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way to him. When in truth, she’d only been admiring his form, a shape that seemed out of place in this ballroom. During her observation, without thinking, she’d pressed the handle of the fan to her lips: “Kiss me.”
    She could only hope he hadn’t thought she was flirting with him. She’d never purposely attract the attention of a married man, and Lauren had just told her that he had a wife. She wondered where the woman was.
    Georgina would certainly want to share the evening with her husband if she had one. She didn’t understand the thinking over here. Marriage was a partnership, two people working together to secure happiness.
    She couldn’t do this. She absolutely couldn’t marry one of these men. Having nothing in common with any of them, she didn’t feel comfortable around them. Besides, she’d always hoped to marry for love not convenience.
    But the undeniable truth hit her: if she didn’t latch onto this opportunity now, when would she marry, when would she have children? In reality marrying an Englishman could prove to be an ideal situation. She’d noticed it was impossible at these functions to know who went with whom. Husbands and wives, with a few exceptions, seldom interacted much.
    She could marry the man, have his child, and hardly ever see him again. Her life wouldn’t be much different from what it was now—except that she’d have a son or daughter to love. A son or daughter. Could she marry a man and use him to gain what she dearly wanted?
    She had no business being here, waiting nervously for some desperate man to approach her. Maybe Sheridan had caught sight of her in this awful gown and changed his mind.
    “I’m going to get us some punch,” she said. And while she was at it, she’d locate the carriage and simply sit in it until it was time to go home.
    “You’re not leaving me. I’ll introduce him to you.It’s only proper. Besides, he might ask you to dance, and other gentlemen will surely follow suit.”
    But he made her nervous, the way he strode toward them with apparent single-minded purpose. Someone snagged his attention, and he stopped. A reprieve.
    “Maybe we should take a walk in the garden,” Georgina suggested.
    “You won’t find a beau in the garden.”
    “Lauren, I’m not really looking for a beau.”
    “Why not? You could stay in England, and we could grow old together, remain best friends forever.”
    Hadn’t her father suggested practically the same thing? Were they conspiring? “Have you talked with my father about me getting married?”
    “Of course not. Your father and I seldom speak, but now that I’ve said it, it sounds like a splendid idea. Maybe we could even marry brothers, so we’d attend all the same family functions. Now, that’s a thought.”
    Huntingdon was on the prowl again, acknowledging people with a mere nod as he made his way across the room.
    “You know, the more I ponder your introduction, the more I realize Huntingdon might not be a bad match for you,” Lauren murmured.
    “I thought you said he was married.”
    “No, I said I’d met his wife.”
    Georgina wanted to screech. Honestly, sometimes she felt as though she was communicating with someone who spoke in a language alien to her. Marriage, wife. She couldn’t figure out how any difference existed between the two.
    “It stands to reason if you met his wife, then he’s married,” Georgina pointed out.
    “No longer married. Widower.”
    Everything within Georgina stilled as a horrid thought hit her. “What’s his name?”
    “I told you. Huntingdon.”
    Damn this English tradition that gave people in the aristocracy so many names. “No, I mean—”
    But it was too late. Huntingdon came to an abrupt halt before them. Georgina was grateful to see his intense gaze had shifted and locked onto Lauren. It had probably been on Lauren all along. Georgina had simply been unable to tell because of the distance separating them.
    The gaslights flickering in the chandeliers