by Eva Devon
The little time that they did spend was in the evening together before the fire in their chamber. His chamber, in truth, but it had become theirs. She had a chamber of her own, but by the light of the moon and candlelight, they found the time to be together and with few words, unite.
It was a time that he loved. He had never felt so much in his entire life.
In fact, he feared he might rattle apart with the power of the emotion. He was coming to need her. His body hungered for hers, driving him to seek her out and pull her to him when the sun slipped below the horizon. Frankly, it terrified him, for he’d never thought to need anyone so intensely.
Needing her was dangerous. What if she turned out like all the others that had known the truth about him? What if she thought…
He closed his eyes, willing the wave of volatile emotion away.
Georgiana was the most remarkable person of his acquaintance. And with every day he found himself longing more and more for her admiration. He did not wish her to seek his. Far too many were always seeking it, and he loathed that.
No, he wished to find hers. But could she?
She’d called him despicable not so very long ago.
He’d studied the idea of affection and intimacy, trying to understand ways in which he could please her so that she might change her summation of him. And because he did wish her to be happy in their marriage.
Even though he knew he might never be the man that she wished, he could, as he had promised, at least try to give some semblance of it so that she could be content.
He arranged for there to be fresh flowers in her room every day, for her favorite black currant jam to be served with her breakfast, for the tea she seemed to like most steeped for her every morning on her tray. And without her knowing, he had been writing letters inviting people to come for a dinner party soon.
It would be his great surprise for her.
The greatest literary minds in the land would gather in their house. For her. He hoped with a hope he’d never felt before that she would like it. He wasn’t entirely certain it would please her. After all, he didn’t always know what would best please people. But she had made it clear that her deepest hope as his wife was to meet famous writers. That, he could truly supply her with, and he wasn’t going to shirk on his promise.
Edward glanced down at the bouquet of violets in his hand, wondering if she would be like the small, yet bright flowers. Wondering if he told her everything…that she wouldn’t recoil from him.
He lingered before her morning parlor, a room she had picked for herself and was currently decorating to her tastes. There was really only one way to find out.
He slowly walked to the door and peered through it. They did not bother with closing doors in this house. There was no point. Secrecy was something that was difficult to keep from servants. And as he studied her, he felt his heart do the strangest thing. It seemed to fill his chest and ache…ache with longing.
But for what?
She poured over a book, and her curls banded with a rose silk ribbon were falling about her face. Even though he knew her maid had likely spent an hour at her coiffure, it had already become a bit of a riot, for she was always errantly pulling at a curl here or tucking a lock there.
It all amused him greatly to watch her do so. She cared so little about the perfection or lack thereof of her appearance and he found it…refreshing.
She leaned over the book, took a sip of tea from her delicate blue cup, and smiled. What line had caused such pleasure, he knew not, but he liked to see her so happy. Though he knew he had appeared full of arrogance to her, he had been deeply afraid she would not be content in his house. But he had been mistaken. And in this case, he was so grateful to be mistaken.
In fact, he was discovering that he loved being proved wrong by her.
Edward strode into the parlor and, recalling his plan, he leaned down and kissed the top of her head. He had read that it was a good thing to do, that ladies liked such things. Gently, he laid the bunch of violets before her. She lifted her face to his and smiled. Her eyes shone with a deep contentment as she picked up the bouquet and brought it to her nose.
Her smile deepened with profound pleasure at such a small thing. “Good morning, Edward.”
“Good morning, wife,” he replied. “You look most pleased by your book.”
“I am,” she said, tucking the bouquet into the glass of water in front of her. A small but strange gesture for a lady. “I am learning the most fascinating things about the Earl of Sandwich.”
“Indeed?” he queried, delighted she wished to keep his gift alive so much that she did not even bother to call for a vase.
“Yes.” She placed her red ribbon in her book then closed the leather-bound pages. “Did you know that the sandwich was created because the Earl of Sandwich gambled far too much?”
Edward laughed then nodded. “I did, I confess,” he said. “The Earl of Sandwich’s gambling exploits were legendary. If I am blunt, they are one of the reasons I stay far away from the tables. I like logic, odds, and statistics,” he continued, warming to the topic and her interest, “and statistics tell me that games of chance are not a logical way to spend one’s money.”
She beamed up at him. “I am glad to hear you are a man of such good sense, for I do find that many men of your station do not have sense at all.”
“Agreed, dear wife.”
“And what shall you be doing today? Are you going to the House of Lords?” she asked, taking up her teacup.
She did not recriminate him with her question. As a matter of fact, she seemed eager to know what he might be about. He often did go to the House of Lords, and he was rarely in her company during the day, for he had meeting after meeting after meeting. It was simply the way of things, something that did not seem to bother her, thank goodness.
But not today.
Today he had a different plan. He drew in a steadying breath.
“No, Georgiana,” he said before he cleared his throat, a shocking wave of nerves traversing his system. It was a very unfamiliar feeling and he wasn’t quite certain what to do with it. “I should like you to come on an outing with me.”
“An outing?” she queried. “But I have so many things to do.”
His nerves stirred and a hint of disappointment curbed his enthusiasm. But he continued, “I’m sure you do, but do you think, by chance, for this particular day, you might miss all of your appointments and come with your husband?”
“When you put it like that,” she said with a slow smile that lit her entire face, “I might be able to arrange a delay in my education.”
“Oh dear,” he said with exaggerated seriousness. “That sounds terrible. But I promise what we do shall be edifying also.”
“Then,” she said, pushing her book away and drinking the last of her tea, “I will not regret it in the slightest. I shall make my apologies to my tutors and all shall be well.”
“Good.” His relief was so palpable he was tempted to crow with triumph. “Be ready in an hour and wear attire that will be suitable for riding.”
“Riding?” Her face paled. “I am not particularly good at it.”
“That will be part of your education,” he said, eager to take her out. There was a slight wariness to her countenance, or so he deduced from the way her brow furrowed.
“Are you afraid of horses?” he asked.
“Not afraid, exactly, but I am not accustomed to them. We did not have the money to keep horses for riding. We only had horses for our carriage.”
“Do not worry,” he said. “Horses are the most magnificent creatures in the world. In fact, aside from dogs, I find them to be far preferable to humans.”
She laughed, then. “Well, I do quite like dogs. Therefore, if you say horses are as lovely an animal, I’m sure I shall be won over.”
“Indeed
you shall,” he declared, wondering if he should have Captain brought down from the country, since she clearly liked dogs so well. But it was a poor idea. The wolfhound would be miserable in the city.
And with that he pivoted on his booted heel and left her to get ready.
As he traversed the halls, he felt quite pleased that the endeavor had gone so well. Perhaps this was something he could do, this affection business. She’d been rather insistent that she required it for their marriage to be a success. And he found he did wish it to be a success.
Edward wished her to be happy…
Much to his amazement, he wished it with all his heart. But most of all, he hoped they could find happiness together.
…
The crimson riding habit clung to her form in a way that Georgiana had never quite experienced before. The fact that she had skintight cream-colored breeches on underneath the skirt was a revelation.
Georgiana did not ride. At least not well. Still, the frock had been made for her on insistence by Madame Yvette. Now she knew why.
Madame Yvette, the French seamstress who had also made her wedding gown, clearly had an understanding of the Duke’s needs in a way that she had not. She had never thought her husband might ask her to go for a ride.
No, a curricle drive perhaps in the park, certainly, but a ride? Then her lack of foresight dawned upon her. Of course, as a duchess, she would be expected to do such a thing as ride. No doubt, like all things, she was expected to ride well.
Was Edward going to teach her to ride today? Was the list of her inabilities to never end? No matter how many strides forward she took, it always seemed as if she was missing her mark. Would she ever know enough to be a proper duchess?
She bit her lower lip. She’d worked incessantly, trying to fulfill her role. And she was proud to take on her duties. But she had begun to worry that she might never meet Edward’s expectations.
She felt a moment’s trepidation as she sat atop the well-sprung curricle seat as they headed out of the city and into the countryside. Resting her hand on the side of the curricle, she willed herself to rise to this next lesson. He wished her to ride? She would boldly make the attempt.
She had made a decision that she would do whatever was needed to be one of the best duchesses in the land. If it meant facing a four-legged creature that could pound her into the earth, so be it. Besides, surely, if Edward thought so highly of them, they couldn’t be too terrifying. Could they?
No. She wouldn’t allow doubt to creep in. She had enough worries without equine ones. She forced herself to think positively. Edward liked Captain, a great burly wolfhound, and she adored the dog. Could a wolfhound, which stood as high as her waist, be so different than a horse?
Her attempts at purely optimist thinking died as she envisioned the horses that traversed Rotten Row every day.
Of course they were different. Horses were massive, sinewy, beautiful creatures with eyes as wide as owls and tails that lashed back and forth, snapping at the flies around them. And they had teeth that were considerable. Dogs had teeth, too, of course, but they were generally bared in panting and lolling their tongues.
Horses, she knew, could literally chomp one quite powerfully. Still, she was not about to act the coward now.
And why should she? Her bold determination with Edward had been reaping rewards. Oh, she might never know enough to be the duchess he desired, a thought which often kept her awake in the darkest hours of the night, but he had listened to her instructions. Over the last weeks, he’d shown her hints of affection and care. From the fresh-cut flowers, to new teas, to books brought to her daily, Edward was trying to please her and give her what she had stated was necessary to her happiness.
He went out of his way to hold her in his arms during the few hours they were able to spend together in their chamber. Oh, he was still an arrogant, all-powerful duke, but he was an arrogant, all-powerful duke who was trying to be intimate with her in genuine ways.
He was living up to what she required. She only prayed she could do the same for him.
As they drove farther from the ever-growing West of London, she wondered where the blazes he was taking her. She’d assumed it would be a stable block close to his house, and then they would go for a gentle ride in the park.
Regardless of her lack of knowledge, she drank in the fresh air and his good humor. The fact that he had a surprise for her had put him in a shockingly chipper mood.
They drove in companionable silence toward Richmond. The hills were still beautiful, covered in rolling trees and meadows. Deer roamed through the woodland. At one time, this had been the great hunting park of kings. Now, it was slowly being encroached upon by the city. She wondered how long it would remain wild.
It was almost impossible to say, what with the progress that was being made. She admired progress, of course, but sometimes she wished the wild things of this earth could remain untouched.
“There,” he said triumphantly.
She swung her gaze to the direction he pointed. In the distance were several adjacent fields and in those fields were several horses of various colors. But all of them…all of them were shining, their coats sleek and well cared for under the morning sun.
The paddocks were fenced in by beautiful, thick Hawthorne bushes, flowering with their perfect white blossoms. Adjacent to the fields was an immaculate Tudor-style stable block.
“What is that?”
“It is mine,” he said proudly.
“All of it?”
“Of course.”
“Well, I’m not surprised.” she said. “I believe you own half the country.”
“Not half. But close.”
She hid her smile at his response. He was so factual about the way he’d stated it. No teasing at all, and she realized that meant it was true.
Edward did own close to half the country.
He was a marvel to be sure, and no wonder he spent most of his days from before sunup to sundown, organizing and managing things. His devotion to columns and ledgers was really quite amazing when one thought about it.
And she truly did admire him for his dedication, even if it meant that sometimes he barely knew she was in the room. It was something she was becoming accustomed to, for he had tried in so many other ways to make up for his obliviousness to anything but his endeavors. At pointed moments, there’d been soft touches, long glances, and all the other small but important things he did to show her affection even when it seemed he felt little for her.
Would she ever gain his full affection? But she couldn’t deny the importance of his work or the fierceness with which he helped so many in the hours he spent at and preparing for The House of Lords.
His body veritably vibrating with his excitement, he drove the curricle up to the stable and quickly jumped down to the raked earth. In a single moment, he was transformed.
Georgiana nearly gasped. She looked at her husband and he barely seemed the same person. His whole face became light, relaxed, free. His shoulders stretched, becoming even broader, taking up more room under his perfectly tailored black riding coat, if such a thing was possible.
His height even seemed to expand.
He simply looked completely at ease. Far more at ease than she’d seen him either at Thornfield Castle or his town house.
As he held out his hand to help her jump down, the air about him filled with his anticipation at whatever was about to come.
“I have never seen you look so pleased,” she said, pressing down upon the top of his gloved hand as she descended.
“Do I?”
“Oh yes,” she replied, beaming at him, for it was impossible not to be caught up in his rare enthusiasm. “Very much so.”
“I am proud of this place.”
“Are they your racehorses?”
So many lords had horses they took to New Market every
year.
“No,” he scoffed before he turned to look upon the beasts prancing across the green. “These horses will never race. That is not what they’re intended for. They are intended simply to be here.”
“I don’t understand,” she said, as they walked toward the edge of the nearest field.
“You see,” he began, his voice rich with the clear joy the horses gave him, “this is a place where I bring horses who have had very hard lives, and they come here and they heal.”
“They heal?”
He was silent for a long moment before he gazed down at her and said pointedly, “Yes, a bit like me.”
She stopped then, her own gaze riveted to his usually implacable face. There was nothing implacable about him now.
“A bit like you?” she said gently, her whole body suddenly humming with awareness. This was important. This moment. This place. She knew it instinctively, and so she focused on him most carefully.
He turned toward her, towering but vulnerable. “I wish to explain something to you, Georgiana. Something I think might help you understand why I am the way I am and why it will be difficult for me to change.” He smiled, a rusty smile, but a smile nonetheless. “Though I am making my best attempts.”
“Please tell me,” she urged.
He gazed to the horizon and a muscle in his throat tightened, as if he was bracing himself. Then he launched himself into speech, his words rapid and tense. “When I was child, it was clear that I was different from other boys. I had trouble.”
“Trouble,” she repeated, wondering what he could possibly mean, he was such a seemingly perfect adult.
“Yes.” Edward stepped forward abruptly, whatever he had to say driving him toward the field where the horses were running back and forth.
As a matter of fact, the moment they spotted him, the horses perked up their ears, lifted their heads, tossed their manes, and almost as one came running toward him.
The whole herd of animals was overjoyed to see her husband. They thundered to a stop before him, each of them maneuvering the other gently, trying to reach his attention. Edward murmured to them, caressing their muzzles and necks. Patting here, patting there, stroking one black horse, another roan, another pale horse with dark mane; he eased them and made each one feel cared for.
