The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection 6

by MacMurrough, Sorcha

  "But George, it isn’t decent, you giving me such intimate clothing. And I don’t want to ruin—"

  "Bother the ruin," he said gruffly, knowing still well that she was still bleeding after all that had happened to her, a fact which alarmed Antony Herriot no end. He was insisting she eat beef at every meal to build her back up, and not move around more than she had to.

  "As for decent, we can say Jasmine gave them to you."

  She looked doubtful, but laughed when yet another frothy confection appeared in Jasmine’s hands the very next day.

  A month after Miranda had re-appeared on his doorstep, when her bruises were almost gone and she could sit and stand unaided, George broached the subject Antony had mentioned when he had first discussed her condition with him.

  They were sitting downstairs in the small red parlour which had always been his favourite, and which Philip and Jasmine had kindly given over to their exclusive use. They had been recalling their triumph in "Antony and Cleopatra" and performing their lines together.

  "Time for another change of role, sweetheart."

  Miranda looked at him blankly.

  He felt like ripping the room apart. He had never seen anyone look so defeated. "What do you think of "Othello?"" he asked in what he hoped was a light tone.

  She nodded, though her expression was without any interest. "I know it quite well. Though I’m not so sure my memory is going to be what it used to be."

  "It will come back to you. I’ll coach you. And people will know you’ve had an accident, and will make allowances. You can come back any time you like. In the meantime, you can study the book."

  "But getting on stage again? When I can still hardly walk without pain. And with my face?" she said, her eyes widening in horror.

  "The cuts and bruises have almost all healed, and the audience will love you as always. As much as I do. Have always done."

  At last she looked up at him. Surprise and disbelief coloured her expression.

  He fished the jewel box out of his jacket pocket.

  "I was all set to ask you to, well, marry me that night at Simpson's. Then when I asked you to meet me here that day after the theatre, I was waiting for you, with a special luncheon all arranged, and some other gifts.

  "Then I got called away. When I got back from my business meeting, you never showed up. You were gone. But it doesn’t matter now. What matters is that we have the rest of our lives ahead of us and I don't want to waste another moment of them with regrets or loneliness."

  "George?" she gasped, unable to believe her ears.

  "With the most humble heart in the world, my dear girl, miserable sinner that I am, I'm asking you to open your heart to me, and to marry me. To build a life with me that we can share, until death do us finally part."

  He opened the box, and her mouth transformed into a round O of stunned delight which soon crumpled as she held back the tears.

  For there nestled against the black velvet was the necklace she had seen him holding up to Viola’s neck. With it was a bracelet, earbobs and a pair of rings which could only be a wedding set.

  "Viola and Alistair helped with all the arrangements, the jewels and food. I wanted everything to be perfect. I'm sorry I never got the chance to do it before, but I’m asking you now. Most humbly, or as humbly as an arrogant man like me can ever ask. So, my dearest love, will you consent to be my wife?"

  Her response was the last thing he ever expected. She burst into tears, and would not or could not stop weeping.

  George sat there at a loss as to what to do, and could only stare at her and beg her not to cry.

  Finally after several moments, he hurried to the door, where he shouted to Jasmine to come help him, and together they got the distraught girl upstairs to bed.

  "What on earth happened?" Jasmine asked outside the door when they finally got her off to an exhausted sleep. He had never seen her look so much like an irate mother hen in his life, not even with her own children.

  "I asked her to marry me."

  Jasmine sighed. "Oh. Bad timing."

  "More than that," George growled. "She looked horrified. I’m such a fool."

  "In the circumstances—"

  "Antony told me to be patient with her, but I don’t think she's ever going to want a man to go near her again after what that bastard—"

  "Stop it, stop it right now." She gave him a long look. She would not break a confidence, but she could speak in general terms. "One of our friends met his wife in a brothel. She had been really cruelly abused, but they worked through their feelings and she and he are very happy."

  "How long did it take?" he asked with a hopeful light in his eyes.

  "As long as it had to. About a year. And another friend had a wife who was badly beaten, nearly raped. It took about three to six months."

  George began to pace.

  Jasmine wondered if he had heard her. "My own father shoved me off a bridge into a ravine. Nearly killed me," she revealed suddenly.

  He paused in his pacing and stared at her in horror. "My God!"

  "Obviously I lived to tell the tale. I won’t pretend I’ve never had nightmares. I don’t think you ever forget that sort of attack, but you don’t let the fear overwhelm you. If Philip spent his whole life worrying about me being seized or taken from him it would be only half a life. He's still very protective and clinging, but nowhere near as bad as he used to be. There was a time when I couldn’t even get out of the bed without him screaming the house down."

  He stared at her in horror. "God, and after the fire last year—"

  She shrugged one shoulder. "It wasn’t so bad for us. We weren’t in the house more than a few seconds when Sidmouth's men were trying to burn us out. So long as we were all safe and together, that was all that mattered. And you came and saved us then, like a guardian angel. So whatever we can do to help, we'll be glad to do it, for without you, we wouldn't still be alive. Nor Alistair."

  "So what do I do now?" he asked in despair.

  She opened the black velvet box and thought for a moment. Then she strode down the hall, and returned a short time later with a long chain. She took the wedding set and looped them into the necklace, and closed the clasp.

  "When she wakes up and is feeling better, you tell her the jewels and the rings are a gift. That you love her. That it would please you very much if she would wear the rings as a token of your undying love and esteem.

  "And that while you understand if she is not able to accept your proposal right away, perhaps not for months to come, that her wearing them on this chain around her neck is a pledge that she will at least think about it. That she knows you love her and she will let you know when she feels ready for marriage. And you can tell her that you will love her no matter what she decides."

  George nodded and hugged her fondly. For the first time in days he didn’t feel so hopeless. "I’ll do it. Thank you. I just hope to God she says yes."

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The next day George waited in an agony of suspense. When they finally had a quiet moment alone together with his beloved, he did as Jasmine has suggested.

  To his surprise, Miranda rejected all the other jewels without a second glance. She put the chain on and thanked him tenderly.

  "Please take the others away. I never ever want to be reminded of my own folly ever again."

  But when he asked her what she meant, she averted her face, and changed the subject.

  "Well if you don’t like them may I, um, may I at least buy you something different? If not the jet necklace, some sapphires to match your lovely eyes?"

  "Earrings, but not a necklace. Perhaps a bracelet. But the only necklace I shall wear is this one, until such time as..."

  "I feel terrible, though. Jasmine gave the chain to me for you. It’s not really a present from me."

  "She’s been a good friend. They both have."

  "Both?" he said, feeling an unaccountable stab of jealousy, for somehow he was sure she did not mean Viola.
<
br />   "Philip too."

  "I see," he said shortly.

  She could read his feelings all too clearly now. The knowledge gave her little joy. "Philip's cousin Patrice was attacked, harmed in a similar way. He’s had her come to the house to speak to me. She was barely fifteen. You have no cause to worry about Philip and I—"

  "Odd, Jasmine never mentioned anything—" He shrugged and hung the chain around her neck.

  "Thank you."

  "Let me at least buy you a chain—"

  "You don’t need to shower me with gifts. Just be here by my side always." She patted the silk upholstered settee.

  He nodded. "I shall. Until you will let me be at one with you."

  "One day. I’m not sure when. But one day," she said wearily.

  "In the meantime we have another play," he said in what he hoped was a cheerful tone.

  "Othello," she agreed.

  "Yes. We can start practicing with the speech in which he explains how it is they came to fall in love."

  She nodded.

  "Forgive me if I’m not word perfect."

  "It’s all right," she said, her tone lacklustre.

  George started well, but gradually made mistakes on purpose to test her, see if she was really paying attention.

  "Her father lov’d me; oft invited me;

  Still question’d me the story of my life

  From year to year, the battles, sieges, fortunes

  That I have pass’d.

  I ran it through, even from my boyish days

  To the very moment that he bade me tell it;

  Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances,

  Of moving accidents by flood and field,

  Of hair-breadth ’scapes I’ the imminent deadly breach,

  Of being taken by the insolent foe

  And sold to slavery, of my redemption thence

  And portance in my travel’s history..."

  "You’ve left out a couple of the lines about the rare creatures he saw," she said mildly.

  "No matter," he said with an airy wave. "They’ll come to me in a minute." He continued,

  "This to hear

  Would Desdemona seriously incline;

  But still the house-affairs would draw her thence;

  Which ever as she could with haste dispatch,

  She’d come again, and with a greedy ear

  Devour up my discourse. Which I observing,

  Took once a pliant hour, and found good means

  To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart

  That I would er, um—"

  He looked at her expectantly.

  "'All my pilgrimage dilate, Whereof by parcels she had something heard,'" she supplied.

  "Yes, just so. Sorry, Miranda."

  "It’s all right. You’re doing very well, George." She gave him an encouraging smile, and he had all to do not to kiss her senseless. But that was impossible... Instead he resumed his role.

  "But not intentively: I did consent;

  And often did beguile her of her tears,

  When I did speak of some distressful stroke

  That my youth suffer’d...."

  He paused as if he could not recall what came next.

  "My story being done," she prompted with a quirk of one finely arched brow.

  George nodded.

  "My story being done,

  She gave me for my pains a world of sighs:

  She swore, in faith, ’twas strange, ’twas passing strange;

  ’Twas pitiful, ’twas wondrous pitiful:

  She wish’d she had not heard it, yet she wish’d

  That heaven had made her such a man; she thank’d me,

  And bade me, if I had a friend that lov’d her,

  I should but teach him how to tell my story,

  And that would woo her. Upon this hint I spake:

  She lov’d me for the dangers I had pass’d,

  And I lov’d her that she did pity them.

  This only is the witchcraft I have us’d:

  Here comes the lady; let her witness it."

  "Then the Duke says, 'I think this tale would win my daughter too, and Brabantio tell his daughter to come forward."

  "Yes," George said, nodding. "So we can take, um, the word witness as your cue, and then you wait for the word obedience, and begin."

  Miranda did as she was asked. He read the father’s part, and she began, "My noble father,

  I do perceive here a divided duty:

  To you I am bound for life and education;

  My life and education both do learn me

  How to respect you; you are the lord of duty,

  I am hitherto your daughter: but here’s my husband;

  And so much duty as my mother show’d

  To you, preferring you before her father,

  So much I challenge that I may profess

  Due to the Moor my lord."

  "Good. Very good, Miranda. You convey her as sweet, chaste, but firm in her love for Othello. Her father is upset, the Duke comforts him, and they discuss the war. You will need to look attentive and doting on your husband, and prepare to seem rather worried when I start my section of the scene with these words.

  "Most humbly therefore bending to your state,

  I crave fit disposition for my wife,

  Due reference of place and exhibition,

  With such accommodation and besort

  As levels with her breeding.

  "The Duke suggests you stay with your father, he refuses and I say it is a bad idea. Then you say..."

  "I would not there reside,

  To put my father in impatient thoughts

  By being in his eye. Most gracious duke,

  To my unfolding lend your gracious ear;

  And let me find a charter in your voice

  To assist my simpleness."

  Miranda’s voice had regained some of its former firmness and animation, and George was so relieved he could have cried. He pressed on with the scene instead.

  "The Duke says, ‘What would you, Desdemona?’"

  Miranda continued, "That I did love the Moor to live with him,

  My downright violence and storm of fortunes

  May trumpet to the world; my heart’s subdu’d

  Even to the very quality of my lord;

  I saw Othello’s visage in his mind,

  And to his honours and his valiant parts

  Did I my soul and fortunes consecrate.

  So that, dear lords, if I be left behind,

  A moth of peace, and he go to the war,

  The rites for which I love him are bereft me,

  And I a heavy interim shall support

  By his dear absence. Let me go with him."

  "They agree, discuss the war with the senators, and the scene concludes with a romantic interlude of sorts in which I say,

  "Come, Desdemona; I have but an hour

  Of love, of worldly matters and direction,

  To spend with thee: we must obey the time."

  Miranda nodded. "Then we all exit in great state."

  They sat for a moment in silence. Then he kissed her on the cheek. "Excellent. Superb as always, darling."

  "And I've already been thinking about the costumes. You know, he is supposed to be Moorish, and they live around the Mediterranean. We could get some fabric from the Howard warehouse to make everyone look splendid. Like the saris the Indian ladies wear."

  He nodded. "Yes, but how did you know—"

  "I have some Indian friends."

  "Interesting. You certainly have led a very exciting life."

  "Some of the excitement I could have lived without," she said quietly.

  "What is it, darling?" he asked at last. "You’ve been acting so strangely ever since I offered you my special present, showed you the jet necklace. I don’t understand—"

  "I, well, you don’t need to get me anything," she said, looking away sadly.

  "But you always liked my presents before, didn’t yo
u? I mean, you never said, but—"

  "Other presents? What other presents?" she asked in confusion.

  He tried to tamp down his anger at having been taken for granted. "Why, the book, the fan, the embroidered hankies, the black silk reticule, the single red rose every morning from the market. I’m not bragging or reproaching you, but I thought if you were using them, as I saw you do, that you liked them a little and--"

  All the color had flown from her face. "Gee," she gasped.

  "Pardon?"

  "The notes, they were all signed G. I thought they were from, well, G for Geoffrey. Oxnard. I never thought— You were always so cool, seemingly indifferent except toward the, well, the end. I never suspected…."