He smiled, for the answer to this question was easy, and obvious to him.
“Asha was your sister,” he said firmly, “and you loved her dearly. That is sufficient for me to respect her memory as well. I’m not my father, and I’m especially not your grandfather, Serena, or your uncle, nor do I share their misguided bigotry. You might recall that the gentlemen in your family have little use for me, either.”
“That is true.” She was watching him across the room, her golden eyes guarded.
“It is,” he agreed. “There’s no help for it, either.”
“No,” she said softly, looking down. “But it no longer matters, Geoffrey. Now I belong to you, not to Grandfather or anyone else. And you—you are kind.”
Only one candle remained lit on the table beside her, the rest having guttered out. Against its flickering light, her profile was cast in sharp profile, softened only by the waving wisps of her hair. She was looking down at her hands, lightly touching her finger to the topaz in the center of her ring as if to remind herself of their wedding, and their marriage. Or so he guessed; he wasn’t certain, though he’d like to believe it was true.
Yet the longer he studied her, the more he thought of the enormous step they’d taken today. It had been easy to promise to love her in the church, because that was the ceremony, and easier still to say it directly after they’d made love. What gentleman wouldn’t tell his bride he loved her when they were in bed together?
But to tell her now, after all he’d learned tonight of her past, of her family, of what she’d endured and what terrified her still, was far, far different. To be sure, he loved her still; there wasn’t any doubt of that. No, in fact he loved her more, for by sharing her history with him, she’d given him a sizable part of herself, too.
He’d wanted her to trust him, and he realized now that trust wasn’t something that came automatically with their marriage, like the dowry that had been included in their settlement. She had trusted him with the truth about her father, her sister, and her nightmares, and he felt honored and a little awed by such confidence.
And loved. She loved him.
But even better, he realized after this long night how very dear she’d become to him, and how much he did in fact love her. It wasn’t just a glib assertion, or a poetical promise, but something true and bright that would only grow with each day and night they were together.
The candle beside her finally burned to the quick, and with a twist of dark smoke, flickered away. The first light of dawn was beginning to show gray behind the curtains, and instead of summoning a servant to bring more candles, Geoffrey went to the window and pulled the curtain open himself. Over the tops of trees in the square and the other houses beyond that, the sun was slowly climbing its way into the sky, the palest of peach against the clouds.
He turned back toward the bed. She was sitting upright, her legs folded beneath her and her back straight, more like a regal Mughal princess than an ordinary English bride.
“Morning,” she said softly. “Our first together, my lord Geoffrey.”
She did not smile, but she held her hand out to him. He stepped forward and claimed it as his own, then climbed onto the bed beside her. She shifted across the mattress to make way for him, staying close enough that she could rest her head on his shoulder. That was invitation enough, and he slipped his arm around her to draw her closer.
“My own Jēsamina,” he said, turning her face up toward his. “Why some of us die while others live is a mystery, and always will be. You survived to marry me, and be my wife. I can’t promise I can banish all your nightmares, but I will be here to hold you when you wake, and fight the ghosts and demons for you however I can. I love you, Serena. That is kismet, too: your fate and mine, linking us together.”
“Kismet,” she repeated, and at last she smiled. She slipped her hand inside his dressing gown to rest it again on his chest, and he wondered if she could tell how that alone could make his heart beat faster. “I love you, Geoffrey. Oh, how I love you!”
It had not been the wedding night he’d expected, but as Geoffrey kissed her, he knew he wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.
The next two weeks were the most blissful days—and nights—in Serena’s life. Enraptured with their own company, she and Geoffrey did not leave their house, nor see any of the visitors who came to call. There would be time enough for making their formal wedding calls. Now they didn’t even bother to dress, and the farthest they ventured was into the walled garden behind the house. Most days they kept to Geoffrey’s bedchamber, having their meals brought to them there. No one else in the world existed beyond each other. By tacit agreement, neither of them mentioned what she’d told him that first night, and she slept soundly, deeply, without nightmares. If ever there was a true honeymoon idyll, then this was it: they laughed, and talked, and teased, and made love in a hundred different ways.
Throughout it all, Serena felt cherished and adored and loved beyond measure, and beyond her imagining, too. Even when she and Asha had described their champions long ago, she’d never contrived a gentleman as handsome, generous, and passionate as Geoffrey. Her marriage would in fact be completely, absolutely perfect if not for one thing:
On that first night, she hadn’t told Geoffrey the truth.
Now it was the last anguished thought before she finally drifted to sleep in Geoffrey’s arms, and the first in her head when she woke. She’d come so close to telling him everything, everything, and then at the last moment she’d backed away from the truth. Instead she’d babbled a version that wasn’t entirely false, but not pure enough for the truth, either.
Once again, she’d been a coward. As much as she longed to trust him with her greatest secret, she hadn’t been able to. She didn’t dare. He could say all he wanted about how he’d respect her sister’s memory, but a memory wasn’t reality. He could be noble and generous because even this half-truth would not affect him, and he could claim his family had been scorned, too, for its baseborn beginnings.
But that long-ago bastard Fitzroy had had a king for a father and a French duchess for a mother. There were no dancing-girls in Geoffrey’s pedigree, no murky foreign blood to taint his noble family. He’d no notion of the shame her truth would bring to him, or the disgrace that would envelop his entire family.
She did. Because she loved him, she could not tell him the whole truth, and risk losing him forever. Yet at the same time, because she loved him, it grieved her to have her monstrous secret always there between them, twisting and gnawing unceasingly at her conscience, and betraying the trust he so freely gave to her.
As long as they were hidden away together here in their house, without any responsibilities or obligations, she could pretend that her past didn’t matter. She could tell herself that she would be effortlessly and instantly accepted by his family, with no questions asked. She could believe that with Geoffrey lying beside her at night, she’d never have another nightmare that might give her secret away.
Most of all, she could ignore the too-obvious link between their lovemaking and what could be the most undeniable of evidence as to who she really was: the baby that might already be growing in her belly.
But just like their honeymoon, all that pretending and believing could not last forever, and it came to an end in a way that neither expected.
They were taking their breakfast in the garden, enjoying the summer morning. Geoffrey was reading the latest scandal-sheet out loud to Serena in a silly, affected voice to make her laugh, and he’d succeeded admirably. He’d just added a sly aside about the Countess of Blankblank when Colburn appeared carrying a letter on a small silver salver.
“Forgive me, Lord Geoffrey,” the butler said solemnly, bowing as he held the letter out to Geoffrey. “I know you’d left orders not to be disturbed, but this has just arrived from His Grace.”
Geoffrey frowned, setting aside the paper to take the envelope.
“What in blazes could induce Father to write to me at this hour
of the day?” he said, cracking the wax seal with his thumb. “It’s not like him.”
“I hope it’s not bad news,” Serena said. From the somber look on Geoffrey’s face, she was already guessing it was. “No accident or misfortune?”
“I suppose to my father it is.” He closed the letter, pressing the folds between his fingers. “How soon can you dress? We’re expected at Harry’s house directly.”
That frightened Serena. The duke wouldn’t have ordered them so summarily to come to Harry’s house without a good reason, nor would Geoffrey instantly obey, either.
“I’ll send for Martha,” she said, pushing back her chair. “She’ll have me dressed before the carriage has arrived. What has happened, Geoffrey?”
“Gus has been been delivered of her child,” he said, tossing his father’s letter onto the table.
“Is the babe unwell?” Serena asked fearfully, ready to sympathize with the sister-in-law she’d yet to meet. Childbirth was a perilous time, putting both mother and infant at risk. “Or is poor Lady Augusta herself—”
“Both are as fine and healthy as can be,” Geoffrey said, and sighed. “There’s only one thing wrong, and in Father’s eyes, it’s most serious, and will influence you and me as well. The child is not the son that everyone wished for, but another daughter.”
CHAPTER
13
“I still believe we should be celebrating,” Serena said as she sat beside Geoffrey in the carriage. She had in fact been ready in only a half hour’s time (far faster than Geoffrey), and while his manner was subdued, she’d chosen to wear a yellow flowered muslin gown and a wide-brimmed hat with silk flowers, determined to be cheerful herself even if everyone else was gloomy. Her single jewel was her yellow topaz and diamond engagement ring, for today when she first visited his family as his wife, she wanted to wear only what Geoffrey had given her, and none of the extravagant reminders of her Indian past. “From your father’s letter, it would seem that we’ve been asked to come mourn rather than rejoice at the birth of a perfectly healthy baby.”
“Father probably does see it as a mournful day,” Geoffrey said, the sun slanting through the carriage’s glass making his eyes very blue. After these last two weeks, it was odd to see him in full dress for day, from his buckled shoes to his beaver-skin hat. “Father was disappointed when Gus produced a daughter the first time, and now for her to do it twice will be unforgivable in his eyes.”
“How terribly unfair to Lady Augusta!” Serena exclaimed. “Perhaps I’m mistaken, but I rather believe your brother was somewhere involved in the process.”
“Serena, please.” Geoffrey sighed. “I don’t like this any more than you do, but it’s the laws that make it so damned unpleasant, not my father. Not entirely, anyway. There’s a title and a great deal of property at stake. None of us wish it to leave the family, but to preserve it requires sons. I agree that it’s unfair, especially to little Lady Em, but it can’t be helped. Sometimes I believe that one of the main reasons my father so loved my mother was that she bore him three sons in quick succession. No duchess could do better.”
Serena looked down, fidgeting with the embroidered edging on her mitt. As much as she loved Geoffrey, she’d no desire to become a ducal broodmare herself. “I don’t wish to be a duchess, Geoffrey. Not one bit.”
“Nor do I want to be the next duke,” Geoffrey said. “I suppose that marks me as woefully lacking in ambition, but I’d rather achieve things on my own than idly sit about and wait for my brother’s death.”
“I can never see you doing that,” she agreed, thinking uneasily of how her father had in part gone to India to avoid being an idle second son. She prayed Geoffrey wouldn’t want to do that; as much as she treasured the memories of her childhood, they were far too complicated to make her want to return.
“No,” he said, his voice growing more determined as he leaned forward. “I suppose it’s as good a time as any to tell you this. I am considering entering Parliament. There is expected to be a by-election for the borough of Apsley later this year, and I have been approached about the seat. I’ve given it much thought, and I believe I could do some good.”
“I’m sure you could,” she said faintly.
“I could,” he said firmly. “India is becoming increasingly important to England. I’ve traveled more widely than most members, and I could offer an insight that others would not have. It’s all due to you, my love. Having you as my wife made me realize I wished to do something more with my life. I want to make you proud of me, Serena.”
“I’m already proud of you,” she said wistfully, her head spinning. “What lady wouldn’t be?”
He beamed at her. “I mean not just as your husband, but as a gentleman who is known for what he’s accomplished, not simply for how much he has wagered at White’s or other foolishness.”
She nodded, overwhelmed. She knew little of the workings of politics, but she did know that while gentlemen took the seats in Parliament, their wives were expected to hold all manner of entertainments to help support and secure their husbands’ positions. They became the same public figures as their husbands, their names and histories known, their faces caricatured, and their habits lampooned. In the heat of an election, these women had no privacy—or secrets.
“Doesn’t your father control a borough?” she asked, striving to keep the anxiety from her voice. “One where an election would be uncontested?”
“Oh, he does,” Geoffrey said patiently, “just as he sits in the House of Lords himself. But if I take this step, I would prefer to do it on my own, without his assistance. It’s all in the future, and much may still change, but I wanted you to know now.”
“I thank you for that courtesy,” she said. “I agree that it’s a very large step to take.”
She’d hoped to sound cautious, not negative, but at once Geoffrey’s face fell.
“Very well, then,” he said, his disappointment clear. “I understand. You have no taste for a husband in politics. Far better to know now than later. I will give the gentlemen my regrets, and—”
“No, Geoffrey, please don’t,” she said swiftly, turning to place her hand on his arm. “If taking a seat in Parliament is your dream, then you must do it.”
He took a deep breath. “You are sure of this, Serena?”
“I am,” she said. She was, too. She wanted him to be happy, and she couldn’t let her fears stand in his way. Besides, though she’d never considered being a political hostess or canvasser, she might find she enjoyed it. His love made her brave, and for his sake, she was determined to keep an open mind. “You took me by surprise, that is all. I’d no notion you aspired to such a role.”
He pulled his hat down over one eye and winked roguishly, a bit of foolishness that always made her smile.
“There are many things you still have to discover of me, Jēsamina,” he said, teasing. “Just as I’m sure you’ve a few secrets of your own.”
Her smile faded as she thought of all he didn’t know. She loved him so much, and yet because of her secret their happiness seemed so fragile. Without words, she pushed aside his hat and kissed him passionately, a soul-wrenching kiss that was as much an apology as it was about love.
Unaware of her thoughts, all he tasted was the passion.
“I shall have to make a habit of grand pronouncements, if that’s the response they garner,” he said softly, his eyes glowing with desire of his own. “If we weren’t expected at my brother’s, I’d tell the driver to continue, and take you here on the carriage-seat.”
Her eyes widened, intrigued by the possibility, and as if by accident, she let her gloved hand slide along the inside of his thigh. “As we drive through the streets, Geoffrey? With the driver and footmen and all?”
“There wouldn’t be much point to the experience if we were sitting before our house, would it?” he said, clearly regretting a missed opportunity. “The rocking of the carriage—and the chance of being observed—would make it an adventure. We would have
to be inventive in our—Blast, here we are.”
The carriage had come to a stop before a large, handsome house on Grosvenor Square. The home of the Earl of Hargreave was four stories of white stone with three bays of windows and an imposing entry with an oversized arched doorway. It was bigger than their own, but not so large nor grand as the one occupied by the duke, while youngest brother Rivers lived in lodgings, all of which, thought Serena, tidily summed up the hierarchy of the family.
It was one thing to be alone with Geoffrey, but very much another to now be a Fitzroy by marriage, and party to this mandatory family gathering, and while Geoffrey climbed down from the carriage and turned to offer her his hand, she hung back, still gazing up at the front of the house before them.
“We won’t stay long,” Geoffrey promised, sensing her uneasiness. “We’ll drink a toast to the baby and be shown her wizened newborn face in the arms of a nursemaid. Harry will dote, Father will be gravely disappointed, and likely we won’t see Gus at all. All you must do is be your usual lovely self, and we’ll be back on our way in no time.”
He was right, of course. What was her reluctance compared to what poor Lady Augusta had endured today: childbirth followed by the duke’s disappointment? Serena’s role was much the easier, and she smiled as she took Geoffrey’s hand and stepped down, shaking her skirts out.
“We must come again later in the week after Lady Augusta has had a few days to recover herself,” she said, “and bring a gift for the baby, too.”
“Gus,” corrected Geoffrey. “You’re as good as sisters now. You must call her Gus, the way we all do.”
“Not until she gives me leave to do so,” Serena said, determined to make the best impression possible on her new sister-in-law. Because she’d always held back a part of herself, she had no real friends in London, but she already liked Lady Augusta, especially after she’d arranged to have their carriage decorated after their wedding. It would be good to have an ally besides Geoffrey. Although he assured her his family welcomed her, she thought otherwise, sensing if not open suspicion, then at least doubt.
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