George stared at the door. Fine, then. She was certainly not going to engage in an argument through solid wood. She stomped down the hallway. Euphie was in her own little world, Violet was sulking, and Harry . . . George opened the door to her bedroom so forcefully it banged against the wall. Harry wasn’t anywhere to be found. She’d had her gig at his cottage at seven this morning, and he’d already left. Coward! And men thought women faint of heart. He was probably out doing male things in the delusion that work needed being done, when in reality, he was simply avoiding her. Ha! Well, two could play at that game. She struggled out of her day dress and yanked on a riding costume. She turned in a complete circle, trying to fasten the hooks in the back before she conceded defeat and rang for Tiggle.

The maid arrived wearing the same half-mournful, half-consoling expression she’d worn since the previous disastrous night.

George nearly lost control at the sight. “Help me do this up, please.” She presented her back.

“You’re going riding, my lady?”

“Yes.”

“In this weather?” Tiggle looked doubtfully at the window. A wet tree branch lashed against it.

“Yes.” George frowned at the tree branch. At least there was no lightning.

“I see.” Tiggle bent behind her to reach the hooks at her waist. “It’s a pity about last night—that Mr. Pye turned down your invitation.”

George stiffened. Did all the servants feel sorry for her now? “He didn’t turn me down. Well, not precisely.”

“Oh?”

George could feel the heat stealing up her face. Drat pale complexions. “He asked me what I wanted from him.”

Tiggle, who was picking up the discarded day dress, stopped and stared at her. “And what did you answer, my lady? If you don’t mind me asking.”

George threw up her hands. “I didn’t know what to say. I mumbled something about never having done this before and he left.”

“Oh.” Tiggle frowned.

“What does he want me to say?” George paced to the window. “ ‘I want you naked, Harry Pye?’ Surely it’s usually done with more finesse than that? And why demand my intentions? I can’t imagine most affairs de coeur begin on such a lawyerly note. I’m surprised he didn’t ask for them in writing: ‘I, Lady Georgina Maitland, do request Mr. Harry Pye to make very fine love to me.’ Really!”

There was silence behind her. George winced. Now she’d shocked Tiggle. Could this day get any—

The maid started laughing.

George turned.

Her maid was doubled over, trying to catch her breath. “Oh, my lady!”

George’s mouth twitched. “It isn’t that funny.”

“No, of course not.” Tiggle bit her lip, plainly struggling. “It’s just, ‘I want you naked, Ha-Ha-Harry Pye.’” She went off again.

George plopped on the side of the bed. “What am I going to do?”