Her heart seemed to have decided to beat at double its normal pace, when he turned and met her eyes. She was lost. The world around them disappeared. There was only his face. He looked at her with wonder, as if she were the most precious thing he had ever seen.
He had spent all week with her, walking, talking, laughing. But never saying the words she wanted to hear. Never asking her of her plans, now that her betrothal to the odious Earl of Bentwick was over, now that she could choose for herself.
Did he still wish to court her, as he had said in their first real conversation, all those weeks that seemed forever ago? Did her care for her? She hoped that he did.
For she had discovered that she cared for him, rather intensely.
This week, she had come to live for the moments in his company, and could not, truth to tell, imagine, now, a time when she would not have his company.
Her sister’s wedding was tomorrow.
Once it was over, Oliver would leave – would go to Dartworth Abbey and begin to enact the plans they had discussed. If she did nothing, he might leave without either of them ever saying how they felt. Georgiana could not bear the thought. She had always been the brave, and somewhat outrageous one. Perhaps it was time to be outrageous again.
“Oliver?”
“Yes, Georgiana?”
His voice was warm, her name a caress on his lips. She shivered slightly, and took a deep breath.
“Oliver… I… do not wish you to leave, after the wedding.” She felt foolish, the words all wrong. “Oh. That’s sounds not as I mean it at all! Of course I wish you to go to Dartworth Abbey, and to do all of the wonderful things that we have spoken of. But… I will miss you, I will miss our conversations. I… I am trying to say that I care for you.”
Suddenly embarrassed, blushing, and wondering if she had made a terrible mistake, Georgiana went to turn her head away. Oliver reached up, and cupped her cheek in his palm, turning her gently back to face him. Softly, his lips met hers, and she felt herself dissolve against him as her whole body flooded with warmth.
Minutes later, they drew apart, each with an expression of dazed wonderment.
“Georgiana… I… should not have done that. But I do not regret it in the least. I have wanted to do that, almost from the first moment that I saw you. Thank you. Thank you for being braver than I, and telling me of your feelings. I am a fool – for I should have told you of my feelings long ago, but fear that you might reject me, as too crude and uncouth, like so many others have, held me back. No more. Georgiana, I care for you too, more deeply than you can imagine. May I… may I presume to court you, my Lady?”
“Oh please, do! Of all the men gathered here to try to woo me, you are the only one who ever interested me in the slightest. Let us begin as if all of the nightmare moments of the last few weeks had never happened, and see how, in truth we might feel about each other, when others opinions are not intruding.”
Oliver’s face lit with a smile, and he looked, Georgiana thought, more handsome than ever. He drew her to him again, kissing her gently, but with a simmering heat of passion quivering beneath the surface. He drew back, breathing hard, still smiling as if he would never stop, then pulled her to her feet, beginning to walk back towards the house, her hand still clasped in his.
“You have just made me happier than I have been for a very, very long time. I will do the right thing, and formally ask the Duke for his approval of me courting you – I know that he has given you the right to your own choice, but it is the honourable thing to do, to at least tell him!”
“As you wish, Oliver.”
They reached Miss Millpost, who sat on a stone bench amongst the hedges, and she looked at them, took in their wide smiles, then pointedly looked down to their joined hands, and raised an eyebrow silently. Georgiana laughed and Oliver released her hand, laughing too. Miss Millpost, after a moment, joined in their merriment, then, restoring her ‘official chaperone’ face, escorted them back into the house, walking a suitable, and duly proprietous, distance apart.
~~~~~
The day of the wedding was blessed with sunshine, which was warm and pleasant, even given the unseasonably cold spring. Birds chattered in the trees and dipped their beaks in the bird baths that decorated the extensive gardens. There were even a few flowers finally blooming, scenting the light breeze. Georgiana woke before the dawn, eager to be with her sister on this wonderful day and to do everything she could to be of help.
Cordelia had loved her and cared for her throughout her entire life and now at last she could do something to repay that endless generosity and nobility of spirit.
Cordelia had maids a-plenty to help her, but Georgiana insisted on joining in, adding flourishes to her sister’s hair and applying the delicate make-up that would enhance her features and make everyone nod and smile with unabashed approval.
“We should engage an artist to capture your image in oils, my dear,” giggled Georgiana as she added just a tiny touch more rouge to her sister’s cheeks.
“What? And sit for my portrait for hours and hours on end? Why, I would miss my own wedding!”
The wedding dress had been sewn from a heavy silk brocade and patterned with hundreds of crystals and tiny pearls. The rich ivory fabric, which held just the softest blush of gold in its colour, set off Cordelia’s dark hair and pale skin to perfection. It was simply breath-taking. There was a veil, crafted from the finest, almost transparent muslin, pierced with the most delicate embroidery and edged with beautiful lace, to be draped to fall elegantly from where it was pinned into her hair.
Cordelia would look like a classical goddess from the ancient myths and legends, a vision of loveliness and Georgiana thought her heart would burst with pride and pleasure at her sister’s obvious happiness.
At half past the hour of ten in the morning, with sunlight streaming in through the stained-glass windows of the beautiful old church in the village of Canterwood Downs, Philip Canterwood stood proudly and placed a simple gold band upon Cordelia’s finger.
At the speaking of the vows, the couple were bound together in holy matrimony and ladies of rank wept openly at the beauty of the simple ceremony. Even one of the elderly Earls found himself blowing heavily into his kerchief to disguise the tears that had clouded his eyes, suddenly mindful of his distant days as a newly-wedded bridegroom.
The Duke was beaming at his new bride and suddenly seemed a dozen years younger as he lifted her veil and kissed her gently upon the lips.
Georgiana wept for joy and wanted to skip and jump about, but she managed to restrain herself for long enough to cast a quick glance at the assembled throng of applauding gentlefolk.
She caught sight of a familiar, finely dressed gentleman at the back of the room, smiling and applauding along with the other nobles. She looked again and recognised Oliver, unaware that he had been personally invited by the Duke to attend the ceremony.
She had, in her time with him, been so focused on discussing his plans for the future, that they had barely mentioned Cordelia’s wedding. And, in her conversations with the Duke and her sister, there had been so many important things to attend to, so many changes in her circumstances, that Oliver had not been much mentioned, beyond the Duke’s comments on his pleasure at the change in the young man’s circumstances.
Yet here he was, looking so elegant, dressed in a splendour suited to his station in life as Marquess of Dartworth, and a welcome guest at the wedding. She could not help but notice that her heart was suddenly beating faster and that she was entirely gladdened by his presence. She smiled and his eyes were instantly upon her.
She could feel the warmth of his smile all the way across the room and his eyes carried something that was much stronger than a simple acknowledgement of her presence. Her mind instantly went back to those stolen moments in the folly, and heat flushed through her.
He held her gaze and she laughed, turning back to the happy couple but glancing back at Oliver to confirm that his attention was entirely focu
sed upon her. If Cordelia was radiant as a new bride, Georgiana felt a wildness in her heart that spoke of freedom and much, much more. She wondered for a moment if the stays in her dress were simply too tight but then she realised that it was Oliver’s smile that was leaving her short of breath.
After the wedding, all of the guests made their way to the great ballroom at Canterwood Park, where a veritable feast had been laid out for them to enjoy. The Duke had chosen to make this, at least in part a rather formal occasion and each guest had been allocated a seat according to rank and position.
Georgiana enjoyed watching the expressions of the gossipy members of the ton, who had previously so disparaged Oliver, when he took his rightful place at the table, far above many of them. For, as a Marquess, he was, rightfully, second in rank only to the Dukes who were present.
Taking his seat by Georgiana’s side, Oliver smiled, happier than he had ever been in society company before. The Duke observed Georgiana and Oliver, then turned to Cordelia with a smile.
“They look comfortable together, don’t you think? I would hope that Dartworth will enjoy this feast to the full and keep your sister out of mischief and far away from the menace of chess boards.”
Cordelia laughed, simply glad to see Georgiana looking happy, for the first time in weeks.
Georgiana turned slowly to look Oliver over, from head to toe, a light of mischief in her eyes.
“Even more so than the last few days, your attire is exquisite. You seem to have truly forgone your field hand’s attire for something more fitting to a Marquess’s station in life, my Lord.”
“Would you have preferred me in my coarse cloth with mud on my boots and hay between my ears, my Lady?”
“If fine clothing made the man, my Lord, then surely our humble tailors would rule the world.”
“My tailor despaired of me and disowned me many years ago, and, indeed, I ceased to be able to afford him anyway. This is the work of the Duke and his generosity.”
“So, you cannot claim credit for a good eye for fashion?”
“As you might have noticed from my former attire, I am, without doubt, the world’s greatest dunce in matters of fashion, my Lady.”
Georgiana laughed, feeling warm, relaxed and safe in his company.
“In truth, I care not what you may wear. It is a man’s heart that makes him who he is and no amount of silk collars and silver buttons can improve the contents of a man’s heart.”
Oliver was silent as he tasted a glass of truly wondrous wine from the Duke’s fabled collection.
“And pray tell me, my Lord, what is in your heart at this moment?”
“This is, perhaps, not a suitable place to answer such a question, my Lady.”
“Yet I would know the answer, nonetheless.”
She was suddenly serious, the game of witty banter abandoned in her plea for openness.
Oliver placed his glass back on the fine damask tablecloth and looked at Georgiana, considering carefully what he might say.
“My Lady, since I have returned to England’s shores, my time has been fraught with difficulties. My father’s debts left me almost penniless and I had almost given up all hope of seeing my estate restored. In many ways, I faced nothing here but ruin. I thought often enough of returning to the Americas where a man’s title has little meaning, to begin again and make my fortune from the rich soil. But, as you know, fortune has favoured me with an unexpected twist and I shall soon be able to pay off my father’s debts and restore my house and lands to their former dignity.” He paused to taste another sip of the heady vintage. “Perhaps I could rent out my estate now and still pursue my fortune in the Virginias. I could buy land there and grow tobacco. The truth of what is in my heart is that, although I most strongly wish to restore my lands and tenants to a better condition, there is a part of me that is most tempted to simply avoid dealing with the ton completely, and travel again across the ocean to the New World. Perhaps I am deluded, but life there seemed so much simpler than here. And now that we are no longer at war…”
Georgiana gasped and put a hand to her lips. She had not expected such a reply. She had thought, nay she had desperately hoped, that she would hear a much prettier answer to her enquiry.
“You would leave, my Lord?”
“Yes, my Lady. That is what I have been thinking ever since I returned. It is only in this past week that I have seen anything other than unhappiness here.”
“But is there nothing, nothing at all, in this great land that might possibly persuade you to stay?”
He looked into her eyes and she thought her heart might stop. She was suddenly oblivious to everyone else in the room. She saw only Oliver. She could hear only his voice. All around them, people were leaving the tables, moving to the part of the room cleared for dancing, or going out onto the terrace for some air. Neither of them noticed any of it.
“I have thought long and hard since we last spoke. The fates have been cruel since I returned to England, and my wishes have turned to bitterness and dust. People have spoken ill of me since my return and, unfairly or not, I do not enjoy a fair reputation. I would not suffer that reputation to be a source of distress to anyone I truly cared for. In the flush of my joy at hearing of your feelings for me, for a moment I truly forgot all of that. But I could not bring such unpleasantness upon you.”
“But what if I didn’t care at all what people may say or think? What if I truly did not care?”
Oliver smiled again and there was a terrible sadness in his eyes.
“But I care, Georgiana. And I would not be a further cause for gossip. You have endured too much already and I would prefer to believe that a better man than I would make a better husband for you.”
He stood to take his leave but Georgiana took his hand quite firmly to stay him, suddenly aware of people moving past them. She was simply not willing to let him cast aside both of their feelings so easily. She had spoken the truth, she cared not one whit for the opinions of others.
“Not so quickly, my slippery Marquess. I am not yet finished with you.”
Oliver smiled but there was genuine confusion in his blue eyes. She stood up beside him.
“You owe me a dance, my Lord, for, if I remember correctly, you once offered, over a game of chess, to teach me a few steps, to improve my somewhat poor skills. Since the musicians are preparing to play, I am sure that you will be true to your offer, grant me the honour of a dance.”
“My dear Georgiana, by your own admission, you not only cannot dance, but you do not even like to dance.”
“Then you will teach me, Oliver. It is high time that I learned.”
The evening of the wedding was a spectacular success. The musicians were praised for their playing and the ballroom was full of laughter, gaiety and the stirring rhythms of the most popular dances. The Duke was pleased to demonstrate his nimbleness of foot as he twirled his laughing bride through the line of dancers and the gentlemen cheered him on with raised glasses and a hundred toasts to his health. Georgiana and Oliver had retired to a quieter corner after their careful steps through one of the slower and more stately dances. Oliver was the epitome of patience and never once stepped on his partner’s toes for the two hours that they practised together. Gradually, she began to make progress, crediting Oliver with the title of greatest dancing teacher in Christendom for achieving such results.
“Why, Oliver, against all my expectations, I might just learn to enjoy this most difficult of pastimes.”
“My Lady, you are possessed of a surfeit of talent that simply required an adequate means of expression.”
They both laughed and, held so lightly yet firmly in Oliver’s powerful arms, Georgiana felt happier at that moment than she had done in weeks. They had progressed from the simpler country dances to the waltz – a dance which Georgiana had always wished to do well, but had always struggled with, on the few occasions that she had tried. Especially the last, when she had danced that one ill-fated time, with the Earl of Bentwick.
As the ballroom filled and the more experienced dancers displayed their talents, Oliver and Georgiana took up a comfortable seat on a silk-covered couch, and soon found themselves quite lost in their conversation. Georgiana was relieved to find that she seemed to have distracted Oliver from his worries, for now at least. He showed no inclination to leave her side.
When an elderly Viscount approached and asked her to dance, Georgiana smiled most prettily and claimed that she had sprained her ankle and was sadly forced to withdraw from the field of combat, bloodied but unbowed.
Oliver stifled a laugh.
“Would you have been so keen to feign an injury if your suitor had been forty years younger?”
“I am quite done with dancing for the evening, oh my good dancing teacher, and I would prefer to suffer the pleasure of your conversation than the bony hands of the Viscount upon my flesh.”
In truth, she found the Oliver’s conversation perfectly fascinating. She asked him about his time in the former colonies, about his politics and about his beliefs in the American concepts of liberty and personal freedom.
He displayed an uncommon grasp of the problems of the common people and eloquently expressed his views that the nobility rarely understood the extent to which their prosperity depended on the labour of their tenant farmers. Many seemed to have forgotten that a titled man had as much responsibility, or more, to his tenant farmers, as they had to him.
He was utterly frustrated that they saw his views as revolutionary and damaging – they could not, apparently, conceive of change that did not destroy their way of life. He asked questions of his own and listened most attentively to her answers. He never interrupted or tried to question her views. It was like a breath of fresh air to a young woman who had too often been compelled to conceal her wits and maintain a still tongue in the company of fools.
Redeeming the Marquess: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 6) Page 13
