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You’ll soon learn this about me. I’m not one to keep my opinions secret. Secrecy leads to misunderstandings and quarrels between a husband and wife.”
    Silverstone rubbed his round chin as he gave her a severe appraisal. “I think it’s best if we begin honestly. I’ve made a sacrifice in offering for you, because, frankly, marrying you is rather like marrying the Tower or a cathedral. I’m sure you’re aware of your shortcomings in your appearance, and I’m willing to overlook them. The alliance with such a noble lineage is worth the sacrifice.”
    He finished with a self-satisfied glow, hardly noticing Georgiana’s pallor or the way she’d drawn herself up from her slightly stooped posture.
    “Your sacrifice won’t be necessary,” she said.
    He had been gazing out the window at the carriage traffic in the square. His gaze darted to her in surprise, as if he’d never thought she would do anything but waggle her head in agreement.
    “What won’t be necessary?” he asked.
    “Your noble sacrifice. I wouldn’t hear of yoursubjecting yourself to a lifetime of my company. Good-bye, my lord.”
    “Georgiana, you’re not yourself. I shall leave and speak to you tomorrow when you’ve calmed down.”
    Behind her facade of composure Georgiana felt the ache of humiliation. Why should she let this boor get away with his insults?
    “I’m not going to marry you, Silverstone, and so that you’re clear on the matter, I’ll tell you why. You’re a mean-spirited little snake who hides his appetite for cruelty behind a guise of honesty. You admire frankness? Here’s frankness—you have no chin, sir, and you’re short, but neither of these mattered to me. However, I do object to marrying a self-important ass.”
    Dukes’ daughters weren’t supposed to call their fiancés asses and mean-spirited little snakes, but the breach had been worth it to see the look of red-faced outrage on Silverstone’s face. The duke had been furious. And since that day Georgiana had never again given up on her plans to marry an aged suitor.
    “My lady?”
    Georgiana started and came out of her unhappy daydream to find Rebecca holding out the bodice to her gown. Angry with herself for indulging in thoughts that could provoke self-pity, Georgiana murmured an apology to her maid. Thrusting her arms through the tight sleeves of her bodice, she tugged on the pointed bottom hem and muttered to herself while Rebecca worked on the buttons. Then she sat before a mirror and helped the maid gather the thick lengths of her hair in coils at the back of her head.
    Her hands shook with the force of her anger. If she’d been a man, like Jocelin, no one would haveinterfered in her plans. All her work was threatened. She’d been devising her scheme for years. It was the result of a childhood spent watching her mother and father and gradually realizing how impossible it was to be a married woman in England.
    There was no particular event or conversation she could point to as the deciding ingredient in her decision to eschew the legalized slavery that was marriage. She’d simply observed her parents. Mother was far more intelligent and sensitive than Father, but because he was a man, Father controlled the family fortune. Father had legal responsibility for their children.
    And yet these disparities in legal rights weren’t nearly as humiliating as the small customs and acts that relegated a woman to the rank of a child—Father had to approve the newspapers, books, and magazines Mother read, the clothes she wore, the friends she made. Like a child, Mother rarely saw more than a few pounds of real money at any one time. Father had accounts with merchants, and the bills were sent to him. Georgiana would never forget accompanying Mother on a shopping trip and having to lend her money for ribbons impulsively purchased from a street vendor.
    Rebecca brought out several house caps, but Georgiana rejected them in favor of a swirl of silk roses and lace