“Bite your tongue, Emmaline!” Aunt Agatha snapped. “Caged elephant indeed! What is a little discomfort when you have the privilege of bearing the next Heir to the House of Ashendon.”

Emm gave her a dry look. Aunt Agatha had never borne a child. Easy for her to say . . . But of course, Emm would never say so.

George would, if Aunt Agatha ever spoke to her like that.

*   *   *

The following night George attended a party, her first since the notice of her betrothal to the duke had been published. She was a little nervous, wondering what the reaction of the ton would be, and when she stepped into the room flanked by her two aunts, the sudden hush, followed by a buzz of low comment, confirmed her worst expectations.

Aunt Agatha said, “Now, Georgiana, your best behavior, if you will. You have the Rutherford name to uphold. None of your barnyard antics here.”

George gritted her teeth. Barnyard antics indeed! How she wished she had Rose and Lily with her. Or Emm.

On her other side Aunt Dottie squeezed her arm gently and murmured, “Head up, my love, and smile. The worst will soon be over.”

Her hostess came bustling up. “Lady Salter, Lady Dorothea, Lady Georgiana, so delighted you could come this evening. Congratulations on your betrothal, Lady Georgiana, so clever of you to catch our dear, elusive duke.”

George blinked. Our duke, as if she’d stolen him? And was clever implying she’d trapped him? She itched to point out that he’d trapped her. But she didn’t. She thanked the woman politely and moved away as quickly as she could, looking for something to drink and a friendly face.

One of the young men who’d courted her came toward her, his face full of reproach. “And to think I believed you when you said you never wanted to marry. You were so adamant that you wanted to live by yourself in the country with your dogs and horses. But it was just me you didn’t want to marry, wasn’t it?” His voice was raw with hurt. “You had your eyes on a much grander prize.”

“I’m sorry.” George had no words to explain. She ached for the pain she’d caused, but there was no way to tell him that she’d been completely honest with him, and that nothing had changed, except her situation.

Nobody had shoved her into the duke’s arms that evening. And nobody had made her return his kisses and climb him like a tree. That was her own fault. Or the fault of her runaway instincts.

“Well, you tricked us all, didn’t you, Lady George,” said another man with a bitter laugh. “More fool me for believing you meant it.”