First Comes Scandal (Rokesbys #4) - Julia Quinn Page 0,52
she’d never seen drink more than a quarter-glass of sherry. “I’ve never taken him in a carriage before. The other two are managing well enough.”
“Are you sure about that?” Nicholas asked. “That one looks like its plotting your death.”
Georgie peered down at Blanche. She’d been quiet for most of the trip, and Georgie had thought she’d resigned herself to the situation, but at some point during the past few hours the sun had shifted far enough to shed light on her position in the corner of the coach bench. Thus illuminated, it was now clear that Blanche’s repose was really the stiffened I-cannot-BELIEVE-you’re-doing-this-to-me stare of utter betrayal.
Georgie silently handed Blanche a piece of cheese.
GRAO!
“Maybe that one would like some cheese, too,” Nicholas suggested.
Georgie shrugged. At this point she was willing to try anything. “Cat-Head?” she said sweetly, holding the creamy nugget in her hand. Cat-Head scarfed up the treasure, and they all breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t a particularly quiet eater; there was plenty of tongue-smacking and whisker-snuffling, but it was better than—
GRAO!
“Can you give it more cheese?” Marian begged.
“I might have more whiskey,” Nicholas said.
“We’re not giving whiskey to my cat,” Georgie said.
Nicholas and Marian exchanged a glance.
“We’re not!”
No one rushed to agree.
“It can’t be that much farther to London,” Georgie said, with some desperation.
Nicholas peered out at the road. “An hour? Maybe ninety minutes.”
“That’s all?” Georgie said with forced brightness. “That’s nothing. We can—”
GRAO!
“Can you put it in a basket?” Marian asked.
Georgie looked down at Judyth, all fluffy and silver gray, still delightfully quiet in her wicker home. “I’ve only got the one basket.”
“How is that possible?” Nicholas asked.
Georgie thought about that for a moment. “I don’t know. We had three starting out. The other two baskets must have ended up in the other carriage. Or perhaps up top.”
“Up top, you say?”
Georgie felt her expression turn glacial. “We are not putting Cat-Head on the roof.”
Marian turned to Nicholas with a shake of her head. “We’d still hear it.”
“It wouldn’t be as bad,” he mused.
Georgie honestly could not tell if he was being serious.
“Well, if you’ve only got the one basket,” he said, “take the other cat out.”
“But she’s being so good,” Georgie said, gesturing down. “She hasn’t made a peep.”
“Perhaps she’s dead,” Nicholas said.
“Nicholas!”
He shrugged. “It would free up the basket.”
Georgie fixed him with an icy stare. “I am not going to dignify that with a response.”
He shrugged again.
“And there’s no guarantee that Cat-Head wouldn’t howl if he was in the basket.”
Nicholas held up a finger. “Response.”
Georgie muttered something under her breath that would not have been considered appropriate for a lady of her station.
GRAO!
“We’re nearly to London,” Georgie said, almost desperately. She was stroking the cat now with renewed firmness, moving to its cheeks, scratching them with just enough pressure that maybe he wouldn’t be able to actually open his jaw …
But he tried.
Grrrrrrrrr.
“That was better, don’t you think?” Georgie said.
Grrrrrrrrr.
“It sounds like it might combust,” Nicholas remarked.
Grrrrrrrrr.
“It can’t be healthy for it to hold it all in like that,” Marian worried.
Georgie looked at her. “You want me to let go?”
“No!”
Georgie nodded and kept up with the cheek and chin scratching. “There you go, Cat-Head. It’s not so bad.”
Cat-Head did not seem to appreciate her efforts. GRRRrrrrr, he managed, and Georgie found she had to exert more pressure to keep his yawls trapped in his mouth.
“Good kitty,” she murmured. “Good, good little kitty.”
“Very bad kitty,” Nicholas said. “The worst, really.”
Georgie glared. “Good kitty,” she practically growled. But Cat-Head’s little jaw was straining.
GRRRRRrr …
Marian’s brow knit with concern. “That sounds unsafe.”
“No, I’m sure he—”
GRAAAAAAOOOOOOO!
Cat-Head let out a shriek of such unholy proportions that Georgie’s hand popped right off his head. The noise rent the air, and the cat, clearly bursting with the need to let it all out, thrust its legs and head out like a stiff, fuzzy, orange pentagon, howling at the injustice of the world until …
He stopped.
The three human occupants of the carriage held their collective breaths.
“Is it dead?” Nicholas finally asked.
Georgie looked at him in horror. “Why do you keep assuming my cats are dead?”
“But is it?”
“I think he fainted,” she said, peering down with concern. The cat was sprawled on its back, belly up, one paw thrown dramatically over its face. Gingerly, Georgie put her hand against his chest. “He’s still breathing,” she said.
Marian let out a sigh. Though not, Georgie thought, one of relief.
“Whatever you do,” Nicholas said in a low voice, “do not move. If you wake that thing