by Elsa Holland
Miss Georgie’s eyebrows rose. Her father coughed. Ah yes, his brother was painting London red in his name. That wasn’t his real, austere character. Yet it was the person he needed her to think he was. He needed her to believe her betrothed was an unreliable libertine and call off the betrothal despite the allure of those freckles and her Lady Godiva hair.
Across from him his betrothed rearranged herself on the spacious sofa. His insides softened. He was a military man; he knew the signal for a charge when he saw one and she was like a dove preparing to charge a falcon. He may not want to admit it, but he admired the gumption, admired and wanted that courage to somehow be supported.
Her face turned and her gaze locked with his. That unexpected flutter went through him like the first time their eyes connected. Coming to meet her in person had clearly been a strategic mistake.
“Matters of state you say?” Her eyes pierced him with that striking shade of amber even as her face and body managed to portray a relaxed demeanor.
“Yes, so I understand.” He consciously unlocked his hands and placed then casually over his crossed knees.
His betrothed turned slightly towards him. Here it comes.
“Prince Vladimir is most fortunate indeed to have access to Madam Debuverey’s salon in which to conduct his meetings.” Not even an innuendo, a hint at the indiscretion. No. To her great credit, the lovely Miss Georgina dived straight in.
“Georgie, Georgie hush.” Her father stood.
“I should be overjoyed to have such a resourceful husband,” she continued, “who can find ways to take his family’s advice to relax and enjoy life as well as conduct important matters of state.”
“Georgie.” The warning in her father’s voice was clear. She gave a stubborn tilt of her chin. A man would come to watch for that in a marriage. Give him fair warning of a blast to come, but not him. He had other plans than being wed to this surprising woman.
He motioned her father to sit, the man who was the orchestrator of this blackmail debacle. The man who was the ultimate cause of the hurt that now befell his daughter.
“Perhaps, there is something else you’d like to say Miss Franklin? I am willing to take even the gravest of news to my brother.”
Her facial features didn’t change. Demetri cast a glance at her father whose face now looked as men look in business. At least that man understood what he was saying. Georgina looked at her father and pressed her lips together. It took a moment to process; she was so vulnerable he had overlooked that they could be in collusion. And sure enough, she did not say what he would have expected any other debutante to say.
“What I have to say is between myself and my betrothed.” Her chin lifted and pushed forward. A stubborn determined posture. And yet her eyes still struggled to cover her hurt. Was it something she would only say directly to her betrothed? That could prove awkward.
The coffee tray came in and, with a great deal of elegance, his betrothed poured their coffee. Her posture warned him she was gearing for another attack.
“Perhaps you and Prince Vladimir could come to dinner? Surely now that he is in London a meal with his betrothed is not too much to ask?”
“I am not privy to my brother’s schedule.”
“Surely the matters of state in the salons could be postponed for an hour or two?” She smiled the smile of politics at him.
“I am not disposed to agree on his behalf.”
“As a gesture of atonement?” her eyes narrowed.
He picked up his coffee and drank. Clearly there was nothing he could say.
They sat in silence, Mr. Franklin filled in the space with well-known newspaper topics, the usual topics that rolled out in front parlors.
“How long is the trip?” She finally spoke.
“We will allow a week.” He’d made travel plans in case the betrothal was not canceled in London, although he still held hope that it would. The wall clock chimed the hour. He’d stayed long enough to be polite.
“I assume Prince Vladimir will accompany me as he also has to return to St Petersburg?”
Demetri coughed. The ongoing discomfort he was feeling, making excuses was totally unexpected. “Absolutely.”
“Perhaps he could visit prior to the trip for tea if not dinner?” She angled her knees.
He firmed his resolve. “I am not in the privileged position to know your betrothed’s schedule.”
She leaned forward and it wasn’t to pick up one of the small sweets on the tray between them. “Yet you know how he will travel back home.”
“Yes.” Seeing an opportunity, he leaned forward and selected a shortbread and took a bite. It was rude to question someone who was eating. Father and daughter watched as he masticated and swallowed.
“Perhaps you would like to join us for dinner tomorrow night?” Her father suggested with a gesture suggesting his acceptance was required.
He took another bite and chewed the shortbread slowly. It irked him to agree to anything their family’s blackmailer suggested, yet one look at Georgina and he didn’t have the heart to refuse. He swallowed, brushed the crumbs off his trousers, picked up his coffee and then replied.
“I would be delighted to accept an invitation.”
“Excellent, excellent.” Her father said, standing and reaching over to remove the coffee cup from his hand and placing it on the table. “I’ll see you out.”
The daughter shot her father a scowl, her probing cut short, as was his chance to guide her into the cancellation of the betrothal.
“I am in no hurry,” he protested.
“Oh, no, no, better you come back later.” There was that shrewd business look again.
Georgina stood, a somewhat determined expression giving him warning. “I will show him out father.”
His heart did a strange skip when she slipped her hand through his arm and rested it on his forearm as she led him from the room. He looked down and saw the show of pink at her neck, the tremor in her fingers.
“That’s not necessary, dear.” Her father hovered and yet he stayed in the parlor as Demetri was shown to the foyer and his horse sent for.
At the door, she slid her small hand from the crook of his arm and then held his hand in both of hers. He found himself swallowing hard.
“Your brother is being unnecessarily cruel.” She said in soft tones. “I sincerely request you cajole him to join you for dinner. I would be in your debt brother-in-law.” She leaned closer, the flush moving up her neck, then pressed her cheek to his left, his right and then back to his left cheek. Satin soft touches of her skin, the delicate scent of vanilla and cinnamon mixed with body heat. His skin was awake and the press of his military jacket suddenly hot. She stepped back, her cheeks flushed, her eyes meeting his for a moment. He would be a fool not to recognize the attraction between them, to admire that she played the sister-in-law to a tee despite the roaring burn of the heat their proximity generated. Ironic, she would ignore it because she thought he was not her betrothed; and he would ignore it because she was.
In theory this plan had been much simpler. Make her offended and disenchanted enough to call off the betrothal.
Chapter 4
“More Maria, I want to look my best.” The corset was pulled tighter still. She considered her waist one of her best features. Tiny, it fanned out in perfect proportions top and bottom to her bust and hips. Tonight, she would radiate and burn away any resistance to her and the betrothal. There must surely be some urgent matter which caused the ongoing absence.
“I think you should rethink the bodice; the neckline is much too suggestive for an at-home dinner.” Maria scowled.
“After the Russian blouse choice yesterday, I think I will follow my own judgement.” The threads on her corset were roughly jerked tighter, a clear sign of disapproval. Georgie giggled, “Maria!”
“You looked perfect yesterday, and this bodice is too low.”
Perfect for the wrong man but not today. She would put yesterday behind her and focus o
n her betrothed. The elusive and shockingly beautiful widow….
“I am wearing it. I must compete with the salons. No man wants to think he will have a dowdy wife when he is mixing with the demimonde.”
“It’s not for you to compete with them Miss, they are supposed to offer different things than a wife.” Judging by the behavior of her betrothed, he was interested in one type of woman and not the other.
It was a strange compulsion, wanting to make him realize his enormous mistake, be apologetic and eager to win her. And if that was not forthcoming, she at least wanted to have the satisfaction of stepping away from the betrothal in a state of grace, looking fabulous and indifferent.
“Well not this betrothed. I want to show him I can be what he likes.” She squashed the thoughts about Demetri, ignored and stopped in their tracks any need to know what he thought, what he felt, what he liked.
“Even if he is not what you like?” Maria asked, always far too astute.
“I will not know that until I meet him.”
Maria caught her gaze in the mirror’s reflection, that wasn’t what she meant. “His actions over the years should tell you all you need to know of his character. His brother on the other hand has great promise.” She gave a suggestive wiggle of her eyebrows and Georgie couldn’t help but laugh.
On the table in front of the window was the enormous bunch of flowers which arrived an hour after General Demetri had left. His small note, understated yet perfectly comforting pledged to influence his brother to the extent of his abilities. To that end he accepted for both of them the invitation to dinner tonight.
“Don’t you think that General Demetri was rather lovely?” Maria probed.
Maria clearly didn’t know the half of how he made her feel. Of the mental steps she was trying to take to reconcile her reactions to him and instill some distance before meeting her betrothed.
“He’s the wrong brother.” She said with as much indifference as she could.
“Yes, yes, I know but he is, isn’t he?”
“If he is so lovely surely Prince Vladimir, as his brother, must be of a similar ilk?” She countered.
Maria’s face soured as she continued to dress Georgie’s hair. “Cain and Abel were brothers.”
“That’s not the way I need to be thinking when I’m about to meet my betrothed.” Georgie said.
“Well we’ll see tonight, both brothers coming at such short notice. Cook’s been flushed beet red all afternoon with more pots on the go than for your father’s fiftieth”
It was a further forty-five minutes before she was fully dressed. As she looked in the mirror, for the first time in the longest while, Georgie wished her mother was still alive. Wished she could see her daughter now, all dressed to meet her betrothed. Besides there were many, many questions about men and the marriage act that were going to be challenging to deal with. Father was not going to have that talk with her and there were no aunts or stepmothers to fill the task. In a pinch she could ask Maria, but she really didn’t want to.
“You look beautiful, Miss. One glance and Prince Vladimir will curse the years he has not come to see you.”
At seven o’clock sharp a carriage arrived in the forecourt. Georgie and her father stood. Her heart thundered in her chest. What if he hated her? What if he was not like his miniature? What if he was so different from her imagination of him… shorter, fatter, and balder, that she recoiled from him? If familiar characteristics were anything to go by, he would be handsome, tall and athletic, like his brother, Demetri. But more over she was desperate to read on his face some pleasure in seeing her, at her appearance.
The door opened and the butler stepped forward. Her breath froze.
“General Demetri Petroski.” He stepped aside and the General entered.
Their eyes locked much like they had yesterday morning, the same strange and delicious zing went through her, even as she tried desperately to push it aside and look over his shoulder. Her eyes flew back up to the Generals as he walked into the room, his gaze penetrated into the youthful hopes and dreams she harbored for her betrothed and witness as they melted into bitter disappointment and shame when she saw he was alone.
Demetri bowed first to her then her father. “I must send my brother’s sincere apologies. Matters of state have impacted his health and he is not fit to attend.”
Heat pricked in her eyes as she willed herself to smile.
“I hope you will convey our best wishes for a speedy recovery. Perhaps Maria and I will visit him on the morrow with some broth.”
“He would be most blessed by the attention, Miss Franklin.” Yet she knew with absolute certainty he would not think so. That should she and Maria call tomorrow he would be away or indisposed.
“Please you must call me Georgie. We will be family after all. Now, if you will excuse me a moment, I will notify cook.” Georgie closed the door behind her. Her corset was so tight the breaths she heaved in hardly made an impact on the lack of air in her lungs. Tears fell, hot and bitter with disappointment. She walked slowly up the stairs and down the corridor on the first floor to her rooms and rang for Maria.
She sat at the small dressing table and looked in the mirror at herself. What could possibly be so horrid about being betrothed to her that he wouldn’t even come to dinner? Surely Demetri had relayed that she was passable, that she was well within the bounds a man would expect of a wife, no ugly surprises? The elusive and shockingly beautiful widow….
The roses Demetri had sent now seemed less of a promise and more of a token to stop her from feeling totally slighted. They failed. She was slighted; slighted, ignored, and shamed.
The door opened, Maria ran in. “Oh, Miss, I heard, I am so sorry. The servants are ready to flay him for you and cook is educating the footmen in profanities.”
Tears fell in earnest. “Am I so unlovable Maria?”
Maria wrapped her arms around her. “No, Miss, you are any man’s dream. We all agree the fault is his.”
“There is, of course, some small chance that he really is sick…” Georgie said getting no answer from the worldly Maria whose gaze shouted out, break the betrothal.
Demetri looked toward the parlor door as it opened and Georgie returned. That twist of guilt came again as he noticed the slight redness around her eyes. It had been half an hour. That was too long to leave a guest but no doubt the time a heart broken debutant needed to recover and return.
“All in order Georgie girl?” Her father asked.
Her elegant hands had the slightest of tremors as they smoothed down her well-chosen dinner gown and gave a commendable smile. “I hope you will forgive me; it all took longer than I intended.”
“No trouble at all, your father was regaling me with his latest business investment opportunity.” The gall of the man was unbelievable, as if their family would invest with the man who blackmailed their father and left the family beholden to his promise. To her credit, she gave her father a look.
“Men love to know about business opportunities Georgie, that’s what we do. Don’t we General?”
He was saved from answering when dinner was announced. Instead, he stood and offered his arm to Georgie. “Perhaps you will allow me to walk you in?”
It was painful to see the gratitude in her eyes as he stepped forward and her arm slipped over his. She gave his arm a small squeeze. “Thank you,” she whispered between them and he felt like a cad.
Three hours later he walked with resolve into Madam Debuverey’s salon.
“Oh, finally brother, I thought you had fallen for the wench after all. Three bloody hours. How slow can a man eat?” His younger brother, Vladimir Demetri Ilya Petroski had agreed to masquerade as him, to be Prince Vladimir while they were in London, and help him do whatever was necessary to have the betrothal broken.
The deception was easy if they used Vladimir as they were both named Vladimir Demetri, as were all the Petroski boys. As the elder, he took Demetri as his familial name and his brother moved one
name further down to Ilya. They were both Vladimir, a thing that worked well as they grew up and….now in this task they undertook for their family’s honor.
They had been careful to play up their similar names as they caroused around the salons, gaming halls and theatres. The more Vladimir was reported, the better their chances the Franklin family would become incensed and break the betrothal. An outcome which was taking much longer than either of them anticipated.
It was not honorable, but neither was the father’s blackmail for the betrothal all those years ago. Even as a boy he swore never to be reconciled to the betrothal - a Petroski does not get manipulated or bribed into acting.
A lesser man, at the sight of Georgina re-entering the parlor, her eyes still showing signs of tears, would have called the whole plan off. However, her father was a swindler and a blackmailer and he was a prince with a family honor to uphold.
Demetri lowered himself on the couch next to his brother.
“We are playing theatre.” Ilya said looking around, decidedly distracted. “Romeo and Juliet but we have paused at the balcony scene to determine ‘who is the best kisser’.” He smirked eyes still scanning the packed salon.
Just then a man and a woman in a slightly disheveled state came from behind a curtained bay window to the hoots and howls of the room. A small apothecary bottle lay on its side. They all clapped and repeated ‘Spin, spin, spin,’ as two more were selected to go behind the curtain.
“I need this to end.” Ilya said in Russian next to him.
“As do I brother.” He was not looking forward to facing Georgina again after the next stage of their plan.
“No, I mean I need it to end.”
Demetri turned to his brother and swore in Russian. “This is not the time to be getting caught up with anyone. I need you to stay focused. The family needs you to stay focused and do what you do best.” Demetri waved to the debauchery around the room. “Join in and cause a sensation.”
