by Beth Byers
The reality of it was that she’d resigned herself to being alone, and shifting her thinking was harder than Georgette would have thought possible. Had she wanted to be married? Goodness yes. For years she’d hoped that somehow someone would see beyond the ancient clothes and quietness to see that she was in there, but no one ever had.
Georgette had learned, therefore, to find happiness alone. She’d learned to find joy in her thoughts and peace in her heart, but those things had required her closing down a portion of her dreams. She had been the extraneous woman. Now to have someone claim to see her, the Georgette that was so many things, but she wasn’t someone a man loved. Supposedly, she wasn’t. She rubbed her thumb along her jaw and closed her book and found she was utterly without words.
“May I sit next to you?”
She paused too long and then nodded.
“Come now,” Charles said cheerily, sinking into the grass without a thought for his suit. “Surely we’re friends?”
“Yes, of course,” she said, flustered. Her cheeks were burning, and she couldn’t quite meet his gaze.
“Yes, of course,” he repeated. Her gaze darted to his, and she found him smiling at her. “There you are.”
“I—”
“We’re an awkward pair, aren’t we?”
She couldn’t help a laugh escaping.
“You should have seen me explaining to my partner I’d be working from Bard’s Crook again. I believe I had my hat in my hands even if the business is mostly mine.”
Georgette’s blush intensified. “You didn’t have to—”
“Well, I did hope you’d throw yourself into my arms and exclaim my name in pure joy, but I suppose I’ll accept an, ‘It’s nice to see you, Charles.’”
Georgette felt a little scolded and she met his gaze fully this time, “I—” He smiled at her so gently and the expression on his face was so understanding that she said, “It is nice to see you, Mr. Aaron.”
He shook his head, that glint of humor in his gaze not fading at all.
She swallowed and then another laugh escaped her. “Charles.”
“There you have it!” His grin was infectious, and she felt suddenly comfortable. “I shall explain things, shall I?”
Georgette paused, shocked at him. What?
“Yes, I see you’re a bit confused. I am, alas, not here for your protestations of love and acceptance.”
Her mouth dropped open, and he reached out and tugged a loose hair with a grin. “I would take them of course if you were ready to offer.”
Georgette’s mouth couldn’t drop open, seeing as how it was still gaping like a fish, so instead, she deliberately closed it and shook her head.
“I thought not,” he said with that steady, gentle smile. “I didn’t expect so. I shocked you with my offer, and you’re not ready yet to see I am in earnest. That will come with time.”
To be honest, the confidence of his statement bothered her. Her gaze narrowed on his, and he laughed outright.
“You are an endless surprise, my dear. Yes, of course, I am not taking you for granted.”
Georgette reached out for one of her dogs and let Dorcas distract her before she stumbled over her words and made a fool of herself. Charles saved her, however, by continuing.
“I am here to help, without expectations of any kind.”
Her gaze narrowed on him again, and she demanded, “Would you do this for any other author?”
“Some of them, perhaps, but to be honest, my dear, I am not here because you write for Aaron & Luther. I am here as your friend.”
Georgette finally found her capacity to speak. “I am not going to pay the blackmail.” It wasn’t hard to guess that Charles had found out. Most likely through Joseph who learned through Marian.
“Of course not,” he said. “This would have been revealed soon or later. It is a bit uncomfortable, and I should very much like to wring the neck of the fellow who dares to bother you like this. What is your plan?”
She hadn’t expected that either. She might have been able to tell him that she was going to pull a Jane Eyre and flee. Or Charlotte Lucas and let him save her. Or, perhaps, she could confess that bit of daring. That bit of strength that she’d been learning as she clawed her and Eunice’s way out of the depths of poverty to something that was nearly comfortable.
“I’m going to carry on. I was already planning on leaving. I shall take the readying of the cottage more seriously and hurry ahead on my work to provide more funds. Eunice pointed out that we could find a place to store our things, sell the cottage, and take our time determining where we will live.”
“You could,” Charles said. “I’ve been thinking for some weeks that it would be nice to spend a little time in a village before moving. Perhaps visiting the tearoom and the pub.”
The way he said it, with his gaze on hers, told her that there was more to his statement. Or perhaps she simply knew already there was more and that knowledge gave her the insight to see past his mask.
“You have a list about what you want.”
Charles was the one who paused this time. His gaze narrowed, his cheeks turned the slightest bit red, and then he growled, “Joseph.”
“Joseph and Marian.”
“Meddlers. Both of them. They need a good dunking in a pond.”
“You take care of Joseph,” Georgette told Charles with a laugh. “I’ll take care of Marian.”
Charles laughed and then he leaned in, pressed his forehead against hers and took a deep breath. Georgette froze at the sheer unexpectedness of it all and also how much she enjoyed it.
“I’m sorry,” Charles said, only inches from her face. She didn’t know how to reply.
“I—”
Charles leaned back and he grinned at her again. “I’m pushing. I’m sorry. Well, a little sorry. Only slightly. Mostly I am entirely unapologetic. Will you accept that scrap of an apology?”
She couldn’t help but laugh at the tone of his voice. It was so self-mocking but bright. “I suspect you’ve some layers I haven’t seen yet.”
His eyes crinkled with a grin, and he leaned back. “I’m yours to command. Are we hunting up the blackmailer?”
She hadn’t even thought of that. But…her gaze focused beyond him. She was leaving. She could leave the village in a better state, couldn’t she? She could find this blackmailer, expose them, and leave. They’d still hate her, she knew, for what she’d done with her books, but—
But maybe. Maybe, she could leave without regrets if she’d paid a sort of penance.
“I have some ideas about how you might go about revealing who you are,” Charles said. “Might as well be you rather than the blackmailer.”
Georgette nodded.
“I have some ideas about revealing that, too,” he said with a self-deprecating grin.
Chapter 7
Georgette Dorothy Marsh
Georgette paced the garden while Charles read through the changes she’d made to The Secrets of Harper’s Bend. She was supposed to be planning her revolt against the blackmailer, but she found instead that she was pondering how nice it was to have Charles in her garden, commenting on her writing and her changes. She might even have been reveling in the way his presence gave her peace.
Did she love him? She rather suspected she could if she didn’t. Was she, perhaps, persuaded to consider him because he had the good taste of appreciating her? Her lips twitched at the idea, and she knew she was thinking of a Jane Austen novel. Which one was it? She shook off the thoughts of her favorite books and dragged them protesting back to the blackmailer.
What if she just went to the local ladies auxiliary, where the vast majority of women in Bard’s Crook would be, and announced that there was a blackmailer? What if she revealed herself that way and then invited those being blackmailed to help her find the blackmailer?
What if she revealed herself and she challenged the women to accept each other and their mistakes? What if she was dreaming nonsense of what the p
eople of Bard’s Crook would be capable of doing? What if she announced she was being blackmailed and they just turned on her?
Georgette frowned towards Charles and knew, without question, that she was going to try to help her neighbors as a final goodbye. She stared at him, noting that he was scratching Susan’s ears while Dorcas was curled up on one side and Bea curled up on the other. Her three rescued puppies adored Charles. She had to admit to their good taste as she liked him very much, and he showed up when she might have needed him.
“You didn’t wait for me to ask you for help,” she said.
He glanced up from the pages of her book and blinked as if he had to come back to the present. “Ah, no. I was concerned that you wouldn’t.”
She nibbled her thumb and said, “I’m going to try to find this blackmailer and leave Bard’s Crook for the better.”
“So you are leaving?” Charles placed his finger between the pages of her manuscript and then carefully closed them. “You’re going to move somewhere else, then?”
She nodded. “You have a list of what you want in where you live.”
Charles cleared his throat. “I do.”
“I would like to see it.”
He cleared his throat again and then said, “Well now.” He rose, setting down the manuscript inside of his briefcase, and crossed to her. “Are you considering my offer?”
“I realized something today,” she said, sidestepping his question.
“What is that?”
“I am not, perhaps, Charlotte Lucas. Not anymore at least.”
His eyes crinkled with a grin and he answered with a quiet, “I’m aware.”
She shot him a quelling look that made him laugh out loud. “I am not sure, however, how I feel.” Georgette knew all too well that she wasn’t ready to tell him yes. She was ready to think about telling him yes. She was, perhaps, ready to crack that door on her heart and consider again whether she was more than just the woman no one wanted. “I haven’t allowed myself to think of things like marriage and a family for quite some time.”
Just thinking those thoughts was painful for her. She needed to try them on for size and make sure that they still fit who she was. His face was gentle again, and she felt it for the first time that maybe that expression was for her. Maybe only her. She had never been something special to anyone, except perhaps her parents.
Georgette needed to shake off those thoughts, especially in front of him. Instead she repeated, “I’d like to see your list.”
“Will you be taking it into account?”
She hesitated, then admitted both to herself and to him, “Yes. I think I will.”
“Then you can have it,” he said and to her utter surprise, he pulled the list from the inner pocket of his jacket.
It was from his suit jacket, and she knew he didn’t wear the same suit every day, which meant he was putting it into his coat pocket daily. Her gaze was fixed on his hand where he fiddled with the paper before handing it over.
He cleared his throat once more. “Yes. Well. Perhaps I could persuade Eunice for something to drink.”
“Shall we go inside?” Georgette asked.
He nodded, and Georgette slipped the paper inside of her own pocket. Somehow, she didn’t think he was open to her reading it in front of him.
They had luncheon with the list burning at the back of her mind. She wanted to read it so much, but she didn’t want him to be uncomfortable. After luncheon, Georgette and Charles adjourned to the parlor and the ease of them quietly working side by side was nearly magical. Here he was of his own volition, without her asking. He could have learned of the blackmail through Joseph and determined not to come. But instead, Charles had arrived on the very first train that could have possibly arrived.
He’d come just in case she’d needed him. Rather than writing, Georgette stared at the sheet of paper in front of her, thinking. Maybe she’d have been fine without him, but it was good not to have to find out.
“Where are you staying?”
“Joseph and I have been invited to stay with Mrs. Parker,” Charles answered.
Georgette nodded and then told him, “I’d be happy to have you for supper, but I suspect that Mrs. Parker won’t understand.”
“I suspect so,” Charles agreed.
They had tea and continued to work, and Georgette allowed herself to revel in the companionship. When he left for supper with Mrs. Parker, Georgette found herself regretting that he was leaving.
“You like him,” Eunice said from the doorway to the kitchen.
“And you like him,” Georgette replied.
“I do,” Eunice agreed, “but he doesn’t want to marry me.”
Georgette’s laugh surprised her given the flavor of her thoughts that day. She had spent much of the day, when she wasn’t dwelling on Charles, mentally preparing her article for Charles’s weekly magazine. She’d reveal herself, knowing she’d be telling the whole of her village that it was she who had written the Harper’s Bend stories.
Georgette spent the remainder of the day writing her article for Charles. He’d begged for it as soon as possible. She worked late but finished. She spent the subsequent morning going through her bedroom, stacking up the things that could be disposed of. To her surprise and joy, she put her old clothes in the pile, knowing she’d be able to buy herself something else for ‘work’ clothes.
When Georgette finished cleaning out her room, she drew herself a bath with salts and realized that she needed to intersperse her writing with much longer walks. She was stiff from kneeling and squatting as she dug out the corners of her bedroom and closet.
She bathed, allowing herself to think on the only two men to express interest in her. Harrison Parker’s allusions to maybe, someday marrying her left her filled with distaste, and Charles’s out and out request for her hand left her afraid to answer.
There was, she thought, rather a lot of telling information in her reactions if she cared to examine her thoughts, but she was unwilling to delve deeper. Instead she finished her bath, dressed for the afternoon, and exited her bathroom to take her dogs for a long walk. She decided to visit her favorite places and prepare a goodbye. She wasn’t expecting to stay in Bard’s Crook longer than the end of the spring.
How odd it was, she thought, to walk among the hills that she’d known for so long and say goodbye. How odd it was to realize as she walked that she didn’t feel nervous or scared to leave, but relieved.
She found her way to the tearoom during her rambles and ordered a pot of tea and scones. After a few minutes, Mrs. Yardley joined Georgette.
“How are you going to pay the blackmail?” she whispered.
Georgette paused in slathering her scone with clotted cream and said simply, “I’m not.”
“Well,” Mrs. Yardley said with a smile, “I suppose you can’t have done anything all that shameful.”
Georgette took the raspberry jam that Mrs. Yardley made annually for her tearoom and knew that her days of enjoying this particular jam were coming to an end.
“Oh,” Georgette said, “I don’t imagine that I shall have many friendships left.”
Mrs. Yardley’s jaw dropped for a moment and then she laughed under her breath. “You worry too much. I thought I would be snubbed, but—”
Georgette reached out and took Mrs. Yardley’s hand. “It’s all right, Mrs. Yardley. To be honest, I’m not sure I’m losing anything that has real value.”
“Lifelong friendships have no value?”
“Perhaps you’ll understand when you see what I did,” Georgette told the woman, thinking that Mrs. Yardley might be among the few who didn’t despise Georgette. “Perhaps you’ll put yourself in my position and understand, but please know, I won’t blame you if you don’t.”
Mrs. Yardley’s expression was shocked as she muttered, “If you think it will go so badly, maybe you should pay the blackmail. I found that the fiend never asked for more than was possible.”
“How much did they ask
from you?” Georgette asked.
Mrs. Yardley sighed and then admitted, “A pound a month and some of my tea blends.”
Georgette’s gaze narrowed as she considered. Could the blackmailer change the amount requested based upon the circumstances of the person being blackmailed?
How much had young Thornton had to pay to keep his secret? That had been valuable indeed. An inheritance really, a lifetime of riches.
“I could lend you a pound,” Mrs. Yardley offered.
“You’d only be paying blackmail again,” Georgette said. “Mine instead of yours, and I fear my secret isn’t a pound a month. Clever of her to adjust on what is possible.”
Mrs. Yardley started to speak, paused, and then started again. “Surely it’s a man who is doing these things?”
“I don’t think any of the gentlemen know me well enough to figure out my secret. No, it must be one of the ladies. Given the other victims, one of our circle. Someone we have tea with or volunteer with.”
Mrs. Yardley set down her teacup and stared at Georgette, who continued, “Of course, it must be a woman. A clever, cruel woman.”
Chapter 8
Charles Aaron
If that lady of true love were willing to bend her eye to Charles Aaron, she might have noted the fervency of love in his heart for Georgette Dorothy Marsh. It seemed to Guinevere, however, that a man who wanted more fervently because he could not have something was not to be counted on. The goddess Atë, however, would have noted the steadiness of Charles’s character. She might have found more delight in the way the comfortable bachelor was persuaded from his loneliness not by the lovely women who had turned their gazes upon him, but the simple woman who had not.
The goddess Atë would have mocked Guinevere, who enjoyed a good case of love at first sight, for the stupidity in not realizing how Charles adored authors. Atë would have told Guinevere that it was always going to be someone like Georgette to steal Charles’s heart. For Charles, who had experienced a surfeit of beautiful, shallow women and abandoned the pursuit of women entirely because of it, no one but Georgette would do.
