And now he was here.
She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
The drawing room looked a good deal better than it had when they swooped in to rescue Miranda several weeks ago. The furniture still looked a little worn, but at least it was clean and welcoming. The tea smelled wonderful, but the idea of sitting made her shudder. “Please don’t stand on ceremony, gentlemen. I have the desire to take a turn about the room and stretch my legs.”
Georgina wandered over to the fireplace, admiring the exquisitely carved mantel. The scrolls and flutings didn’t make any sort of recognizable pattern, but they were all the more lovely for their seeming chaos.
Ryland joined her, pressing a cup of tea into her hand and softly asking, “How does your Season go?”
She accepted the drink with caution. What was this man up to? She’d tried to avoid him since learning of his covert activities. If Lord Ashcombe could become suspicious of her, a trained spy would strip her secrets bare. “Things couldn’t be better, Your Grace.”
“We’re family. Feel free to call me Ryland. Or Marsh, as your brother does.” Ryland sipped at his own cup of tea. “We’ve seen several betrothals in the paper.”
“Yes.” What else could she say? He knew she was not betrothed. Even she would not keep that information from family.
Even she? What did she mean by that?
Perhaps that you’ve lost a bit of yourself in your pursuit of the perfect husband?
She turned to Ryland. “I doubt you’ll see my name anytime soon.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Truly? I thought you’d been seen frequently with Lord Ashcombe. Has he no intention of making an offer?”
“That would be quite difficult, Your Grace, as he is no longer in Town.” She paused. “Of which I’m fairly certain you are aware.” Georgina glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone was concerned about their quiet conversation. All of her siblings were engrossed in their own discussions, not paying her a bit of attention.
He grinned. “Oh, I’m aware. He hied off to Cheshire to take care of things when his manager found a better position. I’ve tried to hire the man away myself before. He didn’t take the job.”
Not trade up to a duke for employment? “Whyever not?”
“He was raised on the coast, you know. Said the only way he’d move his family was if it got him back to the water. I’m sure he’s very happy in Glasgow.” Ryland toasted her with his cup and then walked away to engage Griffith in a discussion.
With everything in her she was quite certain that the conversation had not been happenstance. Ryland did not do anything without a reason. Which meant the conversation about Ashcombe’s manager was more than idle information.
She was supposed to get something out of it.
But what? Ryland had relayed very few facts that she wasn’t already aware of, which must mean she had missed something she should have known, something he expected her to be able to put together.
The rest of her family rumbled on, but she ignored them, choosing to think over everything Ryland had said, word for word.
The door opened, but Georgina ignored it.
Until Colin’s voice cut through her musings, scattering her thoughts from her head. She turned around, trying not to make too much of the burning need to see him. The sun angled through the window, catching his hair and making it look redder than normal. His hair was mussed, as if he’d been running his hands through it or standing against the wind on the deck of one of his ships.
His ships.
Glasgow.
Colin was from Glasgow. His family was in shipping. And most importantly, he had never thought she should marry Ashcombe. The shock of a dawning revelation added a coldness to her voice she’d never heard before. “Good evening, Mr. McCrae.”
His gaze met hers across the room. “Lady Georgina.”
Her family looked back and forth between them, but Georgina ignored them. If Colin had purposely ruined her last chance at safety, she would never forgive him. “You’ve been traveling quite a bit lately. Where have you been going?”
His eyes narrowed a bit before his gaze slid to Griffith. “I was checking on some things at Riverton’s estate.”
Her fingers grew chilled, sending ice trickling through her veins to her heart. “Oh? Which one?”
He looked tired as he pulled his gaze back to hers. “Crestwood.”
Crestwood. In Cheshire. The coincidences were too much to ignore. Colin McCrae had overstepped the bounds of any sort of friendship he could have considered them to have. Knowing why she needed to marry, knowing that she was counting on an offer from the earl, knowing her predicament, he had still taken it upon himself to remove her best prospect for a successful marriage from her vicinity.
She would never forgive him.
Her family stretched between them, their heads still turning back and forth to watch them both, their jaws slack, as if they couldn’t be bothered with the effort to shut them.
Colin straightened his shoulders and faced her scrutiny. He looked concerned but not regretful. She wanted to toss the remaining tea in his face. But she wouldn’t give her family the satisfaction of a scene.
“I find myself tired from the journey.” She turned to her sister. “Might I be shown to my room, please?”
Miranda rose, still looking from her to Colin with a questioning glance. “Of course.”
Georgina refused to look at Colin as she left the room, but her gaze fell on Ryland as she turned away. His face was blank of expression, and she couldn’t help but wonder how he’d known and why he’d told her. Or rather given her the nudge to figure it out herself.
All the questions were making her head hurt, and she found her desire to retire was real after all.
Sleep wouldn’t come.
She lay on the bed until her body began to ache from the tension. A cold supper tray sat on the desk. Miranda had sent it up nearly an hour ago, and Georgina had allowed the maid to leave it even though she had no desire to eat. She’d had even less desire for company. Even Harriette had been sent from the room, although she’d refused to go any farther than the cot in the dressing room.
Georgina didn’t really care where her friend slept so long as she wasn’t in the room to question Georgina.
Unable to stay in bed any longer, Georgina grabbed a piece of cheese from the tray and nibbled it while she paced the room.
What had Colin been thinking?
I wanted to save you.
She scoffed. Even the imaginary Colin was impertinent and overbearing. So what if he thought he was saving her? Why then? If he had the means to remove Lord Ashcombe from her sphere, why wait? Why not take care of things when she first declared her interest in the earl? Colin had been very aware that she’d set her cap for Lord Ashcombe despite her family’s objections.
The thought quaked her, sending her tripping across the floor until she wrapped her arms around a bedpost.
Her family had objected. All of them. Not even Mother had been happy when the earl came to visit. How could Georgina not have seen that? How could she not have cared? Was she so absorbed by her fear of discovery that she’d thrown aside her family’s good opinion?
She hadn’t meant to. A tear rolled down her cheek. When had she shut them out? Had it happened slowly, as her shortcoming became more and more difficult to hide? Or had it happened when she and Harriette sat up one night, concocting a plan to secure her place at the top of society, placing her above reproach or suspicion? Perhaps it had been when her plan started to fall apart. Had she panicked and shut them out then?
Whenever it was didn’t matter. The question was, was it too late to change it?
And did she want to?
The fact was, if she let them into her life, if she stopped pushing them away, it would be nearly impossible to protect herself.
You don’t have to protect yourself. You’re safe.
No. No, she wasn’t. Colin was wrong. She didn’t know what he was made of th
at allowed him to accept that the written word was her enemy, but she couldn’t believe that everyone had that. Perhaps it was because he’d had to work for what he had. He appreciated the effort her deception had required. Most people didn’t think like that. She’d seen what everyone, her own sister included, had thought of Lavinia. And there was nothing Lavinia couldn’t actually do.
At best, they would pity her. More likely they’d see her as a failure. How could they not?
But maybe they didn’t need to know. Maybe she could just reestablish her relationships with them. Maybe here in the privacy of Marshington Abbey she could let down her guard a bit. Forget about appearances and be herself, get to know her siblings again. Let them get to know her.
And if she slipped up and they discovered? It wouldn’t be the end of the world. Besides, she hadn’t messed up in so long. . . .
A vision, a memory of Lord Ashcombe holding the note out to her, asking her why she hadn’t read it, flashed through her mind. Him lying about what it said, tricking her.
Georgina dropped the last two bites of cheese back on the tray, suddenly afraid what little she’d eaten was about to make another appearance.
He knew. Or at least suspected. He knew.
That’s why Colin had done it now. It had to be.
She threw open the door and ran into the corridor, ignoring the fact that she was in a dressing gown and high-necked night rail. She needed to see him. Needed to know if she was right.
Needed to know if he had been more of a friend than she could ever imagine. She stumbled to a halt as she realized how quiet and dark the house was. She must have lain in bed longer than she realized.
It could wait until morning, then.
She returned to her room, wondering if her conclusion was true or if she was trying to come up with a reason because she wanted Colin to be sincere and trustworthy. To be nice.
Think about what you know about me, Georgina. This thing with Ashcombe is not all there is.
Sleep nudged at her as she crawled back into bed. She slept in fits, interspersed with memories of Colin McCrae. Yes, he’d helped her save Jane, but he’d also teased her mercilessly in front of her brother. He’d uncovered her darkest secret. But then he’d kept it to himself. There were times he’d prodded her to reveal it, but never in public. Never where it would shame or ruin her.
Did that make him a good sort of fellow or not?
By the time the sun edged over her windowsill, she was more than ready to welcome a new day. Between fits of slumber, she’d argued with herself and the Colin in her head over whether or not the man was likeable.
Like me or not. You know I’m honorable.
That was true. If Colin had indeed been the one to ruin any chance of marrying Lord Ashcombe in the near future, he’d done it with the best of intentions.
But in the light of day, she knew that it didn’t matter. His actions, honorable though they may be, had left her with no options. None that would save her. She had failed. All of the work, memorizing passages of books and knowing everything about everyone so she would never be at a disadvantage—it had all been for nothing.
Harriette’s sacrifice had been for nothing.
The sun peeped around the edge of the curtain, slashing across the room to light up the clock on the mantel. Harriette would arrive soon. She would bring hot chocolate.
But it wouldn’t be enough.
Georgina wasn’t sure she had the strength to start over.
Chapter 28
Colin stopped his horse in front of the stable and considered sending the beast barreling over the countryside again. His morning ride had cleared his head—or so he’d thought before he returned to find a blond vision in white strolling through the back gardens of Marshington Abbey.
“May I take your horse, sir?”
Colin glanced at the groom, waiting with his hand hooked in the horse’s bridle. So much for escaping again. Not that another excursion would be fair to the animal.
With a nod to the groom and a final pat on the horse’s neck, Colin dismounted and walked away. He rounded a stack of wood being used in the revamping of the stable area. Ryland and Miranda had truly taken hold of the Abbey, doing their best to make up for the years of neglect. Everywhere he turned there was evidence of renewal.
He crossed the wide expanse of lawn, his eyes never leaving the figure in white. Should he explain? She should know that her secret was vulnerable, that he’d only bought her a window of time. But he didn’t know how to say it, didn’t know how to make her understand why.
The gravel crunched under his boots as he entered the garden path. Unless she’d become afflicted with deafness as well, she knew he was there.
Yet she didn’t turn. She sat on a bench, her pencil flying over her sketchbook, transferring the pink-and-purple plant in front of her to shades of white, black, and grey.
Colin started to walk past her as if they were nothing but dancers passing each other on the ballroom floor. But as the aroma of lemons blended with the floral fragrances in the garden, he found his feet refused to move.
Curiosity, that burning desire to know everything and figure everyone out, dug its claws into his mind and refused to let go. Where was his undying patience? The skill he’d used to wait out more than one unsure situation?
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
She peeked at him over her shoulder, one delicate eyebrow winging upward while her green eyes widened and one side of her lips curved upward. The perfect blend of coy and innocent. Was there any situation she had not prepared a persona for?
“I’m drawing.”
He grunted. “Why that one?”
“I beg your pardon?” She looked up, a hint of real confusion in her face.
It was enough to spur him on. Even as he told himself not to care, he clung to the idea that he could break through her façade, even if only temporarily. “Why choose to draw that plant?” He pointed to a bush of brilliant white roses. Clean, elegant. Like her. “Why not those?”
She frowned at the two plants. “This one has more interesting lines.”
He watched her draw. Perhaps it would be easier to speak to the back of her head. “He knows.”
Her hand paused. “I thought as much.”
“He was going to threaten Riverton, reveal your secret unless Crestwood became part of your dowry.”
Her pencil moved once more, adding shadow beneath a bloom. It seemed to rise from the page until Colin was sure he could pluck the bloom and tuck it into her hair.
“You’re very good.”
She was quiet for so long he thought he’d been dismissed. Whatever had possessed him to think a conversation could work? Whatever sort of friendship they’d been building, he’d crushed it when he drove her suitor away, the man she pinned her hopes of salvation on.
“Thank you.”
The whispered comment stopped him mid-turn. His back was to her, but he knew she still sketched, the scratch of the pencil blending with the call of distant birds. “You’re welcome.”
“For everything.”
Colin’s breath hissed between his teeth. What was she saying? He started to turn back toward her.
“No, don’t turn around.” The words tumbled from her mouth in a rush.
He froze once more. Would he ever make the correct move where this woman was concerned?
“Did it cost you much?”
Spearing his hands into his hair, he tried to dispel his frustration. What was the fool woman talking about now? “What?”
“Getting the man to move to Glasgow. Did it cost you much?”
Had it cost him much? He swallowed, remembering Erika standing on the docks, the wind plucking her red hair out of its braid and toying with the strands like a child with a handful of ribbons. It was a picture many a painter would have loved to capture. She could have been his wife.
He thought of his mother and sister, waiting to see if this job would bring him home. Would they be angry that
he’d given it away?
Yes, it had cost him. But it was his sacrifice to make, not her guilt to bear. “The enticement of the coast was enough for him to take a job I knew of. I might have added a bonus to hasten his departure.”
There was silence for a while. Should he turn back toward her? Continue on to the house?
“I wanted to be angry at you, was angry at you for a long time last night.”
Colin swallowed. “What changed?”
“I was reminded that even when I don’t like you much, you’ve never shown yourself to be lacking in honor. You at least try to do the right thing.”
He couldn’t bear it anymore and turned to find her looking over her shoulder at him. Her green eyes were soft, and a little smile played at the corner of her lips, as if a fond memory were dancing on the fringes of her mind.
He couldn’t help but smile back. “Who told you such a thing?”
She blinked up at him. “You did.”
“I . . . but I haven’t spoken to you in days.”
Her laugh, colored by a self-deprecating nervousness, washed over him. He loved it when she was real. When her actions were real, her emotions uncovered. “You’re in my head. Didn’t you know that?”
“I’m in your head.” His tone was flat, even to his own ears. What on earth was she talking about?
“Oh, yes. Quite firmly. I’ve tried to kick you out.” She held up a hand, counting off the ways she’d tried to dispose of him. “Thrown you out of windows, locked you in the closet. Even imagined stabbing you with a fork once or twice, but you keep coming back. I’ve grown used to it.”
“To me.”
“Yes.”
“You imagine that you’re talking to me.”
She cut her eyes in exasperation before turning back to her drawing. “Yes. Though I have to say the you in my head is never quite this slow.”
He needed a seat. Or a bed. Perhaps he would simply lie down in the grass. “You’re telling me that when you think through things, you pretend you’re talking me?”
She sighed. “Yes.”
A few moments passed, and he got over the shock of the idea. “How accurate is he?”
An Elegant Façade (Hawthorne House Book #2) Page 29
