Chapter 13Although Geo had been at Laytham Hall for not much above twenty-four hours, his departure seemed to leave a gap—in the household, in my life, in my bed. The week’s end was taking a hundred years to arrive, and I felt myself becoming testy and out of sorts.
We were having supper in the rose sitting room one evening, and once again the topic of Arabella’s nuptials arose. After all, it had been more than two hours since she’d last spoken of them.
“Miss Patricia Coulbourne has all her dresses made by a modiste whose shop is in London. I think it would be ideal to have my bride clothes made by Mme Henriette, don’t you, Aunt Cecy?”
“You were used to be satisfied to have your clothes made in Guilford.” I glowered at her. I was tired of hearing of Arabella’s marriage plans, especially
