by Eva Devon
Georgiana had barely seen Edward, aside from a firm assurance this morning that she would do well.
He had then appeared for a brief moment on the stone balcony before he headed back inside the house.
He had not lied.
Edward did not like company and seemed to avoid it if he could. It was most interesting.
Clearly, as his duchess and hostess, she was not allowed such a thing even if she did not like company, either. She had no choice. No, she had to be at the center of everything. And much to her delight, people were not treating her as if she had the plague, so at least there was that.
A few comments about her accent had been made, however. An accent she could not eschew. She had tried and realized it was foolish to do so. She would always sound like someone from Yorkshire. She was someone from Yorkshire, and she wasn’t going to apologize for it any longer.
As she traced her way across the immaculately raked grass, her soft kid-leather slippers barely leaving a print, she allowed herself a sigh of pleasure at how well it was going.
“Pleased, are you?” Edward asked from behind her.
She nearly jumped at that deep, rumbling voice caressing her, but then she turned and smiled. “I am, thank you. It has gone off without a hitch.”
“Yes,” he agreed, his hands folded behind his back. “I can see that. Well done, you.”
She inclined her perfectly coifed head—the curls had taken an hour to arrange—amazed that she could still feel so completely alive at his nearness. But he was so handsome, in his taut faun breeches, navy waistcoat, and tailored cutaway. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
“You must call me Edward,” he whispered, tilting his head toward her so that his dark hair lightly skimmed his chiseled cheekbones.
“But we are in public,” she pointed out, “Surely we must abide by all the rules and regulations to which you have assured me are necessary.”
Slowly, he arched a dark brow, a glint of playfulness dancing in his intense gaze. “I like to see that you are so interested in those rules and regulations, but we are allowed a little bit of intimacy, as you call it, given the fact that we are husband and wife.”
“Husband and wife,” she echoed whilst they crossed the green. “As far as I can tell from ton marriages, that is more reason than ever not to be intimate in public. Husbands and wives showing each other affection is very unfashionable.”
He laughed, a rich, booming sound.
Half the company turned to stare.
He did not seem to notice it, but she did. Was it such a rare thing for the Duke of Thornfield to laugh in company?
She rather guessed it was. An immense wave of pleasure washed over her at the realization that she could cause him to laugh when others could not.
As they strolled to the end of the green, she spotted one of the amusements she had arranged, and an idea struck her.
“Edward,” she began, “will you play with me?”
He looked down at her as if she had lost her wits. “Play with you?”
“Yes, a game of bowls,” she explained as she gestured to the line of special, weighted bowls.
“I do not play bowls,” he said, blinking. “It is a game for ladies.”
She gasped with mock affront. “It is not a game just for ladies.”
A crowd began to gather at their end of the lawn, witnessing their banter.
“It is,” he insisted. “It is a way for ladies to make certain that they attain a certain level of exercise and do not—” He paused. “Glow.”
She tsked, barely able to contain her laugh at his silly assertion. “You know that I am quite capable of a good long walk, and therefore a bit of a glow, but bowls are not meant for simple sport. They are a sport that has been outlawed and forbidden to the most excellent and capable of men! It is a game of fascinating facts!”
He stared at her again as if she had lost all her wits now. “What the devil are you talking about, Duchess?”
“Do you not know?” she queried, though she found herself lighting up as he called her by her title. “There is something that my husband does not know?” she teased lightly.
He gave her a droll look. “There are a great many things I do not know. I’ve never claimed that I am a knower of all things.”
She smiled up at him. “Of course, my dear. I do not wish to give offense. But I do think we can all agree you know many things.”
He stared her again, clearly not quite following her playful commentary.
She smiled up at him again, realizing he might need a bit more help in such discourse before their growing audience. “It is most endearing. I do not mind it at all. It is one of the things that I have grown to like about you, your sense of self.”
His brow furrowed. “My sense of self.”
“Indeed, but you must indulge us mere mortals and play.”
He looked about, his eyes darting. He looked uncomfortable. And yet she was certain that there was a part of him that wished to indulge her.
“It would mean a great deal and certainly show your”—she leaned in—“affection for me.”
His jaw tensed before he said quietly, “As you know, I am attempting to work on that.”
“I do know,” she murmured. Georgiana hesitated for the briefest of moments then decided to be bold, for she had promised herself that she would teach him to be a good husband. “Will you do this?” she asked softly, so that no one else might hear. “Your acquiescence will show you are taking some of my suggestions at being a—”
“Don’t say it again,” he said.
“Say what?” she asked, batting her lashes.
“Affectionate…and intimate,” he said under his breath.
Georgiana swallowed, determined. “I am working very hard to be a good duchess, am I not? Therefore—”
“Yes, yes,” he cut her off. “And you’re doing a most admirable job.”
She nodded, pleased he noticed. “I shall endeavor to be what you wish just as you are now endeavoring to be what I wish, and we shall both be mutually happy.”
“Fine, fine,” he relented. “We shall play bowls.”
“Good,” she said, clapping her hands together. “How marvelous.”
She looked out to the small green, which was kept open for the event. Bowls was one of her favorite games. Happily, she collected the small white ball, the Jack, from the stack of bowls, and rolled it far into the field.
“What are you doing?” he inquired.
“You truly have never played bowls?” she asked, first collecting four bowls for him and four for herself.
He cleared his throat as he took one of the weighted bowls. “I have had far too many other things to do.”
“How sad for you,” she said. “One should always have time for a bit of fun.”
“Dukes rarely have time for a bit of fun.”
The growing crowd of aristocrats clearly strained to hear as they seemed to lean forward as one.
“You are being very stoic, my dear,” Georgiana said brightly. “I appreciate said stoicism, but I also like to see you smile.”
“Humph,” he muttered, before he paused and confessed with apparent difficulty, “I do like to make you happy. Therefore, I shall make an attempt to smile.”
She laughed. “I’m glad to hear it. Now hold the bowl easily in your hand,” she said.
He gazed at her askance, but then did as she bid before the host of people who were always awaiting his every move.
“Now,” she said, taking on a mock serious tone as she instructed him. “The goal of the game is to try to roll one’s bowls as close to the Jack as you may. And whoever gets all their bowls closest to the Jack wins.”
“This seems like a game for infants,” he pointed out, but there was something in his gaze she couldn’t quite read.
Was he nervous?
“Do try,” she urged. “It is such a fun game.”
“Whatever my wife requires.”
And much to her pleasure, he hauled his arm back and rolled the ball…too far.
It skittered across the green, well past the Jack.
A titter of comments went up amongst their guests and then soft applause, despite the lack of dexterity to his roll.
She smiled, for she knew this game quite well. “My turn now, Edward.”
She eyed the Jack, eased her arm back, and artfully rolled the bowl. It settled very near the Jack.
A round of applause surrounded her and she beamed.
“Now,” she said, “we must each roll three more and see who is closest in the end!”
He rolled again and missed, but once again, she noted a slight gleam in his eyes, as if this gave him satisfaction. Which was most curious, given his reticence.
She smiled encouragingly at him, pleased he would play on with her, learning something new. She rolled again, and came far closer.
“This game is not quite as simple as I had imagined,” he observed.
“Few things in life are ever as simple as we imagine, Your Grace.”
He cocked his head to the side. “Is there a technique that you should like to teach me, since you are clearly far superior at this game than I?”
His seemingly honest compliment surprised her. “It is nice to know that there is something that I am far superior at,” she replied. “And since it is something as amusing as bowls, I feel quite good about it.”
Another laugh tumbled over his lips. “My dear wife, you’re superior in many things. I could list them…” His voice trailed off and then he whispered. “But I do not wish to cause your cheeks to glow an astounding shade of pink in front of our guests.”
“Pink?” she echoed. “Whyever not?”
“Because,” he breathed. “They might think that it’s from pleasure of another kind.”
Ever so gently, he placed his hand upon her back and guided her back to her bowl. “Though I love to give you pleasure of that kind,” he murmured.
“I love to receive it,” she replied. “But I also love this.”
And with that, she rolled her last bowl. It danced along the green, knocked one of his to the side, and then stopped right beside the little white bowl.
Edward lifted his hands and clapped.
She gave him a quick curtsy and handed him his last bowl.
He took it, their fingertips caressing ever so slightly.
Slowly, he turned, closed his eyes, then rolled. The bowl went wild.
“You’ve let me win,” she said with faux horror.
He closed the distance between them, towering over her. “Never. It is I who have won, for your face shines with happiness.”
Suddenly, she had a very strong feeling that this was not his first game of bowls. He had allowed her to teach him something. And the feeling that filled her heart at that moment was most decidedly, hope.
…
“To the new Duchess!”
The dozen men sitting at the long mahogany table covered in crystal, silver, and porcelain imported from China stood. As one, they raised their chargers high and let out several shouts of approval.
Edward remained seated but lifted his own glass in a more dignified manner. Georgiana had been put through her paces over the last weeks. Ball after ball, party after party, she had faced the wolves of the ton with growing confidence. And now this. His hosted political dinners. She was rising to the occasion with aplomb.
Wine had been drunk for hours. Bathed in the golden hue of beeswax candles in ornate silver candelabras placed on the outer edges of the dining room and table, speech after speech skewering the opposition party had filled the air.
The general merriment of the politicians was exuberant. Edward sat at his end of the table, amazed at how easily Georgina took it all.
Over the years, he’d always found the excitement of politicians to be rather difficult to deal with. He’d enjoyed taking part, of course, because he found the modern issues of the day quite pressing, but after bottles and bottles of wine and brandy were consumed, he often had difficulty maintaining enthusiasm or putting up with the increasingly ludicrous comments of the politicians that he supported.
The Whig Party was his party, and he agreed with all of their important points, but he didn’t necessarily like eating dinner with them. The hours of boasting, shouting, and clanking of his crystal were often hours he endured.
Politicians were a necessity, but they weren’t necessarily good company.
Georgiana seemed quite in her element.
He admired her for it.
Her eyes sparkled as the gentlemen lifted their glasses to her, and rather than being intimidated by them, she had given as good as she had gotten.
Lord Parker turned to her, his eyes gleaming. “It is such a pleasure to hear from a lady with such an intellect, Your Grace. Such a pleasure.”
Her lips twitched, and her diamond ear bobs danced against her neck, as if she wasn’t certain of the compliment. “Lord Parker, I am surprised that you would consider my intellect or opinion at all.”
“Whyever not?” boomed Lord Altonby, his cheeks red and his wig slightly askew.
Georgiana leaned forward, with her emerald bracelet, the same shade as her silk gown, winking in the candle light. “I cannot vote, my lord.”
Lord Altonby and Lord Parker both harrumphed as if her point was most worrying, but neither had the fortitude to suggest ladies should have the vote, as Edward believed they should.
He leaned back, realizing that his wife could take on any gentleman in the room.
The gentlemen, despite their cups, were quickly realizing this, too, and much to their good sense, they did not attempt to humor her.
Edward felt a dose of pride. He did not think Georgiana could be humored, and he found that singular. He would never make such a foolish attempt as to humor his wife.
No, she was a creature of remarkable sense, and so he would listen to her. It seemed the politicians admired her for it, too.
The gentlemen began listing off compliments to her, some of them quite silly.
One rather wobbly politician who was forced to lean against the table, Edward could not recall his name, made some comment about Georgiana’s fine eyes.
Mr. Fox was much more clever and declared boldly, “It is wonderful that His Grace has married a woman of such excellent mind.”
Georgiana beamed at the esteemed politician’s praise and returned, “It has taken some skill to hone it, sir, but I am greatly appreciative to my mother for ensuring it is sharp enough to cut through foolishness when necessary.”
Mr. Fox’s dark, bushy brows rose, but then he lifted his glass and looked around the table. “To Her Grace’s mother!”
The toast was met with a cheer and an echo, “Her Grace’s mother!”
The gentlemen around the table pounded it.
Silverware rattled. Glasses clinked. And Edward folded his hand into a fist beneath the table, willing himself to be calm in the din, but then, much to his amazement, Georgiana stood.
She lifted her own glass and said, her voice strong, “To the gentlemen of the Whig Party, whose principles I admire and shall strive to encourage. I am grateful to be embraced and taken in. We shall endeavor together to improve the quality of life of those who are struggling the most. We cannot allow children to climb down dark holes to collect the coal that feeds our fires.”
She drew breath, lifting her chin as if laying out an edict as boldly as any prime minister. “We cannot allow them to climb up our chimneys to clean them, simply for our own convenience. We cannot allow young ladies to be shoved into misery because of the circumstances of their birth, for all young women are ladies.”
There was a moment of silence at her shocking comment.
The idea that all young women were ladies? It was not something that most of his set would give credence to, but then they all stared at her and erupted into applause.
“Well said, well said,” one member of Parliament cheered.
And Edward’s heart lifted at the sentiment. Perhaps he was more of a revolutionary than he had thought.
He looked across the table at his wife, stood, and then lifted his own glass and said, “Here is to the Duchess of Thornfield, a woman determined to make the world better, and I shall do everything I can, gentlemen, to support her in that.”
The members of Parliament cheered their enthusiasm. Georgiana beamed as she locked gazes with Edward. “We shall all do it together,” she insisted, “for it is the only way for it to be done.”
Edward took a long swallow of his wine then inclined his head. For he could not agree more. As he held her gaze, though, his heart pounded with trepidation.
There was something he needed to do.
And it was time he did it, if he could simply gather the courage.
Chapter Twenty-Three
As the days of his marriage passed into weeks, Edward was uncertain if he was ever going to see his bride during the day. Georgiana was always working, just like he was, and it was astonishing to be met with someone who had the same sort of dedication and passion as he did.
It had never happened before.
Oh, he was surrounded by lords who worked quite hard to keep their estates running and intact and the country going, of course, but Georgiana’s dedication was such that he rarely caught sight of her. She was always going from one lesson to the next or bent over a book and sipping her tea.
He was proud of her. So much so, he had no idea how to express it. And along with his pride had come an emotion he’d never needed to address before.
Doubt.
Even in his deepest struggles, his parents had loved him. He’d known he’d been born to be a duke. And power had always been his.
Georgiana was his by law, but as he watched her ascend obstacles, overtaking anyone or anything which stood in her way, he’d begun to wonder if she could ever accept his true self. Not the distant, controlled duke he had forced himself to become. But himself. Did he dare begin to show her?
