“George,” Emm said in a warning tone. George glanced at her and bit off the remainder of the insults she had stored away. She would cross swords with Aunt Agatha any day, but upsetting Emm was another matter.
Aunt Agatha drew herself up, an outraged silver-haired praying mantis. “Abominable gel! Never in my life have I been subjected to such disgraceful incivility from a chit not yet in her majority. And from a member of my own family!”
“If the cap fits, wear it,” George said sweetly. “In any case, I won’t be on Cal and Emm’s hands forever. The minute I turn twenty-five and get my inheritance, I’ll be out of here and nobody need bother about me at all.”
Aunt Agatha primmed her lips. “More than five years to wait, then. A young married couple should not have to endure the company of—”
“I’ve asked and asked Cal to arrange for an allowance to be paid to me, an advance on my inheritance. He always refuses, but if I had it, I’d be gone and out of their hair in an instant.”
“Precisely why I won’t do it,” Cal said firmly. “There’s no question of enduring anything or anyone, Aunt Agatha. Emm and I are very fond of George and, as Emm said, she’s welcome to live with us as long as she likes.”
“Exactly! We love you, George, and there’s no question of your being in the way,” Emm said. “Now, please, let us all enjoy our tea and stop squabbling.”
At the word tea George’s dog, Finn, rose and sat down beside Cal, fixing the half-eaten biscuit in Cal’s hand with a mournful gaze.
George frowned and said in a low voice, “I do cause you trouble. You can’t deny it, Cal.”
Cal exchanged a glance with his wife and smiled a slow smile. “Let us say, rather, that you enliven an otherwise relatively humdrum existence.” Then as Finn nudged him, he added, “You and your enormous hound, I meant. And, no, Finn, this is my biscuit and is not for dogs.” He finished it in two crunches. Finn slid to the floor with a dejected sigh.
Emm nodded. “The house is going to feel so empty with both Lily and Rose gone. We couldn’t do without you, George.”
George glanced at the mound of Emm’s belly. The house wouldn’t be empty for long. Or dull. The baby would take up all Emm’s time and attention then. “I will leave when I’m twenty-five.”
“We’ll talk about that when the time comes,” Cal said. “Nobody is going to force you into matrimony, George, but I don’t want you living alone.”
“Why not? I did for most of my life.” Except for her faithful Martha.
“A situation I deeply regret,” Cal said grimly. “Henry should have been shot for his lack of care for you. And for keeping your existence a secret from us all for so long. But you are part of this family now, and so you will remain.”
“I can never decide which I like better, the plum tarts or the strawberry ones,” Aunt Dottie said into the silence that followed. “Of course the marmalade ones are very nice, but I always think red jam is such a happy flavor, don’t you agree?”
The tense atmosphere eased.
Aunt Agatha set down her teacup with a clatter. “Pshaw! If that’s your attitude, I wash my hands of you.”
“But the red jam is the sweetest, Aggie dear. There’s no need to get upset about it,” Aunt Dottie said. She winked at George.
“I’m not talking about the jam, as you very well know, Dorothea. Marriage is the only option for a gel of our order.” She trained her lorgnette on her sister. “We’ve already got one failure in the family, we don’t need another.”
“Aunt Dottie is not a failure—” Emm and George began at the same time.
Aunt Dottie chuckled. “Don’t worry, my dears, Aggie always takes a swipe at someone when she’s thwarted or put out in any way. It doesn’t bother me in the least.” She offered her sister the plate of tarts. “Try one of these, Aggie; they really are very good. They might even sweeten your tongue.”
Aunt Agatha waved them away. “You eat too many of those things. No wonder you’re so fat!”
“She’s not fat,” George said hotly. Aunt Dottie was plump and cuddly and George couldn’t imagine her any other way. Wouldn’t want her any other way.
“See?” Aunt Dottie twinkled at George. “She’s annoyed, so she takes it out on the nearest person, usually me. Just like a wasp, poor thing. It’s been like that ever since we were children in the nursery. I take no notice of her crotchets and you shouldn’t either.” She pored over a small dish of sweetmeats and selected one carefully. “Life is to be enjoyed, Aggie, and I enjoy every bit of mine. Do you?” She popped the sweet in her mouth and placidly resumed knitting.
There was a short silence, broken only by the sound of teaspoons clinking against teacups and the sound of crunching from behind the sofa. Emm raised her brow at George, who shook her head and looked at Cal, who tried to look innocent.
Avoiding his wife’s eye, he said, “Well, Aunt Agatha, don’t keep us in suspense—how did the duke respond to your proposal?”
George swallowed, feeling suddenly hollow. He couldn’t possibly have agreed to it—could he? She hadn’t given any thought to the duke’s reaction—she was only thinking of her aunt’s interference.
“He refused, of course, in no uncertain terms. No gentleman,” she added with thinly disguised satisfaction, “would want an ill-trained, boyish, impertinent hoyden for a wife.”
“Did he say that?” George flashed indignantly. “In so many words?”
Aunt Agatha arched a sardonic eyebrow. “What did you expect? That he wouldn’t notice your many inadequacies? I did my best, but . . .” She shook out her skirt, took hold of her ebony cane and rose. “I have other calls to make. Good day to you all. Ashendon . . .”
Cal rose and escorted his aunt from the room.
An ill-trained, boyish, impertinent hoyden. “How dare he! How dare she!” George jumped up and began to pace around the room. She didn’t know who she was angriest with—Aunt Agatha or the Duke of Everingham. She could happily shoot them both.
The knowledge that Aunt Agatha had offered her to him—and that he’d rejected her—even though she emphatically didn’t want him!—made her squirm with humiliation.
“It’s not for him to reject me! It’s for me to reject him.” The thought that she hadn’t had the chance to, that he had rejected her, unasked, was both mortifying and infuriating.
“He’s rather handsome, though, isn’t he?” Aunt Dottie had only seen him at the church, at his aborted wedding to Rose. “I do rather like a tall, dark, moody-looking man.”