by Rose Pearson
“Will you remain in London for a time still?” he asked, a slight catch in his voice. “Or are you to wed before Christmas?”
Her throat worked for a moment, unable to force a smile to her lips. “Lord Poole has a townhouse here, of course, and his brother resides in London also, but he is very eager to return to his estate. We will marry shortly after Christmas, I believe, but at my brother’s estate rather than Lord Poole’s.”
There came a short, terse silence where Georgiana did not dare to even look into Mr. Lowell’s face for fear of what she might see there.
“You will be very happy, I hope,” Mr. Lowell answered, his hand still holding hers and, as she finally lifted her gaze to look into his eyes, taking a small step forward. “You deserve to have the kindest, most considerate of husbands, Lady Georgiana, for your heart is gentle, sweet, and compassionate. It is rare to find someone as considerate as you are, Lady Georgiana. And I say this with the knowledge that I myself have been blessed in my friendship with you.”
Georgiana wanted to say something in return, wanted to tell him she appreciated his words and she did not want to be married to Lord Poole, but the words stuck in her throat. As Mr. Lowell lifted her hand to his mouth, Georgiana felt herself tremble and wondered if he felt it. His eyes caught hers for a moment, just as his lips touched her skin in a gentle kiss.
Georgiana’s blood burned with fire as she shuddered violently with the depths of emotions that slammed straight into her, almost forcing her to step closer. Mr. Lowell must have felt it also, for he lifted his head and looked straight into her eyes, his hand tight on hers, his fingers caressing where his lips had just been. There was nothing she could say, nothing that would make any sense, at least, for all sense had been knocked from her, leaving her breathless and giddy.
“Lady Georgiana, I—”
“Just what is the meaning of this?”
Georgiana stepped back almost at once, only just hearing the frantic whispering of her maid, who must have been trying to get her attention for at least a minute or two. Praying she did not look flustered, she looked up at Lord Poole and stepped nimbly in front of Mr. Lowell, so that her betrothed could not flail a fist out towards him, should he be so inclined.
“Lord Poole,” she said as firmly as she could despite the trembling that still ran through her. “This is Mr. Lowell, a dear friend of Lady Allerton and the cousin of Lord Rutledge. He has come to England from Boston, to visit his cousin.” She saw Lord Poole’s angry expression begin to fade as the names she had mentioned took hold of his senses. “You have not been introduced, I think?” She took a deft sidestep and let the two gentlemen greet each other, feeling all of a tremble still at whatever it was that occurred within her heart. “Mr. Lowell had only just heard news of our engagement and was congratulating me.”
Lord Poole did not look entirely convinced but gave Mr. Lowell a terse nod, eyeing him suspiciously.
“My hearty congratulations,” Mr. Lowell said with happiness in his voice Georgiana was sure he did not feel. “And are you to wed before Christmas?”
Lord Poole sniffed and looked away. “Surely you know there is not enough time,” he said with a hint of arrogance in his voice. “There are not enough Sundays for the banns to be called. No, we shall wed soon after Christmas. Just as soon as I can manage it, in fact.” This was said with one sharp eye being placed firmly on Georgiana, making her squirm inwardly as if Lord Poole could see inside her heart and knew precisely what she was thinking. His eyes swiveled back to Mr. Lowell, who was now wearing an expression of cool disinterest. “No doubt you will be back to America before then.”
Georgiana’s heart lurched. It was a clear set down, a tangible warning towards Mr. Lowell, and Mr. Lowell seemed to understand it.
“I fear I shall, yes,” he said with only a small glance towards Georgiana. “I will be returning to Boston very soon. Good afternoon to you both.” He smiled tightly at Georgiana, inclined his head towards Lord Poole, and then turned on his heel, walking away smartly and leaving nothing but terse silence growing between Georgiana and Lord Poole.
Georgiana turned to her betrothed, seeing the man’s sharp eyes following Mr. Lowell as if he expected him to turn back around and rush towards Georgiana. “There was no need for such a remark,” she said before she could stop herself. “Mr. Lowell was only being polite.”
Much to her shock, Lord Poole grasped her arm tightly, twisting it upwards in a deeply painful motion.
“Do not ever consider that you have any right to tell me how I ought to behave,” he said harshly, his face only inches from hers and an anger swelling within them that sent a surge of fear deep into Georgiana’s soul. “Mr. Lowell is far too interested in you, I think. You will stay away from him.”
Despite her fear, despite her upset, Georgiana wrenched her arm away from Lord Poole with an effort, feeling the burning pain in her arm where his fingers had squeezed. “You will find, Lord Poole, that I am quite able to make my own judgments when it comes to who I should or should not speak to,” she said with more harshness than she had intended but with a growing determination in her heart. “Mr. Lowell was only being polite. He is a friend of my sister-in-law’s, and I have no intention of stepping away from him merely because you wish it.”
A hand reached out and crashed across her face, sending her spiraling backward. The pain was one shock, but the realization of what he had done came as quite another. Georgiana pressed one hand to her face, aware of just how violently she was shaking. Snow began to fall lightly around them, making for a beautiful scene, but one that brought Georgiana no peace. She looked back at her betrothed, seeing how red his face was, how angry his eyes were, and felt herself shudder violently.
Lord Poole was not a man to be trifled with.
“You will never again speak to Mr. Lowell,” he told her, his voice hard. “If you do, then I shall ruin him and have him flung back to America by even his closest cousins.” The darkness in his words told Georgiana he had every intention of doing just as he said, making her realize that her betrothed had seen something in how Mr. Lowell had taken her hand. Or perhaps he had seen it in her face as he had come back towards them both.
"Return to the carriage.” His voice was harsh, one long finger pointed out towards Georgiana. “Now.”
Georgiana wanted to stand her ground, wanted to tell him she would not be bullied into submission by fear, but the look in his eyes told her otherwise. With a silent scream lodged in her throat, she turned around slowly and began to trudge back towards the carriage, one hand pressed at her cheek where Lord Poole had hit her. There was no strength left within her now, no courage to do or to say what was required. Instead, all she felt was afraid.
Is this the man I am to marry? she asked herself as the maid pulled the carriage door open for her, her eyes wide with fright as she glanced back at Lord Poole. A man who would strike me any time I behave in an incorrect fashion, according to his judgments? Her future grew all the darker, leaving her trapped between fear and duty, between expectation and trepidation. And as Lord Poole sat opposite her, his eyes narrowed and fixed on hers, Georgiana felt herself begin to shake with both fright and the shock of what had occurred. She could not get her thoughts into coherent order, could not begin to work out what she ought to do next.
All there was now was swirling blackness and shadows with long, thin fingers, holding her tight against them as she gave up her strength and allowed the darkness to take hold.
Chapter Eight
“Would you like to tell me if there is a reason for your despondency?”
Oliver grimaced, pushing around his food on his plate and aware of the sharp look his cousin was giving him. “Your concern is greatly appreciated, but I am quite well.”
Lady Rutledge laughed, a sharp look in her eye. “I cannot think you believe you can fool me so easily,” she said with a small, wry smile. “There is something on your mind, and I would like very much to know what it is so you stop moping aroun
d this house when it is very soon to be Christmas!” She set her fork down carefully before looking at him again. “In ten days’ time, in fact,” she said as though this ought to please him. “We shall have the Yule log brought in very soon, and the greenery will be spread across the house in decoration on Christmas Eve.” A long, contented sigh escaped her as she sat back inelegantly in her chair. “And I do hope you have a gift for me,” she finished with a small, teasing smile. “It will be quite disastrous if you do not.”
Oliver cleared his throat, set down his fork, and looked his cousin straight in the eye. “I think I might return to Boston,” he said heavily. “I think it is time that I did so.”
Lady Rutledge blinked rapidly, her face falling at once. “Whatever can you mean?” she exclaimed, sitting bolt upright. “To leave before Christmas? Why should you do such a thing?”
“Because I...” Oliver trailed off, not wanting to explain his reasons for returning home. To do so would be to admit to his cousin he was half in love with Lady Georgiana and that seeing her some days ago with Lord Poole—who, he then discovered was Lady Georgiana’s betrothed—had quite taken the heart from him. He did not want to risk seeing her with him again, for fear of what it would do to his spirits.
“Because?” Lady Rutledge repeated, looking at him steadily. “Come now, Lowell, you must tell me the truth. It is most unlike you to be so quiet. You appeared to be enjoying every day here in London, and now you say you wish to return home?” Lady Rutledge now appeared to be quite distressed, for her eyes were somewhat glassy, and her forehead puckered with a frown. “Please, will you not tell me the truth?”
Sighing heavily, Oliver looked across the table at his cousin, perhaps a little relieved that Lord Rutledge was absent this evening. He would not even consider speaking honestly were he here—and yet there was still a reluctance on Oliver’s part. To say any such thing aloud would be to admit even to himself the depths of what he now felt for Lady Georgiana. Depths he had only just discovered when he had looked into her eyes and felt her pulled away from him.
“Lowell, please.” Lady Rutledge was leaning forward now, her eyes holding a desperation, an urge to understand. “What is it?”
Oliver let out another long breath, shaking his head to himself and closing his eyes. “I fear, my dear cousin, that I am quite lost.”
“Lost?” Lady Rutledge repeated, clearly about to question what such a statement meant, only for Oliver to hold up his hand, silencing her. He needed to take his time, to speak carefully and slowly so she might understand and so he himself explained himself properly.
“I am lost due to my heart,” he told her, looking across the table and seeing how her eyes flared. “I think that I might be in love.”
Lady Rutledge stared at him for a long moment before a small exclamation left her lips, forcing her to clap her hands across her mouth to silence herself.
“I know,” Oliver said heavily, aware of how heat was beginning to crawl up his spine but not feeling any embarrassment at having admitted as such. “What makes it worse is the lady in question is betrothed.”
Another squeak left Lady Rutledge’s mouth, her eyes rounding all the more.
“But you cannot!” Words began to tumble from her lips, her hands now in two tight fists as she slammed them down on the table. “You cannot be in love with someone who is already betrothed, Lowell!”
Another sigh. “I am well aware of that, my dear cousin,” he said wryly, shooting her a hard look that had her blushing. “It is not my choice to feel such a way, I promise you. And I have only just now realized just how strongly I feel for her.” Rubbing one hand over his face, he shook his head. “It is foolish, I know. I have never had any intention of falling in love with anyone, particularly not someone from England when I live in America!” A harsh laugh left his lips as Lady Rutledge continued to stare at him in shock. “If I return home, then perhaps these feelings will die quickly. I don’t want to feel them any longer.”
Lady Rutledge shook her head slowly, looking at him with a graveness in her expression that Oliver could not fully comprehend.
“You cannot run from such things,” she said slowly as Oliver rolled his eyes at her remark. “You can consider me foolish if you like, Lowell, but I know that your feelings will not simply fade away because you have left London. Rather, they will grow until you are quite tormented by being so far from her…whoever she is.” A flicker of interest in her eyes, she continued to speak. “What if there is a chance for you to find happiness with this young lady?”
“There isn’t,” Oliver answered emphatically. “You told me yourself it is quite terrible if a lady ends her engagement.”
“If she ‘cries off,’” Lady Rutledge corrected, a little primly. “Yes, there is that. But if you are to go to America, would she not consider going with you? There would be no shame in that. Indeed, in doing so, she would leave all of her shame here.”
“I do not even know if she cares for me,” he answered darkly. “I cannot be sure.”
“It is not a risk you would dare to take?” came the reply, making his eyes dart away as the question tore at him. “A risk that might bring you a different future from the one you have laid out before you at present?”
Oliver wanted to shake his head, wanted to say there was no possibility of Lady Georgiana ever considering him or thinking of coming to America to join him, but the memory of the look in her eyes when he’d kissed her hand made him start. There had been a flash of heat there, a spark of something she had been trying desperately to keep hidden. He had felt her trembling, had seen her taking a small step forward towards him as though she wanted to keep away but could not bring herself to do so. He had felt something change between them then, had felt as though the very air they breathed was filled with sparks, sending lightning through him as he had looked into her eyes. The memory of his lips on her gentle skin sent a flurry of warmth into his heart, beginning to feel it burning with hope. A tiny hope, yes, but hope, nonetheless.
“You cannot give up so easily,” Lady Rutledge said firmly. “I have never pretended that I cared for Lord Rutledge when we first met, but I have been blessed with a marriage where deep feelings have been allowed to grow and flourish—to the point that I could not consider life without him.” Her smile gentled, her eyes holding an understanding that Oliver could almost feel. “Surely you do not want to simply give up and return home without even attempting to see what might become of things between you?”
Oliver shook his head, looking up at his cousin ruefully. “You are meant to be the epitome of propriety,” he reminded her as she chuckled. “You have guided me for these last few months, you have berated me, corrected me, and taught me—and now you are encouraging me to ask a young lady to break off her engagement and practically elope to America with me?”
Lady Rutledge blushed at this remark but did not deny it. “There are times when propriety must fade away in place of what is best for one’s heart,” she said quietly, her gaze settled. “I am glad you have told me, Lowell—although you have not mentioned the lady’s name?” She looked at him enquiringly, but Oliver shook his head.
“I would prefer to keep her name to myself for the moment, cousin,” he told Lady Rutledge. “Just to ensure her safety. After all,” he continued, his brow furrowing as he recalled just how brusque and angry Lord Poole had been, “her betrothed does not appear to be the kindest of men.”
“All the more reason for you to offer her your heart in his place,” Lady Rutledge said decisively. “Now, when will you see her again? This evening?” She shot him a hard look. “Now I well understand why you have kept away from society these last two nights!”
Oliver grinned wryly. “Yes, now you know,” he admitted, a little guiltily. “This evening, perhaps? Where are we to go?”
Lady Rutledge smiled. “We have an invitation to Lady Moncrieff’s Christmas ball,” she answered. “It will have almost everyone from within the ton present, I am sure. Your lady in
question will be there. I have no doubt.”
His spirits a good deal more buoyed than before, Oliver smiled and sat back in his chair, all thoughts of returning to America now gone from his mind. “Good,” he answered, seeing Lady Rutledge smile. “Then this evening, I will attend this Christmas ball.”
“And I will pray you will be given the opportunity to speak to her,” Lady Rutledge said decisively. “And you will tell me her name thereafter!”
* * *
Lady Moncrieff’s Christmas ball was quite lovely, Oliver reflected, looking around the ballroom and feeling his spirits lift all the more. The ballroom was very busy indeed, but the townhouse was one of the finest he had ever seen, with a small balcony overlooking the ballroom itself. Lady Moncrieff was the widow of the Marquess of Moncrieff and clearly enjoyed spending time in good company, for the ball was a very lavish affair. There were footmen carrying silver trays of what appeared to be glasses of champagne and glasses of brandy. The fire in the middle of the room burned, the candelabras adding extra brightness to duller parts of the room. Oliver smiled to himself as he saw the mistletoe bough, seeing how couples danced past it, with one or two stopping for a moment. The lady would blush, the gentleman would reach up to pick a berry from the bough, and then would steal a kiss from the lady in return. Some were bolder than others, he noticed, with some pressing their lips to a lady’s cheek whilst others kissed the lady full on the mouth.
A sudden idea struck him, sending a tremor through him. He would know for certain how Lady Georgiana felt should she allow him to kiss her under the mistletoe bough. It would be quite acceptable, he would be doing nothing improper, and yet her reaction to his kiss would give him all the answers he required.
