First Comes Scandal (Rokesbys #4) - Julia Quinn Page 0,83
all the ice in her veins, “I am fully capable of making a decision.”
Not that Georgie had much ice in her veins, but she’d seen her mother and Lady Manston in action. She knew how to fake it.
“Your husband will need to sign,” Mr. McDiarmid had replied, his voice as mincy as pie.
“Of course,” Georgie had sniffed. “But he is a very busy man. He has entrusted me to do all of the preliminary viewings so that he might weigh in only when truly necessary.”
Marian had almost gone and ruined the whole thing right then, coughing until her eyes watered. Fortunately Mr. McDiarmid had been distracted enough getting her something to drink that he didn’t hear Georgie when she hissed, “Stop that right now!”
Or when Marian said helplessly, “But Mr. Rokesby hasn’t entrusted you do anything.”
Honestly, Marian was the worst liar.
After another ten minutes of hemming and hawing, Mr. McDiarmid admitted that he had indeed received the request from Lord Manston, and he did have two properties in mind that might do for the young couple. But he absolutely, positively put his foot down at the idea of showing them to a lady without her husband. He absolutely, positively could not even entertain the idea until—
Georgie stood right up and announced that she would find a different agent.
It was remarkable how quickly they’d gone to see the first house after that.
Georgie had known instantly that it would not do. The floor was crooked, and it was painfully short on windows. But the second house—in the New Town Georgie had heard so much about—was perfect. Light, and airy, and ready to be leased fully furnished. The décor was not quite what Georgie would have chosen herself, but it was close enough. And if it meant she could move in sooner rather than later …
Blue was just as good as green for a sitting room. Honestly, she did not care.
“Have you had enough tea?” Georgie asked Marian, even though they’d barely been sitting for five minutes. “I want to go find Nicholas. Mr. McDiarmid said he can sign the lease today.”
“He’s going to be very surprised to see you,” Marian said.
“But good surprised,” Georgie said with more certitude than she actually felt. She didn’t think Nicholas would be angry that she’d taken care of the house on her own. But he might not like her coming to Edinburgh without informing him ahead of time. Men were funny that way. Still, what was done was done, and she was eager to share her news.
Mr. McDiarmid had inadvertently shown her the location of the medical school, boasting of its proximity to the houses he was showing her, and so Georgie was confident she knew where she was going as she, Marian, and Jameson made their way to Teviot Place.
Nicholas had told her about the grand anatomical theater, about the steeply tiered seats looking down at the small stage at the bottom. He’d told her that sometimes the lecturer just spoke, but sometimes there was a dead body down there, cut open for all to see.
Georgie wasn’t sure she wanted to see that, but she was eager to see the room where her husband spent so much of his time.
It wasn’t difficult to find the anatomical theater, but as it had well over a hundred men in it, all facing away from her as she peeked through the door, finding Nicholas from among the many was. Georgie was wearing a deep green day dress and a hat that wouldn’t be called fancy in any drawing room, but in this place she was decidedly out of place.
And conspicuous.
But luck was on her side. The bench just outside the door was positioned such that if she leaned over the armrest she could hear almost everything. She didn’t recognize half the words, but the context was helpful, and she was riveted.
“Did you hear that?” she whispered to Marian. Something about blood, and how much of it was in the human body.
Marian closed her eyes. “I’m trying not to.”
Georgie leaned further. Now the lecturer was talking about why blood was red, and how bloodletting was frequently essential to restore balance to the nervous system.
“The body is an animated machine!”
Georgie looked down at her hands. “I suppose,” she murmured.
“What are you doing?” Marian whispered.
Georgie shushed her, tipping her ear back to the open door. Drat, she’d missed something.
“… perform a variety of motions …” Georgie opened and closed her hands. All right. She could accept that.