Divine (House of Oak Book 2)

by Nichole Van

  That would be his luck, wouldn’t it? To be haunted by Georgiana Knight, to never be left in peace.

  Again and again, he blinked. But each time he opened his eyes, she was still there.

  Back to him, arms open, embracing morning, swaying from side to side.

  An utterly inconceivable dream.

  His horse snorted behind him and she startled, turning around.

  They froze, staring intently at each other. A part of his mind registered the surprise in her wide eyes.

  Somehow, the reality of her exceeded the beauty of memory.

  Her eyes pools of winter-blue sky. Hair golden and perfectly curled around her chin. Her face sculpted, older now, reflecting the maturity of womanhood.

  No trace of illness clung to her—she glowed, vibrant and whole.

  He stared, greedily drinking her in.

  She had to be a ghost.

  “Sebastian?” She tilted her head at him, puzzled.

  “Georgiana,” he said in return, dazed.

  Slowly, that wondrous, wide smile spread across her face.

  The smile that Sebastian loved most. The one that brought the sun with it.

  It was almost more than he could bear.

  His throat closed tightly, making swallowing difficult.

  “Have you come to haunt me?” he asked, heart thundering in his ears.

  Her smile froze.

  “Pardon?” Confusion skittered across her face.

  “Are you a ghost?”

  Confusion rapidly transformed into panic. “A ghost? No . . . not . . . I mean, uhm, oh dear . . .”

  Her brow furrowed. “Do you expect me to be a ghost?”

  Sebastian paused. For a question, it was . . . odd.

  “Not . . . necessarily,” he said slowly.

  She took a step toward him. Assessing.

  “Are you dead?” he continued. “Did you die wherever your brother took you?”

  Georgiana held eerily still, her eyes wide and questioning.

  Definitely panic-stricken.

  “I am not . . . sure?” How could that be a question?

  Yes, definitely odd.

  She took another step toward him.

  Sebastian opened his mouth to speak and then shut it again, hopelessly bewildered.

  “Do you think I died?” she asked after a pause, eyes still wide.

  She took another step toward him.

  “I should certainly hope you did not,” he answered.

  She blinked, processing his statement.

  “Good . . . I should hope that I did not die . . . either,” was her cryptic reply.

  This had to be the oddest conversation of his life.

  “Why are you here, Sebastian? Did you come to attend my funeral?”

  A beat.

  “No.”

  She nodded. His reply seemed to relieve her. Maybe.

  They stared at each other for a moment, at an impasse.

  “How can you not know—”

  “I am . . . I am quite convinced I am not a ghost,” she interrupted, taking a few more steps toward him.

  They were now only separated by a few feet. He could see the wind ruffling the curls next to her face, the damp seeping through the bottom of her gown.

  “Are you sure?” he asked. “How would you know that you are not a ghost?”

  She stilled again. And then cocked her head.

  “Is this a metaphysical question, Seb? Like if a tree falls in the forest, does it make a sound? Because I am most assuredly real.” She took another step.

  Sebastian stood his ground, watching her close the last few feet between them.

  “Proving I am truly physically here is quite simple.”

  She looked real enough. He could see her chest rising, her breath slightly visible in the cool morning air. She looked older. Not the young woman he had last seen nearly five years before. Her eyes more seeing; her body more the curved roundness of true womanhood.

  “Let me show you,” she said as she stopped in front of him.

  Gently, she reached out and took one of his gloved hands in both of hers, firmly pressing it between her palms.

  “There, you see, I am quite solid.”

  Quite. Her hands were more than solid.

  Scalding where they touched him. Searing, actually.

  She lifted her impossibly blue eyes to his and, for an instant, Sebastian nearly drowned in them.

  Her eyes had always defied description for him. A thousand shades of blue flecked with white, rimmed by a darker blue around the edge of her iris. She was close enough for him to see the few freckles on her nose, the downy hair next to her ears backlit in the sun.

  It was almost too much. More than he had ever dreamed over the last few months. He had fully expected to attend her funeral or, at the very least, find her as a weak invalid.

  But this . . . having her before him whole and healthy and sound . . .

  How was any man to resist?

  He grasped her hand in his and tugged her to him. Convulsively wrapping his arms around her, engulfing her in his embrace.

  It was compulsory. As if his arms were helpless to do anything else.

  Georgiana Knight held all of him in her thrall.

  The sudden sheer solidity of her shocked him.

  He had never held her this close.

  He sighed, pulling her even closer. Bless her. She didn’t stiffen in his embrace but instead slid her arms around his waist, giving him a tight hug, laying her cheek against his chest.

  Hope crashed through him, relentless in its intensity. Wave after wave. Unbearable bliss choking.

  She was alive! Most definitely solid and real and un-ghostlike. And he was embracing her.

  The rushing sweetness of the moment stole his breath. She was so . . . warm and so . . . soft and so . . . warm.

  It was dreadfully unpoetic. But true nevertheless.

  Unbidden, he dipped his face to her hair, his lips lightly brushing her head. She smelled of roses and sunlight.

  See, she would make a poet in him yet.

  She was the perfect height, just as he had always known she would be, her head tucking neatly under his chin. She felt so right. Like he had been created for just this purpose. To hold Georgiana Knight and keep her safe. Beloved. He closed his eyes, breathing her in.

  It was as if for one brief second, all the stars of heaven aligned.

  Everything in the universe exactly where it belonged. The stars in the heavens, the moon in the sky, and Georgiana in his arms.

  She pulled away and he allowed her to step back from his embrace. But he caught her hands in his. Determined to keep her close.

  She would not be lost again.

  He smiled down at her, not caring that his grin was punch-drunk silly.

  “Georgiana,” he said and then laughed. “We had all thought you dead . . . and then to find you here and cured . . .”

  He stopped, his voice cracking.

  “Sebastian, my dearest, oldest friend! I cannot tell you how pleased I am to see you.” She grinned up at him, wide and lush.

  “Not nearly as pleased as I am to finally find you. You look so . . . well.”

  She pulled their joined hands wide and ran her eyes up and down him, inspecting. “You look well yourself. I am so glad to see you returned from the war, safe and sound.”

  “Yes,” he nodded, “yes, I did return, just as I promised I would.”

  He stared at her, still unable to trust the reality of his eyes. She was so much the same. Being with her felt effortless, like the intervening years had never happened. Sweet, sunny Georgiana.

  Would she vanish? Could this dream truly last?

  Dare he hope to have her as his own?

  “I am sure you must have heard the news by now . . . everything that has happened to me. The broadsheets speak of little else,” he continued. “So, please . . . you must put me out of my misery and agree to be my wife.”

  Chapter 5

  G
eorgiana froze. Literally robbed of breath. Blinked.

  The shock was jarring.

  Exhilarating.

  But jarring, nonetheless.

  “Pardon me . . . but what did you just say?” she managed to gasp.

  She had come through the portal with her trunk to find Duir Cottage all closed up. Which was both good and bad. She had hoped to see Arthur first and ascertain what exactly he had told everyone about her. Running into Sebastian beforehand definitely complicated things.

  Though how wonderful to see her old friend. She studied him, hands still clasped together. He looked the same and yet different.

  Taller. Broader. More mature.

  Unruly chestnut-brown hair peeking out beneath his beaver skin hat, closely trimmed sideburns cutting partially across his cheeks lending his face a saturnine look. Eyes the same chocolate brown.

  But his face had lost the roundness of youth and was now all angular planes from his strong cheekbones to square jaw. Maybe not typically handsome, but certainly striking. Interesting.

  He was definitely bigger. Broader. Wait . . . Hadn’t she already thought that?

  Well, he was. He fairly towered over her.

  For his part, Sebastian looked flustered. Off-balance. His eyes wide and intense.

  Had he really just asked her to marry him?

  “I’m sorry,” he said, squeezing her hands tighter. “I’m making a muddle of this. I am asking you, Georgiana, to let me honor you for the rest of my days. To have a place at my side as my wife.”

  He gave her a hopeful smile, sweet. Sincere.

  Georgiana stared.

  What was it with her and lame marriage proposals? Why couldn’t she find a man who could do the job properly?

  Fall down on his knees, profess undying love and actually ask her the question.

  Not that she wanted Sebastian to do such a thing.

  She had only just arrived, fresh from the twenty-first century. She had Shatner, orphans and a mysterious love letter to consider. Marriage to an old friend was hardly in the cards.

  She floundered. What to say?

  “Is this some sort of jest?”

  Sebastian paused. “Surely, you, of all people have read the broadsheets. My needing to marry should come as no surprise.”

  Broadsheets? When had Sebastian ever been a subject in the newspaper rags? He was an impoverished gentleman of no real consequence. Granted, an agreeable and self-effacing gentleman but never anything more.

  “Why should you be in the broadsheets, Sebastian? Has your vaunted charm finally brought you notoriety?”

  “You truly don’t know?” He gave a startled laugh. And then performed a small bow. “Allow me to introduce myself. Lord Stratton, at your service, Miss Knight.”

  Georgiana felt her jaw drop.

  Literally sagged open. It was an interesting sensation.

  But now that he mentioned it, his clothing far exceeded a simple gentleman’s wardrobe.

  How could she have forgotten how much she enjoyed the sight of tight buckskins and a linen overcoat?

  His overcoat hugged his shoulders and fell straight nearly to the ground, clean and perfectly tailored. A white, crisp cravat peeked out from his dark green coat and expensive silver buttons winked on his subtly striped waistcoat.

  “Lord Stratton,” she managed faintly. “How? . . . Well, obviously, the old earl and—heavens, Lord Harward too!—must have—”

  She was stuttering.

  Sebastian nodded his head. “Yes, it was a terrible tragedy.”

  Sebastian was an earl. An earl! She could scarcely process the thought.

  And he had just asked her to be his countess.

  At least his proposal of marriage had been clear enough for her to definitely count it. Not precisely a question and not done with much panache.

  But a sixth marriage proposal, nonetheless. She added it to her mental list.

  Sebastian tucked one of her hands into the crook of his arm and collected the reins of his horse, gesturing for them to walk toward the house.

  Her heart quickened upon seeing the peaked gables of Haldon Manor, the sight achingly familiar. She had dearly missed the old Tudor home, with its mullioned windows and clinging wisteria. She knew that it would burn down at some point in the next decade or so, as the Haldon Manor in 2013 was from a later period. A great, rambling Victorian Gothic building that had been converted into a hotel and spa in the 1950s. But, of course, she had struggled to find out anything concrete about the fate of the current house. The universe, as usual, preventing her from seeing things that pertained to her own past or the ones she loved.

  As they strolled, Sebastian recounted events for her, including the odd conditions of the late earl’s will. That the earldom would lose sixty thousand pounds to the gooseberry societies run by himself, Sir Henry and Lord Blackwell if he did not marry before his twenty-seventh birthday on October eighth.

  “How relieved I am to find you whole and healthy,” he said. “What a merry chase you have given me! I was about to tear England apart to find you.”

  She gave a surprised laugh. “Heavens, you have been looking for me?”

  “Most emphatically. Even Arthur did not know of your whereabouts.”

  “Really? He knows that I had gone to Liverpool for treatment.”

  “Liverpool?” Sebastian cocked a skeptical eyebrow at her. “Give over, Georgie. I know you were never in Liverpool. Arthur told me that James had taken you off somewhere else. So where were you exactly?”

  Oh dear. She hadn’t prepared for this kind of question. He looked at her expectantly, his eyes rich and warm in the morning light.

  Georgiana swallowed and then laughed a little nervously. She most certainly couldn’t tell him the truth.

  Well, you see, Seb, I have just returned from the year 2013 through a time portal.

  Kind old friend or no, Sebastian would have her committed to Bedlam.

  “Unfortunately, the nature of my treatment is a bit of a secret. I am not sure how much I am allowed to disclose. But you did terrify me for a moment there, calling me a ghost. I haven’t been able to communicate with Arthur as I would like, so he does not know of my recovery or my coming.”

  That lame answer would have to satisfy him. But just to be sure, she changed the subject.

  “So you have to marry in just over six weeks’ time? The gossips must be having a heyday with all of it.”

  He laughed, good-naturedly as ever.

  “Yes, I am sure many a London newspaperman squealed like a little girl in delight over the whole situation. It has been relentless fun for the broadsheets. But the underlying facts are quite serious. If I don’t marry, the earldom will be nearly bankrupt. It’s not something I can allow to happen. So you see, Georgie, I need to marry. And quickly. Please say yes.”

  His eyes pleaded with hers. She didn’t know which was worse: questions about her whereabouts or dodging marriage proposals.

  This was Sebastian, her oldest friend. But she had never considered him as anything more than that. He was just . . . Sebastian.

  She shook her head. “Seb, I am so sorry, but I’ve only just returned. I empathize with your situation, truly I do, but I am not really in a place to consider marriage to you. This is just too sudden. We are dear friends, yes, but it does not necessarily follow that we should marry.”

  He blinked, taken aback. Georgiana was well aware that few women in England would refuse the charming new Earl of Stratton.

  He nodded slowly. “We are good friends. The best of friends. Most marriages are founded on much less than that. I think we should rub along quite well.”

  Georgiana bristled. “That might be well and good enough for you. But I want more than to merely ‘rub along quite well’ with my husband.” She tried to tug her hand free from his arm.

  “I cannot imagine being married to anyone who is not my dearest friend,” he countered, keeping her hand firmly through his arm.

  Georgiana frowned. Whe
n had Sebastian become so strong? His arm was like steel.

  “True, but I want more than mere friendship out of a marriage. I want love. The kind of love that makes your knees wobbly and your insides all melty—”

  “Melty? I am quite sure that Johnson’s Dictionary would disagree with the adverbial use of melt to describe—”

  “Sebastian—”she warned.

  “Yes, dearest friend?”

  “I don’t love you in that way, and I am quite sure that you don’t love me—”

  “How can you be sure that I am not hopelessly, madly, meltingly in love with you?” His dark gaze danced.

  Georgiana nearly rolled her eyes. “Please, Sebastian. I am sure you do love me, in a sisterly sort of way. Just as I love you like a brother. But we both merit better than to just settle for each other. You deserve someone who adores you, Seb.”

  Sebastian looked at her mischievously. He most certainly didn’t appear to be a man in love.

  And then he smiled. That easy, boyish grin that lit up his face.

  He winked at her. “Well, then, I just need to make myself adorable, don’t I? I will win you yet, Miss Georgiana Elizabeth Augusta Knight. Consider yourself forewarned.”

  In the end, Georgiana’s arrival at Haldon Manor was exactly as she had imagined.

  Arthur staring at her in astonished, relieved joy. Her sister-in-law, Marianne, bursting into noisy tears and throwing her dark head onto Georgiana’s taller shoulder, blaming most of her outburst on her burgeoning belly. Sebastian beaming throughout it all, a confident gleam in his eye.

  The entire scene had a dreamlike quality. Or perhaps the past year had been a dream, and Georgiana was only now awaking to reality.

  Yes, being home was wonderful and yet . . . not . . . all at the same time.

  Adjusting to being a lady again might take some time, despite all her insistence that the last year hadn’t changed her.

  She had hugged (hugged!) Sebastian Carew. Who was now The Right Honorable Earl of Stratton.

  Sebastian was an earl!

  The Earl of Stratton!

  She added twenty exclamation points to that thought.

  A lady didn’t casually embrace an earl in greeting. Even if said earl was an old friend. She hadn’t been gone so long as to forget that obvious bit of etiquette.