by Sophia Nash
My dearest friend, I am not sad. I am not angry with anyone. I am only discomforted to stay in a place where I do not belong.
Your devoted sister of the heart,
Grace
Georgiana scanned the pages three times before the words became so blurry she couldn’t go on. At some point her knees gave out and she sank to the carpet.
What had she done?
She should never have painted his eye. She should never have returned here. She should never have entrusted that brooch to Fairleigh. She would never take pride in her supposed good sense again.
Georgiana crumpled the note and leaned against the slender tooled bedpost. She would shake and shake Grace if her friend were before her. She would tell Grace how wrong she was, how Quinn was not in love with her and how he did indeed desire a marriage of convenience—with Grace. And she would tell Grace how very foolish she was being.
An odd yet familiar three-beat gait sounded from the corridor beyond. Georgiana looked up to find Ata at the door, cane in hand. She was never so grateful to see that sallow, wrinkled face.
“What’s this?” The tiny dowager’s penciled-in eyebrows were raised in concern. “What is going on here? I just arrived from Amberley. The babies are much recovered, by the by. But everyone is at sixes and sevens below. Can’t get a clear answer from anyone, even that nice Mrs. Killen.”
“Grace is gone,” Georgiana whispered.
“Eh? What did you say? My hearing is usually excellent.”
“Grace has left,” she said louder.
“Ah…so I’ve missed them? Hmmm. I’d thought they would wait till morning to get a full day’s start. It’s too bad, but I couldn’t leave the babies before now. Oh, I wanted so much to kiss Quinn and my beautiful girl good-bye, and to give her a special bridal present. I’d wanted to—” Ata stopped and Georgiana could feel her scrutiny.
“Why is this room in such a sorry state? Looks like the French army passed through…What’s that you’ve got?”
Georgiana looked at her hand as if it weren’t part of her body. The crushed missive was still in her fingers. “I’ve ruined everything,” she said faintly.
“Nonsense,” Ata said firmly and turned and shut the door before walking to her and leaning down to grasp the note.
Georgiana made no move to stop her. She simply closed her eyes, unable to witness the unbearable sadness that would wash over the dowager duchess she loved like the grandmother she’d never known. She hated to disappoint her. Ill ease and guilt thickened the lengthening shadows in the chamber until Georgiana was numb to everything.
She became aware that Ata was kneeling beside her, and a warmth covered her ice-cold fingers. It was Ata’s own withered hand.
“My God. She left with Mr. Brown? I hadn’t known he was leaving so soon.” Ata’s sad voice held something more than concern. “And is all the rest of this true? Is there something between you and Quinn?”
“No. I wish she were here so I could tell her she is entirely wrong. She would have found peace and companionship with Quinn, and he with her. I’m certain of it. I would only be miserable with him and could only serve as a constant reminder of his horrid past.”
“You’re willing to give up the man you love?”
“You don’t understand.”
“So you do love him,” she said in wonder.
“Ata. That’s not the point. He doesn’t love me.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“You know, Georgiana, it is a little unnerving to listen to you.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I recall having a similar conversation fifty years ago with my godmother.” Ata tried to caress Georgiana’s arm, but her damaged hand was bent in an unnatural state. “And now, my dear, I understand why my godmother was so impatient with me—although I shall try, very hard, mind you, not to make the mistake she made with me. You see, I’ve recently learned that I’m always wrong when it comes to matters of the heart. No—you are not to disagree with me. It might be the only time you hear me admit I’m wrong, so you might as well enjoy it. Although you will give me your word before we leave this room that you will never repeat that I admitted to ever being wrong.”
Georgiana couldn’t help but smile at Ata’s words. She couldn’t stop herself from embracing the woman and then bursting into tears.
“There, there,” Ata murmured against her hair. “I’ve never known you to cry. We are both too practical to give in to tears. Take my handkerchief.”
Georgiana almost smiled when she saw Ata’s ridiculously impractical chartreuse lace handkerchief.
“Now then, what are we to do about all this? I have an idea. Let’s try the very opposite of what I would do. Let’s follow Grace’s advice, shall we?”
Georgiana dabbed at her face and then carefully refolded the handkerchief. “You’re not suggesting I—”
“That’s precisely what I’m—”
“I already have. Twice. In a fashion.”
“And what does that mean?”
“I told him I loved him…after the ball, and then today he realized my brooch held a miniature of his eye, not my husband’s.”
“And he said nothing?” Ata replied, eyes huge.
“Correct.”
“I’ll string him up by his toes.”
A hysterical gurgle of emotion was stuck in her throat. “If you and Rosamunde were not already related I would swear you should be. Oh Ata, I’m so, so sorry. I’ve made a mess of everything and ruined the happiness of so many people. You would think that someone who plans every waking moment of her life would be better at avoiding disaster.”
A hint of a smile appeared in Ata’s face. “Perhaps, but I’ve learned that sometimes good can come from disaster. It was true with Luc and Rosamunde, you know—although, in my case, it has never been true.” She glanced at her withered hand and then rested it on Georgiana’s injured knee. “We both have had to endure pain and the harsher realities of life—something most people do not. I’m too old to go back and change the direction of my life. But please, Georgiana, I beg you not to do as I have done. Follow Grace’s advice and bare your heart yet again. Even though you are the least cowardly person I know, I am guessing you were craven in very clearly expressing yourself to Quinn. And remember, selflessness—a very necessary ingredient for mothers—has its place, but it has no place here. You grab that Quinn Fortesque by his neck cloth and tell him you love him, will always love him, and will not let him go whether he likes it or not. And then you kiss him within an inch of his life. You do know how to kiss him properly, don’t you?”
“Ata!”
“No, we’ll have none of that. I might not know precisely how to do it, I’m sorry to admit, but I did spy Rosamunde and Luc in an intimate embrace once and I would suggest you—”
“Stop!”
“Well, if you’re going to do this, it had better be done well, or what is the point?”
“I know how to kiss.” Heat tinged her cheeks.
“I see.” There was a long pause as Ata searched her face as knowingly as a mother glances at the tart-smeared cheeks of a penitent child. “Well then, perhaps you could tell me what precisely happens when a man takes you in his arms and puts his—”
“Absolutely not! Ata, we are not having this discussion.”
“When I formed my little secret society, it was my hope that it would become an intimate circle of friends who would take comfort in confiding in each other and finding happiness together.” She looked down. “But no one has ever confided in me. I think everyone thinks I’m too old to care about romantic love. But it’s just the opposite, you see. When you’ve never experienced it, you crave it.”
“Oh, all right. What do you want to know?”
A huge smile broke out on her tiny face. “What does it feel like to kiss a man you love with all your heart?”
Georgiana coughed discreetly. “But surely you and Mr. Brown—” She stopped. “Or the late
duke?”
“No. Never. At the tender age of sixteen my parents never allowed me alone with any gentleman. And Lucifer—well, no…I’ve never experienced any of it.” The older lady looked at her expectantly.
Georgiana pondered the question and said softly, “If you’ve ever dreamed you were flying, that’s what it feels like the most.” She gazed at the darkening light from the window. “Imagine a nestling perched on the edge of a precipice looking out at the world for the first time—just a step away from deathly danger or heaven in the clouds. Looking into the eyes of the man you love and reaching for him takes the same amount of courage a chick uses, I imagine, to leap off that cliff.”
“And then?”
“And then you jump and suddenly realize you are not alone. You’re flying with someone who is cradling you in his arms, protecting you from the rocks below and carrying you to the clouds above.” She grasped Ata’s hands. “And you never, ever, ever want to let go. You want him to hold you forever. And you want to cleave to him and protect him from falling too. And carry him beyond the clouds to feel the warmth of the sun.”
There was a long silence before Georgiana raised her eyes to Ata’s. Tears streamed down the older lady’s face.
“Georgiana, go to him. Go to him now, before it’s too late. Don’t make my mistake. Please don’t. Fly away with him.”
“Scotland?” Quinn said with shock upon his return to the great house. Georgiana was gone to Scotland?
“Yes, my lord. Her ladyship was very clear. I was to inform you she was gone to the north country. She said she would have left a note but there wasn’t time to waste as the gentleman was waiting for her and it was growing dark.”
“What?” A cold tentacle of fear reached out and gripped his spine almost as harshly as he gripped the new footman’s forearm as they stood in the front hall. “What else did she say?”
“That she would send a note as soon as they crossed the border—as soon as they reached Gretna Green.”
Gretna Green. He closed his mind against the pain and vaguely remembered Miles Langdon saying something during the gathering at Trehallow about taking Georgiana to Gretna Green. Bloody hell. She would not be so reckless.
He heard a noise and turned to find Ata carefully negotiating the wide staircase in her dangerously high heels, book in hand. In three long steps he was before her, gripping her small arms. “How could you have let Georgiana go?”
“You know, Quinn,” Ata said in an annoyingly all-knowing manner much like her devilish grandson’s, “I’ve always liked you. And I’ve always thought you quite clever. But despite your intelligence, you are about as perceptive as every other man I know. Which means you’re about as insightful as a brick.”
He ignored her. “When did they leave? Perhaps I can catch them.” The chick snuggled against his breast in his coat peeped.
“What was that noise? And why is your coat ripped to ribbons?”
“Nothing. Answer my questions,” he urged. “Please. Ata, I beg you.”
“If I do, will you promise me that you will not muck this up any further? Will you promise to listen to her? Will you promise to make her happy? Will you promise to have the courage to jump off that cliff for her, and protect her and carry her into the clouds, and—”
Suddenly the chick scrambled inside his pocket and poked its head out.
Ata’s eyes became as big and dark as a worn ha’penny. “Tell me that’s not a falcon chick.” And she began to laugh, her eyes watering and crinkling in the corners.
He shook her, all the while horrified that he might hurt this tiny paragon. He didn’t have time for her ridiculous form of humor.
“All right, all right. I’ll tell you. It’s Grace who has left, not Georgiana. Mr. Brown has taken Grace to Scotland with him.”
His chest sagged in relief and he could finally breathe again for the first time in many minutes. He loosed his grip on Ata. “I’m sorry, I hope I didn’t hurt you. You see—”
“I see very well, young man. I see a man who had better have the diplomatic muscle required to fix this.”
“The sooner you tell me where Georgiana is, the sooner I can go after Grace.”
“No. You are not to go after the countess. Grace has changed her mind and will not have you. She has decided the two of you will not suit. She is crying off.”
“I would still go after her, Ata. I won’t see her hurt.”
Ata tilted her head. “We shall see, Quinn. For now, I think distance is the answer. And time. But only a little. And then you and I will decide what is best.”
“We’ll take the phaeton.”
“Will I be permitted to drive?” Ata asked without missing a beat.
“If you’ll agree to leave sooner versus later.”
“If you insist.”
She smiled radiantly and then reached for the downy head of the chick. “How adorable.”
The nestling pecked her.
“Ouch! I can’t afford to lose the use of another hand, silly creature. And here I was hoping you’d make friends with my canary.”
“I rather think he’d prefer to eat your canary.” He stopped. “Ata, where is she?”
Ata sucked her digit, a mischievous light in her old eyes. “I was just reading this lovely poem by Herbert Trench. I think it might help. You see, I made a promise not to tell you where Georgiana is, for she wants to be alone. She is so hardheaded, that one.” She stopped and cleared her throat guiltily. “Lucky for you I didn’t promise not to hint.”
He grasped the book she offered and opened it to the marked page.
She comes not when Noon is on the roses—
Too bright is the Day.
She comes not to the Soul till it reposes
From work and play.
But when Night is on the hills, and the great
Voices
Roll in from Sea,
By starlight and candle-light and dreamlight
She comes to me.
Georgiana rose up from the soft pallet in the glass house in the middle of Loe Pool and pushed aside the blanket. She’d hoped she would find a measure of peace here. It had been too late to return to Trehallow when she’d left Ata. At least he would not find her here. She would not have to face further humiliation.
She stood up and walked to one of the myriad panes around her to watch the fog unfurl across the dark lake waters. On the edge of the cool night with the stars glittering all around her above, the creeping mist promised a hoarfrost on the morn. It would be the first of the season and Georgiana was grateful she would witness it. This place of her heart would become transformed into a tiny, white, mystical kingdom.
She wrapped her arms around herself and for the last time imagined him coming toward her. It had been her favorite dream—the image of him rowing a boat toward her had sustained her through the years. But she realized now it had been such a silly, far-fetched fantasy.
She no longer needed dreams to make her happy. Trehallow made her happy. The last two weeks had proven that. She had a beautiful place to live, which she would rebuild and make prosperous once more. And she would repay him. And when she was done she would throw away all those endless lists.
She was going to live life, not plan it.
She leaned forward.
There was something moving in the swirling mist. She opened the door and squinted into the night.
God, it was he.
Her reaction to the reality of her dream was nothing like anything she had imagined in the past. There was no warm, dreamy excitement enveloping her. There was no feeling of unbearable joy.
There was simply sheer panic, while her heart raced within her.
She just couldn’t trust herself to hold back any more. She wasn’t sure she could be noble. She feared she’d be unable to rely on sensible platitudes when he was before her in the flesh.
She tried to remind herself of the certain misery she would face being with a man who did not love her passionately. She had been in
the exact reverse situation when she married Anthony—and it had been next to impossible, the single evening they had shared.
If she gave in to her dreams, they would both have to pretend for the rest of their lives. She would have to pretend she was less in love than she was and Quinn would have to pretend he loved her more than he did. It would be intolerable.
The full moon glittered a path on the wavelets. Long moments later the boat hit the tiny island and Quinn secured his boat next to hers.
Her heart in her throat, Georgiana quickly seated herself on the bench, the only other piece of furniture in the tiny house other than the pallet and a small table.
The shadow of his giant hawkish form fell across the doorway. She could hear his labored breath and then she breathed in that evocative scent—rosemary and sage and cedar and him.
She spread her fingers wide, gripped her knees, and stared at her hands.
“Georgiana…”
She heard the sound of the door closing softly, his footfalls coming toward her. And all at once he was crouched in front of her and she saw his hands covering hers and she closed her eyes against the sensations it caused.
“Georgiana, won’t you look at me?”
She could not.
He sighed. “For so long people have suggested I have a certain talent for negotiation, of easily finessing difficult situations to the best resolution.” He stroked her work-worn hands. “But, in this case, I’ll admit that I’m terrified of making a mistake, of not expressing myself clearly, of not convincing you. And so, I’ve made a list…”
“A list?” She concentrated on keeping her voice even. “A list of what?”
“A list of all the reasons why you must marry me.”
“No, please,” she said, her voice raw. She closed her eyes. “I beg you.”
“Georgiana, I must tell you. I only wish I’d had more time to fashion a more eloquent list. But I feared I wouldn’t find you and I was very worried. And I couldn’t stand the thought of you not knowing these things right away.”
“Not knowing what?” She finally raised her head and looked at him. He was as achingly handsome as always. There was nothing remarkable to any one of his features, but it was the arrangement of them—the broad forehead with the even hairline, the high cheekbones with gaunt cheeks below, the straight nose, noble profile, and the hint of a cleft in his chin—that created such an unforgettable face.
