by Nichole Van
She stopped as he shook his head.
“What is it?” she asked, looking genuinely puzzled.
“Do you mean to tell me you saw someone out your window and immediately ran to investigate?”
“Of course. Why ever not?”
Sebastian nearly groaned. “Did you even stop to consider that it might be dangerous? That it might have been better to wake a footman and have him investigate?”
Georgiana’s mouth opened as if to say something and then a faint frown skittered across her face.
“No, actually, I didn’t,” she finally said. “Though there is no enjoyment in waking a footman. Why should I let someone else have the thrill of chasing down a culprit in the dead of night?”
Right. How could he have forgotten about this aspect of Georgiana’s personality?
Unbidden, memories flickered.
Georgiana leaning perilously over the edge of the Lyndenbrooke gatehouse, hand outstretched, tongue pinched between her lips. “Can’t you see it, Seb? That little piece of paper there? I bet it’s a love note. Now if I could only reach it . . .”
Georgiana whispering to him following church services. “I promise on my father’s grave, the shape hovered in the air. Hovered! We definitely need to investigate . . .”
Georgiana beckoning to him at the back gate, eyes lit with mischief. “I saw him again, that large scarred stranger who was chatting with Mrs. Young. I followed and found that he’s staying with the blacksmith. Meet me by the water trough at midnight. I have a plan . . .”
Sebastian shook his head, taking in a deep breath. She had always been far too eager to jump into trouble, taking him with her.
“Honestly, you and your mysteries—”
“Yes, well, I did see someone acting strangely in the garden just now and—”
“I am sure it was only Lady Ambrosia, as I am returning from escorting her outside.”
His whispered words echoed in the quiet room, the implication hitting them both.
Georgiana’s eyes widened, inquisitive.
“Indeed. I was unaware that she was your type. Was she wearing breeches by any chance?”
“No, just a muslin gown with her signature decolletage—”
“Does she visit you often at night?” Her voice a wonder of irony.
Again, not a trace of blush on her cheeks.
Sebastian felt the shock of her comment sink in. She had truly changed.
“It’s not what you think.” He managed a small startled laugh and briefly explained Lady Ambrosia’s persistent problem with being-where-she-wasn’t-supposed-to-be.
With a smile, he shook his head. “I was unaware that treatment for consumption also involved an expansive education in the ways of the world.”
Georgiana was silent at this, merely staring at him.
“I am four and twenty, Sebastian. Hardly the child you knew. I have lived life. You mock it, but I have survived a terrible illness and . . .” She paused, holding on to her braid and staring past him at the moonlit window behind.
He pondered her for a second.
“And your brother’s death. James,” he finished for her. “I am so sorry for your loss. I know you were close.”
She gave a brave smile at that, bringing her gaze back to him. She blinked once . . . twice, eyes bright.
“Yes,” she said, swallowing, “James was always the best of brothers to me. I miss him terribly. It’s hard to imagine a life without—”
She shook her head and let out a slow breath. Cleared her throat.
Changed the topic.
“Is this a constant problem for you? Women lying in wait in your bedchamber?”
Sebastian gave a rueful smile. “Well, somewhat. My hand in marriage is highly valued in some circles, particularly as I have less than two months to marry. Knowing this, enterprising women constantly try to entrap me somehow. Thank goodness Phillips is a most effective chaperone.”
Georgiana laughed, just as he knew she would. That bright, cascading sound that bubbled from within.
A man would sell his immortal soul for a lifetime full of such laughter.
She instantly covered her mouth to muffle the sound.
“Poor Captain Phillips. He is a good friend, though pity he isn’t here right now. I am sure that our current situation is quite perilously compromising.”
She gestured at the space between them, barely even an arm’s length.
Sebastian let out a surprised gust of air. “Yes, that is true. But there is a decided difference, you see. I actually want to marry you. So I have no problem with this.”
He mimicked her gesture, again bringing attention to the short distance that separated them.
With a start, Georgiana backed up a step, her eyes widening. Swallowed.
“True,” she whispered.
There ensued a fraught moment when neither spoke.
“You know it would never work between us, Sebastian.”
Her whispered words hung between them.
“Because you want someone who turns your insides all melty?”
“Yes,” she nodded, taking another step backward. She eyed the staircase to the family bedrooms through the doorway to her left.
“And you think I could never be that person? The one who makes your heart melt?”
He had to ask the question.
“You are a dear friend, Sebastian. However, I am sure that I don’t turn your insides all melty.”
The statement caught him off guard.
She definitely did something to his insides. Though he wasn’t sure he would describe the feeling as melty.
More scorching and pervasive. Like hunger and ache and longing all jumbled into one heady concoction.
Powerfully potent.
Unfortunately, Georgiana took his silence to be agreement.
“You just want to marry me because you must, and I am convenient,” she continued.
Sebastian shook his head. “I have spent a good deal of time tracing your whereabouts, Georgiana. That does not exactly make you convenient—”
“You know that’s not what I meant.” Her tongue gave a quiet disapproving click. “You are in this situation where you have to marry, and I seem like the least vile of all your current options.”
Sebastian stared at her, wondering briefly how she would react to a confession of deep, abiding love.
Would she believe him? Would it draw her closer to him or send her running in fear?
He pondered for half a second.
Fear.
Given her reactions, he was definitely siding with fear.
She looked impossibly lovely in the moonlight, slippered feet peeking out from under the lace trim of her dressing gown. Bright hair glimmering. She fingered the end of her long braid.
“Nothing about you is vile, Georgiana,” he said quietly.
“Fine praise indeed.” She gave a short, ironic laugh. “Of course, I must again insist that a general lack of vileness is not exactly a recommendation for marriage. I bid you goodnight, sir.”
She bobbed him a polite curtsy and, turning, walked quickly up the stairs.
He wanted to say a good many things more, mostly expressions of adoration and love.
Patient. He could be patient. Slow and steady would win the race.
He was not going to rush his fences again. He would carefully woo her. There was time yet.
Georgiana crouched on the stairs until she heard Sebastian’s footsteps move through the great hall and fade into the guest wing.
Was everyone out and about tonight?
She was quite sure the figure she had seen in the garden had not been him. Sebastian had been wearing a heavy banyan tied tight at the waist, while the figure in the garden had clearly been in a coat and breeches.
But still. It was all very odd.
Unexpected. Thrilling.
Moving quietly, she skirted back down the stairs, through the great hall and then the drawing room, darting through the french doors
which led to the terrace and down into the walled garden.
To the pot on the wall. Where the figure had slid something small and white.
On tiptoe, she slipped a hand underneath the violets, patting the loose dirt until something more solid brushed her fingertips.
Grabbing, she pulled it out.
Folded foolscap. A note.
Giggling behind her free hand, she studied it. It was far too dark to read, and she didn’t want to risk someone seeing her flashlight from the house. Quickly, she retraced her steps.
But as soon as she quietly closed her bedroom door, she turned on the flashlight and, fumbling in eagerness, wrenched the note open.
I have heard the warning thunder and understand the lightning bolt can harm those who do not heed the eagle’s cry. Your servant awaits.
She stood still for a moment.
And then laughed, hoping she didn’t sound too maniacal.
Perfect. The note was perfect.
Everything one could want. Coded and yet somewhat specific. Vaguely menacing.
It was exhilarating.
If she were excessively lucky, the words lightning bolt and eagle would be cryptic references that somehow tied in to the Jupiter mark on her letter. Jasmine had said that lightning and eagles were both associated with Jupiter. It was too much of a coincidence that this note now surfaced with those exact words.
Giddy, she launched herself onto her bed with a decidedly unladylike bounce and grabbed her tablet. First, she laid the slip of paper on the counterpane and took a photo of it for reference. Then she went back into her list and added the text of the note as an entry:
“I have heard the warning thunder and understand the lightning bolt can harm those who do not heed the eagle’s cry. Your servant awaits.” Could this be related to the Jupiter symbol?
Giggling with delight, Georgiana collapsed back onto her pillows.
Now how was she supposed to sleep?
Chapter 8
The drawing room
Haldon Manor
Mid-morning on August 28, 1813
Birthday in minus 42 days
“Well, well, well, m’dear child,” Sir Henry Stylles boomed as Georgiana entered the drawing room the next morning. Primped and corsetted and feeling very much like a nineteenth century lady again.
She smiled at the jovial middle-aged gentleman who instantly crossed the room to greet her. Sir Henry looked much the same as he always had: portly, flushed cheeks, eyes sparkling with good humor. His signature salt and pepper mustache stretched impressively across his face.
“How vastly pleasing to have you returned to us!” he boomed again.
Sir Henry always boomed. His voice only had two volumes: loud and louder. He bowed over her offered hand, mustache wafting as he did.
“Well, well, well,” he repeated, still holding her hand and patting it. “You were at death’s door last I saw you. Never thought to see you again, m’dear.”
Tact was also not one of Sir Henry’s strong suits.
“Thank you, Sir Henry.” Georgiana planted an affectionate kiss on his cheek.
Enthusiastically, Sir Henry clutched her hand and beamed at her, his eyes suspiciously bright. He cleared his throat rather loudly.
Despite his eccentricities, Sir Henry was a dear friend of the family, more like an uncle than a neighbor. His mustache was as lustrous as ever, large and expansive, looking for all the world like some furry creature had taken up residence on his upper lip.
However, his face was a little more careworn. A bit of an adventurer in his youth, Sir Henry had never married, preferring instead to devote his energies to his greenhouses and collections of exotic items at Sutton Hall, the nearest estate to Haldon Manor.
Releasing Sir Henry’s hand, Georgiana noted the other people in the room. Sebastian stood near the fireplace looking immaculately put-together in a blue coat, expertly tied neckcloth and tan breeches which hugged surprisingly muscled legs; the skinny legs of teenage Sebastian were a thing of the past. The man must employ a talented valet. Chestnut hair styled carelessly in a short Caesar cut with hair swept down onto his forehead, sideburns jutting forward across his cheeks.
He gave her a signature Sebastian smile—not too broad but one which radiated laughter and good humor.
One of his elbows rested on the mantle, his hand hanging loosely over it. A strong, sculpted hand with long fingers and broad palm.
A hand that somehow managed to be sensitive and yet screamed male in one fell swoop.
What a silly thought. Georgiana gave her brain a shake. He was just Sebastian. Nothing more.
Captain Phillips hovered protectively at his friend’s side, sticking valiantly to his chaperoning duties. Arthur sat on the divan with Marianne, looking radiantly pregnant with dark curls framing her petite face.
Surprisingly (or perhaps not so surprising), Lady Ambrosia occupied the chair opposite them, cuddling the tiny Mr. Snickers, who sported a red knitted sweater and was being surreptitiously fed small treats from her reticule.
Georgiana narrowed her eyes slightly. Really, the woman had no shame. Escorted out of the house the previous evening and here she was again, her blond head looking innocently around the room, looking for all the world like a nineteenth century Marilyn Monroe impersonator.
As usual, her pink muslin day dress was cut decidedly too low for propriety. Rather than donning a fichu and tucking it in to mask the low neckline, Lady Ambrosia had wrapped a shawl around her shoulders instead, the barest nod to modesty.
But as the shawl kept slipping accidentally-on-purpose every time she moved, it did little to conceal her ‘assets,’ managing to draw more attention to them.
It was all quite cleverly done.
Yes, Lady Ambrosia definitely bore some watching.
Georgiana made her curtsies to them all and settled down on the chaise next to Sir Henry, back straight and lady-like. Hopefully, her poor body would soon readjust to hyper-erect posture. How long before massage would become acceptable for a lady anyway?
“I heard tell of your miraculous return last night, Miss Knight, and had to come over first thing to see if the reports were true. And here you are, right as rain.” Sir Henry chuckled. Or rather, his mustache bounced up and down in a jovial sort of way.
“Yes, I am most delighted to be returned to my family. The doctors achieved a most miraculous recovery.”
“Indeed, my dear. My mind is most curious as to how such a cure was effected.” Sir Henry looked at Georgiana expectantly.
A sly grin touched Sebastian’s lips. “Yes, Miss Knight. Please tell us exactly how you came to be wondrously cured.” His eyes fixed on her, full of teasing irony.
Georgiana shot Arthur a fortifying look. They just needed to stick to the story they had agreed upon.
“Yes. Right,” he said, his voice wooden, as if reciting words. “Dr. Carson of Liverpool felt that our damp English air was part of the problem and contributed to Georgiana’s ill health. So he recommended a Mediterranean cure at a sanatorium in Italy which seems to have done the trick.” He shifted in his chair.
Georgiana barely controlled a grimace. Arthur truly was a most terrible liar.
“Goodness gracious, child! You have been all the way to Italy, have you? I cannot fathom how you made the difficult journey with your health, fragile as it was. Not to mention the French naval blockade.” Sir Henry’s mustache bounced quizzically.
Georgiana swallowed.
Drat. She had forgotten about the blockade. Perhaps Italy hadn’t been the best choice after all.
Though . . . who could contradict her story?
“Well, I hadn’t much choice, Sir Henry. As you well know, I was so desperately ill that any chance for a cure was welcomed. Staying on English shores meant certain death. However, we were fortunate our ship was not accosted going or coming. It also explains why I was unable to relay any correspondence to my family. I am so sorry for their worry.” She gave Arthur an apologetic smile.
In for a penny and all that . . .
“But hasn’t the war with Napoleon extended into Italy as well?” Lady Ambrosia asked, her eyes a little too innocently wide. “How frightening for you.”
Georgiana fixed her with a hard look.
Yes, Lady Ambrosia did bear watching indeed.
“Yes, my lady. However, I was in the more southern climes where the war has not reached. Being tended to by nuns.”
They regarded each other for a moment.
Lady Ambrosia gave a simpering look and shrugged. “‘Tis amazing you were cured at all, given the reputation of Continental doctors.”
“I must beg to differ, my lady,” Arthur replied, stiffly. “Georgiana received the most modern care possible. Medicines and knowledge that we do not have here in England. It was truly miraculous.”
Ah, poor Arthur.
Even the truth sounded like a lie.
Sebastian nearly chuckled at Arthur’s stilted story. It wouldn’t convince a child.
As a soldier, Sebastian had been to Italy. With the Italian city-states constantly at each other’s throats and Napoleon’s incessant fighting redrawing the peninsula’s political map every other month, it was hardly the place to send a well-bred, consumptive, English miss. Nor was it a likely place to find a ‘miraculous’ cure. Even in the more stable south.
But what were they lying to cover? All accounts made it very clear that Georgiana had been desperately ill. And if she had truly traveled to Italy and been healed there, why not share more specifics so all could benefit? And if she didn’t go to Italy, where had she spent the last year?
It made no sense.
He wanted nothing more than to pester her immediately with further questions, divine where she had spent the last year.
However, before Sebastian could say anything, Lady Ambrosia stirred in her chair, obviously intending to drag the room’s attention back to herself.
“Well, regardless, we are all a flutter over your return, Miss Knight,” she said in her most lisping, lilting voice. And then smirked as all the male heads in the room turned in her direction.
