The Proposal

‘Pretty?’

‘She wears beautiful dresses.’

‘I thought you meant Georgia!’ giggled Marina. ‘She looks as if she has fallen out of the Salvation Army half of the time.’

‘I w

as still surprised that Sally got to accompany the cake.’

‘Her father has bought his way into everything else; why should it stop with Queen Charlotte’s Ball? Probably slipped the Dowager Duchess a fistful of guineas to make it happen.’

‘He’s not the only one buying favours,’ said Melanie, lowering her voice.

‘What do you mean?’ asked Marina, smelling gossip.

They huddled more closely around the basin. Georgia thought they looked like Macbeth’s witches around a bubbling pot.

‘I heard from a very good source that when Estella Hamilton paints a picture, it’s not just the canvas she gives a bit of slap and tickle.’

Marina gasped.

‘She sleeps with her clients?’

Melanie nodded.

‘That’s what I heard. Some friends of my mother’s, the Chases, commissioned her for something or other, and apparently she got far too friendly with Mr Chase. So much so that Mrs Chase ended up throwing the painting out of the window.’

‘It doesn’t surprise me one bit that she’s promiscuous,’ said Marina with feeling. ‘She looks it. All that red lipstick and hair.’

Georgia felt her hands quiver in anger. She was tempted to step out of the cubicle and confront them, but they had already changed the subject.

‘How is your date?’ Melanie asked Marina.

‘Dull as brass,’ she groaned. ‘I’ve got my eye on Charlie Edgerton. He’s already asked me to dance twice, so I need to ditch the date and take him up on his offer.’

‘What are we waiting for, then? Let’s go and find him . . .’

Georgia shut her notebook and took a deep breath through her nose.

‘How dare they!’ she whispered out loud, determined that they were not going to get away with it.

She left the Ladies’ and went back into the ballroom. Estella was talking to the father of one of the debs. Melanie’s words echoed in the back of her mind, but she blotted them out with force.

She could see Marina flirting with a tall, dark-haired man with saturnine eyes. Unlike Sally, Georgia had not made a mental log of all the deb’s delights on the circuit; however, Charles Edgerton was a veritable jackpot of good looks and good family, too eligible not to be known – or at least recognised – by everyone.

She watched them waltz across the dance floor, his tails swinging back and forth like a raven’s wing. Marina was not the most beautiful deb around, but she had certainly made an effort tonight, and even Georgia had to admit that they made a handsome couple. They danced for two songs, after which Charles excused himself. Georgia realised that this was her opportunity. She tapped him on the shoulder and he spun round.

‘Excuse me,’ she said, gathering herself up to her full height.

‘Yes?’ he replied, his eyes fleetingly looking her up and down as if he were assessing a prize filly for the Derby.

‘It has come to my attention that certain debs’ mothers have compiled a list about how eligible the young men on the circuit are. They have a code. NSIT. Not safe in taxis. VSITPQ. Very safe in taxis, probably queer. You rate very highly, by the way. In fact you’re something of a catch.’

‘Why, thank you,’ he said, looking momentarily off guard.

‘You should probably know that I have been compiling my own list,’ continued Georgia. ‘Thought it was fair to let the gentlemen know what they are letting themselves in for, considering us girls are armed with so much information.’

He smiled cautiously.