by Nichole Van
Though he was shockingly solid. The Sebastian of her memory had still been part boy, excessively thin and wiry.
She remembered seeing him at that ball at Stratton Hall right before he left for the war. He had been larger then, but she had been too distracted by her first trip to London to really pay much attention.
But now . . . all trace of the boy was gone. His wide shoulders towered over her five foot seven inches. She was used to the much leaner, shorter Shatner who only topped her by a half a head. The kind of man who matched her size instead of making her feel small and dainty in comparison.
But Sebastian was so much larger now. Vividly, she relived the embrace, the width of his chest underneath her cheek, the smell of leather, wool and clean soap surrounding her. The controlled strength of his arms.
In that brief instant, she had felt precious, protected.
At home.
Surprising, really. But after pondering it, Georgiana decided it was only to be expected.
She definitely was at home. Back at Haldon Manor, returned to her place in society, to familiar faces.
After all the exuberant greetings, Arthur maneuvered a chat with her alone.
“So we agree, then, that you were in Italy for your cure from consumption?” Arthur asked, confirming the story they had decided upon.
He looked at her questioningly from behind James’ desk.
No, wait.
It was Arthur’s desk now, Georgiana realized. All of this had become his with James’ supposed death.
The room looked the same. The imposing desk situated in front of large, paned windows, morning light pouring in, outlining Arthur’s brown head. Heavy blue velvet curtains framed the window, complementing the warm highlights in the dark paneled wood and bookcases that lined the rest of the walls. A strong, masculine room.
“Of course,” she replied. “It makes sense, and I have visited Italy in 2013, so I can most likely talk credibly about it.”
Distinctly, she conjured her supposed convalescence in one of the many hillside towns dotting the coast south of Rome. She had spent several weeks in such a place with James and Emme last winter. But now, she transferred it all to 1813.
An aging villa with sweeping views of the Mediterranean, glittering under impossibly blue skies. The scent of jasmine and lemon trees hanging in the heavy summer air. Nuns, acting as nurses, softly move in and out of her room, bringing draughts to soothe her lungs. Suddenly, a shout interrupts the calm. A tall, dark man bursts past a nun, calling Georgiana’s name . . .
“Georgiana. Georgiana!” Arthur’s voice cut into her reverie, his fingers snapping. “I see that you still live with your head in the clouds.”
Georgiana shook her head. “Sorry. So sorry. Italy is a good story. It will work.”
Arthur nodded his head in satisfaction, sitting back in his chair.
Georgiana longed to do the same. To slouch back into her chair and get comfy. But being a lady meant having aggressively erect posture. And so she sat primly in her seat, upper back aching from the strain of remaining so straight.
Had she truly once sat for hours like this?
Silence hummed for a moment.
Unbidden, Georgiana found herself listening for James’ footsteps. His endless energy still echoed from room to room. It was as if nothing had changed and yet everything had.
He was gone, never to return.
“Did you have a funeral for James?” She couldn’t stop the question. It just popped out.
Arthur had refused to hear anything about 2013 beyond a general statement that James and Emme had married and were well. It was as if he wanted to believe that she really had just been seeking treatment in some far-off place in 1813. Her brother definitely struggled to accept anything that pushed against the strict boundaries he set for himself and his world.
“Yes,” Arthur nodded. “I put it about that he died in a carriage accident.”
“Does he have a grave marker?” She nearly winced at the question. It tempted fate.
“In the parish churchyard.” Arthur nodded again.
Even though she knew that James was alive and well in 2013, the news still felt unsettling. To Arthur and everyone else in the nineteenth century, James was dead, for all intents and purposes. It was unlikely that Arthur would ever see his brother again.
She would never see James again either, if she was forced to remain.
“So you have not decided if you will stay with us for good?” Arthur asked quietly. “All this assumes, of course, that the portal will allow you to return to 2013.”
Georgiana let out a shuddering breath.
There was that small factor too.
“As I said, Arthur, I’m just here to understand how and when I write this mysterious love letter, to ensure that history flows as it should. It has been so . . . captivating to contemplate why I might write such a thing and—”
“Captivating? Did you just describe that letter as captivating? Honestly, Georgiana. That letter brings to mind words like alarming and troublesome. Please assure me that you will keep a steady head on your shoulders. I would hate for you behave in such a way that would damage your reputation—”
“Please, Arthur. As I said, I intend to return to 2013 and James, if possible. So my reputation here does not overly concern me.”
Arthur stared at her, his gray eyes speculative, fingers drumming on the desk.
“Well, forgive me, but I hope that you change your mind and decide to stay here. Marianne and I should be glad of your presence, particularly as you will be an aunt sometime before Christmas.”
Georgiana managed a fond smile. She did love Arthur, truly she did. And the thought of becoming an aunt did make her a little giddy. It wasn’t Arthur’s fault he wasn’t a kindred spirit to her, like James.
“I am very happy for you and Marianne, Arthur, but—”
“There are other compelling reasons for you to remain with us,” Arthur was continuing. “Lord Stratton’s presence here is not idle. He has been writing me for months, asking about you and your condition. In fact, that is the main reason I did not announce your ‘death.’ He has already requested my permission to pay his respects and, as you can imagine, it has been readily granted.”
Arthur had a pleased-as-Punch look on his face. Obviously, her acceptance of Sebastian was a foregone conclusion.
She held up a stalling hand, shaking her head. She had only been home for three hours, and Arthur was already trying to arrange her life.
“Arthur, I literally just said that I do not intend to remain in this century. So there is no need to play matchmaker—”
“Matchmaker? I am hardly arranging this marriage, Georgiana. I am merely stating that when Lord Stratton asks for your hand, I hope you will appreciate the great honor he does you and accept him.”
Georgiana felt like holding her head in her hands.
Three hours! And here she found herself, thrust into the middle of this entire debacle.
It would have been funny, if it just wasn’t so . . . not.
“I must tell you honestly that I have already politely refused Lord Stratton’s most kind offer of marriage and—”
“I am sorry. You have what?!” Arthur’s voice rose quite dramatically at the end of the sentence.
“I have refused him.”
“But . . . but . . . why? He is offering to make you his countess. You would be Lady Stratton. How can you think so little about the honor of this family—”
“Please! I have barely returned and suddenly you want me to drop everything and bury myself in family honor?”
“Georgiana, James may tolerate your eccentricities in 2013, but here—”
“Stop acting all lord-of-the-manor, Arthur—”
“In this century, I am the head of this family and—”
“You are being positively medieval—”
“—I expect you to respect—”
“Don’t you dare throw guilt back at me. How could you be so
uncaring about my feelings? To assume that I would marry where I do not love? Not to mention, my life with James and my prospects there—”
“I thought you had more sense than this, Georgiana. Has gallivanting around the future made you completely numb to the responsibility you bear to this family?”
His words stung.
Georgiana sat quietly and counted slowly to ten.
And then thought the better of it and continued right on to twenty.
Honestly!
She took in a deep breath.
“Arthur, I must tell you immediately that I am already involved with a gentleman in 2013. I have no intention of becoming involved with someone here too.”
No matter what her enigmatic love letter foretold, she mentally added.
Arthur sat for a second, absorbing the information.
“You have changed. You were not always so headstrong,” he finally said.
“I must beg to disagree, brother. I have always been this headstrong. In the past, I just chose to bite my tongue.”
Another pause. Another long stare.
“I see. And what is this suitor like? A gentleman, I assume? I trust that James has made all the proper inquiries into his family and finances? Will he be able to support you in the style in which James and I have raised you?”
Such a typical, nineteenth century statement. As if she were a prized possession to be passed from brothers to husband.
Though she could hardly say such an impertinent thing to Arthur.
“I would like to think that I am more than just a prized possession to be passed from brother to husband,” she said, as she was in the mood to say impertinent things.
Arthur needed to understand that he could not walk all over her, as if she were a small, stubborn child.
“I had hoped you would outgrow acting like a small, stubborn child,” he replied.
Ah.
Apparently Arthur was in the mood to say impertinent things too.
They pondered each other in tense silence, his fingers drumming loudly on the desktop.
After a moment, Arthur’s shoulders slumped. “James and I love you, Georgie. We only want your happiness. I would hate to see you hurt. I have worried about you for so long. I would like to have a reprieve from the emotion, if possible.”
Trust Arthur to make her feel like a heel. She hated having to apologize.
“I am sorry to cause you any concern, Arthur, but this is the rest of my life you are playing with. I would like to be able to decide my own path.”
A commotion erupted outside, and then loud voices echoed from the great hall. An instant later, a footman tapped on the study door.
“Come,” Arthur called.
“Sir, a number of visitors have just arrived. Mrs. Knight requests your presence in the drawing room.”
Chapter 6
They had found him.
Somehow, despite all his precautions, they had tracked him down. Really, the British army had to look no further than husband-hungry women to find masterful spies.
Sebastian sighed as he watched Lady Michael Burbank and her brood of Miss Burbanks flutter into the drawing room of Haldon Manor. Unsurprisingly, Lady Ambrosia followed behind them, making nuzzling noises to Mr. Snickers (sporting a yellow and black striped tunic) in her arms.
Apparently they had all just arrived in Marfield, taking rooms in the Old Boar Inn and, of course, immediately set out to call upon Mr. Arthur Knight and his distinguished guests.
“Cheer up, old man,” Phillips murmured from his side. “I am here in your hour of great need.”
Sebastian almost smiled at that. He knew that Phillips considered it no great hardship to spend large amounts of time flirting and telling dashing tales of his escapades as a soldier in Canada.
Bless him. He was the best of chaperones.
The ladies had just all performed their curtsies—Lady Ambrosia nearly spilling out of her dress in the process—when Georgiana and Arthur reappeared.
Sebastian’s heart did a triple skip seeing Georgiana again, her golden head and infectious smile. It was just such a relief. She was whole, healthy.
Alive.
How like Georgiana to come back, seemingly, from the dead. A plot twist worthy of a gothic novel.
He remembered his actions in the meadow and forced himself not to cringe. For heaven’s sake, he was an earl and former army captain, not some green lad. And, yet, around Georgiana his mouth sped ahead of his brain.
Had he actually proposed? And a terrible, bungled proposal at that? He had just been so happy to see her, flourishing and well—the words had sprung free without thought.
He was an idiot. Though he had long known that fact.
He needed to woo and charm her. Turn her affection for him into something more. Something that—as she put it—made her knees wobbly and her insides liquid . . . liquidy . . . liquidish?
Regardless, somehow, some way, he would become that for her.
She glanced his way while being introduced to the newly arrived callers. Georgiana was already acquainted with Lady Michael and her daughters as they all had met in London several years previously.
A smile tugged at her lips as the ladies all pretended to be delighted by her sudden reappearance.
They weren’t.
Lady Michael and her daughters sank onto a long divan, all seated primly in a row. Lady Ambrosia with Mr. Snickers availed herself of a chair by the fireplace where Sebastian and Phillips stood. Marianne sat in the chair opposite Lady Ambrosia, a hand draped across her swelling belly, Arthur standing beside with a hand on her shoulder. Georgiana sank into a smaller chaise opposite Lady Michael.
“Indeed, we are all most heartily thankful for Miss Knight’s recovery.” Sebastian beamed at her and took the opportunity to seat himself at Georgiana’s side on the chaise. Not so close as to imply anything improper, but most certainly close enough to show interest. He gave her his most doting smile.
No sense in hiding his intentions.
Naturally, no one in the room misunderstood what was going on.
Lady Michael swallowed loudly.
“Miss Knight, how fortunate we are to find you so recovered.” Her tone so very, very dry.
Georgiana flashed her renowned smile. “I am most relieved to be here, Lady Michael.”
An awkward silence ensued.
Lady Ambrosia cleared her throat and turned to Marianne. “Is your brother in residence, Mrs. Knight?” she asked, turning her shoulders to expose even more of her bosom.
Marianne’s brother—Timothy, Viscount Linwood—resided at the family seat nearby, Sebastian recalled. He had come to know Lord Linwood over the past few months, being nearly the same age and working together in the House of Lords.
From what Sebastian recollected, Linwood had opposed his sister’s marriage to Arthur Knight. Linwood had found Arthur’s prospects, as a younger son, lacking. However, somehow Marianne had convinced her brother to relent and support her marriage.
It was said that Linwood had not taken James Knight’s early demise too hard, despite their long acquaintance as near neighbors. James’ death meant that the substantial Knight estate had passed to Arthur, making him a man of decided consequence and more worthy of Marianne’s hand.
Of course, that was not why Lady Ambrosia had inquired after Linwood. After Sebastian himself, Lord Linwood was one of the most sought after bachelors of the ton.
Marianne smiled wanly, not missing Lady Ambrosia’s intent. “Why, yes, Timothy will be at Kinningsley all autumn.”
Instantly, all the Miss Burbanks went profoundly still.
Like a pride of lions, all jerking to attention and turning their heads toward that irresistible prey: an unmarried man of consequence.
“Oh, how delightful, Mrs. Knight. I was unaware your brother lived so close.” Lady Michael’s hands fluttered against her chest, her eyes instantly glassy with delight. “We shall have to make a point to call upon him, shall we not, my dears? It will
not do to have poor Lord Linwood languishing without female company.”
All of her daughters nodded their heads in unison.
Sebastian almost felt sorry for the man. But anything that tempered Lady Michael’s enthusiasm for him was a welcome diversion.
He glanced at Georgiana, catching her stifled smile. He held her gaze for a moment, basking in the humor that sparkled between them.
Mr. Snickers wiggled off of Lady Ambrosia’s lap and began to sniff his way around the room, bearing a striking resemblance to a lumbering bumblebee with his tail wagging above his yellow and black striped tunic. The little dog paused at the lamb and roses quilled work basket near the fireplace.
“What an interesting basket. Is this your work, Miss Knight?” asked one of the Miss Burbanks, turning to Georgiana. Mica, he thought. Or was it Michaelina?
Sebastian watched as Georgiana blinked at the basket, her eyes widening. Obviously, she had hoped to never see it again.
“Yes—yes it is. I had a governess who was quite accomplished in paper filigree and insisted I learn the art.”
Here Georgiana gave a polite little laugh.
“Miss Knight is a most accomplished quiller,” Sebastian said with a guileless smile.
Georgiana shot him a warning look, her expression freezing.
Sebastian tried to keep his expression innocent but, as his smile morphed into a roguish grin, he was not sure he succeeded.
“How charming, Miss Knight,” Miss Mica/Michaelina said. “I know we all simply adore paper filigree. You must join us. Why I daresay we could spend the entire day quilling.” All the Miss Burbanks nodded their heads at this.
“Indeed? That is . . . remarkable. Did you know that Lord Stratton is a tremendous admirer of quill work?”
Georgiana turned and beamed at him, shifting slightly to press her foot down on the top of his boot. Not enough to do any damage, but enough to make her point.
He grinned right back, his smile definitely mischievous now. If she thought he found her teasing annoying, she was far off track.
The ladies’ heads were almost like a line of kittens, flashing back and forth between Georgiana and him.
