The Debutante's Daring Proposal

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‘But, Mama,’ said Sukey, holding a length of blue ribbon up to the side of her face, ‘don’t you think this would bring out the colour of my eyes?’

As if to emphasise her point, Sukey widened those cornflower-blue eyes in appeal. The pleading expression would have melted the hearts of any of the young men of Bartlesham—indeed, Georgiana had witnessed its devastating effectiveness on many occasions. Unfortunately for her, Stepmama not only had the same kind of blue eyes, but had also been the one to teach Sukey how to wield them.

‘The blue ribbon may be very flattering,’ said Stepmama distractedly, merely glancing up from her perusal of the latest box to arrive from the modistes, ‘but tonight you will be wearing white. All white. That’s what proper young ladies of the ton wear for their first Season, and as we are finally going to attend a ton event I won’t have either of you doing anything to set tongues wagging.’

She’d certainly worked hard enough to get them this far. For the past two weeks they’d toadied to people Stepmama said were essential to their chances of being accepted in society. They’d invited those same matrons to their rented house and plied them with tea and sandwiches, while Stepmama had extolled Sukey’s prettiness, and Georgie’s pedigree, in the hopes of getting invitations in return.

All to no avail.

Until she’d discovered that some girls who lived two streets over, and one across, who they kept on bumping into at the shops, or crossing the square, had a connection to a viscount. And then, all of a sudden, Stepmama declared they were Sukey’s best friends and would never go shopping without inviting them along. And since they were as keen as Sukey to shop, and pore over the fashion magazines, and all the other rigmarole to do with the snaring of husbands, they’d grown inexorably more intertwined.

Resulting in tonight’s invitation to Durant House. Home of said viscount.

Where Sukey was hoping to captivate a man with a title and lots of money.

Whereas she... Georgiana tugged at the bodice of the gown she was wearing with utter mortification. And plucked up the courage to voice a protest.

‘If we are not to set tongues wagging on our first appearance at a tonnish event, don’t you think I ought to wear something a bit more...modest?’

‘There is nothing immodest about your gown, Georgiana,’ said Stepmama. ‘I have told you before, ladies do reveal a little more of their shoulders and bosom in the evening than they would do by day. I have seen girls much younger than you showing a lot more of themselves than that,’ she said, indicating the upper curves of Georgiana’s bosom which were thrusting proudly from the closely clinging bodice.

‘Yes, but Sukey is dressed far more demurely...’ she began, plucking at her bodice again. Only to have Stepmama step up, slap her hands away and ruthlessly tug it back into place.

‘Sukey is pretty,’ she said. ‘Men already take notice of her.’

‘Oh, Mama!’ Sukey dropped her ribbon on to the dressing table. ‘Georgiana is pretty, too. In her own way. I mean, that is, there are sure to be some men who prefer larger girls, with thick black hair and brown eyes,’ she said staunchly, in the face of all evidence to the contrary.

For not one of the youths of Bartlesham, or any of the nearest towns, had ever shown the slightest bit of interest in her. Even though Stepmama had taught her to behave like a lady, the manners and the clothes were all only a thin layer of top dressing. No matter how hard she tried, she was always going to look big and clumsy in comparison to her dainty little stepsister and rouse entirely different feelings from the males of the population.

Stepmama sighed. ‘Men who prefer larger girls will want to get a glimpse of her best assets, then, won’t they? I wouldn’t have thought I’d need to remind you, Sukey, that all women have to make the best of what God has given them, if we are to survive in this harsh world.’ She waved her hand at the wads of tissue paper, lidless boxes, gloves and shoes littering every flat surface of the dressing room the two girls shared.

And Georgiana’s protests died on her lips. She knew, deep down, that Stepmama was doing what she saw as her best. It was just...well, she hadn’t wanted to come to London in the first place. And, as she’d feared, it was proving to be like living in a desert.

There were no fields, no woods, no streams. Nowhere suitable to gallop, except a stingy little formal bit of parkland. Not that ladies were permitted to gallop even there.

Not that she could, anyway, not now Stepmama had sold Whitesocks. Her lower lip wobbled. Whitesocks had been Papa’s last gift to her. The last horse in the stables over which they had any legal rights. According to Stepmama, it made far more sense to sell the animal they couldn’t afford to stable in London anyway and put the money towards meeting the expenses they wouldn’t be able to escape.

Georgiana had hoped, right up until the last minute that something would happen to prevent the sale. That she’d be able to keep that one last link to Papa—but, no. Even her last-ditch appeal to Edmund had come to nothing. Not that he’d heard the whole story.

Which was, she’d eventually decided, her own fault.

She should have kept a cool head and explained her reasons for asking him for help in a rational manner. That’s what she should have done. Perhaps even presented him with a written statement, in which she’d listed all the points she wished to make in alphabetical order, which he could have taken away and considered at his leisure. At least he would have treated that kind of appeal with respect. And then he might have been a bit more amenable to making some kind of deal.

She might, at the very least, have persuaded him to buy Whitesocks so that she would have known he would have a good home.

Instead, she’d spent the time waiting for him brooding over past hurts and present problems, so that by the time he arrived she’d been ready to explode. And had done so. Acted in a way that was practically guaranteed to alienate him.

If it was even possible to alienate someone who’d become a stranger. A cold, unapproachable stranger who merely happened to look a bit like the boy who’d been her favourite person in all the world. A stranger who had never once attempted to renew their friendship, as adults. Who had, on the contrary, occasionally even cut her in the street.

She pulled out a handkerchief and blew her nose.

‘Oh, please don’t cry, Georgiana,’ said Sukey, rushing to her side to give her a hug. ‘Mama, could we not let her tuck a fichu into the neckline, or something?’

Georgiana slipped her arm round Sukey’s waist, and returned her hug. Dear Sukey. She was so sweet-natured. Every time Georgiana was upset, over anything at all, Sukey would shed sympathetic tears. Indeed, she’d been more upset over the frequent beatings Georgiana had received when Stepmama first took her place as Papa’s bride than Georgiana had herself. She’d come and sit at her bedside, and hold her hand, and plead with her to just try and be good, because she couldn’t bear to think of her being beaten so very often. Until in the end, it felt as if every time she misbehaved, it was Sukey who got punished.

Between the pair of them, these two women had crushed her desire to rebel against all the rules and regulations that governed the behaviour of young ladies. Besides, what had been the point of carrying on the way she’d done before Papa remarried? Edmund had gone, so there was nobody to box or fence or fish with. The local boys might have stopped teasing and tormenting her for being different to the other girls, once she’d knocked a couple of the biggest of them down, but that didn’t mean they would allow her into their ranks. At that time, Sukey had been the only person who appeared to want to spend time with her. In fact, Sukey had followed her round like a little puppy, declaring that she’d always wished for a sister.

‘A fichu? And have her look like a dowd? Absolutely not! If we are going to find a husband for Georgiana, we are going to have to make men look at her.’

‘But,’ Georgiana said, plucking up all her courage, ‘I don’t really want to find a husband.’

‘Oh, heavens, not this again,’ said Stepmama wearily. ‘Respectable women have to marry, unless they have family who will take them in and care for them, that’s all there is to it.’

‘I know, but—’

Stepmama held up her hand to silence her. ‘I promised your father I would find you a good husband and that is exactly what I will do.’

Georgiana sank on to one of the dressing stools, the impossibility of protesting about her father’s last wishes completely silencing her.

‘A Corinthian, hopefully. Isn’t that what your papa always said? That only a notable Corinthian would do for you? Someone who could match your energy and horsemanship?’

‘Yes, Papa did say that,’ she admitted glumly. Though what he’d actually meant was that he hoped that was the kind of son-in-law she’d bring home one day. If she couldn’t be a boy, the next best thing would be for her to marry someone who was exactly the sort of son he’d always wanted.

And that wasn’t the sort of man she wanted to marry, if she had to marry anyone. Men who liked sport, and horses, always smelled of the stable—which invariably put her in mind of that disgusting scene she’d witnessed. Which she could never think of without remembering Liza’s tears when she lost her job and home as a result.

And it was all very well Stepmama saying that Liza should not have let him do what they did until they were married, but Wilkins had been doing it as well. In fact, he’d been doing all the work, from the look of things. And not only had he entirely escaped any form of punishment, but he hadn’t shown the slightest bit of remorse when Liza had been sent packing, either.

‘Besides, you want to have children, don’t you? Of course you do,’ Stepmama continued ruthlessly, before Georgiana could say a word. ‘It is in our nature.’

‘Then I must be a most unnatural sort of female.’ She sighed, because the way a man got a woman with child had to be the way she’d seen Wilkins treat Liza and it had looked perfectly revolting. She didn’t ever want to let any man do...that to her. The very thought made her feel sick.

‘You will feel differently once you meet the right man,’ said Stepmama. ‘In fact, I shouldn’t be surprised if you met someone tonight who overturns all your silly girlish fears and fancies with one look.’

‘I should,’ said Georgiana gloomily. ‘Because the kind of men who will be attending a tonnish event will only want to marry girls with a title, or a dowry. And I don’t have either.’

Stepmama froze. ‘Georgiana! I thought you understood about the way I have spent what money your papa left for your future. It was his dearest wish to have you presented at court. And had he lived, I am sure he would have arranged things himself.’

Georgiana wasn’t convinced. If he’d wanted her presented at court, surely he would have mentioned it? When she was at an age to have a come-out? Instead of only imparting his wishes to his wife, so that the first she’d heard of it was after his death.

‘I...I admit, I did not quite foresee how very much it would cost. What with having to hire that woman, instead of...well—’ Stepmama shut her mouth with a snap. ‘I hadn’t budgeted for that. Not to mention the hoops and the feathers, and the jewels to make you both at least look as though you had every right to be there...’

Sukey shot Georgiana a pleading look.

Georgiana, yet again, stifled any resentment she felt and said what she knew was expected of her. ‘I know, Stepmama. I know you are doing your best in...trying circumstances...’

‘Trying? If only you knew the half. It is bad enough that imbecile cousin of your father’s rented us a house out here, in Bloomsbury for heaven’s sake, when I specifically requested a fashionable address...’