by Rebecca King
Hopeless Heart
by
REBECCA KING
©2017 by Rebecca King
The moral right of R L King to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any informational storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any actual persons, either living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Further books will be published shortly.
Cover design by Melody Simmons.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
RECKLESS DESIRE
TO HONOUR A WAGER SERIES
OTHER BOOKS BY REBECCA KING
CHAPTER ONE
Georgiana dropped her toast onto her plate and stared at her mother. She didn’t need to worry about betraying any sign of emotion; everything within her had gone numb. As the seconds ticked by the buttery toast she was chewing turned to ash in her mouth. She swallowed it with a gulp and tried to ignore the wave of sickness that followed. A sense of betrayal unlike anything she had ever known before slammed into her. The force of it stole her breath. It rendered her incapable of thinking of anything except for the need to get out of the room before her mother saw her distress and asked questions she was unable to answer.
“Pardon?” she asked, interrupting her mother’s monologue.
The stunned gaze Georgiana turned on her mother almost dared her to say it again. To her horror, her mother nodded and hummed confirmation several times.
“Yes, it’s right. Will’s mother told me at the ball last night. It is all a secret at the moment, so you are not to repeat it. There is to be a formal announcement in the next couple of weeks, but because we are friends she made an exception for me. I assured her of our confidence. She told me that now Will has made his mind up to marry he is quite keen to get the wedding over with as quickly as possible. His mother is beside herself with joy. She didn’t think she would ever persuade him to settle down. She looked quite resplendent at the ball last night. You should have come with us, Georgiana. It was a splendid affair. The music was quite delightful.”
Cecily lapsed into an all too brief silence and stared dreamily out of the window having forgotten all about the wedding while she reminisced about her evening with the region’s aristocracy.
“Will is getting married?” Georgiana whispered in a voice thick with hurt.
“Yes, dear. I told you,” Cecilia replied with many emphatic nods. “Will is to marry Penelope Smedgrove. Did he not tell you? Yes. Quite the betrothal of the century.”
“Will is marrying Penelope Smedgrove?” Georgiana repeated.
Now that the shock was wearing off, Georgiana’s instinct was to laugh and deny it was possible. But, when her mother started to ramble on about where she should shop for a dress suitable for the wedding of the year, and instructed Georgiana what material she should wear, Georgiana realised it was true.
Will–her Will–the Will she had always adored-was getting married–to Penelope Smedgrove.
“When?” She asked, interrupting her mother’s diatribe on who would receive invitations to the engagement ball.
“What, dear?” Cecily asked. The delicate arch of her brows raised skyward in polite enquiry.
“When is the wedding?” Georgiana asked quietly.
“Oh, the banns are to be read next month.” Cecily leaned across the table conspiratorially. “They want to get the wedding over before he changes his mind.”
Georgiana’s broken heart sank further. “Is she-?”
Her gaze flew to her father when he coughed and frowned at her, silently reprimanding her for suggesting such a scandalous thing at the breakfast table. But Georgiana was frantically trying to find a reason–any reason–for why Will would want to marry someone like Penelope Smedgrove.
He has chosen Penelope because she is beautiful; petite, blonde, and has excellent connections. She is also very, very rich. She is everything you aren’t Georgiana, a small voice whispered.
Georgiana glanced around the somewhat shabby dining room. Her eyes were drawn to the faded wallpaper, which was peeling away from the walls. The frayed rug beneath her feet had been there for as long as Georgiana could remember and was as threadbare as it was useless to protect one's feet against the cold stone floor. The cushions in the window seat were worn thin and so old that they would have been in fashion several decades ago. Now they were aged and bespoke of a wealth that had long since faded just as much as the fabric.
In contrast, Penelope Smedgrove lived in Tamlington Gardens, a huge Tudor mansion nestled amidst gloriously sculptured landscape gardens and miles upon miles of rolling landscape which were all part of her father’s estate. The family had been linked to the Royal Court and enjoyed connections to the most wealthy and influential people in the country. It was little surprise that if Will intended to marry anyone he would choose someone like Penelope. Still, that didn’t ease the sense of betrayal Georgiana was now struggling to comprehend.
“I didn’t realise he was acquainted with her that well,” she whispered.
Cecily nodded. “They move in the same circles. I understand from Agnes that they have known each other for many years.”
Unaware of her daughter’s angst, Cecily leaned forward conspiratorially even though nobody but Papa was in the dining room.
“I hear Penelope is quite keen on the union. It has been Will who has been a little reluctant, but boys will be boys I suppose. Agnes was quite overcome when he finally relented and agreed to offer for the chit and is so excited at being able to work with Penelope on the arrangements. I have offered my aid should it be needed–yours too, Georgiana.”
Her declaration was more than enough to give Georgiana the strength she needed to push away from the table without seeking her father’s permission. Her father appeared startled as she hurried to the door but didn’t stop her.
“Excuse me,” Georgiana murmured when she reached the doorway. She didn’t wait for his reply and raced out of the door.
Her steps grew faster the closer she got to her room until she ran through the door when she finally reached sanctuary. When the door closed behind her, she leaned back against it while she struggled for breath. She had only ever experienced pain like this once before, and that had been the time she had attempted to copy her brothers and had fallen out of a tree at eight years old. That tumble had stolen her breath with equal force and left her dazed and unsure of where she was in the world as well.
She slumped into a dejected heap on the floor, drew her legs up, and wrapped her arms around them while she willed the ache in her heart to subside. Tears slid slowly down her cheeks but she didn’t try to touch them. They marked the end of her childhood dreams. The invisible veil o
f youthful fantasy, which had shielded her from painful truth all of her life, had just been swept away and its loss left her reeling. She was suddenly swamped with truth for the first time. It was awful.
The longer she contemplated her childhood the more she was aware that every dream, fantasy, hope, and wish, timidly flickered and slowly died. In its wake left a raging anger, a helpless denial, she struggled to comprehend. She wasn’t angry at Will. To this day he had no idea she was in love with him because she had never told him–and for that she could only be extremely grateful. Right now, she was furious at herself for being ridiculous enough to even consider that Will would find her worthy enough to be his wife.
“You fool,” she whispered tearfully. “Georgiana, you are an utter and complete idiot.”
Her chest heaved. She rose on trembling legs and took a few steps into the room only to stare blankly out at the garden. Her eyes couldn’t focus on any of the lush landscape which rolled gracefully into the horizon like an emerald carpet because of her tears. She saw nothing of the small orchard, heavily laden with tempting autumnal fruits. Neither did she see the small cluster of rooftops nestled in the valley that had been her childhood haunt and the village she had lived in all of her life. Everything–every fibre of her being, every feeling and thought, was locked on the devastating realisation that she had spent the majority of her life desperately in love with a man who didn’t want her.
“Damn you, Will,” she whispered tearfully but without heat. “Damn you.”
As far as she was concerned, her Fate had been sealed since she had first set eyes on him at eight years old. He had stolen her heart when, during one of her many attempts to play with him and her brothers, she had fallen and he had been the one to scrape her up off the floor. He had been her handsome hero even then and had earned her devotion time and again when he had saved her from many scrapes over the years. It was a strong devotion which had grown as she matured. It had developed into a deep and abiding love for him that was now an intrinsic part of her.
She swiped her hands across her cheeks and drew in a deep, fortifying breath. “I have to stop somehow. I must stop loving him.”
If only it was as easy as saying the words, she sighed sadly.
It wouldn’t be because she couldn’t contemplate living and not loving him. It was impossible to forget all about him. No matter where she went or what she did there would always be a part of her that would love Will and always wonder about him. To not have him in her life was equivalent to being thrown outside and sent on her way with no idea which way she should go and no means to go anywhere. She was completely lost; washed away on a wave of emotion that stole all trace of logic and reason.
“For my sanity I need to find a way,” she whispered with more determination. “I need to live a life without him in it. He sees me as nothing more than his friends’ sister; a pesky child. You are someone who has been endured, especially if he wanted to play with my brothers. That is all you can ever be. It is time you realise it, and move on with your life, Georgiana.”
Her monologue did little to help, though, because she had no idea what she should do, where she should go, to avoid ever having to see him again. Talking to him was inevitable if she remained in Cranbury, but what could she do to avoid it?
Once again, a wave of hurt welled over and brought forth a fresh surge of tears. Misery settled its dark cloak over her shoulders. Far from keeping her warm, it stole all trace of heat from every ounce of her being. She was cold, inside and out, and helpless to do anything other than wallow in it.
“Well, while you have been sitting in your castle waiting for him to notice you are even here, he has been with Penelope Smedgrove. So much so that he is going to-” Her breath hitched. She couldn’t say anything else–words failed her.
As the silence within the room thickened, her ears tuned into the noise coming from downstairs. Even with the door closed her mother was twittering on about weddings, ribbons, and shoes. Georgiana clutched her hands over her ears, silently praying that it would stop but her treacherous mind worried the worst issue she must contend with. It positively burned an effigy in front of her, demanding she consider at it from all directions and then decide whether or not she could survive.
“The wedding,” she whispered amid a fresh wave of tears. “I can’t go.”
Not only could she not bear to sit in the church and watch him marry someone else, but she wouldn’t spend the next few weeks of her life being forced into a world whereupon nothing existed beyond outfits, shoes, gloves, and the perfect wedding ensemble befitting the highest aristocratic social gathering. Georgiana knew her mother would expect her to be just as enthusiastic–or a miserable accomplice who daren’t raise an objection to being pinned, measured, and dragged hither and thither while hours were spent perusing ribbons, laces, materials and gossip. Either way her life would be insufferable.
“I can’t stand it,” she whispered. “I have to get out of here.”
For the last several months restlessness had accompanied her acute boredom. Life was passing her by and she couldn’t stop it. While most people her age were going to London for a season, due to lack of funds and Georgiana’s determination not to marry anyone other than Will, Georgiana wasn’t going anywhere. She was stuck; condemned to her Fate–if there wasn’t any way out her current situation. Now that Will was marrying, her life seemed almost stagnant. She realised that if she wanted to avoid the misery she had to take matters into her own hands.
“I have to leave and try to find a life,” she whispered.
Determined to do just that, Georgiana slid her packing trunk out from under her bed and began to sort through her possessions.
“If you want to know how much in control of your own life you are you only need to look at that pitifully small pile of clothing you have chosen for yourself,” she murmured with a frown several minutes later.
She wasn’t sure whether she should be angry at Cecily for being so controlling, or herself for being so weak and dutiful that she allowed her mother to get away with arranging so much of her life.
“Two dresses, a shawl, two pairs of gloves, and a day dress; that is all you have chosen for yourself in one and twenty years. Cecily has ordered the rest for you and told you what to wear.” Even the rattle of pots downstairs taunted her that the food she ate was chosen for her as well. “Face it, Georgiana, you have no life, and no backbone to get a life.”
Eager to change all of that, Georgiana began to sort through her undergarments. When she pulled out the last of her petticoats, she spotted a packet of parchment neatly tied together with ribbon nestled in the bottom of the drawer and realised then that her prayers were answered.
“Ruth.”
CHAPTER TWO
Carefully lifting the parchment out of the drawer, Georgiana perched on the edge of her bed and tugged at the ribbon. The letters had been kept a secret from her mother because of Cecily’s intolerance for anyone outside of her circle, especially the ‘black sheep’ of the family, Aunt Ruth. Georgiana knew that if Cecily had any inclination her daughter regularly corresponded with Ruth, she would demand it stop at once and harangue until she got what she wanted. But Georgiana would never do that; she would never stop writing to her aunt. She shared too many common interests and opinions with her. In contrast, Georgiana and Cecily had very little connection whatsoever.
“I need to go to Ruth’s,” Georgiana whispered as she stared blankly at her aunt’s neat script. “She will let me stay with her for a while. At least until after the wedding.”
The only problem with her plan was that she didn’t have several weeks to wait while she wrote to her aunt to suggest a visit and wait for Ruth to reply. The wedding would be upon them by then, and Georgiana would never be allowed to leave the house for long enough to go anywhere.
“I won’t be allowed to go. Every time I have suggested it before now Cecily has refused to even discuss it,” she sighed.
Once again, she felt the tight
reins of her mother’s control over her life strengthen its claw-like grip. It was so confining that she struggled to breathe. While she went through her drawer, she half expected her mother to screech up the stairs for her. Even in the safe confines of her bed chamber she was controlled and sat waiting for the inevitable. At times, it was as though her mother was afraid to allow her out of sight for more than a few minutes at a time.
“It’s time to get out of here,” Georgiana whispered.
Now that Will was marrying someone else, she had no reason to stay in the village. Cranbury could no longer be her home. Not least because it was glaringly obvious to any fool with a brain in their head that as soon as Will was married he would take over the family seat. Both he and his wife would then be permanent fixtures in the village and visible every time Georgiana stepped outside of the door.
“Worse, Cecily will want to visit the new wife often,” she whispered with a shudder. That forthcoming problem gave her the strength to find a way to get to her Aunt Ruth’s house whatever the cost. As if beckoning her to put her plans into practise, Georgiana read a paragraph of the last letter she had received from her aunt:
Of course, if you did happen to find yourself in this area then you are most welcome to stay with me, sans Cecily, of course. It would be nice to spend time with my niece. I will leave the decision to you.
Yours,
Aunt Ruth
The delicate scent of lavender wafted up from the parchment. It recalled vivid memories of her eccentric relation, the last of which she had seen several years ago. The long, beaded shawls, the slightly wild mop of dark hair liberally sprinkled with grey had been accompanied with a brilliant blue gaze that seemed to see far too many hidden secrets. Her Aunt Ruth had been a delight, and far more of a partner-in-crime than Georgiana had ever expected. As a result, their bond had grown rapidly–much to the disgust of Cecily, who had made her disapproval glaringly obvious to them both. So much so that Ruth had cut her visit short and left under a cloud of snide innuendo and insult from Cecily that had made even her usually placid father angry for a while afterward.
