Forever and a Day

by Delilah Marvelle

  Roderick shrugged. “It was like God Himself had touched a finger to my head.”

  The duke stepped away and pointed at him, issuing the challenge of, “Tell me something that only you would know about me. I want to know this is real. I want to know that your mind is what it should be.”

  Roderick couldn’t help but smirk. “Faith was never enough for you, was it? All right. What do I know of you, O Father? I remember how you always roared across the house before cropping Yardley. It felt like all you ever did on the hour was roar and crop Yardley on my behalf. Which I did appreciate.”

  A boisterous laugh rippled through the air. “Now, why is it you would go and remember something like that about me? Though I will admit that boy had the devil in him. All of hell, actually.”

  “That he did,” Roderick drawled. “Good old Yardley.”

  The duke fell quiet, lowering his gaze. “Mischief-laced though he was, he was still my boy. It wasn’t right he died so young.”

  Roderick swallowed, reached out and squeezed his father’s shoulder. “No. It wasn’t. And my biggest regret is that I didn’t make an effort to guide him more. I only judged him.”

  “Nothing would have ever changed him. He was what he was.” Drawing in a huge breath and letting it out, the duke shook his head and eyed him. “Please tell me we are set to leave in ten days, as planned, because I am well and done with this piss of a city. We’ve done everything we set out to do. My Augustine at long last knows peace. My only regret is that she never had the chance to see him before she…” His voice trailed off.

  Roderick let his hand drop away from his father’s shoulder, tensing from the reality that he might never remember what had happened since leaving England. “Though I remember quite a bit, I cannot remember getting on that boat or what happened thereafter. What happened? However did we find Atwood? Was it the map? And why isn’t he coming home with us? Doesn’t he wish to reclaim all that is rightfully his, given he is the sole heir to the Sumner estate?”

  The duke swiped his face and swung away. “If he goes back to England, it would mean facing his parents and the past before all of London. You have no idea what that poor boy has been through, Yardley. It would be a damn rag-gossiping frenzy of the worst sort that would drag itself through every last court and torment London’s base understanding of humanity.”

  Roderick’s eyes widened. “You mean…?”

  The duke nodded grimly. “According to Atwood, your grandfather had wronged an impassioned man he shouldn’t have. A man who then sought to avenge himself by taking the one thing that mattered most to him—his son.”

  Sucking in a breath, he edged back. “Whatever the hell did he do to the man to make him do such a thing?”

  The duke swung back toward him. “’Tis a story deserving of its own book. One we will discuss throughout our journey to London, and one that must never leave your lips until Atwood is ready to emerge on his own.” His father paused and shook his head. “And now you wish to make an even bigger mess of our lives by dragging yet another poor soul into it.”

  Roderick slowly turned away so he didn’t have to reveal his own agony. “You needn’t worry about Georgia. She will not be accompanying us to London.” Closing his eyes, he swallowed and went on, “I intend to end our relationship tonight.”

  “What?” His father seemed not to understand.

  “I love her far more than I could ever love myself. And so I shall let her go.” Opening his eyes but still keeping his back to his father, Roderick cleared his throat to push a sense of staid calmness into his quaking voice. “I intend to gift her a lifelong yearly annuity in parting and ask that it be arranged through your estate before we leave New York. I need Georgia to not only live incredibly well, but have servants, as her poor hands are so damn roughened by work they will require years of rest. She wasn’t deserving of being dragged into my life. She deserves more than this. She deserves more than me.” When only mere silence hummed, Roderick turned to his father.

  The duke’s features were still morbidly stoic as if he were not involved in their conversation at all.

  Roderick stared. “You will go to the bank before we leave New York and arrange an annuity of five thousand a year. Do you understand?”

  His father glanced away and half nodded. “I will call on the bank this afternoon if that is what you want.”

  Roderick threw back his head, almost causing his top hat to fall away, and rapidly blinked back tears he swore he wouldn’t cry. In a choked tone, he confided, “It will allow me a measure of peace.”

  “The entire estate is set to go to your pocket, anyway,” the duke muttered. “What do I care how much of it goes where?”

  Roderick swallowed, leveling his head again and adjusting his morning coat about his frame. He cleared his throat. “I am set to go for a long walk about the city on my own, and will be gone for most of the day and most likely well into the evening, depending on where my mood takes me. I have to gather my thoughts about how the hell I am going to announce all of this to Georgia without breaking her.”

  He winced and glanced away. “She expects me at her door at nine tonight, so I have no choice but to be back by then. That said…I wanted you to know that despite all that has come to pass, I never sought to willfully dishonor you or her and will never shame our name again by involving myself with another woman, be that woman of our circle or not. I made that decision after Margaret and don’t even know what the hell I was thinking when I still had full possession of my wits. Sadly, my circle has too many expectations and I cannot willfully mold Georgia into becoming something she is not and expect the woman I love to survive. She won’t. She just won’t.”

  EARLY THAT EVENING, AND ALONE at last from the flurry of the female servants who had bathed her, oiled her, dried her, massaged her, clothed her and tugged and pushed and pulled her freshly washed hair in every direction to assemble it into ringlets and a coif, Georgia spent most of her afternoon wandering about her lavish room. She had purposefully locked herself away to avoid Robinson. She had even supped alone in the room with a tray laden with poached salmon and creamed carrots that almost made her faint in well-pleasured anguish when they touched her lips.

  The entire world appeared to be hers, and yet with Robinson putting her at a distance, it was meaningless. Adjusting the belt on the embroidered rose-colored robe she’d been wrapped in after a divine bath scented with orange blossoms, she padded over to the sideboard that had been arranged with female toiletries the chambermaid had methodically set out for her.

  Though she tried to recall what was what—the woman had rattled off all of the cosmetics so fast—she really couldn’t remember. Leaning toward the silver tray laden with small glass bottles and tins, she poked at the open tin of rose rouge that for some reason the chambermaid had said was green rouge. The woman must have been color-blind.

  Either way, good rouge went for a quarter a piece in stores and it was obvious this here was good rouge. Georgia had always wanted to buy a tin and see if it could make her prettier, but thought it vain and a waste of money. But now…it kneeled before her as if she were a queen and whimpered to be of service.

  Georgia smiled and excitedly plucked it up along with the small bristled brush set next to it. Perhaps she could make herself pretty enough to make Robinson think twice about saying no to her.

  Leaning toward the oval gilded mirror hanging above the sideboard, she held up the tin with the tips of her fingers and dabbed the brush into the powdered substance like she’d seen women do in the shops. Dashing it across each side of her cheekbones, she tilted her head from side to side to observe how it sat.

  She leaned closer to the mirror and squinted. It didn’t do a thing. Perhaps she hadn’t put on enough. Dabbing a more generous amount onto the brush, she swiped it across both cheeks and paused. Reddish rouge skid marks streaked her pale skin.

  Her eyes widened. “Oh, dear.”

  She couldn’t have Robinson seeing her like this. S
etting aside the brush and the tin back onto the silver tray with a clatter, she frantically swiped at her cheeks. Pinching her lips together, she leaned in closer to the mirror and rubbed both cheeks hard, her calloused fingers burning her skin. She paused and gawked at her reflection and her poor skin, which was a glaring red.

  Georgia groaned and dropped her hand away from her face. She looked like a whore who’d been slapped by too many men in one night. She needed to wash it away.

  Glancing down at the array of glass bottles, she grabbed up what she read was angel water. ’Twas an infusion of myrtle flowers and water that the chambermaid claimed would freshen her skin. If it could freshen skin, it could damn well clean it.

  She carefully uncorked it and tilted the bottle slightly onto its side to allow a small amount of the pungent, sweet-smelling liquid to trickle out. It splashed out of the bottle, slathering and cooling her entire hand, dripping to the wood floor at her feet.

  She rolled her eyes in exasperation and huffed out a breath. Was nothing in life easy? Setting aside the bottle, she rubbed her wet and now very heavily scented hand against her cheeks. Fortunately, it came off against her fingers, although her cheeks were still angry from all the rubbing and swiping she’d done.

  She brushed her wet hand against her robe and paused, lifting the tips of her fingers to her nose. She sniffed. Lovely. Now she smelled like a walking Garden of Eden.

  Swiping her hands against each other one last time, she stepped back. “If you can’t handle the makeup, Georgia,” she muttered, “how will you handle the man?”

  This was just the beginning of transitioning into Robinson’s life. She wasn’t afraid of any of it, really. She was secure enough to know that with or without makeup or fancy gowns and servants, she’d still be the same girl. What she wasn’t quite so sure of was whether or not Robinson would be the same man she had fallen in love with.

  Turning away from the sideboard, she edged herself over to the next sideboard set against the wall and paused, noticing a crystal decanter filled with some sort of amber-colored liquid set next to a pair of crystal glasses.

  Plucking out the stopper, she leaned over it and sniffed the strong vapory-like scent. Alcohol? Hmm. She sure as hell needed it. Though it didn’t look like any alcohol she’d seen. In her parts it was either white or piss-yellow.

  Lifting the heavy decanter, she slid the empty glass beneath it and poured the amber liquid up to the rim of the large glass, setting the decanter back onto the sideboard. Daintily placing the stopper back into its place with the tips of her fingers and feeling, oh, so accomplished, she carefully picked up the brimming glass, trying not to spill it.

  She took a large sip and paused as a cedarlike, burning smoothness coated her throat as she swallowed. She smacked her lips, trying to decide if she liked it. Then, she took a much larger gulp and let it sit in the well of her mouth before swallowing. “Not bad. It’s not whiskey, but it’s not bad.”

  Sipping on the alcohol, she turned and made her way around the room to see what else there was to explore. The large mahogany paneled dresser, which now housed all of the ten gowns she’d brought with her, looked more impressive than the frayed, limp dresses within it.

  It was all too symbolic of how she felt. Here she was a frayed gown desperately wanting to be made new. She only hoped Robinson didn’t give up on her when he realized she was going to make a hundred thousand mistakes before she got any of this right.

  A knock on the door made her turn.

  Her heart fluttered. Robinson was almost two hours early from the time she had set. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? She headed toward the closed door and slowly pulled it open, taking another large gulp of her drink to see her through this one. She froze with her glass close to her chin, her mouth still full of alcohol.

  It wasn’t Robinson at all.

  The duke blinked, his gaze falling to her robed appearance and then the drink in her hand. He gestured toward it. “Ah. Good to know you have some. Good to know. My brandy tray is…empty.” Snapping his gaze back up to her makeup-marred face, his gray brows came together. He paused. “What happened to your face, Mrs. Milton?” he slurred.

  By gad, the man was soused!

  Georgia choked on the liquid pooled in her mouth. Unable to swallow, she spit everything back out into the glass with a gush. She coughed several times in an effort to free her burning throat of constriction and choked out, “Rouge. I applied too much…rouge.”

  He staggered past her and into the room. He fumbled with his cravat and then stripped it, whipping it aside. “Pour me another brandy. I need it.”

  She awkwardly closed the door and glanced back at him, wondering if she could trust him in his inebriated state. For safety’s sake, she decided not to latch the lock. Just in case she needed to run.

  Hurrying to the other side of the room, she set aside her own glass and with a trembling hand poured him a brandy into one of the other crystal glasses. “Are you certain you should be drinkin’ anymore? You look like you’ve had more than enough. You’re barely standin’.”

  He trailed his way toward her and lingered. “When I lose consciousness…only then will it be enough. Now hand it up.”

  “You’ll regret it, Your Grace.”

  “What don’t I regret?” He drunkenly wagged his fingers toward her.

  She sighed and topped off the glass, setting aside the decanter. Slowly swiveling toward him, she passed him the glass and snatched up her own, trying to pretend like they were old friends. It was awkward. She didn’t know him any more than he knew her.

  The duke took a long swallow of his brandy before lowering his glass. He eyed her. “Do you love him?” He paused and pointed at her with his glass, causing the liquid to sway. “Because I do. I love that boy. I love him more than any father should.”

  She fingered her glass, astounded that this drink that he called brandy could reduce him to this. It was obviously stronger than whiskey. “Yes, I love him. I wouldn’t be standin’ here subjectin’ myself to your kind if I didn’t. You think a fish likes bein’ pulled out of water?”

  He momentarily closed his eyes and nodded before reopening them. Taking another swig of brandy, he shook his head. “What a mess this is. Here I am…well respected…have vast estates…titles to match and all the money in the goddamn world, but I can’t make my own son happy. I just can’t, no matter how hard I try. All of this is so damn…wrong.”

  Her throat tightened. “Why isn’t he happy? I know he yearns to be and has the means to be, given his kind, open heart. So what prevents him from havin’ it and knowin’ it? I don’t understand.”

  He leveled her with a stare. “’Tis called impending dukedom and having everything but having nothing all the same. It weighs heavily upon a man in London society in a way you Americans could never fully…comprehend. Love is but an afterthought. ’Tis duty that is one’s life.” He drew in a ragged breath before letting it out. “He has always lived his life inside his own head and inside his own heart. By God, you should have seen that boy in his younger years. He used to be so much more. So much more. Society and duty and being betrayed by his own brother is what reduced him to what you now see. He…he clearly loves you. ’Tis obvious he does or he would have settled on merely dragging you into London as his mistress. He…came to me, you know, and told me of his intentions. He still hasn’t returned from his walk, and I’m trying not to worry, but…he intends to end things between you and him. I wanted you to know that. That is why I am here. I wanted you to be ready for it.”

  Georgia almost dropped her glass, her chest tightening. “What? Why?”

  “Because I…told him to. I put it in his head. I meant well, I just… If you think life in a slum is difficult, child, you have yet to meet the ton. They will ensure your chamber pot sits in the right corner lest they piss in it and make you drink every last drop. Even their own aren’t good enough for them. So can you imagine what they would do to you? A damn witch hunt is what it woul
d be and I didn’t want that for you or him. Despite my well-meaning intentions, I…I cannot help but feel I have wronged my own son by making him turn against the last of who he is. Yardley…my first boy…he would have tossed you in the name of duty. That boy was a master at shuffling women and their hearts as if they were cards in a deck. But my Tremayne…no. No. My Tremayne wouldn’t have submitted to this. His heart always came first. Always.” The duke winced and took another swig of his brandy. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I made a mess of things.”

  She met his gaze in anguish. “All I want is to love him. Is that so wrong?”

  The duke’s brown eyes softened. “And do you know what I want for him? Above all else? His happiness. Plain and simple. And it appears he has found it in you.” He lowered his gaze to his glass and heaved out a breath. “I’ve been…thinking. I really think you and Yardley should…stay here in New York. London is nothing but a circus and a half, anyway. I would be losing my only son to the union, obviously, but…at least I wouldn’t be murdering the last of who he is. I wish there were a way to allow you both to live freely with me in London. I really do.” He sniffed. “I want grandchildren. I want to feel like there is still some—some…meaning left, even though my dearest Augustine and my first Yardley are gone and my own life is veering to an end.” He angled toward her, reached out and sloppily patted her head. “If I had the means to buy your respectability, child, I would. I really, really, really would. Why? Because knowing how much my son adores you makes me adore you. If he deems you worthy, you are.”

  Georgia blinked rapidly, endlessly touched by his words. She paused and shifted toward him, taking a quick swallow of her own brandy. Wait. Now, there was an idea. It was a crazy Five Points idea laced with Raymond’s and Matthew’s views of society, propaganda and government politics, but one that would allow her to live freely and openly with Robinson in London society. Why settle for a measly half acre in the west with him when she could seize all four corners of the world and make everyone happy? “If I gave you the means to buy my respectability, Your Grace, would you? Could you?”