“Yes, of course.” Nathan paused, observing Osborne’s misery with discomfort. “He was bound to marry at some point. A man like him…”
Osborne stared into his coffee cup. “Oh yes. I’ve known it’s been coming for a while. It’s been a long time since I let myself believe—” He broke off and gulped at his coffee.
“Until recently,” Nathan said carefully, “I was unaware of how close you two were. How long have you…” He trailed off.
“Eight years,” Osborne said flatly. “After Cambridge, we came up to town together. That was when—well, you know.” He sighed. “It was fine when he was a younger brother’s son, with no fortune or prospects. He was always terrified people would find out about us. It wasn’t as though I thought we’d be able to live together. But we were going to go into the army together. Buy ourselves some colours.” He laughed bitterly. “Amazingly, despite me being his heir, my father approved. Said it’d make a man of me. Probably hoped I’d catch a bullet and Johnny could take the title in my stead.”
“Jesus, Osborne.” Nathan glanced around them, relieved to see there was no one nearby to overhear Osborne’s careless remarks.
Osborne cut off Nathan’s protest with an impatient gesture. “Papa didn’t get his wish. Peter’s male relatives started dropping like flies and suddenly his father was the earl. That was when his mother started taking over his life. She didn’t care much what he did before, but as soon as she became a countess she started sticking her nose in. She’s been trying to marry him off for years. Wants to secure the line.”
“All mothers do that, Osborne. Especially when they only have one son, like Lady Dunsmore.” He could attest to that. He couldn’t set foot in his mother’s drawing room for more than an hour without the subject of marriage arising.
When Osborne looked up, his eyes were suspiciously bright. “Peter doesn’t even care about the title. He wanted to leave England, see the world. With me.”
“Maybe he’s changed since then,” Nathan said. “A title, all that wealth. It can change a man.”
Osborne shook his head. “It’s her. She manipulates him. Last year he said he’d marry, just to placate her. She’s been throwing marriage prospects at him ever since. And now he’s finally chosen one.” He rubbed his forehead and added in a shaky voice, “Christ, but I hate hiding who I am. It’s such a relief to speak of it to someone. You can’t imagine.”
Nathan smiled lopsidedly. “Who you are isn’t such a great secret, Osborne. I had guessed about you. I expect others have too.”
Osborne gave a humourless laugh. “I know that. But no one knows about Peter and me. And they can’t, Harland. It’s not even a matter of being ordinarily discreet. He can’t bear the thought of anyone knowing. I can’t show him the slightest scrap of affection—not even the sort I’d show a normal friend. He was distraught when you saw us together. You mustn’t ever tell a soul. Promise me.”
“I’d never have spoken of it to anyone, even if you hadn’t asked me, Osborne.”
Osborne’s shoulders slumped, some tension going out of him.
“What will happen now he’s getting married?” Nathan asked.
“He told me yesterday that we would have to stop seeing each other. Waited till I was ready to leave, the coward. Said he has to consider his wife-to-be. All these years—” He broke off, eyes bleak. “God, Harland, don’t listen to me. I’m drunk and talking too much, too foolishly. Don’t listen to me.”
Nathan stared at Osborne’s downbent head, feeling wretched for him. Did Osborne love Dunsmore? If so, he would never be able to show it. He would always have to bottle it up inside himself and be careful never to give himself away. It was such a limited way to live. Such a waste.
His own reaction surprised him—would he have felt like this on hearing Osborne’s story a few weeks ago? Even though he himself had long chafed at the idea of a loveless marriage, he’d always accepted it was a fact of life amongst his class and an inevitability in his own future. Yet now, Osborne’s report of Dunsmore’s proposed marriage, and the way it was tearing Osborne apart, seemed so stupidly pointless.
He found himself thinking of Georgy, of what she’d freely given him, untainted by considerations of money or status, marriage or expectation. A true gift.
When he got back to Bloomsbury, having delivered Osborne to his own house and left him in the capable hands of a footman, he went in immediate search of Georgy. He found her in the drawing room, reading, and for a while, he stood in the doorway, unnoticed by her.
He’d arranged for Madame Golon to deliver some gowns—they must have come this afternoon. She was wearing a pale yellow confection that made her look like a flower, an elegant narcissus. Her skin was just a few shades lighter than the thin fabric of the gown, and her extraordinary hair appeared bright and soft. She was like pale winter sunlight.
“You look lovely,” he said at last.
She glanced up and his heart seemed to beat a little faster, just at that. Her eyes shone with happiness to see him and her smile widened at his words. He crossed the room to her and she stood up in one graceful movement, taking the hands he held out to her and lifting her face for his kiss. His heart swelled in his chest as he lowered his mouth to hers—it felt full and heavy and happy in a way that was almost a sadness, a too-full feeling that made him afraid that such bliss couldn’t possibly last. But when their kiss ended and she smiled at him again, the sadness fled and he was left with a feeling of precarious joy.
This happiness felt new to him. All these years he’d thought himself happy with his enviable life, his pastimes, his things, and all he’d been was vaguely content.
“You ought not to have ordered so many gowns,” she said. It was a rebuke, but she smiled and her eyes sparkled.
“I couldn’t resist. I want to shower you with gifts.” He smiled back and knew it was a foolish smile, indulgent and obvious. And he didn’t care in the least. Since that night in the mews, his defences had been crumbling, one by one.
“Georgy.”
I love you.
The words drifted into his mind, unbidden, faltering on his lips before he could speak them. Should he say it? Was it true? It felt true. But what would she think if he said it? Would she think it was a promise of something? He didn’t want to spoil this perfect moment by talking of the future. If he spoke of the future, they would have to start making arrangements. They would have to come to terms. And before long this would become a transaction. He didn’t want that.
“Yes?” she asked, smiling at him happily.
He hesitated, then smiled back at her.
“Let’s go upstairs.”
Chapter 26
It wasn’t until a week after Georgy’s arrival at the Bloomsbury house that real life intruded. One week of almost entirely blissful happiness, blighted only by her worry about Harry. Nathan ventured out once or twice, but for the most part, they stayed in the house, spending almost every minute together.
Being with Nathan felt so right. For years, she wondered why she’d not felt entirely at home even in the midst of so many good friends. Somehow their kindness and concern couldn’t quite compensate for the lack inside her. But she hadn’t had Nathan then. He had stepped into the bit of empty space in her heart and made it his own.
Real life came, however, and in the form of Lily, who arrived in a closed carriage and swept into the house, dramatically veiled. She sashayed into the drawing room behind Goudge, her gaze quickly taking in the rich furnishings before fastening on Georgy. Georgy had already explained that she was living here as Miss Fellowes, but she had told her friend little else.
“Lily!” she exclaimed, jumping out of her chair and smiling widely. Lily smiled back and embraced her, but when they broke apart, she caught at Georgy’s elbows.
“Are you all right?” she said, under her voice.
“Could you bring a tea tray, Mr. Goudge?” Georgy asked the hovering butler over Lily’s shoulder. Goudge nodded solemnly and bowed himsel
f out of the room.
When he was gone, she turned back to Lily. “Sit down before you start interrogating me, won’t you, Lil?”
Lily smiled but her expression was tense. “I’m sorry, but I’ve been worried about you. I’ve not heard from you since you left London—and then the news about Harry came—and now this. You here, in Harland’s love nest, living as a woman—” She broke off with a laugh, incredulous.
Love nest. The words lodged uncomfortably in Georgy’s brain.
Lily was staring at her expectantly. But despite her concerned words, there was a confidence in her expression that told Georgy her friend believed there was an innocent explanation for this, and things were not as she feared. She felt oddly offended by that confidence.
“We’re lovers,” she blurted.
Lily paled and lifted her hand to her mouth. “Oh, my god!” she said at last. That was all. After a minute she said it again.
Georgy resented the stab of guilt it caused her. What had she to feel guilty about? And how dare Lily, of all people, react like this?
They sat together on the opulent scarlet sofa that dominated the room. The upholstery looked garish on this January day. Georgy let her fingertips whisper over it. She could tell it wasn’t as good as it ought to be for a house like this. Flashy but inferior.
“Have you any idea what Harry is going to say about this?” Lily asked at last.
“It’s nothing to do with him,” Georgy replied.
Lily gaped at her. “He’s your brother!”
“Exactly. Not my father or my husband. He needn’t even know.”
Lily laughed incredulously and stood up. “He’ll kill me,” she said, almost more to herself than to Georgy.
“Don’t be absurd.”
“I’m not being absurd! I’m the one who suggested you become Harland’s valet! It’s all my fault. Harry will blame me and rightly so!”
“For god’s sake, of course he won’t!”
Lily fished a handkerchief out of her reticule and dabbed her eyes.
“Bloody hell, Lil, will you put the hanky away? This is not a terrible thing! I’m happy! Truly! Not so long ago you were urging me to find my own Sir Nigel. Well, now I have.”
Lily groaned loudly. “God, George, don’t remind me. I didn’t mean it! I was teasing you! Having a Sir Nigel is fine for me—but not for you. I would never have said it if I thought you would pay me the blindest bit of notice!”
Georgy stiffened. “It’s fine for you but not for me?”
Lily threw up her hands. “Exactly. My old dad was poor—a labourer. I wasn’t born with a reputation, like you. George, your reputation is worth something—or was. But you’ve thrown it away like a fool!”
“I’m not a fool,” Georgy replied in a low voice.
“You are!” Lily cried hoarsely. “You’ve thrown yourself away! Harry is the Earl of Dunsmore and you’re his sister. You could have married any man you wanted—Harland himself, if you liked him so much. But now you’re just a soiled dove, like me. I thought you had more sense, George!”
Georgy shook her head angrily. “Me, marry anyone I want? Marry Harland? Is that really how you thought this debacle was going to turn out?” She laughed harshly. “Even if Harry is the Earl of Dunsmore, we’ll never prove it. Do you know what I found at Dunsmore Manor? Nothing. Yes, that’s right. Nothing—or as good as. God, Lily, it’s not so long ago you were the one saying Harry should give up on the whole thing!”
Lily paled. “I know. I just hoped there would be something.”
“Well, there isn’t. And now Dunsmore’s realised we’ve been sniffing around and he’s come after us. Harry’s been attacked. The carriage I was travelling back to London in was sabotaged. And when I tried to leave Harland’s townhouse, I was set upon. We’ll be lucky if we manage to stay alive!”
Lily stared at her, her face white. “Tell me it’s not that bad.”
Georgy felt an immediate pang of guilt. “I’m sorry. Don’t listen to me—I’m being over-dramatic. Harland’s going to intervene with Dunsmore. Sort things out, he said. Maybe it will all work out.”
She sounded unconvinced, even to her own ears.
After a pause, Lily said, “So you found nothing?”
“Not quite nothing. I found some letters—they were enough to convince me that Harry was right and Mama was murdered—but they’re certainly not proof of any marriage.”
Goudge entered then with the tea tray.
“Look, let’s have some tea,” Georgy said. “I’ll tell you everything.”
An hour later she had finished her story, including a brief explanation of how she had come to occupy Nathan’s bed. It was plain that nothing she said had changed Lily’s view that she had made a grave error. As Georgy skated over the details, Lily’s lips thinned until she looked more like a disapproving vicar’s wife than an actress of no little notoriety.
It was not the most fortuitous moment for Nathan to arrive. He entered the drawing room without knocking and visibly started at the sight of Lily. As for Lily, her teacup rattled in her saucer and her cheeks reddened.
“Miss Hawkins, good afternoon,” he said after a pause. “Georgy, I didn’t realise you had a friend visiting today.”
It hadn’t occurred to her that he would be remotely interested. She felt flustered and faintly guilty for no particular reason.
“Good afternoon, Lord Harland.” Lily’s tone was tight and reserved. Georgy’s gaze flickered between. She sensed disapproval from Nathan and anger from Lily.
“Are you sure it’s quite safe for you to come here, Miss Hawkins?” Nathan asked. “Georgiana has been attacked twice in the last week. If you have been followed, you may have compromised her safety.”
Lily’s mouth tightened further. “You may rest assured I have been exceedingly careful,” she said in a cool tone Georgy rarely heard from her friend. “I left the theatre in disguise this morning and went to a friend’s house in a hack. I changed my dress there and put a veil on before coming here. I shall go back to the theatre in another hack, if you will be good enough to summon one.”
The tension in Nathan’s expression relaxed minutely—he even gave Lily a small smile. “Ah, good,” he said. “We must be careful. And there is no need for a hack. John will take you back.”
“That would be most obliging,” Lily said icily, standing.
“I’m glad at least one of you has some common sense,” Nathan went on, as though he didn’t notice Lily’s frigid tone and Georgy’s silence. “Georgiana has an irritating habit of placing herself in constant danger.”
Georgy felt a twinge of anger at the indirect scold. “I have common sense,” she protested.
“You used to,” Lily muttered, “before you threw your virtue away—on him.”
“Lily!” Georgy felt her face flame. She glanced at Nathan, embarrassed, expecting him to look embarrassed too, though possibly in an amused way.
He looked more shocked than embarrassed, though. Shocked—and something else. His expression closed down and suddenly he was wearing his armoured look. The expressionless mask that he adopted whenever he felt cornered or defensive. God, she hated that look. It was like a locked door.
“Nathan—” She rose to her feet.
“I see you wasted no time telling your friends about us.”
“One friend,” she said. “Nathan, for goodness’ sake. Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Why couldn’t you leave her alone?” Lily interjected, as though Georgy hadn’t spoken. “She’s not like me, she’s a lady. And you’ve ruined her.”
“Lily!” Georgy took a step towards her friend, grabbing her wrist to get her attention which remained fixed on Harland. “Stop this! It has nothing to do with you.”
“Ruined her?” Nathan repeated, his tone incredulous. “Remind me who we’re talking about, pray. Princess Charlotte?”
Georgy opened her mouth to berate Lily again. Then closed it and turned her head to Nathan. His colou
r was up, his jaw clenched, an expression of self-righteous anger on his face.
Slowly she opened her hand and released Lily’s wrist, turning to face him fully.
“What do you mean by that?” She was genuinely curious, but aware, too, of a distant anger like a far-off flame.
He frowned at her. “I don’t mean anything by it. Why? Are you saying that I’ve ruined you now?”
She shook her head. “No. That’s not how I see—this. But what do you mean by saying I’m not Princess Charlotte?”
He flushed and his gaze shifted. Something about that movement made her heart sink.
“Well you’re not, are you?” he said, at last.
“That’s not what you meant. What did you mean by it?”
As if she didn’t know. He means you’re no lady. He means you don’t matter.
He stepped towards her, between her and Lily, turning his back on the other woman in an ill-mannered way—an ineffective attempt to maintain some privacy between them.
“Georgy, what is this?”
She just stared at him and the faint colour across his cheekbones deepened.
Lily spoke. “I should go.”
“Yes,” Georgy said. “That would be best, Lily. I’m sorry about this.” She strode to the bell and rang it. A moment later Goudge arrived and Nathan ordered the carriage to be made ready for Miss Hawkins. Once Goudge had left, he turned to the two women again.
“I will leave you to your farewells, ladies. Good day, Miss Hawkins.” He paused in the doorway, fixing Georgy with a steady look. “I’ll be in the library. Come and see me when Miss Hawkins has gone, if you please.”
Georgy stared at the door after he’d left, stirring only when Lily’s hand touched her shoulder.
“George. I’m so sorry.”
Georgy nodded. She felt raw, unable to speak about what had just happened.
“But it’s better that you understand the way a man like that sees a woman who allows him to bed her,” Lily said. “He will never respect you, I’m afraid. They don’t.”
Some part of Georgy rebelled against Lily’s words. What she had shared with Nathan was different to the usual sort of thing, wasn’t it? She’d come to believe she was special to him. She’d begun to wonder if they might even have some sort of future together, imbuing a rich man’s extravagant gift with a significance it simply didn’t have. God, she was a fool.
The Lady’s Secret Page 24
