The air suddenly seemed to thicken and Georgiana felt the atmosphere closing in around her chest and throat.
“Therefore, in accordance with your late father’s wishes, I have chosen to decide the issue on your behalf. It is not something that I have undertaken lightly. I am considering my decision, and will inform you, late this afternoon, of the conclusion I have reached.”
Georgiana gasped, finding herself at a complete loss for words.
With that statement, the Duke broke open a steaming hot roll, added a curl of butter and a spoonful of damson jam and broke his fast with a satisfied nod, as a servant poured his first cup of coffee of the day. He fully intended to enjoy his breakfast.
Cordelia and Georgiana finished their meal and asked the Duke for his permission to withdraw from the dining table. The Duke nodded his assent, understanding that the sisters would probably need to talk. They repaired to the great salon to sit in front of the great fire that warmed the room and lent a welcome glow to their cheeks.
The salon was, thankfully empty of any aristocratic guests – Georgiana was certain that she would have no option but to flee to her room, should any of them appear. Her head was spinning – in but a few hours from now, she would know her fate, would know which of the unbearable young men she would be forced to wed. Cordelia gently touched her sister’s hand and spoke quietly.
“I know you cannot be anything but surprised by this new development, my dear, but you must trust Philip completely in these matters. He knows that you are headstrong and wilful, but he really is very fond of you and only wants what is best.”
Georgiana nodded, still confused and reeling from the sudden revelation that she was to be married, to a man not of her choosing, a man that she would barely know. It was all so sudden. Her head was spinning.
“It won’t be so bad. You will be marrying a titled man. Whoever Philip chooses for you, you can be certain of having a title and influence as a result of your marriage.”
Georgiana nodded again, tears spilling from her eyes and coursing down her cheeks.
“Come, my little sister. Do not weep. Dry your pretty eyes for this is surely a time for joy. We shall soon both be married and you will have Papa’s estate once more and live in a magnificent house with all the wealth and servants your heart could desire.”
It was too much and Georgiana covered her face with her hands as the tears flowed more copiously than ever. Cordelia drew a lace kerchief from her sleeve and dried the tears from her sister’s cheeks.
“Now, now, little one. Enough of these tears. You are beginning to appear ungrateful for the good fortune that is being bestowed upon you, and that will never do.”
“Have I no other choice, Cordelia?”
“No, my sweet. You do not. And there are not many Ladies who would turn up their noses at the chance to marry a wealthy titled man.”
Georgiana sighed deeply and with a small shudder took her sister’s kerchief and removed the last droplets of moisture from the corner of her eyes.
“Very well, Cordelia. Let us have done with this sadness. If I am to be married, then the least I can do is to show my gratitude to the Duke for his kindliness on my behalf. For I know that he intends it as kindliness, and that he is being true to Papa’s wishes, even if I am not happy with this at all.”
Cordelia beamed at her sister, pleased that she was finally seeing sense. She began to believe that everything would work out well in the end. Finally, she felt free to concentrate on her own wedding.
~~~~~
When the Duke summoned Georgiana to his study, as the late afternoon light faded into dusk, she was prepared. Not happy, certainly not happy, but prepared to present herself with dignity, and do as her father had wished. Inside, a small still voice was crying, wishing that things had been different, imagining a world in which she might marry a man such as Oliver, who saw her, really saw her, not just her wealth.
She pushed those thoughts and feelings aside. Might-have-beens would make no different to reality.
She tapped on the Study door and entered at the Duke’s invitation. He was standing by the fireplace, a serious expression on his face. He looked, she thought, almost nervous. Which was ridiculous – what did he have to be nervous about? Perhaps he feared that she would rebel, would do something outrageous? Let him worry. She would behave with as much dignity as she could manage.
Georgiana did not speak, she simply bobbed a curtsey and waited. The Duke cleared his throat, and came to stand before her.
“My dear Lady Georgiana, I know that you had hoped to make your own choice, to be as lucky as your sister, and to find yourself in love with the man that you would marry, yet you have completely failed to develop even a friendship with an eligible gentleman, let alone conceive a tendre for one!”
Georgiana simply looked at him, still waiting.
Given that, I find myself forced to choose for you, in fulfilling your father’s last wishes. I have, over the last few weeks, considered the question from all possible angles, and have concluded that the only truly suitable choice is the Earl of Bentwick. He is of suitably good family, titled, wealthy, in good health, not known to gamble excessively or drink to extremes. In short, he has all of the qualities required to provide you with the sort of life that you deserve. There it is. You have my decision.”
Georgiana looked at the Duke with eyes that did not see and ears that simply could not register what he had just uttered.
The earl of Bentwick? She could not even bring the man to mind – she had, she realised, not the slightest memory of which of the annoying collection of suitors was the Earl. She drew in her breath to confirm what she had heard.
“I am to be married to the Earl of Bentwick, your Grace?”
“That is correct. Congratulations, my girl. Your engagement will be announced today at dinner. Then, tomorrow evening, we shall have a Ball in honour of your betrothal.”
~~~~~
Georgiana felt numb during the lavish dinner. As the guests assembled, the Duke chose his moment perfectly to stand and raise one hand and the crowd became hushed. When he announced in his loud and clear voice that the young and splendidly attired young Earl of Bentwick was to marry the strikingly beautiful Lady Georgiana Branley, all the guests applauded politely, but it was obvious that the unsuccessful contenders for Georgiana’s hand were all very disappointed at their loss. The less polite of them cast hard glances the way of the Earl, and muttered amongst themselves.
The Duke led Georgiana to the young Earl and placed her hand in his. Her heart painfully skipped a beat as she stared into the cold, aloof eyes of the young and obviously spoiled aristocrat. Georgiana curtsied and the Earl barely bent his elegantly coiffured head in acknowledgement. Georgiana was horrified. Not this vain popinjay? Not this milk-skinned boy pretending to be a man? Not this costumed mannequin with the cold, damp hand that reminded her of grasping a cold, dead fish?
Her heart sank even further, yet she was determined not to show anything of her deep and bitter disappointment. It would be like conceding the game before the match had even begun. She still had an ounce of pride in her heart and something stirred within her that reminded her that she would rather die than disappoint her father’s memory. She smiled and noticed that the Earl could barely look at her. What was this? A groom that could not even bring himself to look at his bride?
Thankfully, she did not need to spend much time with him that evening. She was seated beside him at dinner, but, as he appeared completely uninterested in conversing with her, she simply forced a few morsels of food down her throat and said nothing. The food might as well have been dirt and dust, so hard was it to choke down. Her traitorous mind kept comparing this man, this man who would be her husband, with Oliver, seeing the stark difference in attitude as well as appearance. No amount of reminding herself that Oliver had proved a deception, a violent and unsuitable man, seemed to convince her heart. She wished, in that moment, that it was he at her side, not this man who might as we
ll be a statue given how cold and unanimated he was.
As soon as she politely could, Georgiana excused herself, and went to her room. Once the maid had assisted her in preparing for bed, she crumpled into the big chair before the fire and burst into tears. If she could barely stand the duration of a dinner at his side, how would she ever manage to live with that man for the rest of her life? Even worse, how could she ever tolerate his hands upon her body – for surely, he would want an heir, and it was a wife’s duty to provide her husband with one.
A little later, there was a tap at her door, and Miss Millpost entered. She was carrying a tray, and the scent of rich, slightly milky hot chocolate drifted into the room with her. She placed the tray on the side table, and disregarding her dignity, knelt by the chair and pulled Georgiana into her arms.
“Hush Miss Georgie, tears won’t help. You always were brave and strong – let me see that side of you now. I know that you don’t like the Duke’s choice – I could see it in your face when the Earl took your hand. But you’ve no option. I cannot, for the life of me, work out a way around it. And I’ve given it a great deal of thought, let me assure you. Give him a chance – at this ball tomorrow night, surely he will woo you a little, will treat you as he should. I do so want you to be happy, my dear.”
Georgiana, at these words, burst into another flood of tears, suddenly grateful for Miss Millpost’s steady companionship for so much of her life. This was the woman who had taught her to use her brains, as well as her beauty – she owed it to her to try to deal with this well, rather than simply dissolving into a puddle on the floor. Taking the kerchief that Miss Millpost proffered, she dried her eyes and smiled shakily.
“That’s better. Now drink this nice warm chocolate that I’ve brought you. There’s a little posset in it to help you sleep – for you must look your best tomorrow. Even if you are not happy with the man, you must not let him see it. Start as you mean to go on. Be strong, and do not let him think that he can order you around easily. You may have to marry him, but you can at least make your own choice about how you let him treat you!”
Georgiana took the drink and sipped slowly, considering Miss Millpost’s words.
~~~~~
Baron Setford had watched with narrowed eyes as the Earl of Bentwick had greeted his bride-to-be. The man had shown about as much enthusiasm as a high society Lady might when asked to enter a pigsty. For a man receiving the honour of marrying a beautiful, and wealthy woman with a sizeable dowry, his manner was disrespectful, to say the least. Whilst Setford knew that Rotherhithe was simply doing what he thought best, to fulfil old Tillingford’s last wishes, he wondered if Philip had made a serious misstep with this choice. It wasn’t like him to misjudge so, but still…
Lady Georgiana looked remarkably unhappy, she barely touched her food, and she escaped the dining room as early as she politely could. He was a little worried about her. Gerald had noted him observing it all, and simply raised an enquiring eyebrow in his direction. Setford shook his head. They could discuss it later. He was, however, pleased to see, a short while later, that Miss Millpost, after a whispered few words with Lady Cordelia, had disappeared from the room. He presumed that she would see to Lady Georgiana.
As dinner concluded, and everyone retired to the grand salon for conversation and entertainment, he pulled Gerald aside for a moment in the hallway.
“I can’t say that this is looking very positive. I don’t think the girl likes Philip’s choice for her at all. But, for now, let us simply spend the evening listening to the conversations amongst the unsuccessful suitors. With luck, and the application of sufficient brandy, something in their conversation may reveal more of the truth of the altercation with Dartworth.”
The conversation, as the evening wore on, and the losing suitors drowned their sorrows in the Duke’s excellent brandy, did become steadily more revealing.
One particular interchange between Bentwick and Eggmorton – the victims of Dartworth’s attack - caught Setford’s attention. Bentwick had dropped into the large window seat at the rear of the room, and Eggmorton joined him shortly thereafter.
“Eggmorton – must say, your jaw is still a rather ugly purple color where that scoundrel hit you. Is mine any better than yours?”
“No. If anything, I suspect your bruise is even more colourful than mine. Uncouth scum, that man! How were we to know that he would resort to physical violence – completely dishonourable. If he wanted to make a fuss, I’d expect a gentleman to call for a duel. Still – a bit hard to duel two of us at once, eh what?”
They laughed, the raucous laughter of men with too much drink in them, then swallowed their brandy with evident satisfaction. Bentwick, after what appeared to be a moments consideration, spoke again.
“And really, the hide of him. He had no claim to the girl, and was never likely to, so who does he think he is, to be objecting to what we said. Hmmph, those colonial commoners have addled the man’s brain. He has no idea how to behave in society!”
Eggmorton nodded his vigorous agreement, and they dragged themselves to unsteady feet and went in search of more brandy.
Setford, having, the entire time, been seated beside Gerald, on a chaise not five feet from the men, concealed from their view by a rather extravagant potted palm, allowed himself to move, now that they had gone.
He met Gerald’s eyes, and they both nodded. There was, as they had believed, something rather more to the story than the men had admitted to.
Given Bentwick’s attitude to Lady Georgiana when the betrothal had been announced, this was a most disquieting situation – Setford was now quite certain that the man he had just overheard in conversation was not the kind of fellow that old Tillingford would have wanted for his daughter.
He wondered exactly what they had said, apparently about Lady Georgiana, that had been enough to bring Dartworth to violence.
~~~~~
The following evening, as promised, the Duke held a truly magnificent ball.
A score of musicians had arrived in the late afternoon and the ballroom had been decked with bunting and the chandeliers sparkled with the light of hundreds of candles, the flickering light reflecting in the crystal wine glasses and hand carved crystal punch bowls.
The Duke formally called upon the guests to celebrate Lady Georgiana’s betrothal and, eventually Georgiana had to submit herself to the ordeal of dancing a waltz with her newly-announced fiancé.
He held her far too tightly, trying to steer her like an unbroken horse through the whirling crowd of waltzing couples and, on more than one occasion he managed to step on her toes. She might not dance at all well, but she was not so clumsy as all that – with a man who knew how to guide her, she could just manage a passingly creditable waltz – although she avoided dancing as a general rule.
When she winced, the Earl scolded her for her clumsiness, even though the painful collision of his boot with her delicate dancing slipper was entirely his fault. Despite his pretensions, it was patently obvious that he was not an accomplished dancer.
“I see we shall have to whip you into shape, Georgiana,” he snorted as he tried to steer her into a turn. “I’ll be having none of your headstrong nonsense when you are my wife. You shall learn obedience and the virtue of keeping a still tongue in a wise head. You’re not too old to be taught the lessons of the birch cane!”
Georgiana could scarcely believe what she was hearing. The arrogant pup, she thought. The birch cane? Why, she would soon make short shrift of this arrogant stripling of a man, and teach him the meaning of good manners!
“You smile at me, my Lady, in a way that I do not believe I like. Pray, what do you find so amusing in my company that it makes you smile so?”
“Why, my Lord, the thought of making sure that you truly get the wife you deserve makes me smile.” He stepped on her toe and it was obviously deliberate. She winced but would not cry out. Instead, she kept the smile on her face, which failed to reach anywhere close to her beautiful eyes.
“You still have much to learn before you can match up to the title our marriage will confer on you, Georgiana. Much to learn. And I intend to be your tutor!”
As they passed the wide doorway to the ballroom, Georgiana turned lightly in the opposite direction to the Earls’ urging, slipped easily out of his grasp, on through the double doorways and into the wide corridor that lay beyond.
She hated dancing. She could barely manage the most basic steps and dancing with a man with so little skill was enough to make them both a laughingstock should she permit the farce to continue. In that moment she decided, regardless of the fact that Cordelia and the Duke would undoubtedly be disappointed in her, to forsake the ghastly ball with its ghastly people and retire quietly to her chambers for the evening. Decision made, she rushed up the stairs with unseemly and very unladylike haste, only breathing a sigh of relief once her door was closed and locked behind her.
The calm solitude of her bedchamber was like a wonderful balm on her troubled soul. She sat wearily next to the fire that burned merrily in the hearth and watched the dancing flames as they curled and leapt gracefully around the logs that gave their warmth to the room. She had rapidly concluded that the young Earl was nothing more than an arrogant, self-serving, awful bore and her heart sank as she contemplated a lifetime of being trapped with such a deeply unpleasant man.
She must have dozed for a while, because she awoke with a start at the sound of someone knocking gently upon her door. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and sat up.
“Who knocks at this hour?”
When the cheerful maid who daily prepared her hearth fire and kept her bedchamber in perfect order called to her through the door, she unlocked it and let her enter.
“What on earth brings you here at this time of the night?”
The maid curtsied and bowed her head. “Begging your pardon, your Ladyship, but I have something for you that I am charged to deliver only into your hands.”
Georgiana took a sealed letter from the chambermaid’s hands and the girl promptly turned on her heel and sped away like a shadow down the long corridor. Georgiana closed the door and locked it, before turning the letter over, not recognising the crest imprinted into the wax seal that held it closed. With one swift movement of her slender finger, she broke the seal and began to read.
Redeeming the Marquess: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 6) Page 9
