by Jane Ashford
They looked at each other. “I expect…no, I know that she’s not very good at following orders,” Sebastian replied. “She’d be the sort of trooper who goes haring off on his own and gets a lot of people killed. Well, not killed, in this case, but…you know what I mean.”
Georgina acknowledged the truth of this with a nod. “She’s daring, though. And highly motivated. She wants to us to be married, and she wants to make up for the prank she played.” Georgina weighed this against her memories of Hilda’s scrapes. “She does tend to improvise in the middle of things. You never know what she’d come up with.”
“We’ll hold her in reserve, as a last resort.”
“That’s probably best.”
“Anyone else?”
“Not that I can think of,” said Georgina. “I don’t think we can ask Emma. She’s too upset by the last misadventure to be involved.”
Sebastian nodded. “Not a group I’d choose, necessarily. More like what my brother James would call a motley crew. Perhaps some of the castle servants?”
“They’re trying very hard not to be caught in the middle of this. They naturally look to Mama for household orders, but they don’t want to anger Papa.”
“Neither do I,” protested Sebastian.
“Too late.” Georgina gave him a sympathetic smile.
“None of it was my fault!”
“It was not.” She took his hand.
He looked down at her lovely face, shadowed in the tower’s dimness, and saw everything he wanted in the depths of her eyes. “We are going to be married. Even if we have to elope after all.”
After a moment, Georgina nodded. It was a mournful thing to contemplate, but if the choice was forced on her, she wouldn’t be parted from Sebastian. “I’d rather not.”
“Of course. I’d never ask you. Unless there was no other way for us to be together.”
Something in that word, or in their locked gaze, ignited the atmosphere. Memories and hopes and pent-up desire drew them into each other’s arms. The kiss was heady and tender, familiar and new. They stole another, and another.
Georgina pressed close, reveling in the feel of his hands on her. She wanted to wrap herself around him and never let go.
A sound drifted down from above, as of a chair scraping on flagstones. Sebastian raised his head. “Mitra might come down.”
“Who cares about him?” Georgina muttered. But reality had come plodding back. “Papa will be looking for me,” she admitted. “He’s begun asking where I am every few minutes.”
With mutual reluctance, they moved apart.
“All will be well soon,” she said.
“We haven’t actually made a plan,” Sebastian pointed out.
“You’ll come up with something, I know.”
“Me?” He frowned. “You’re the clever one.”
“Not about…action campaigns.” She smiled fondly up at him. “You’re the master there. Look at the way you saved us when we were lost. I’ve no doubt you’ll do so again.”
“But…” This wasn’t a matter of building a fire or cutting some bracken. This was a war of words. The admiration in his betrothed’s gaze filled Sebastian with pride, and apprehension. She had no notion how stupid he could be when it came to intangible conflicts.
A distant call came from the garden outside. “Georgina?”
“That’s Emma,” she said. “Probably warning me that I’m wanted. I must go.”
With a final squeeze of his hand, she slipped away. Sebastian remained in the recess, savoring the lingering scent of her perfume and memory of her touch, giving her time to get well away. He wanted nothing more than to impress her by saving the day. She’d compared him to a knight, he remembered. Those were the fellows who rode in like a one-man cavalry regiment and rescued the maiden in distress. If only it was a matter of riding… But it wasn’t. Or saber work or navigating a forest path. He had no idea how to unpick the current tangle. It seemed all too likely that he’d fail.
In the dimness of the tower, Sebastian winced. He didn’t think he could bear to see the impatience and disappointment in her eyes that he’d endured from schoolmasters and tutors throughout his youth. He’d thought he’d come to terms with his limitations, but now a whole new level of jeopardy opened before him.
“Sykes,” he said aloud. Ideas were the man’s meat and potatoes. Words were like the air he breathed. He’d think of something.
When he rang, Sykes appeared promptly in Sebastian’s bedchamber, even though it wasn’t a time of day when he customarily had duties. “You know the mess we’re in,” Sebastian said when the door had closed behind him. Outraged at the marquess’s unfairness, Sebastian had recounted the story as he was undressing the previous evening.
“Yes, my lord.” Sykes shook his head, and the playwright peeped out from behind the ideal servitor. “I never thought to hear myself say so, but it’s beyond anything I could have invented. An Eastern magician. Visions of barbarians. A marriage in peril.” He started to rub his hands together gleefully, then recalled himself.
“I wouldn’t call Mitra a magician,” Sebastian objected. “He certainly doesn’t.”
“Quite a modest fellow, as far as I have observed,” Sykes said.
He appeared to think he was agreeing with Sebastian, when in fact this was quite off the main track. “Lady Georgina thinks I can make it all right,” Sebastian told him. “But I’ve no idea how.”
“A conundrum,” Sykes replied. “They say in the servants’ hall that his lordship never wavers once he fixes on a notion.”
This was bad news. Worse, Sykes didn’t sound as helpful as usual. Which worried Sebastian, even as he acknowledged that the problem was knottier than composing a proper letter or deciphering some wit’s puzzling remarks. “Even nonsensical notions?” he asked.
“Particularly those,” the valet responded with obvious relish.
Sebastian resisted the impulse to kick a nearby footstool. “I don’t want to be at odds with my father-in-law. But I will not be bullied in this matter.”
Sykes straightened like a trooper who’d been caught slouching on the parade ground. “No, my lord.”
Sebastian turned to the window, looking out over the castle gardens. Even after so many years, he disliked asking outright for help. An inner judge always insisted that a man shouldn’t need it. But he did. And for some reason, Sykes was making him say it, rather than anticipating his request. He had no choice but to speak. “You’re always full of ideas. I thought you might have a suggestion.”
“I can’t say that I do, my lord.”
Sebastian turned to him, surprised. Sykes never ran short of schemes. “Well, could you, er, think about it?”
“Very well, my lord. But you know, you may very well discover a solution.”
Sebastian stared. If he’d had to describe Sykes’s expression, which was never an easy task, he’d have said that he looked like a man who’d glimpsed a promising opportunity. Which was bewildering and quite at odds with what Sykes had said. Sebastian very nearly groaned aloud. If Sykes was at a standstill, then he really was lost.
Twelve
Sebastian had thought that things were bad enough with Georgina’s father, but dinner that evening proved he’d underestimated the man’s determination to express his displeasure. Every word he spoke seemed designed to show them all that he was not a man to be thwarted. He dominated the conversation at table, forcing everyone to listen to his discussion with Mitra and Joanna Byngham.
They went on and on about cycles of time and creation and destruction, using words Sebastian had never heard. He would have been content to let them, and never to learn the meaning of words such as kalpa and yuga. But every few minutes the marquess shot a question in Sebastian’s direction, like a sudden volley from an entrenched position. The older man’s expression, as he watched Sebastian stru
ggle to reply, was evilly smug.
Georgina attempted to intervene at one point, saying, “Sebastian has not studied these topics for years as you have, Papa.”
Sebastian was grateful, but also embarrassed that she should have to excuse his ineptitude.
And it earned her only a scowl and an irritable reprimand. “He might have benefited from more study and less running around in the woods,” her father finished. “Like a savage.”
He’d managed to work that particular word into the most unrelated topics tonight, Sebastian noticed.
Randolph took exception to this characterization of his brother. But he was hampered by his good manners, and the fact that he had fled the room before the pertinent exchange last evening.
Thus, his brother was like a man facing a cannon with a revolver as he challenged the marquess, Sebastian thought. Their host would always venture closer to outright offensiveness than Randolph ever could. Sebastian had to smile as he watched his brother struggle to get off a shot without ammunition. Randolph was the most punctilious of the duke’s sons. He outdid even society’s darling Robert, who sometimes put wit over courtesy. Which was just as well. Whatever Georgina’s father might do, Sebastian didn’t want to make things worse from his side.
When the marchioness finally objected, saying that her husband was boring half the table silly, their host launched into a long speech about the dearth of intelligent conversation in polite society. The ladies did not stay in the dining room long after that.
The situation grew both worse and better when they were gone. There were fewer witnesses to Sebastian’s fumbling. He no longer had to endure Georgina’s sympathetic gaze and wonder whether she secretly despised his ignorance. But the discussion grew so abstruse that he couldn’t even pretend to follow. He was forced to confine his answer to “I couldn’t say, sir” when yet another inquiry was thrown at him. His host took to repeating the phrase in a mocking tone that tried Sebastian’s temper to its limits. Even Randolph sat tight-lipped and silent in the end.
When they rose to join the ladies in the drawing room, Sebastian’s relief was immense, and premature. They strolled in to find Georgina, Emma, and their mother seated around the hearth while Miss Byngham bent over a thick volume in the corner. The marquess immediately said, “You all look very dull. We must find you some amusement. I know. Sebastian shall read aloud from that tale you like so much, Emma. Waverly, is it?”
Sebastian froze in the doorway. How had he betrayed himself? He was always so careful. He searched his host’s mocking eyes. They were defiant and maliciously pleased. But he saw no evidence of deeper knowledge. No, Georgina’s father was simply continuing in the same vein, mocking Sebastian’s dislike of books. This was another subtle needle, not a bullet to the heart. “I’m not much good at it,” he replied as casually as he could manage. “Randolph, now, he’s a wonder. He can do different voices, like a play, bring you right to the edge of your seat.”
Randolph stepped forward eagerly. “I’d be delighted to—” he began.
“I’m sure he’s very competent,” the marquess interrupted. “But as you are the one hoping to join our family, I think you should be the one to entertain us.”
He made it sound like a forlorn hope.
“Reading is a pastime we enjoy very much,” the older man added. “Don’t we, girls?”
“I thought you despised Waverley,” said Emma. “You said it was trifling.”
“It would be much more pleasant if Emma would play and sing,” said Georgina, giving her sister a significant glance.
Emma missed it. Randolph did not. “Some music would be most welcome,” he said.
“Perhaps later,” said the marquess. “After Sebastian has done his bit.” He walked over to the shelves beside the fireplace and scanned them, picking a book from the center. “Here it is.”
Georgina couldn’t remember when she’d been so angry. Anyone could see that Sebastian didn’t wish to read. And that Papa, thwarted in his effort to send him away, was determined to force her betrothed to do something he disliked. It was insupportable. “I don’t believe anyone wishes to hear Waverley.”
“I wouldn’t mind,” said Emma. This time, she caught Georgina’s glare and blinked.
“Such a fuss over a simple request,” said her father.
“You are the one fussing,” put in her mother.
He was enjoying this, Georgina thought. It was like one of his learned disputes, only in the flesh. And Sebastian was too kind to squash him. Well, if Papa wanted a battle of wills, he could have one. “I’ll read,” she said, striding over to take the book.
Unfortunately, Randolph had had the same notion at the same instant. He approached her father from the other side and laid a hand on the volume just as she did, saying, “I take great pleasure in reading aloud.”
For a moment, it was as if they were engaged in a tug-of-war over the book.
Georgina’s mother, who had been distracted by Drustan’s fit of wheezing, looked up and said, “Whatever are you doing?”
Georgina and Randolph went still, like children caught fighting over a box of sweets. Then Randolph smiled and stepped back with a bow. “I beg your pardon,” he said.
“Let Randolph read,” said Georgina’s mother, ignoring her husband’s incipient protest. “He has quite a melodious voice.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” replied Randolph with a smile and a small bow.
Georgina held out the volume. Sebastian’s brother took it. “Where did you leave off?” he inquired courteously.
“Nowhere,” answered Georgina, holding her father’s gaze. “Papa refused to let us begin.”
Her father made a little gesture, like a fencer conceding a hit, and smiled. But it wasn’t amusing. This wasn’t a game; it wasn’t one of his philosophical disputes, where opponents scored points on one another with their cleverness. He was toying with her future. She couldn’t allow him to continue this.
Randolph read from the beginning of the rousing tale of the Jacobite rebellion. As usual, he did a splendid job, holding his audience rapt. It was the sort of story that Sebastian might have enjoyed, had he not endured the preceding scene. As it was, he sat in an armchair in the corner and brooded, not even trying to place himself beside Georgina, as he would have any other evening.
He couldn’t decide which was more embarrassing—his inability to fulfill his host’s request, or the intensity of the rescue efforts. Georgina and Randolph had sprung into action like mother bears defending their cubs. With his brother, it was understandable. The sons of the Duke of Langford naturally rallied to assist each other, no matter how trivial the cause. And Randolph had had years to notice his…limitations, though he had never said anything. Now Sebastian had to wonder whether Georgina had begun to see through him as well. Why had she thrown herself so fiercely into the fray? It was humiliating; he should be taking care of her.
As Randolph reached a particularly gripping section of the tale, Sebastian studied her face from the side. She didn’t notice his gaze, as she often did, and turn to meet it. Like the rest, she was transfixed by his brother’s voice. He couldn’t tell how she felt.
Perhaps he shouldn’t have come to Stane Castle so soon, Sebastian thought. He’d given Georgina too much time to observe him. He should have swooped in, married her, and carried her off before she could discover what a dunce he was.
And in that moment, it occurred to Sebastian that this might not be fair. Was it deceitful, even dishonorable, to hide his failings? Was he obliged to tell Georgina before the wedding? But would she still wish to marry him if all was revealed? He couldn’t bear the idea that she might not.
Sebastian fought an urge to leap up and rush out of this stuffy room, although he desperately needed to move. His thoughts were always clearer when he was on his feet, in action, and he needed to think. But leaving would be rude and draw yet more
unwanted attention. He had to stay put.
And so he sat, frustrated, and wrestled with a question he’d never considered before in his life. Was it his duty to confess all his secrets to Georgina? With his family, this had never been an issue. They’d always been there. They were…simply the ground of his existence. They’d had ample time to conclude whatever they wished about him, and they took him as they found him. His friends did the same, for different reasons. Sebastian knew he was valued as a loyal comrade and convivial companion, admired for his sporting and military prowess. What lay beneath the surface was nothing to his cronies.
But Georgina was a different matter. For now, she fell somewhere between the two categories. Sebastian grappled with the distinction. He’d charmed her as he did his friends. But she was to become part of his family. Actually, it felt as if she already was. She’d promised herself to him for life. As he’d seen with his parents, this was a commitment that demanded more than surfaces.
Sebastian shifted uneasily in his chair, Randolph’s voice becoming a drone in the background. Along with the physical delights they’d already sampled, he and Georgina would face challenges and sorrows together. There would be problems to solve. No one escaped difficulties. Didn’t she deserve to know what sort of man she’d have at her side? He’d told her outright that she was cleverer, but that wasn’t the whole of it. If…when…a day came and he failed her, would she blame him? An even bleaker thought followed this one. Perhaps what she really deserved was a quicker, wiser man to be her partner.
This last thought was like a blow, and it roused immediate rebellion. He didn’t care. He wouldn’t give her up. If that was selfish…well, then it was. In any case, it was too late for scruples; they’d already consummated their bond by the pool in the ravine. Sebastian felt a touch of shame at this conclusion, and an answering glimmer of exultation. Georgina was his. He’d simply have to find a way to be worthy of her.
He wondered if other people found impending marriage so complicated. He’d have sworn that Nathaniel felt no such conflicts as he stood beside him at the altar. But then, his eldest brother had been marrying for the dukedom, not for his own gratification. Fleetingly, he hoped that his brother had found a bit of happiness in the match as well. What had Randolph said about a carriage race?
