"I do like the summerhouse. Very much." He had done this for her? Why? Sudden panic ripped claws through her heart. Why would he bring her out here to an island in the middle of the lake? She was trapped here, surrounded on all sides by water. How ironic— she had rescued him from his deserted island, and now he brought her out here.
Harry rubbed his thigh with one hand. "I thought it was the sort of thing a young lady would like, but then, as you have observed before, I do not know a vast deal about young ladies. Not anymore."
Her heart ached where those panicked-cat claws had rendered slashes through it.
Today should have been such a beautiful, sunny summer day. But sunlight, of course, was not only warm and bright, it also had a tendency to catch things in its glare that one might otherwise wish not to see.
"I'm sure you know plenty about ladies really, sir." After all, he had known exactly how to steal her heart, had he not?
"I thought I did. Before you came."
He looked lost again and confused, as he stared off through the open doors and across the still surface of the lake. Once more he rubbed his thigh, before clasping his hands together.
"What are you thinking now, Georgiana? Usually you are full of questions and opinions. You are being strangely quiet and, while I never thought to hear these words upon my lips, I miss your chatter. I can only assume something is wrong, but it is not like you to keep it inside, unexpressed at the first opportunity."
She sighed and looked around at all the glittering windows of his summerhouse. "I was just thinking it's a jolly good thing my friend Miss Melinda Goodheart is not here or something would break all this glass, sooner or later. She is extremely heavy-handed."
"Ah, yes. I remember." He fidgeted, cleared his throat. "I also remember you promised me that you are always truthful and always say exactly what you mean. Just as you know what you want, I know what I want. Those were your words. So I must ask you—"
"I have enjoyed my stay at Woodbyne," she blurted. "It was kind of you to put up with me so long and you have—"
"To marry me, Georgiana."
At the bank side, his cousin was feeding strawberries to Mrs. Swanley and they were both laughing, paying no attention to the two people inside the summerhouse. It seemed to her as if time stopped, even the geese on the water were still and silent.
Again she looked desperately around at all that water surrounding them, stopping her from fleeing this conversation. The boats were tied up and one could not make a hasty exit in a rowboat, especially when one's rowing skills were questionable.
The summerhouse on its isolated little island, suddenly seemed menacing, a pretty prison.
* * * *
He had made up his mind somewhere half way across that lake, with Mrs. Swanley's high-pitched, empty laughter ringing in his ears — too much laughter over some unfunny remark he'd made. When he knew his cousin was rowing especially slowly to spend time alone with Georgiana, and the sun was beating down on his head, making it throb.
Somehow he had to make her stay at Woodbyne. He was not certain how it could be achieved, but he'd find a way.
He did not think of marriage until he sat beside her on that mildewed sofa and she reminded him of the fact that she would soon be leaving. Then it felt like that moment— the moment when he should give the signal to fire the guns.
She had not replied, but was looking at him in mild horror.
"It seems the right thing to do," he said somberly.
"The right thing to do?" Her words fell heavily, with a tint of sarcasm.
"After what happened between us. I must do the gentlemanly thing."
A deep groan came out of her and she sagged in the chair for a moment, before straightening her spine again, shaking her head and looking out across the lake. "It is absolutely not necessary. Please never speak of it again."
This was not how it was supposed to go. He scowled. "You dismiss my offer, as if it is nothing more than a dandelion seed landing on your shoulder."
"I know you always want to do the right thing and would propose to a woman even if she is unsuited. That you would sacrifice yourself to save a lady's reputation."
"Then why do you not—"
"It is only your perception that my reputation is endangered. It is not. Nobody knows about our evenings together."
Frustrated, he whispered angrily, "I know."
"But I do not want to marry you, Harry." She finally looked at him again. "I do not want to marry anybody. Not yet, in any case. I might never want to marry. I do not know. As you keep saying, I am too young." She smiled, but her eyes were sad. "Thank you for the offer. I am honored and flattered. But we both know you don't want a wife any more than I want a husband. And to be perfectly honest, I would never marry a man who thinks it is his duty."
"I see." His jaw hurt from grinding.
"I hope you do not think I came here with an intent to catch a husband. To hoodwink you into marriage."
"Of course not. You told me that from the start."
"Then you should understand."
His innards had gone cold, despite the sunny day. "So you would chose writing that foolish column for your father's paper over marriage to me?"
She blinked, her face paled under the freckles and her mouth tightened.
"Has the sun gone to your head?" he demanded. "I offer you all this, everything I have, and you reject me because of this wretched idea of adventure you seem to have stuck in your addled head. You think the world out there is waiting for you, Georgiana Hathaway, to set it to rights? All by yourself?" She had wounded him with her flat refusal and he could not stop himself from wanting to wound her in return.
Her lips popped open. "Yes, I have an ambition to write. I want to do many things with my life, other than marry and birth a battalion of children. All this I told you before, just as you told me you do not want a wife. Now you change your mind, because you think you have to marry me. Out of charity, or pity, or whatever you wish to call it. What foundation for a good marriage would that be?" She paused. "You must know I am right, Harry."
He briefly covered his face with his hands, trying to calm his anger and whatever other emotion currently whirled around inside his mind. Then he scraped fingers back through his hair and let out a tense breath.
"We are still friends, are we not?" She put her head on one side.
Harry sniffed and looked away. "I don't know." Then he felt her hand reaching for his clenched fingers and he relented. A little. "I suppose so."
"Good." She sighed deeply.
But, unable to sit still another moment, he released her hand and got up.
* * * *
Georgiana's heart was pounding. An odd tightness in her throat made it necessary to say nothing more just then. As he left her on the sofa, she put her hands together in her lap and looked over at his cousin and Mrs. Swanley to be sure they were still busy— which they were. She closed her eyes, desperately fighting back the tears that challenged her resolve.
She had made her decision.
It was for the best and she could not regret it. Ever.
A husband was the worst thing for her future. The Commander, a knight of the realm, a war hero, would not appreciate a wife who wrote scandalous columns in the newspaper. He had just admitted as much. She would have to give all that up, if she accepted his proposal. It would forever be a matter of contention between them. One of many, including the differences in their status and upbringing. Georgiana would argue her point for hours, and he— if he disagreed— would simply walk off and hide behind a locked door. Then she would have no recourse. He, the man and master of the house, would have all the power.
There would go every chance for adventure and travel.
Wherever they went— if she could ever get him out of his study— people would look at her in disdain as an "opportunist" and they would wonder what the Commander ever saw in her.
She could hear the spiteful gossip already.
She threw her
self at him, and the poor man had to marry her. Her father is nothing but new money. Don't you know who she is? Why, that wicked chit who set fire to the wig of Viscount Fairbanks and dragged her family into scandal. Dead Harry Thrasher only married her to save her reputation.
Her decision, therefore, was sound.
If only her insides were not in turmoil.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The trip to the summerhouse was brought to a brisk halt, as Harry stormed to the edge of the island and began untying the boats.
"Going back already, old chap?" his cousin exclaimed.
"I have work to do and wasted my time long enough," came the terse reply. "You can stay if you wish."
But nobody wanted to stay longer. Mrs. Swanley declared herself inspired to get on with her painting, and Georgiana simply walked toward the boats, saying nothing. Since the ladies were leaving and the strawberries were all eaten, Max Bramley had nothing to stay for.
Soon they were all on their way back across the lake, in the same boats as before. If Mr. Bramley spoke to her, she did not know it, her mind was too full.
If only her friends were there and she could discuss all this with them. Melinda would tell her she was mad to reject a proposal of marriage from a handsome man of consequence. Emma would urge her to follow her heart.
Whatever that meant.
She felt sick and overheated. The parasol seemed to give her no shade.
Suddenly Lady Bramley's little dog came running down the slope at full gallop, chasing geese and causing a ruckus that drew everybody's notice. Somehow the creature had escaped his owner to go exploring, and he was so excited that he could not stop at the edge. With a plop he landed, surprised, among the squawking, disgruntled geese and sank directly. He came up again, panting and paddling frantically with his short legs, but he drifted away from the grass instead of toward it and quickly began to lose strength. Clearly the little beast was no swimmer.
Georgiana dropped the parasol and leapt overboard without another thought. Their boat was closest, and she did not wait to see if anyone else had observed the dog's plight.
"Miss Hathaway! Good lord! Do take care!"
Fortunately her happy youth in the countryside had given her the opportunity to swim, although it was an exercise forbidden to her. She had never, however, swum in a gown and petticoats. The fabric, she rapidly discovered, hindered her legs as she tried to kick, but in a series of ungainly splashes and sputterings she made her way to where the Lady Bramley's uncivil pet had got itself tangled in some weeds and barely kept his snout above water.
With ears flat to its head, the dog allowed her to scoop him out of danger.
No sooner had Georgiana saved the wriggling wet lump of fur than she herself was likewise in need of rescue, but the Commander had already dived in after her and he swam with a much stronger, faster stroke to reach them.
What happened next was all a blur.
* * * *
"Miss Hathaway! Henry! What have you been up to? I told you all to take care today on that lake." Lady Bramley dashed across the hall as the bedraggled party returned from their outing. Only as she drew nearer did she notice her baby clutched in Georgiana's arms. "Horatio! My darling Horatio! What has happened to you? What have they done to you?"
"The rotten little thing fell in, and Miss Hathaway dashed dramatically to the rescue," her son replied. "She is quite the heroine."
Immediately the lady took her rescued pooch to her breast, fussing and cooing, largely forgetting the people involved. But she did remember Georgiana eventually — once she had ascertained that her dog was unharmed.
"Miss Hathaway, you must go upstairs at once and get out of those wet things, before our guests arrive. We cannot send you back to your father with a cold. Good lord, you are pale as a ghost and quite limp!"
"And Sir Henry saved Miss Hathaway," Mrs. Swanley told her eagerly. "It was very exciting. Quite livened up the trip."
But Harry was already on his way back to his study leaving a wet stream in his wake. He did not wait to be thanked by anybody or fussed over by his aunt. Shoulders hunched and head down he disappeared behind his door without a word.
"He only jumped in to save the dog," Max was quick to add. "It just so happened that Miss Hathaway got there first and then he was obliged to save her instead."
Georgiana hurried upstairs to change, to be alone with her thoughts, and her apparently transparent expressions.
* * * *
He sat at his desk for a while with his eyes closed, running over the events of the day, trying to find where it all went wrong.
Finally he opened his eyes and saw the bodiless head of his automaton Miss Petticoat, where it sat upon his shelf, staring emptily back at him. How ridiculous it seemed to him now, that he had ever thought he could build himself a female companion.
Pitiful.
"So you're going to sit here, feeling sorry for yourself?"
"Go away, Parkes. Surely you have work to do elsewhere."
She walked around his desk, slowly moving into view. "Yes, I do have work elsewhere, now that you mention it, but someone's got to look after you, haven't they? I hoped by now you'd find another woman for the job, so I can go and get some rest."
"Well, it doesn't look as if I shall, does it?"
"What's amiss? Miss Hathaway wounded your abominable pride, did she?"
"Yes," he replied sulkily. "It was unforgiveable. The woman knows nothing. She is utterly ungrateful for the honor I offered her, and has her silly head in the clouds, thinking she can find something better to do with her life. I begin to think she only came here to study me and that she means to put me into one of her wicked satires. I am nothing more to her than a curiosity. Poking at me with her damn questions."
"Good riddance to her then. If she cannot appreciate you, what do you want with her? Sounds like nothing but trouble to me."
"Yes," he growled. "Precisely."
But it was not that easy and straightforward, was it? Women never were. He rested his elbow on the desk, one fist holding up his head, while the fingers of his other hand drummed upon the blotter.
"I probably said a few things I shouldn't have," he confessed begrudgingly. "My temper ran away with me somewhat."
Was it possible that he had misread her actions and seen more than she meant by them? Perhaps it really was just the kindness of a good woman that made her want to help Harry in some way, that made her sacrifice her own sleep at night to walk up and down those corridors with him. And when she stayed the night in his room, had he persuaded her into it for his own selfish needs and desires? Had he seen in her behavior only what he wanted to see?
"What are you going to do now, then?" Parkes demanded.
"Just get on with my life," he muttered. "What else?"
"Well, at least you know you have a life now. You weren't so sure about that before she came."
"Indeed."
She had changed a great many things for Harry and he would never be the same again. Neither would his house.
"You'll have to make it up to her, if you said some bad things in that summerhouse." Parkes turned way and the sunlight seemed to flow right through her until she was almost absorbed into the light itself. "If she's leaving you don't want to part with anything unresolved between you. There's nothing worse than leaving something undone and regretting it later, when it's too late. I should know."
* * * *
Georgiana stood in her room, dripping steadily onto the carpet. Her pulse would not settle and her heart beat was so hard and fast that it made her head ache. She could hardly breathe.
How quiet the house was now. Or was it the thud of her heart that drowned everything else out?
The sun had gone in, clouds gathering, shadows darkening the carpet pattern at her feet.
Any moment now it would rain. And she would give anything to be inside that summerhouse, to hear the rain pitter-pat on the glass panels and to be sheltered there, while she watched the lake danc
e.
Ironically, now would be the perfect time. But all that was gone.
She would probably never go out there again to that little island.
Bringing both hands to her face, she began to weep then. It was the shock, she supposed. She had started that day with no idea of what was about to happen. In just a few hours she had turned down a proposal of marriage and then had her life saved by the man she rejected.
As those long, thick, slippery fronds captured her legs, wound around them, and pulled her down into the lake, Harry's arms were there. Strong and determined, they tugged her free with what seemed like remarkable, magical ease. When they reached the side of the lake and could stand in the shallower water, he was barely out of breath, but just as wet as she.
No words were exchanged. None that she could remember now. Perhaps she said something. She should have thanked him!
But it all happened so fast and she was shattered inside.
Georgiana's legs crumpled and sank slowly to the carpet. It was not like her to cry. Not since her mother died had she felt this way. Six years ago. Ever since then she'd too busy proving her resilience in the face of obstacles, showing her independence.
Suddenly she missed the family cat. She missed that silly creature who never knew when to get out of the rain.
So that was why she let herself sob into her hands. The cat was as good a reason as any. A safer reason than any other that might have crept in.
* * * *
The "evening of cards" his aunt had organized for that evening was, for Harry, everything horrific, and his feelings could only be intensified by the anguish he suffered inside after the events of the day. He had made up his mind to be civil and, when he had the opportunity, to apologize to Georgiana for the things he'd said. He kept seeing her face, so pale, puzzled and then angry. His proposal had clearly taken her by surprise. Hopefully they could put it behind them and forget the embarrassment.
When she appeared in the drawing room to greet the guests, Harry was relieved to see her smiling, the color back in her cheeks. She had changed into a very pretty blue dress covered in flowers and her pleasant scent quickly awakened in him that warmth of feeling that made him forget anything else on his mind at that moment.
The Trouble with His Lordship’s Trousers Page 24
