by Jane Ashford
Brandishing a saber in cavalry training had suited him down to the ground. Riding was second nature. He fell easily into the bluff camaraderie of an elite regiment. But if Georgina expected him to learn a lot of cursed facts, he’d soon disappoint her. How he would hate that! She was so quick and intelligent. Would she change her mind about marrying him when she discovered how thick he really was? “I don’t know much history,” he confessed.
She waved this aside. “There’s no need. Papa will be happy to tell you all about it.”
That was all right then. He could listen and nod. He was quite good at that. Indeed, he learned better that way. As long as there weren’t examinations afterward.
Georgina looked uneasy. “His…approach is a bit…unique.”
Sebastian assumed an encouraging expression.
“He has invited an Indian gentleman to stay with us.” Georgina hadn’t known of Anat Mitra’s existence until she arrived home last month. Nor was she aware of the more eccentric turn her father’s studies had taken. Would she have invited Sebastian to visit if she had? No. Or, she’d so wanted to see him again, to learn more about him. That kiss had been…really splendid.
“Oh yes,” said Sebastian. “He let me in when I arrived.”
“Did he? And did you…talk to him?”
“I didn’t have a chance. The dogs came running in, and Mr.—er, the Indian fellow took to his heels. He seemed quite afraid of them.”
Georgina nodded, feeling reprieved. “Yes. Well, he and Papa are exploring…some…aspects of history.” Georgina looked up at her tall, handsome fiancé. He smiled at her, and she yearned to throw her arms around his neck again and forget the rest. She simply couldn’t go on. She’d said as much as she could manage for now. “So, not quite a usual house party,” she finished lightly.
Sebastian shrugged. “I came for you,” he said. He looked approvingly at the shrubbery. “I was hoping we’d have more chances to be alone. To, er, get better acquainted, I mean.”
The warmth in his blue eyes seemed to suffuse Georgina. “I’m sorry about the dogs.” His wry smile showed he was also remembering their uncouth attentions. Georgina’s flush deepened. “I can’t imagine such a thing happening at your home,” she was compelled to add.
“Oh, I don’t know,” he replied. “My mother had a demented cat when I was small. Ruff would sneak into the room whenever she had guests—even though the servants went to great lengths to keep him out—and slink along until he found someone whose hand was hanging over a chair arm. Then he’d start suckling on one of their fingers.”
Georgina burst out laughing.
Sebastian smiled and nodded, clearly enjoying her reaction, not the least bit embarrassed by this oddity. “We boys soon learned to spot the victims. They’d look surprised first, of course, and then puzzled. They’d bend over to see what the deuce it was, and then, mostly, they’d be horrified. Ruff had a real knack for choosing people who hated cats.”
“What did they do?” Georgina tried to imagine encountering such a situation in the duchess’s parlor.
He grinned. “Well, it depended on the person, didn’t it? A few jumped right out of their seats, yelling and shaking the, er, afflicted hand. Most just jerked their hands away and gave Ruff a scowl. The rest slipped the finger away from him, folded their hands in their laps, and pretended nothing had happened. Mama began to see it as a test of self-possession. Once she conceded that Ruff would find his way in, no matter what anyone did.”
“But she didn’t get rid of him? Have him sent off to a farm or something, I mean.”
Sebastian shook his head. “He was a splendid cat in all other respects. And Mama thought his…quirk came from being taken from his mother too early. So she felt sorry for him, you see.”
“Quirk,” Georgina repeated. The unassuming word, and Sebastian’s story, and the way he was taking his visit so far combined into a wave of relief.
“James tried to train him to single out certain irritating people, but Ruff never paid him any heed,” Sebastian finished with another smile.
Georgina laughed a little more. It seemed that things were going to be all right. She put a hand on Sebastian’s upper arm, feeling the hard muscle under the cloth of his coat. When she gazed up at him, he pulled her close, as she’d hoped he would. His lips captured hers; his arms encircled her. She lost herself in the storm of sensations his touch aroused.
The searing kiss was interrupted by distant yapping. Sebastian raised his head. “Are the dogs liable to join us?”
She didn’t blame him for the lack of enthusiasm in his tone. She got on well enough with her mother’s dogs, but they were often ill-mannered with strangers. She listened. “They’re not out,” she said. “They have their own garden. Mama doesn’t let them run free. If they come to this part of the grounds, she’s always with them. She’s afraid a fox might get them—the young ones anyway. Drustan killed a fox once.”
“Drustan?” Sebastian echoed.
“It’s a Celtic name. Mama is…much taken with Celtic legends. Papa leans to the Anglo-Saxon.”
“I…see.”
“You get used to it. After a while,” Georgina said. Except for this new start with Mr. Mitra. She hadn’t gotten used to that. It truly seemed a step too far.
Sebastian resumed his exceedingly pleasant attentions. Georgina gave herself up to the delights of desire. Neither of them noticed a stir in the needles of a nearby evergreen. A branch was gently depressed, and two pairs of green eyes peered through the opening thus created. “He’ll have to marry her if he keeps on like that,” Emma whispered. “There’ll be no crying off.”
“Why would he?” murmured Hilda.
“The dogs, Papa’s odd new start,” said her sister. “But he won’t.”
The two girls watched for a while, fascinated, absorbing a thorough lesson in the art of kissing. Then a giggle escaped Emma. It was a small sound, but Sebastian raised his head at once. “Who’s there?” he asked.
Georgina stiffened and stepped away from him.
“It’s just us,” said Hilda from the shelter of the shrubbery. “You don’t have to stop on our account.”
“You promised not to spy,” declared Georgina. Her sisters knew every cranny of the castle and grounds, and used them. She’d known their curiosity and personal investment in her marriage were going to cause awkwardness, and she’d lectured them on the need for some privacy.
Emma and Hilda slipped from the screening foliage onto the gravel path. “We were out for a walk,” replied Emma. “We didn’t know you were here until we…”
“Sneaked through the bushes to find us?” finished Georgina.
“We weren’t sneaking.” Hilda paused, then added, “Not till right at the end.”
Her youngest sister was honest, Georgina thought, if incorrigible.
“Anyway, when we come to live with you, I expect we’ll see you kissing all the time,” said Hilda. “So it doesn’t matter. Indeed, we should become accustomed to it.”
“Come to live with us?” Sebastian said.
He looked startled. Beyond that, Georgina couldn’t tell. She resisted an impulse to march over and box Hilda’s ears. She’d told them that nothing could be settled, or even discussed, until after the wedding.
Georgina sighed. She did feel sorry for her sisters. She certainly hadn’t forgotten how lonely it was here at Stane, and how eager she’d been to get out into the world. It was also clear that her parents’ peculiarities were growing more intense with age. They hadn’t been so distracted when she was younger. She’d told Emma and Hilda that she would help them, and she would. But they’d taken this as a positive promise to add them to her household as soon as she had one, ignoring the fact that she couldn’t do that without Mama and Papa’s permission. And consulting Sebastian, of course. Principally that.
He was looking at her. Cer
tainly she would never have brought this up on the first day of his visit. Heavens, he’d only been here a few hours, though it seemed longer. “Go on with your walk,” she told her sisters. “Or…don’t you still have lessons? Where is Joanna?”
“We only have to be in the schoolroom in the morning,” said Hilda.
“She’s gathering botanical specimens,” said Emma at the same moment.
As if on cue, a female voice was heard, calling the sisters’ names. “She is?” asked Georgina.
Hilda held up a rather wilted sprig of leaves. “We all are.”
Emma, empty-handed, looked around, then quickly broke off a bit of evergreen.
Georgina gave them both a look. “Over here, Joanna!” she called. Unless she handed her sisters over to their governess, they’d tag along wherever she and Sebastian went.
A few moments later, the sturdy figure of Joanna Byngham came striding down the path toward them, a basket full of plant specimens over her arm. Georgina greeted her with relief. Joanna’s broad-shouldered, plain-featured presence had been a mainstay of the Stane household since she’d joined it fourteen years before. She could talk history with the marquess to his heart’s content and help in his research. She shared a love of dogs with Georgina’s mother. And she’d made the castle schoolroom a fascinating place, for Georgina at least. Joanna had a way of bringing subjects to life, throwing herself into each new course of study with the gusto of an explorer discovering new lands. They’d delved into them together, and Georgina knew that Joanna had been sad when she left her tutelage.
The newcomer came to a stop before them and looked out from under the edge of her broad-brimmed straw hat. “There you are,” she said to Emma and Hilda. She appeared more resigned than surprised at their defection, which was probably common. Georgina was aware that her younger sisters showed little interest in their books. Perhaps they simply pretended not to care for education as a way to irritate Papa. They certainly weren’t stupid. “Sebastian, this is Miss Byngham,” she said. “Joanna, Lord Sebastian Gresham.”
Her old governess showed no sign of objecting to this scrambling introduction. Her teaching had always concentrated on books and ideas. Joanna had never been one to give advice about how to make one’s way in the world, and certainly not in matters of the heart. Indeed, she’d appeared to find the latter faintly ludicrous when the subject came up. Georgina looked from her to Sebastian and felt odd. She’d grown beyond her former preceptress in the social sphere. She only hoped she’d learned enough.
“How do you do?” Joanna said. She examined Sebastian with no more, and no less, interest than she might have shown in a new variety of plant.
He bowed. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”
“He’s going to marry Georgina,” Hilda said.
“I know,” replied the governess. “What have you got there?” She examined the limp leaves Hilda held.
“Um.” Hilda gazed at the tired greenery. “Beech?”
“With those tripartite lobes?” Joanna shook her head. “You know better than that.”
“Oak,” said Emma impatiently.
“Correct. But you should let your sister answer.” The older woman picked a sprig from her basket and held it up. “What about this one?”
As Hilda gave an exaggerated sigh, Georgina touched Sebastian’s arm and led him down the path and away.
“Governess?” he said as they drew out of earshot.
“Yes.”
“Good they’ve got one.”
Georgina nodded and walked faster. She longed to resume their delightful explorations, but she didn’t want to discuss her sisters’ plans for their future. Not just yet. Cursing Hilda for speaking so soon, she hurried Sebastian back to his room and left him there.
* * *
Surveying himself in a long mirror once he was dressed for dinner, Sebastian felt that he’d achieved a good effect even without his valet. The castle servants had pressed the wrinkles out of his evening wear. His hair and neckcloth were well done. The image that faced him in the glass looked polished and confident, not at all apprehensive about going downstairs. He nodded, a gesture of reflective reassurance.
“We’ll be all right,” he said aloud. “We’ve brushed through stickier situations than this one.” He trusted his social address to get him through the meal, but he did wonder what further surprises might lie in wait in the dining room. There seemed to be a good deal going on that he hadn’t expected, or didn’t understand, and he didn’t care for the feeling. “Forward, Major,” he declared, standing straighter. “To the charge.”
He reached the stairs at the same time as the Indian gentleman who’d greeted him on arrival. Still in his long brocade coat and narrow trousers rather than conventional evening dress, the other man looked darkly elegant. He gave Sebastian another of his bows with palms pressed together. Sebastian acknowledged it with his own, and they started downstairs together. “I am Anat Mitra, as I was about to say when you so kindly rescued me from milady’s pets earlier.”
“Not fond of dogs?” Sebastian asked.
“I revere all creatures of the earth,” replied Mr. Mitra. “But these ‘pugs’ do not return my respect. They delight in… What do the English say? ‘Dogging me,’ isn’t it?”
“They don’t seem very well trained,” Sebastian said, memories of the two dogs plastered to his legs still vivid.
Mitra waved a graceful hand. “Respectfully, I would disagree, my lord Sebastian. I believe they are remarkably schooled for their purpose.”
Sebastian made no attempt to reply to this cryptic remark. He never did when people chose to be obscure. Responding generally caused more trouble than silence, he’d found. Robert might delight in lobbing words back like invisible tennis balls, but he always seemed to find three meanings in every phrase rather than laboriously puzzling out one.
They reached the great hall and found the family gathered there. Going to stand beside Georgina, Sebastian was surprised to see her younger sisters and their governess nearby, also waiting to go in to dinner. Informality appeared to be a hallmark of the household.
He was seated on Georgina’s mother’s right at the table, and delighted to find Georgina opposite him, giving him a constant view of her lovely face. Emma and Hilda occupied the middle of the board, with Miss Byngham and Mitra on either side of the marquess at the other end.
A squat, powerful-looking man entered with a tray containing a huge, glistening roast. From his dress and demeanor, Sebastian concluded this must be the butler, Fergus. He was followed by two maids with other dishes. Perhaps the Stanes didn’t employ footmen. He hadn’t seen any. Sebastian was relaxed and more than ready for sustenance when he noticed movement near his feet. Two pugs had appeared in a surprise flanking movement, and he was pretty sure he recognized the larger one from his earlier skirmish. Fortunately, the dogs were ignoring him. They seemed utterly focused on Georgina’s mother.
“You’ll have a good, big slice from this boar, I’m sure,” said the marquess.
Sebastian realized just in time that Georgina’s father was addressing him. “Thank you, sir,” he replied. He checked the position of the pugs. Still all right.
“A hunting party led by my gamekeeper took the beast in our west wood.” Georgina’s father smiled, his teeth square and white below his trailing mustache, as he wielded a large carving knife. “A real monster. I’ll show you the tusks later on.”
“Ah, splendid.”
“Ever do any boar hunting?” the marquess asked.
“Never had an opportunity.” Sebastian received a plate heaped with meat. One of the maids offered vegetables, the other a sauceboat.
“I’ve always wanted to try out my great-grandfather’s boar spear,” Georgina’s father continued. He gestured with the knife, now dripping pink juices. “The spears have the crossbar, you know, because a boar will push right up
the shaft to gore you, even as he’s bloody and dying.”
“Papa,” said Georgina.
The marquess smiled at her as if she’d encouraged rather than admonished him. “Dreadful nuisances,” he said. He returned to his work, producing flawless slices for the other diners. “A sounder of wild pigs can root up a planted field in no time at all.”
“Not many to be found in my part of the country.” Trying the meat, Sebastian found the taste strong but well flavored.
“That’s a fine old word, eh? Sounder. A sounder of swine. Even better. You’re lucky. We’re plagued by them hereabouts. But they make for good sport.”
“Shooting partridges is sport,” put in his wife. “Or stalking deer. Boar hunting is an occasional, perilous necessity. That old spear will remain on the wall, Alfred.”
It sounded to Sebastian like an old argument. He kept his attention on his plate, with periodic glances at the hovering pugs.
“What would you be doing if you were in London now?” asked Hilda across the table.
No one objected to the change of subject, so Sebastian obliged with stories of the season just past. He pulled Georgina into the conversation with shared recollections, and together, they kept her sisters rapt for quite a time. In the pauses, he sometimes caught a strange phrase from the trio at the marquess’s end of the table. Mitra declared that he “could not guarantee any particular era.” Miss Byngham stated that “the theory is quite unproven.” Georgina’s father repeatedly mentioned someone, or something, called “Offa.” Sebastian couldn’t make any sense of it. He’d thought at first that his host said offal, which had startled him.
Through it all, Georgina’s mother scarcely spoke. She smiled and nodded, obviously not in a bad humor, and occupied herself with a rather idiosyncratic way of eating. For each bite she took in the usual way, she also dropped a tidbit to the dogs at her feet, in a smooth, clearly practiced motion. The pugs did not beg for this largesse. On the contrary, they sat still, shifting only to catch the offerings with a neat precision that struck Sebastian as almost military. They also scrupulously alternated turns. There was no snapping, no jostling. They seemed different dogs from the mob he’d encountered earlier, and he didn’t know whether he was impressed or unsettled by the alteration. What had Mitra said about them being schooled for their purpose?
