She breathed a sigh of relief and touched her aunt’s arm in gratitude.
‘If I disapprove, it’s because I want the best for you,’ said Sybil, turning to look at her. ‘I see Clarissa and I wonder if she hasn’t left it too late to find the right man. I don’t want you to make the same mistake.’
‘Clarissa is only twenty-one,’ said Georgia, wanting to defend her cousin.
‘Perhaps for your children twenty-one will be nothing at all. It will be an age of irresponsibility, of freedom. But not now. I do not want my daughter to miss the boat, to miss out on a good marriage. Because life alone is hard. I admire Estella, I really do.’
‘Georgia, how are you?’
She looked up and saw Frederick McDonald. Aunt Sybil squeezed her arm encouragingly and walked away.
‘Happy birthday, darling,’ he said, kissing her on the cheek. ‘Bloody good bash. What do you think of the cake?’
‘I love it,’ laughed Georgia, glad to see her friend. ‘I can’t believe you’ve all been in cahoots over it. Who else knew? Sally?’
‘I don’t think so.’ He smiled, looking around the party. ‘Say, is she here? She promised to liberate some Krug from her father’s wine cellar for this evening.’
‘Our Pomagne not good enough for you?’ she chided. ‘Actually, I haven’t seen Sally. She said she’d come and help decorate the place this afternoon with Clarissa. But she didn’t show up.’
‘She’s probably debating which couture gown to wear,’ said Freddie, and they both laughed, knowing that their friend wouldn’t mind the good-natured banter. Sinc
e Queen Charlotte’s Ball, Sally and Freddie had spent many afternoons at the Swiss Chalet waiting for Georgia to finish her shift, and the three of them had become firm friends.
The boathouse had filled up considerably now. Uncle Peter had turned up the music and Mr and Mrs Hands, who had insisted on dressing up, were dispensing the canapés that Mrs Hands had spent all morning making.
Freddie asked Georgia to dance and they waltzed by the open window, the breeze blowing in off the river. She relaxed into his body and felt contented. When she thought of Freddie, it was of someone who was comfortable and safe. And whilst they might not be the magical, heady emotions she experienced when she was with Edward Carlyle – the thrill of feeling drunk just from the way someone looked at you, or the charge you felt when they touched your hand – it was infinitely preferable to what she had experienced with Ian Dashwood.
That night had taught her a lesson. It had made her feel dirty and used, and she never wanted to feel like that again. If finding a husband meant getting out there, meeting semi-strangers in London’s bars and clubs and restaurants, making yourself as vulnerable as she had been in Ian Dashwood’s Soho flat, then she wanted no part of it.
She rested her head on Freddie’s shoulder and swayed with the music, wondering if this was enough. Wondering if a happy marriage could be had with a loving friend, if not a heart-stopping lover.
‘You know, when I was younger, my mother never used to let me have a pet,’ said Freddie quietly, as if he were reading her thoughts. ‘She said it wasn’t worth it. Pets die, and I’d be so distraught and feel so much pain that it wasn’t worth having one in the first place.’
Georgia lifted her head and looked at him.
‘She was wrong,’ continued Freddie after a moment. ‘You are nineteen years old, George. You need to get out there and open your heart and fall in love, and maybe even get that heart broken. But it’s worth it to feel alive, to feel love and be true to yourself. A friend isn’t enough, and you certainly don’t want to settle for me.’
‘You don’t fancy me either, do you?’ she said sadly.
‘I adore you, George. But do I think we should announce our engagement because it’s what will make our parents happy?’ He shook his head.
‘So is there anyone here you do like?’ she asked playfully.
‘I should probably consider it over a drink. Pomagne, you say . . .’
Georgia turned round, and stopped as she bumped into the solid shape of a man in a crisp black dinner jacket.
‘Happy birthday, Georgia.’
She gasped as she looked up.
‘Edward. You came,’ she said as Freddie discreetly walked away.
‘You invited me.’
She noticed he had gone a little red in the face. He accepted a glass of Pomagne from Mr Hands, who was enjoying his role as Jeeves.
‘How are you?’