Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

“You’ve gone mad.” Tony sat back in the settee as if his pronouncement settled the matter.

They were in his elegant town house sitting room. Across from him, George sat stiffly in an armchair, the now-ever-present basin at the ready by her feet. Oscar prowled the room, munching on a muffin. No doubt, Violet and Ralph were taking turns pressing their ears to the door.

George sighed. They’d arrived in London yesterday, and she seemed to have spent all the time since debating her condition with her brothers. I should have just eloped with Cecil. She could have informed her family in a note and not even have been around to hear the resulting commotion.

“No, I’ve gone sane,” she replied. “Why is it that everyone was against my being with Harry before and now they keep pushing me at him?”

“You weren’t increasing before, Georgie,” Oscar pointed out kindly. He had a fading bruise high on one cheek, and she briefly stared at it, wondering where he’d got it.

“Thank you very much.” She winced as her tummy gave a bubbling rumble. “I think I’m aware of my state. I don’t see that it matters.”

Tony sighed. “Don’t be obtuse. You know very well that your state is the reason you need to marry. The problem is the man you’ve chosen—”

“It’s a bit thick, you must admit.” Oscar leaned forward from his place at the mantelpiece and waved a muffin at her, scattering crumbs. “I mean, you are carrying the fellow’s child. Seems only right he should have a chance at marrying you.”

Wonderful. Oscar, of all people, was lecturing her on propriety.

“He’s a land steward. You told me only recently that a land steward just wasn’t done.” George lowered her voice in a fair imitation of Oscar’s tone. “Cecil comes from a very respectable family. And you like him.” She folded her arms, sure of her point.

“I’m terribly disappointed in your lack of morals, Georgie, old girl. Can’t tell you how disillusioning this insight into the female mind is for me. Might very well make me cynical for years to come.” Oscar frowned. “A man has a right to his own progeny. Doesn’t matter what class he comes from, the principle is the same.” He bit into his muffin for emphasis.

“Not to mention poor Cecil,” Tony muttered, “foisted off with someone else’s get. How are you going to explain that?”

“Actually, that probably won’t be a problem,” Oscar muttered sotto voce.

“No?”

“No. Cecil’s not that interested in females.”

“Not inter—oh.” Tony cleared his throat and yanked down on his waistcoat. She noticed for the first time that his knuckles were raw. “Well. And that’s another consideration for you, George. Surely you don’t mean to have that kind of marriage?”