“But for the lucky ones, like Logan and me, and your uncle and Emm, it only ripens. It’s a blessing for a lifetime.” She rose and smiled down at George. “I think Lily and Rose have it with their husbands, and I suspect you and your duke might be lucky that way too. I have one of my feelings.”

George mustered a weak smile. A lifetime of being in heat for the duke? Being like putty in his hands? She couldn’t bear it.

*   *   *

Logan was making a good recovery and George decided to return to London the following day. Aunt Dottie would stay in Bath until Logan was fully recovered, but she assured George that she’d be back in time for her wedding. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she said.

George set out the next day, taking Betty’s niece Sue with her. It had occurred to her that she’d need a maid of her own once she was married, and thought Sue might be a possibility—a nice, comfortable ordinary girl, rather than the kind of intimidating dresser that some people—for instance Aunt Agatha—had. She would see how well they traveled together.

Sue, when asked, jumped at the chance to visit London. It was, she confessed, her heart’s desire; she’d never traveled more than ten miles past Bath.

They’d made good time and spent the first night in a comfortable inn. Sue’s first time in an inn—she even found the truckle bed brought in for her in George’s room exciting. They continued their journey after a good, early breakfast. The traffic was sparse, the weather was fine and they were making good time. George was gazing dreamily out of the window, thinking over what Aunt Dottie had told her, when a coach-and-four traveling in the opposite direction suddenly veered into the middle of the road.

The postilion’s shouts alerted George to the problem. The coach-and-four bore down on them. The postilion yelled, the coachman bellowed at him to pull over, Sue screamed and George held her breath helplessly and braced herself for the inevitable crash.

It didn’t come. At the last minute the coach-and-four pulled smoothly to one side and stopped. The postilion steered his horses onto the grass verge opposite, and dismounted. He stalked toward the coach, yelling furious abuse and waving his whip in a threatening manner.

George leapt down from the post chaise, determined to give the carriage driver a piece of her mind and to prevent a fight from breaking out. Though seeing that the carriage driver had not left his perch, there was not much danger of actual violence.

The carriage door swung open and a tall dark gentleman stepped down. “Lady Georgiana,” he greeted her smoothly.

“You!” She confronted the duke furiously. “You almost crashed into us! Is your driver drunk?”