to London or be tutored by Grandleigh. I already have someone in mind to marry.”
“You do?” Oliver’s shrewd gaze gave her the once-over, as though he knew she was up to something. Granted, she’d only lived with them for six months, but it was enough for him to be suspicious of her. “Well, go ahead. I’m anxious to hear about this gentleman.”
Georgia took a seat in a pinstriped wingback chair opposite the desk and gathered her nerve.
“So am I.” Grandleigh took a nearby seat, crossed his legs, and placed his hands on the top of his knee.
Georgia glowered at him, wanting to kick him off his perch. He was proving to be more of a nuisance than she’d anticipated, and with him here to interject at any time, there was no point in doing anything other than getting right to the point.
“I was out riding a fortnight ago, and I came across Sir Richard Hamilton. We spoke briefly. He seems a kind man, and in fact, he’s a widower. I could marry him.”
Oliver leaned forward, propped his elbows on the desk, and ran his hands through his hair, then said, “Good God, Georgia. The man is twice your age, if not more. I would have expected you to say his son, James, perhaps, but not Sir Richard.”
“James has been spending his time at their London estate, I believe,” Grandleigh interrupted. “But yes, I thought the same when she told me her scheme.”
“She told you about this?” Oliver inquired, locking his fingers together and gently placing his fists on the desk.
“Yes, just yesterday.” Grandleigh repositioned his hands on his knee.
“You don’t need to speak as though I’m not in the room.” Georgia placed her hands on the edge of Oliver’s desk. “I’m right here.” Then she leaned back—she must tread carefully if she was going to convince Oliver. “As I was saying, Sir Richard was riding, and so was I. We spoke of horses, and he seems to have a great interest in them. And his estate is within two miles. I’d be near Autumn Ridge, so I’d be able to be involved in racing as much as I currently am. He seems the perfect match for me.”
“Georgia,” Oliver said with a fatherly, entirely too formal tone. “If you were to mention an interest in his son, James, I might consider it, but his father, Sir Richard Hamilton? No. I couldn’t possibly agree to that. You’d likely not have children, and you’d likely be a widow in no time at all. I’ve heard he’s not well.”
Then the rumor was indeed true. Sir Richard was ill, and this fit perfectly into her plans.
“That’s exactly what I told her,” Grandleigh interjected once again. “I told her you’d say that.”
She couldn’t tamp down her indignation a second longer. She swiveled around to face Grandleigh. “This is none of your concern. It’s between my cousin and myself—my family. Not yours.”
He arched an exasperated eyebrow. “I beg to differ, because this is my family, too. You are speaking to my brother-in-law, after all, but go ahead, I’ll not intervene again.” Blowing out an aggravated breath, he shook his head in dismissal. “You are correct. This is between Marsdale and you.”
Damn his expressive eyebrows for distracting her at the most inopportune moments. If she could strangle him, she certainly would. “Oliver, as you are my only family, I want to be close to you and Arabella, and I want to be involved in racing. And a nearby estate would be perfect for me.”
“I couldn’t agree more. So let’s consider Sir Richard’s son, James, as a possible match for you.”
“That isn’t who I am interested in.” She lifted her chin. “No.”
“But you haven’t even met him.” Oliver straightened some of the papers on his desk, then peered up at her. “You want to marry Sir Richard because you believe he might die soon, don’t you?”
“That’s preposterous.” She gazed up, not wanting to maintain eye contact. “I wouldn’t want my husband to die.”
Oliver raised a brow. “Wouldn’t
“You do?” Oliver’s shrewd gaze gave her the once-over, as though he knew she was up to something. Granted, she’d only lived with them for six months, but it was enough for him to be suspicious of her. “Well, go ahead. I’m anxious to hear about this gentleman.”
Georgia took a seat in a pinstriped wingback chair opposite the desk and gathered her nerve.
“So am I.” Grandleigh took a nearby seat, crossed his legs, and placed his hands on the top of his knee.
Georgia glowered at him, wanting to kick him off his perch. He was proving to be more of a nuisance than she’d anticipated, and with him here to interject at any time, there was no point in doing anything other than getting right to the point.
“I was out riding a fortnight ago, and I came across Sir Richard Hamilton. We spoke briefly. He seems a kind man, and in fact, he’s a widower. I could marry him.”
Oliver leaned forward, propped his elbows on the desk, and ran his hands through his hair, then said, “Good God, Georgia. The man is twice your age, if not more. I would have expected you to say his son, James, perhaps, but not Sir Richard.”
“James has been spending his time at their London estate, I believe,” Grandleigh interrupted. “But yes, I thought the same when she told me her scheme.”
“She told you about this?” Oliver inquired, locking his fingers together and gently placing his fists on the desk.
“Yes, just yesterday.” Grandleigh repositioned his hands on his knee.
“You don’t need to speak as though I’m not in the room.” Georgia placed her hands on the edge of Oliver’s desk. “I’m right here.” Then she leaned back—she must tread carefully if she was going to convince Oliver. “As I was saying, Sir Richard was riding, and so was I. We spoke of horses, and he seems to have a great interest in them. And his estate is within two miles. I’d be near Autumn Ridge, so I’d be able to be involved in racing as much as I currently am. He seems the perfect match for me.”
“Georgia,” Oliver said with a fatherly, entirely too formal tone. “If you were to mention an interest in his son, James, I might consider it, but his father, Sir Richard Hamilton? No. I couldn’t possibly agree to that. You’d likely not have children, and you’d likely be a widow in no time at all. I’ve heard he’s not well.”
Then the rumor was indeed true. Sir Richard was ill, and this fit perfectly into her plans.
“That’s exactly what I told her,” Grandleigh interjected once again. “I told her you’d say that.”
She couldn’t tamp down her indignation a second longer. She swiveled around to face Grandleigh. “This is none of your concern. It’s between my cousin and myself—my family. Not yours.”
He arched an exasperated eyebrow. “I beg to differ, because this is my family, too. You are speaking to my brother-in-law, after all, but go ahead, I’ll not intervene again.” Blowing out an aggravated breath, he shook his head in dismissal. “You are correct. This is between Marsdale and you.”
Damn his expressive eyebrows for distracting her at the most inopportune moments. If she could strangle him, she certainly would. “Oliver, as you are my only family, I want to be close to you and Arabella, and I want to be involved in racing. And a nearby estate would be perfect for me.”
“I couldn’t agree more. So let’s consider Sir Richard’s son, James, as a possible match for you.”
“That isn’t who I am interested in.” She lifted her chin. “No.”
“But you haven’t even met him.” Oliver straightened some of the papers on his desk, then peered up at her. “You want to marry Sir Richard because you believe he might die soon, don’t you?”
“That’s preposterous.” She gazed up, not wanting to maintain eye contact. “I wouldn’t want my husband to die.”
Oliver raised a brow. “Wouldn’t
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