana, her fists clenching. “And you cannot make me marry him. A bride must be willing. Even I know that.”

Her grandmother laughed, the sound like ice shattering. “There are certain vicars of a practical and sensible nature who will, for a handsome fee, ignore foolish feminine tantrums and proceed as planned. But it needn’t reach that point. If you continue to refuse…stomp your feet and wail…why, a physician would diagnose that as hysterics and prescribe a stay in an asylum until you feel well enough to marry.”

And there it was. The unveiled threat. Marry a monster or be locked away at the whim of some doctor who would write any damned thing for coin and the favor of a ton empress. Damn her. Damn English law that gave young ladies so few rights to start with but would swiftly snatch them away if they weren’t deemed biddable.

“You really don’t care about me at all, do you?” Georgiana said slowly.

“Your mother should have locked her chamber door after she birthed the heir. Of all the girls, you resemble that reprehensible woman most, both in looks and character. My son’s greatest mistake. And not content to be merely spoilt and brazen like so many youngest daughters, you go and drag the whole family into your disgraceful scandal. It is the only topic of conversation in my salons. I am stared at from behind fans. My word is being questioned. Because of you. So if you think your will is stronger than mine in this matter, you are gravely mistaken. Now get back into bed and rest. I shall send up a tray with suitable fare for someone suffering exhaustion,” finished the dowager icily, before turning on her slipper heel and departing the room.

The sound of a key turning in the lock seemed louder than fireworks at Vauxhall.

Suddenly chilled to the bone, Georgiana returned to her bed and burrowed under her quilt. Now was not the time for impulsive action. She needed to think about this. Lull her grandmother into complacency then act, for it was damned certain that her father wouldn’t be a reliable ally, even if he did tend to indulge her wishes.