by Cheryl Bolen
The evening grew tediously long. George did detest these affairs. He would much rather be in the card room. Actually, he looked forward to being safely wed so he could return to his ways of debauchery.
After what seemed an interminable length of time, the activities drew to a close. Instead of departing in Moreland's carriage, George said, "I prefer to walk the short distance back to Blankenship House. I wish to be alone with my betrothed."
At George's announcement, Felicity's eyes flashed with mirth, and a sly smile lifted a corner of Moreland's mouth.
George offered Sally his arm, and they began to stroll along the well-lighted pavement, something he never would have done at night in London. But Bath was a most safe city. A pity it did not compare as favorably to London in other respects. After all this time in Bath, George still was not used to seeing the twisted, misshapen, infirm masses of suffering humanity that found their way to the city, eager to be cured of their afflictions, though seldom satisfied with the results.
"I go to Surrey tomorrow to speak with your brother," he said.
"It's really not necessary. I'm of age."
"I wish to do what's right, Sally, and your brother is the head of your household. Do you think he'll favor my suit?"
She laughed. "Can you doubt it? You're a viscount. What brother—or father—would not be delighted?"
"But my fortune in no way compares to Mr. Higginbottom's."
Sally giggled. "Trust me. You have many more attributes than does Mr. Higginbottom."
"But you said your brother was particularly anxious for you to marry money."
She laughed again. "My brother is a most parsimonious man and has, therefore, done very well for himself—partly by marrying a woman possessed of some property. He doesn't need money. And I don't require money. I believe Edmund wished me to marry Mr. Higginbottom because he thought it would increase his own consequence to say, `my sister, who married into the Higginbottom beer fortune, you know.'"
George could not help but laugh. His Sally was most acute in her perception of human behavior. He had never actually met the pompous Edmund Spenser, but Blanks had, and Blanks mimicked the man's pretentious airs in a most humorous manner. If the man's own sister—who was a most amiable lady—could barely tolerate her brother, the man's behavior must be obnoxious.
"Should you wish me to impart any information to your brother or mother?"
She puckered his lips in thought. "Only tell them I'm in favor of the match."
"Should you like me to carry a letter?"
She shook her head. "That won't be necessary. As I told you, I'm rather out of charity with Edmund—and somewhat out of charity with my mother for always siding with her firstborn. I vow, when I have children---" Her lips clamped shut. After taking several strides while contemplating the pavement with great interest, she said, "How silly of me. I shall never have children of my own, though I assure you I shall count yours as my own."
George winced. "Forgive me, Sally. I feel wretched for depriving you of children of your own."
"Don't spare another thought on it. I'm perfectly happy. Besides, I could never love any other children as much as I love Georgette and Sam."
For the second time in the same day, he was indirectly speaking of the most intimate blending known to man, yet it was a blending Miss Spenser would never come to know. He felt guilty for depriving her of it.
And depriving her of so much more.
They covered the next two blocks in silence.
"After I visit your brother I shall obtain the special license, and I plan to visit with my London solicitor to make the marriage settlements. I shan't return until Monday."
"May I see the children while you are gone?"
"Please do." He covered her hand. "My daughter never told me until today that each time she saw a star, she made a wish on it. Do you know what she wished for?"
Sally looked up at him with a puzzled expression on her face. "What?"
"She wished she had you for her mother."
He watched Sally and was utterly touched to see her eyes moisten and a single tear roll down her tawny cheek. He stopped under the street lantern and gazed into her solemn face. He thought she had never been lovelier. He gently brushed the tear away. Then he did a most peculiar thing. He lowered his face to hers and settled his lips on hers.
He would have wagered she had never been kissed before, but in no way did her kiss feel like that of a befuddled first kiss. Her lips were soft and pliant, and she melted into his chest as if she were long familiar with such intimacy.
Good lord! What was he doing? He snapped away from her. "Forgive me," he said in a shaky voice. "I don't know what came over me. The tear . . . it was so pure . . . such a betrayal of affection for those I hold most dear."
She placed a steady hand on each of his shoulders. "As dear as I hold them. The darlings."
He chuckled and set off walking again. He felt deuced awkward over that kissing business. It was best that he not mention it again.
Or repeat it. Ever. After all, Sally wasn't his Diana.
"While I'm in London I should like to get you a wedding present," he said. "Is there something you desire?"
She shook her head. "What I should love above everything is a piece of jewelry that has been passed down for generations of Sedgewicks. Only upon receiving something like that will I ever truly believe I'm to be a member of the family!"
"All the Sedgewick jewels, quite naturally, will come to you, Sally."
She smiled and curled her hand around his arm. "There is something I should like for a wedding present."
His pulse quickened. Surely Sally was not marrying him for his money, not that there was a lot of it. He raised a quizzing brow.
"I should like you to save your money. I don't want you to spend it on me. Nothing would make me happier than to see you once more restore your fortune as you did upon your first marriage. And I know that it was you—and not your wife's wealth—that brought Hornsby back to its glory."
Though he should have been pleased with her praise, he was not. Her words ignited his anger. Did the chit think to order his life just because he was honoring her by marrying her? Did she plan to nag him over every penny he chose to waste? Would she constantly be chastising him?
Dear God, what had he gotten himself into? And it was far too late to back out now.
He spoke coolly to her. "Don't think because you're my wife you will have the right to tell me how I can and cannot spend my money."
"It's not the money I care about, George. It's you."
He shrugged and lifted his defiant face to the dark night skies. "You'll not be changing me, Sally. I am what I am, and you're going to have to settle for it."
"I know what you're capable of being, George. I don't have to like you settling for less."
He removed his hand from hers. "I see that marriage will not rein in your forthrightness. How reassuring that being my wife will not lubricate your abrasiveness."
"At least we both know what we're getting into," she snapped.
Chapter 8
Sally lay in her bed a long time that night, her disturbed thoughts preventing sleep. Though her words had made George angry, she did not regret uttering them. Had she to do it over again, she still would not have held her tongue. For she only spoke her heart. George's self-destructive ways did trouble her, and just because George was honoring her with his name did not mean she would ever cower before him.
One of the reasons she was marrying him was hopefully to be in a position of influence over him, to encourage him to mend his destructive ways. Truth would be the foundation of their marriage.
If, indeed, the marriage did occur.
What if George rethought his decision to marry her? What if he decided to risk censure for crying off rather than endure for a lifetime her shrewish ways? She really could not blame him were he to desire to break the brief engagement. Why would any man wish to shackle himself to the likes of her? Not only was s
he bereft of fortune, but she was also exceedingly plain. She kicked at her coverlet as she lay in the dark.
Straight hair. Straight body. Flat purse. Abrasive tongue. There was absolutely nothing about her to attract a man. Especially a man as handsome and privileged as the Viscount Sedgewick.
He was sure to cry off. As she lay in the darkness of her room, she pictured him at his desk, a candle illuminating the paper upon which he was drafting a letter of retraction to her. And for the second time that night, tears seeped from her moist eyes.
Amid her deepest gloom, hope bubbled within her when she remembered the magical moment when George's eyes wistfully held her and he dipped down to taste her lips. The very memory of it sent her heart racing. For a few seconds she had allowed herself to believe George felt her beautiful. Loved. For a few seconds she had known the bliss she had only dreamed of. Even if she was never kissed again, she would remember that first kiss from the only man she could ever love.
* * *
As Glee's guest, Sally was used to being awakened each morning by Glee's own maid rapping at her door and cheerfully entering the room with a pot of steaming brew and rack of toast.
But this morning it was Glee herself who flew into Sally's room carrying a tray bearing a teapot and two cups. "Did you sleep well, dear sister?"
The thought of being sister to her dearest friend on earth sent a wave of contentment over Sally. Then she remembered that Glee's brother was quite likely regretting his unwise, hasty decision to make her his wife. Sally sat up in bed. "To be truthful, no."
Glee plopped on the bed. "It's no wonder. Yesterday was a most momentous day for you. I'm surprised you slept a single moment."
"There was much to consider. Lord - - -, George's declaration, as you must know, was completely unexpected."
"I'm so glad you did not choose to behave coyly and beg more time to consider it." Glee reached for the teapot and poured out two cups, giving one to Sally.
"Truth be told, I was rather afraid he would retract the offer if I did not pounce upon it." Sally sighed. "I daresay, he's quite liable to cry off today. I fear I was rather brutal in my criticism of him last night as we walked home. He wasn't at all pleased with me when we said good night." Sally's hand flew to her mouth. "Please don't think I criticized your brother for any reason other than my concern for his well-being."
Glee took Sally's hand and squeezed it. "I know how much you care for George's well-being. That's why you're the perfect wife for him. I'm exceedingly delighted my foolish brother has displayed such extraordinary good sense in begging for your hand."
"I'm afraid you're much in the minority," Sally said. "I daresay there was not another present at the Assembly Rooms last night who shared your excitement over the match—except, of course, Felicity. Did you see the outraged Miss Johnson storm for the chambers after confronting George?" While dancing with Mr. Appleton, Sally had kept George within her line of vision. Her heart had beat erratically as she watched the lovely heiress stroll up to George and speak. Then Sally's lips curled into a smile as she took great pleasure in watching George give Miss Johnson the cut direct. Sally had actually giggled when Miss Johnson angrily stomped off.
"I'd be lief to know what my brother told her. I've never seen a woman in such a rage."
"Oh, I have a very good idea the nature of the conversation which occurred between them," Sally said, placing her cup back in the dainty saucer. No doubt, Miss Johnson demanded to know if there was any truth to the disgusting rumor that he had asked the completely unsuitable Miss Spenser to become his wife. Then when George confirmed it, she no doubt heaped a pile of criticism upon me, and George—gentleman that he is—defended me. I can picture him saying something like Miss Spenser is a most worthy young woman."
Sally and Glee began to giggle.
"Surely it did not escape your attention that Miss Johnson has coveted your brother for many years." Sally felt guilty for not admitting she had been obsessively attracted to George for half her life, too.
Glee giggled again. "I thought I was the only one aware of it."
"And I thought I was the only one!"
"Dear me, the entire town must have observed her pursuing ways." Glee replenished their empty cups.
Sally shrugged. "I'm being very uncharitable toward Miss Johnson."
"Don't fret, pet. She's probably far more uncharitable toward you than ever you could be toward her. In fact, I can just hear her. She's probably saying you'll embarrass my brother in your unstylish clothes."
Sally's brows lowered. "Do you think I'll be an embarrassment to him?"
"You know George doesn't give a fig about fashion! However, as the Viscountess Sedgewick, you will have a certain image to uphold. That's why I've burst in on you this morning. We must go buy you a trousseau today!"
Sally's eyes flashed, and she clutched at her bodice. What if George had already delivered his letter of rejection? "Have you seen or heard from your brother today?"
"No. Wasn't he to leave early this morning to visit your brother?"
"He was. If I didn't scare him off."
Glee issued a melodious little laugh. "Don't worry, you goose. George would never do that."
"Are you sure? Perhaps he had a letter delivered for me?"
Glee's brows lowered. "Actually. . ." Her words waned. "There is a letter for you in George's hand." Glee went to the bell rope and rang for a servant.
Sally's heart sank, and a sickness coiled in her stomach.
When the servant answered Glee's call, she met him at the door and sent him to get Miss Spenser's letter. As soon as the door closed, Sally leapt from the bed and began to search for her clothing.
By the time the butler returned a moment later, Sally was completely dressed and took the letter herself. Her heart drumming madly, she lowered herself into a chair near the window and began to read the hastily scratched note.
Dearest Sally,
Forgive me for my beastly ways. I shouldn't like to go off with such ill-feelings between us.
Yours, G.
Sally looked up at Glee through misty eyes. "He apologizes for our harsh words, though I daresay they were entirely at my instigation."
Glee strolled to her and set a gentle hand on her shoulder. "You will be ever so good for George."
Sally bent over the bed and began to smooth out the sheets and counterpane.
"Leave that for the servants, you goose!"
Sally sighed. "You know I cannot. I detest anything that's untidy."
"My poor niece and nephew. As their stepmother, you will no doubt demand they be as tidy as you."
Sally smiled. "I find it much easier to pick up for them than to teach them to pick up, but I'm trying to learn to teach them. I darsay I must be rather lazy."
"Never that! Now allow Patty to help with your toilette so we can go shopping."
Sally plumped up the feather pillow. "I don't see how I can go shopping when I have no money."
"Silly, you don't need to buy anything. I shall. Remember, you will have a certain image to uphold as the Viscountess Sedgewick. And you want George to be proud of you, don't you?"
Sally's stomach fluttered. She hated to think of being an embarrassment to her future husband. "But . . ."
"Don't spare a thought for the money. You know I have married a very wealthy man, and it will give me great pleasure to see my sister dressed as her new station will demand."
Sally felt utterly humiliated. Humiliated that she dressed so poorly. Humiliated that she might embarrass poor George. Humiliated that she had almost no money of her own.
"I'm sending Patty in to do up your hair," Glee said, "though I think 'twill take a great long time to render it curly again."
"It doesn't need to be curly today. I only curled it to please George. While he is gone, Patty can have a break from the tedious curl papers."
Glee gave her friend a peculiar glance before leaving the room.
* * *
That afternoon, courte
sy of Gregory Blankenship's deep pockets, Sally was fitted for a half a dozen ball gowns and a similar number of morning dresses and promenade gowns. Glee took pleasure in helping her friend select new hats and gloves and shoes.
Though the shopping was exhilarating to Sally, who had never been indulged in such a manner in her entire life, it was also tiring. Late in the afternoon, the two ladies settled in a tea shop, where Glee had arranged to meet her husband.
Blanks came in, bearing a letter for his wife. She took it and glanced at the handwriting as her husband sat down next to her. "It's from George," she said, her puzzled glance sliding to Sally.
Sally's insides clinched. Was George going to use his sister to break off the engagement? Then why, she chided herself, would he be traveling to Surrey to speak with her brother?
Glee opened the letter and quickly ran her eyes over it, a smile hiking across her face. "What a dear!"
Sally heaved a sigh of relief.
"Are you speaking of your brother?" Blanks demanded with jest.
"I am." Glee set down the letter and shifted her vision to Sally. "He wanted me to see to it you got a new trousseau befitting your new station. He wished to have all the bills sent to him."
Sally flushed. She did not at all like feeling so much a charity case. Despite her embarrassment, she glowed over George's thoughtful gesture. He must have had many duties to attend to this morning in his haste to be gone on his journey, yet he thought of her.
He really was a very fine man. His sacrifice demonstrated it most assuredly. What great love he must hold for his children.
Then Sally's brows drew together. For one of his children, she amended. For though he always spoke of his children, only one of them held his heart.
Sally vowed to change that.
For the remainder of their repast, she watched Glee and her husband and the strange distance that had grown between them. Each of them bore the signs of heavy sorrow, and complete, tortured love for one another.
* * *
