Dismayed, Georgianne drew the curtains. She half opened the window to clear the stale air. “He committed the faux pas of asking me to marry him before he requested permission from my guardian. Besides, I have yet to decide whether to accept his proposal.”
“Not marry the earl? It is every woman’s duty to her family to marry well. You must marry him,” Mamma shrieked. She shielded her eyes with her hands. “Oh, my poor head. For the love of God, you unnatural creature, close the curtains. Shut the windows.”
“A moment, Mamma,” she said sternly. Disgusted by her mamma’s inebriated state, Georgianne went to the landing to ring a hand bell. A maid answered the summons. “Bring a pot of strong coffee to the morning room.” She returned to her mother and sat opposite her. “Coffee will clear your head,” she said, disgusted by her mother’s condition.
Her mamma again shaded her eyes with her hands. “You must marry him,” she repeated with tears in her eyes. “Your dowry and your sisters’ dowries are negligible. You should thank God for your good fortune. He is rich. Think of how you will be able to ease your sisters’ path into society. I insist you marry him. Consider the marriage settlements. Pennington will be generous, exceedingly generous; his money will provide all of life’s elegancies.”
Since the earl proposed, Georgianne could not stop thinking about it. To be honest, she could not deny the temptation to accept his offer, and escape from her unhappy home. With the earl’s help she could improve her sisters’ situation, as well as fulfilling her promise to her late father. Yet, a doubt lingered. Something about the earl did not seem quite right.
“What are you thinking, Georgianne? I hope you are coming to your senses.”
“Oh, Mamma, you know Major Tarrant’s step-mamma persuaded Tarrant’s papa to fund my London Season. So, instead of being obliged to marry someone like the curate of our parish church—the only gentleman who ever courted me, I—”
“Marry a drippy nosed bag of bones? What nonsense! You have two things money cannot purchase, my girl.”
“What are they?”
“Beauty and charm, both of which have captivated Pennington.”
For a moment, Georgianne stared at her mother in surprise. Her mother chastised more often than she praised. “Mamma, in London, in spite of my small dowry, I might receive another proposal of marriage more to my liking.”
A maid arrived carrying a tray.
“You may go after you put the tray on the table.” Georgianne poured a cup of strong black coffee for her mother, encouraged her to drink it, and then poured her another one.
The bell attached to the wall on one side of the front door rang. Loud knocks followed. Mamma handed the empty cup to Georgianne. “My poor head,” she repeated, “that noise will be the death of me.”
Georgianne peered out of the window. “I can see Tarrant. He is keeping his promise to call on you.”
Unnerved by Tarrant’s arrival because of her mother’s drunken state, she hurried to straighten Mamma’s lace trimmed cap and tie the ribbons in a bow under her chin.
“A headache powder,” Mamma demanded.
Georgianne sighed realising the coffee had not entirely alleviated the effect of the brandy. To mitigate the results of the brandy, Georgianne stirred the powder into another cup off coffee, and handed it to her mother, who gulped the drink.
Allow me to make you more presentable,” Georgianne said, and straightened her mother’s pigeon-grey gown embellished with a half dozen narrow flounces.
The major, a colourful figure in uniform, entered the morning room and bowed. “Good day to you, Aunt Whitley.”
Georgianne curtsied. Mamma stumbled. Mortified, Georgianne watched Tarrant grab her mother and lead her to a chair, the back of which Mamma clutched for support.
“Careful, Aunt Whitley. I hope I find you well.”
“Sit down, Mamma,” Georgianne snapped, embarrassed by her mother’s drunken clumsiness.
“Well, Tarrant, I suppose you find me well enough.”
“I am glad to hear so, Aunt Whitley. I came to make sure Georgianne reached home safely. I also came to tell her I hope to renew my acquaintance with her in town.”
“Some wine?” Georgianne suggested.
“No, thank you. I have to go. My grey needs a new shoe. I am waiting for the blacksmith. In the meantime, Viscount Langley and I are putting up at the village inn where he is waiting for me.”
Although her mamma should have offered to accommodate the gentlemen, she did not. Since her father’s death, her mother’s manners had declined in proportion to the amount of wine and spirits she consumed.
* * * *
Tarrant looked at Georgianne for a moment and then regarded his Aunt Whitley. Georgianne did not resemble her mother, a veritable giantess. Blonde wisps of hair escaped from his aunt’s mobcap. He wondered whether to attribute her disorderly appearance to the loss of her husband and sons. Yet her loss did not account for the unnatural number of broken thread veins in her cheeks, her reddened nose, and the hard expression of her grey eyes.
He glanced at Georgianne. It was difficult to believe his step-mamma’s claim that, once upon a time, her sister had been a beauty. His aunt’s mouth was too wide, and her mauve lips, too full. In his opinion, petite Georgianne, with a mouth which begged for kisses, was far more beautiful.
He smiled at Aunt Whitley, bent his head, and raised her hand to his lips. The smell of strong spirits on her breath assailed him. He narrowed his eyes and whistled low. He knew of ladies who had disgraced their families by their addiction to strong drink, but he had never encountered an inebriated one so early in the day. Shocked, but still in control of his manners, he kissed her hand. “Good day to you, Aunt. There is no need to ring for anyone to show me out.”
In spite of his words, Georgianne stepped forward.
“Stay here, Georgianne, I need a restorative,” Aunt Whitley quavered.
“I will return in a moment or two, Mamma.”
Tarrant bowed and then stepped into the hall, where he inclined his head to a pair of pretty schoolroom misses who must be Georgianne’s sisters. “If I am not mistaken you are Helen and Barbara.”
“No, you are not mistaken,” replied the little one, whose red hair coupled with a cheeky smile, suggested a lively character. “I am Barbara. Everyone calls me Bab.”
The older girl, blessed with smooth, chestnut-brown locks, and an oval face, rested a hand on Bab’s shoulder. “Shush. I am sure Cousin Tarrant is not interested in your nickname.” She smiled at the child, presumably to soften her rebuke.
Tarrant accepted his hat and gloves from a maid. “You are my cousins-in-law so I am interested in both of you.” While pulling on his gloves he looked down to smile at Bab. “How old are you?”
Bab’s eyes, a darker blue than Georgianne’s, regarded him with frank interest. “I am six years old, Cousin.” She turned her attention to her older sister. “Helen is sixteen.”
“I look forward to getting to know you better.” Tarrant nodded his head at the sisters. He was concerned about the effect of their mother’s drinking on them and would raise the matter with his father and step-mother. For now, there was nothing to be done. “Good day to you all. I look forward to furthering our acquaintance.”
* * * *
“Come here, Georgianne,” Mamma’s voice shrilled.
Georgianne sighed as she watched Tarrant stride toward the stables, his back straight, his boots crunching on the gravel.
“Are you deaf?” Mamma shouted from the morning room on the first floor.
When Tarrant disappeared around the corner of the manor house, Georgianne caught her teeth between her lips, hoping it would not be long before she saw Tarrant again.
“Do you like Cousin Tarrant, Georgianne?” Bab asked.
Georgianne smiled at them but made no comment. Instead she led them back upstairs.
“Georgianne, did you refuse the Earl of Pennington’s offer because of the major? Surely you could not
prefer a major, however rich he might be, to a peer of the realm,” Mamma snarled.
Georgianne shook her head. “No, I do not prefer Major Tarrant. I have no wish to marry an army officer.”
“Did the earl propose marriage?” Helen asked her. “Is he young and handsome?”
She nodded. “Yes, he proposed. But no, he is neither young nor handsome, he is an old man.”
“What does his age matter?” Mamma interrupted. “He is wealthy. Do not stare at me so stubbornly, Georgianne, it reminds me of your papa. The expression in your eyes reminds me of how obstinate he could be. Your behaviour is unacceptable.” She hiccupped. “You should be an obedient daughter who comforts me in my grief.”
Georgianne squared her shoulders. To say she was an obedient daughter might arouse her mother’s unpredictable temper, and what of her own and her sisters’ grief? Mamma was selfish. No wonder she wanted to leave home with Helen and Bab. Under different circumstances, she would never entertain the possibility of becoming the Countess of Pennington, but—
Mamma glared at her. “Have you nothing to say, Georgianne?”
Her temper rose. “If I am like my father, I am proud of it. He would be ashamed of you if he could see you drink bottle after bottle of wine and brandy. Besides, he would never try to persuade me to marry a man old enough to be my grandfather.”
“What has age to do with it? The earl’s advanced years are fortuitous. He will not live for long. After he dies, we will be able to enjoy the benefits of your being a wealthy widow.”
Ashamed of her mother’s greed, Georgianne bent her head. “You are heartless, Mamma.”
“Do not provoke her,” Helen whispered. “She has veered between good humour and irritability since you went to visit Sarah. One never knows what to expect of her.”
“What am I going to do? I cannot go to town for the London Season because Mamma is not fit to be in charge of you and Bab,” Georgianne whispered back, wondering if circumstances would force her into marriage to the earl.
“Of course you must go, I can manage. After all, you are only a year older than I am.”
“Yes, but I will soon be eighteen.”
Mamma put her hands to her head. “What are you talking about?”
Georgianne shrugged. “Nothing important.”
“Tell me what you said.” Mamma heaved herself to her feet. Hands clenched at her side, she faced Georgianne.
Her mother seemed furious. What should she do? Georgianne trembled. “We were not discussing anything important.”
Thwarted, Mamma raised her arm. Before Georgianne could duck, her mother slapped her across the face. Georgianne staggered. Shocked, she stared at her mother and pressed her hand against her painful cheek.
“Tell me what you were gossiping about.” Mamma snatched Helen’s riding crop from the broad windowsill. “‘Spare the rod, and spoil the child. ‘Your father ruined you by refusing to permit the use of the rod in either the nursery or the schoolroom. He further ruined you by allowing you to participate in mannish sports.”
Horrified by Mamma’s brutality, Georgianne stood still and confronted her mother. “I told Helen I cannot go to London because she and Bab need me.”
Mamma’s face twisted into an angry mask. “Good, I say you shall not go to London unless you wed Pennington, and he takes you there.”
If her mother had not stood between her and the door she would have run out of the room. Mamma’s bulk loomed over her. Her strong fingers bit into her shoulder. Three times the riding crop cut across her back. Georgianne screamed, slipped, and then fell. Her mother kicked her and then raised the riding crop to strike again. In spite of the excruciating pain, Georgianne managed to scramble to her feet. Helen caught hold of Mamma’s arm, forcing her to lower it while Bab tried to grab the riding crop.
Mamma’s cheeks flamed. “How dare you?”
Georgianne grabbed the crop and with Bab’s help, wrenched it out of their mother’s hand.
She sank onto a chair. “I am sorry, Georgianne. I am so sorry for losing my temper. What have I done? My love, I beg your forgiveness. I will never drink strong spirits again. Yet i’faith, before I renounce them, I need a glass of brandy to steady my nerves.”
Bewildered, Georgianne stared at her mother. “You shall have some brandy after you go upstairs with Helen to rest.” She forced herself to smile reassuringly at Helen. “No need to be frightened, she has apologised and seems calm, but do not give her brandy. Lock her in her room. Bring the key to me,” she whispered.
Her face pale, Helen put her hand on the small of Mamma’s back. “Come with me, Mamma, you are not yourself, you need to rest,” she said while urging her out of the morning room.
Bab flung her arms around Georgianne’s waist. “Oh, Georgianne, why did Mamma beat you?” She sobbed into her sister’s skirt.
“Hush, Bab. Find Nurse. Tell her to come to my bedchamber. Do not be frightened. Mamma did not mean to hurt me. She is not herself these days.”
For a moment, Georgianne rested her hand on the child’s head of auburn curls. “If you cry, I shall cry. Wipe your eyes. Now, please send Nurse to me.”
Later, while Georgianne lay face down on her sheets perfumed with lavender, she tried to concentrate on happier sunnier mornings when, with her sisters, she had collected the fragrant flower heads. To hold back groans unworthy of a colonel’s daughter, she bit the edge of a lace-trimmed pillowcase while Nurse eased her out of her clothes, and then bathed the cuts across her shoulders.
Her hands gentle, the nurse tenderly spread ointment over her wounds. “Now, my lamb, go to sleep.”
Georgianne’s back throbbed. She could not sleep. Tears filled her eyes. Papa would never have allowed Mamma to strike her. On the other hand, if Papa had lived, Mamma would never have become inebriated.
What should I do? She answered her own question after contemplating her decision for a moment or two. She must request Tarrant to tell his parents she could not accept their offer to give her a London Season. She rose. Too humiliated to allow a maid to see her wound, she decided to try to dress herself.
Outside, the branches of trees fringing the red brick wall at the end of the garden, swayed in the harsh November wind. The grass lay emerald green beneath a gunmetal grey sky. More than likely there would be a thunderstorm. She shuddered at the idea of being at the mercy of fierce weather while on her way to the village. Nevertheless, she resisted the temptation to return to bed.
Her lower lip caught between her teeth, she slipped a cotton chemise over her head. Should she marry the earl? Could anything be worse than her present predicament? She winced, unable to wear stays without a maid’s help to lace them from behind, instead, she stepped into her petticoat and pulled it up. Mercifully, the small dose of laudanum her nurse had given her, began to dull the pain.
Thoughts whirled in her mind, like storm-tossed leaves. Before Father’s death, Mamma had been a loving mother, but after her husband and sons died, as she drank more and more, it seemed she only cared for spirits and wine. After she explained to Tarrant why she could not have a London Season, she would return home to dedicate her life to her sisters’ care and protection.
What should she wear? Her lilac merino walking gown? Georgianne swallowed her whimpers caused by the pain of every movement.
She buttoned the sleeves at her wrists. Because she could not raise her arms high enough to put up her hair, she tied the curls back at the nape of her neck with a black silk ribbon. She adjusted a wide-brimmed black bonnet on her head and tied the satin ribbons under her chin.
The door opened. Helen entered the room, her eyes filled with tears. “Where are you going?”
“To the village.” Georgianne wrapped herself in a voluminous black cloak.
“Should you? You are in pain. What shall I tell Cousin Tarrant if he returns?”
Georgianne put an arm around her sister’s shoulders. “No need to be in a fidget, I am going to see him at the inn. I shall tell him I cannot
go to London for the season. You and Bab need me, so does Mamma.”
“I need you now. Mamma could wake up while you are away.” Helen’s eyes widened. “She might beat me.”
“Did you lock the door?”
Helen nodded.
“Do not let her out until I return. Besides, I doubt she would hit you. This is the first time she has physically chastised any of us. It is my fault. I disappointed her. She set her heart on my making a grand match. After saying I did not want to marry the earl, I told her I would prefer to go to London. She succumbed to a tantrum because she had drunk too much. I must go. Be brave, I will try to return before Mamma wakes.”
Helen threw her arms around Georgianne’s waist and hugged her. “Thank you for saying you will forgo your London Season. I know how much you looked forward to it.”
“You are more important than London’s frivolities.”
Chapter Four
Georgianne hurried past the busy kitchen. She walked through the stillroom onto a porch jumbled with shawls, hats, bonnets, clogs, baskets, and other useful items.
She slipped out of the side door into the kitchen garden. From there she made her way to a tall gate set in the red brick wall. She opened it and entered the lane that led to the village High Street. After a moment’s indecision, she chose a bridle path, which ended by the grey stone church opposite the village inn.
Careful to stay out of sight of anyone looking through the windows, Georgianne walked as fast as her painful shoulders allowed. Heavy rain added to her discomfort. By the time she reached the village, the hems of her petticoats, gown, and cloak were mud splattered. She paused to look up and down High Street.
Georgianne moved forward. She took no more than a few steps before a horn blew. A coach hurtled around the bend at the top of High Street. She turned, slipped in the ankle deep mud and fell face down. Terrified she looked up. The outriders ignored her.
Sunday's Child (Heroines Born on Different Days of the Week Book 1) Page 3
