‘She what? You don’t mean to tell me you’re afraid she won’t have you, are you? You’re an earl, ain’t you?’
He ground his teeth. That was the trouble with letting people even just a little way into your confidence. They started assuming you would tell them everything. And there was no way he was going to betray Georgie’s fears and insecurities to anyone.
‘It isn’t that simple,’ he said, after they’d both been staring at him expectantly for some time. ‘I...’ He supposed he could give them a reason for not marrying her that they might consider valid, without making it look like Georgie’s fault. He leaned forward and clasped his hands together over his knees. ‘I offended her.’ By turning down her proposal in such cutting terms he’d reduced her to tears. ‘If I was to propose to her, now, I fear she would either think I was mocking her, or...if she took my proposal seriously, she would throw it in my teeth, just to get her own back.’
‘Ah,’ said Chepstow. ‘That was pretty much what Honeysuckle did when I proposed. Threw it in my teeth,’ he said, rubbing a hand absentmindedly down the front of his waistcoat as though attempting to remove an invisible stain.
‘But you persuaded her to accept your proposal in the end,’ said Edmund, whose curiosity, for some reason he didn’t understand, was roused by the notion that here stood another man who’d persuaded a woman into accepting a proposal she rejected at first with some vehemence, by the sound of it.
‘Well, yes, obviously,’ he said as though Edmund was an idiot.
‘Well, then, how?’
‘Ah,’ he said, turning a dull shade of red. ‘Well, actually, I kissed her.’
‘And that worked, did it?’
‘Not to begin with,’ he said, looking distinctly guilty. ‘Matter of fact, had to keep on kissing her until she saw sense.’
‘But that’s...’
‘Highly improper,’ said Chepstow defiantly. ‘I know, but it worked, didn’t it?’
‘Actually,’ said Havelock, ‘that’s the tack I took with Mary, too. And no point saying it wasn’t the proper thing to do. Time was of the essence. If I’d gone courting Mary in the regular manner, she’d probably still be keeping me dangling to this day.’
‘So, both your brides were reluctant, too? And you...subdued them with, ah, masterful kisses? Do I have that correct?’
Havelock stared moodily into the distance. Chepstow tugged at his neckcloth.
‘You make it sound as if we coerced them into doing something they didn’t want,’ Chepstow complained. ‘And they did want to marry us. Deep down. Just needed to realise it. So a spot of kissing was totally justified. They’re both happy now. Ain’t that right, Havelock?’
‘Very happy,’ he said belligerently. ‘You just get her alone somewhere, kiss her senseless and she’ll come round, you’ll see.’
Edmund snorted. ‘Get her alone? How, pray, when she is chaperoned every hour of the day and night? When she takes great care not to be alone with a man, or let any man trick her into situations where he might have a chance to take liberties.’ He pressed his hands to his temples in disbelief. What was he saying? He had no intention of devising a scenario whereby he could coerce her into accepting a proposal he had no intention of making.
‘Kiss her in public, then,’ said Havelock. ‘That’s what I did, actually. Mary had no choice but to marry me after that.’
Edmund imagined walking up to Georgie in a ballroom, taking her in his arms and... He shook his head.
‘She can box,’ he said with impatience. ‘I taught her myself. She’d flatten me if I attempted anything like that in public.’
‘You’ll have to kiss her in private then.’
‘Yes,’ Chepstow agreed. ‘And even if she does draw your cork, then, you won’t be obliged to desist.’
Kiss Georgie into submission? Were they mad? He certainly would be if he attempted any such thing. Even if it was for her own good.
Even if it was what she wanted, deep down.
Which some people might argue it must be, or she wouldn’t have proposed to him in the first place.
‘After all,’ said Chepstow cheerfully, ‘what’s the worst that could happen?’
The worst that could happen?
For Georgie to think he was just like every other man who thought her nothing more than a lush body to grope and paw and subjugate. And he was, that was the trouble. Worse. Because he had been lusting after her whilst knowing full well that the prospect of becoming intimate with any man completely sickened her. His own stomach promptly turned over and squeezed into a knot as he realised he was a worse scoundrel than Eastman, who’d also lusted after her without having any intention of marrying her.
He lowered his head, and almost groaned.
‘No need to despair,’ said Havelock. ‘You’ll find a way. Clever chap like you.’
‘You could just try telling her you love her,’ put in Chepstow. ‘You’d be amazed how effective saying the words can be.’
The trouble was, they would constitute a lie. And there was no way he could lie to Georgie.
And anyway, why was he sitting here, listening to all this talk of love and marriage as though he...he...
He sat up straight. He couldn’t stay here any longer, his mind going round and round in circles.
‘I need to take a walk,’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘Think things over. Get things...straight in my mind.’
Because walking often did help his thought processes along. Though it was nowhere near as effective as rowing. Didn’t build up the muscles, either, which had just come in so handy.
‘Goodnight, gentlemen,’ he said, making for the door.
‘Wait!’ Havelock hurried over, Edmund’s jacket in his hand. ‘Better put this on. Can’t have you wandering the streets in your shirtsleeves,’ he finished on a grin.
Edmund rather thought he might have growled as he took it. Before shrugging back into it, stalking from the house and heading for the nearest open space where there would be no idiots putting idiotic notions in his head.
Chapter Fifteen
Edmund strode along Jermyn Street with his head bowed, scarcely noticing the other pedestrians dodging out of his way. He couldn’t bear the thought of any other man touching Georgiana. Or making her miserable. And he wanted her. It wasn’t surprising Chepstow and Havelock though that meant he should marry her. But they didn’t know what that would mean.
How could he bear being married to her and not really having her?
How could he bear the loveless, tepid relationship she’d painted that day, when he wanted so much more?
More? He wanted more?
Did he? Did he really?
The answer roared back like a toddler having tantrum. Yes, he wanted more! Everything, in fact. Everything she had. Everything she was.
He came to a standstill, a slight sweat beading his brow.
What was the point of getting so...worked up, when he knew she wouldn’t listen to any proposal? The only proposal she would be happy to accept, from any man, would be the kind she’d made him. Which wasn’t what he wanted.
Dammit, he was right back where he’d started.
There had to be another way out.
He took a deep breath and started walking again.
What if he were to tell Georgie that he would consider a marriage in name only? His stomach clenched. He took himself to task. Told himself sternly to consider it as a hypothetical situation. And found he could breathe more easily.
In that kind of marriage, the husband and wife in question would live in a state of companionship. Which meant there would be none of the jealousy, and demands and betrayals, and broken crockery that went with what usually went on behind closed doors.
There would also be no children. No heirs.
&
nbsp; But would that really matter? He had cousins. Dozens of them scattered about the country. Fontenay Court, and all the people who relied on the Earl of Ashenden, would be secure.
He would be the only person to lose out.
Very well, that was one solution. Unpalatable, but there it was. And now that he’d come up with one possible outcome, he was ready to move on to another. One in which Georgiana accepted a proposal from some other man who would be happy with that kind of marriage. Completely happy.
No. He could not bear to see any other man taking that role. Of Georgie being grateful to any other man for living only half a life. If Georgie was going to regard any man as saviour, it would be him.
He came to a standstill again as it dawned on him that his decision was made. He was going to have to marry Georgie, no matter what it cost him. Because no matter how hard such a marriage might be for him, the alternative, seeing Georgie married to someone else, would be far worse.
So, all he had to do now was come up with a way to convince her that he had good reasons for changing his mind about what he wanted from marriage. Stating quite categorically that he was now ready to put aside his demands for heirs.
How hard could that be?
* * *
Two days later, Edmund put in his first appearance in the park on a horse he’d bought specifically to prove to Georgie that he could be the man she needed him to be. The park, he’d decided after much cogitation, would be the perfect place to have a serious conversation with her about their future, because the intrepid and headstrong Miss Durant was not likely to be much of a chaperon.
Miss Durant was not hard to locate, mounted side-saddle as she was on her famously expensive dappled grey. But she was not accompanied by Georgie and a groom at all, but by her half-brother, Lord Havelock.
‘Good morning Miss Durant, Havelock,’ he said, touching his riding crop to the brim of his hat as they all came abreast.
‘Morning, Ashe,’ said Havelock, looking distinctly amused. ‘Taken up riding, have you?’
‘I might ask you the same question,’ he replied frostily. ‘I was under the impression Miss Wickford accompanied your sister to the park, since you were not inclined to do so.’
‘Georgie isn’t well,’ Miss Durant replied helpfully. ‘Wasn’t well yesterday, either, which is how Gregory managed to slip the leash this morning. Even Lady Havelock had to agree it isn’t fair to make me do without my ride two days on the trot.’ She giggled. ‘So to speak.’
‘I’ll thank you not to imply I’m tied to my wife’s apron strings,’ Havelock snapped.
His sister made a sulky response. Edmund saw that the pair were likely to continue bickering for some time, so he made his excuses and turned for home.
‘Well, that was a waste of time,’ he said to the horse. ‘Perhaps I should name you something like Folly. Or Pointless.’ The chestnut snickered and shook her mane, reminding him that, actually, his outing had not been a total loss. He had discovered one pertinent fact. Georgie was ill. In fact, she must be really ill. Nothing but the direst circumstances would make her forgo her ride two days in a row.
If it was any other woman but Georgie, he wouldn’t have been so surprised, now he came to consider it. She’d been under a great strain for a considerable period of time.
She had clearly already been in some desperation when she’d approached him and made that marriage proposal. And in the weeks since, she’d been pursued by Major Gowan and propositioned by Eastman because her hen-witted stepmother kept pushing her on to the marriage mart. And she’d endured it in a succession of outfits which made the entire ordeal ten times worse.
He dismounted in the mews with a curt nod to the groom who came running, then strode into Ashenden House, absentmindedly rapping his boot with his riding crop as he went. He’d always prided himself on being observant, in the normal run of things, but when it came to Georgie, she disturbed him so much that his intellect invariably failed him spectacularly.
Still, armed with the knowledge that she was ill and not merely avoiding him—or, more probably, he deduced on a flare of hopeful speculation, the other suitors—he decided to act accordingly. A man who wanted a woman to look upon him as a potential suitor would call upon her and deliver flowers when she was ill. Which was exactly what he would do, as soon as he’d changed out of his riding gear and asked Poppleton if he knew where, exactly, a man could procure a suitable offering at this hour of the morning.
* * *
Later that day, armed with a posy of pink rosebuds, he took a hack as far as Bloomsbury Square. Just as he approached her front steps, the door of the house opened and a rather disgruntled-looking man emerged. Edmund had never seen him before, but the deferential way Wiggins was handing him his hat indicated that he was a regular and welcome visitor.
As the stranger clapped his hat on his head he noticed Edmund standing at the foot of the front steps, the posy of roses in his gloved hand, and his lip curled into a sneer.
‘I dare say,’ he said bitterly, ‘they’ll let you in to see her. What with you having a title.’
From the way he said the word ‘title’ as though it was some form of disease, coupled with the distinctly northern accent in which he spoke, Edmund was easily able to deduce his identity.
‘Good morning, Mr Armitage,’ he said and had the satisfaction of seeing surprise flit across the man’s face.
‘You know who I am? I wouldn’t have thought—’ He stopped, his mouth pressing into a grim line. Then fell silent, running his eyes over Edmund’s frame as though sizing him up.
While Edmund did the same. And he didn’t like what he saw. Because there was no denying that Mr Armitage was a very handsome chap. Dark, with rather unruly hair, but exuding a kind of vitality that a girl as full of energy as Georgie must surely admire. And since Georgie had already told him that he was the least unwelcome of her suitors, he could actually see them as a matching couple.
Mr Armitage’s perusal halted at the posy in Edmund’s hand. Then he smiled. In a predatory fashion. ‘Aye, mayhap that’s the way to go,’ he said. ‘Good day to you.’
With that, he sauntered off, with the air of a man on a mission. Which gave Edmund a chill of foreboding. Because if Armitage started wooing Georgie with flowers and compliments, who was to say he might not persuade her...
No. Armitage was all wrong for her. He would demand his conjugal rights if he ever became her husband. Nobody but Edmund knew her well enough, or cared about her badly enough, to put her welfare above his own selfish desires.
Clutching the posy with renewed determination, he mounted the steps. Before he could knock, Wiggins, who must have been watching through the keyhole, opened the door.
‘Good morning, my lord,’ he said, in the way that butlers invariably had, which subtly imparted the information that he was a more favoured guest than the one who’d just departed.
‘Mrs Wickford and Miss Mead are in the drawing room,’ he said, motioning to the stairs. Edmund supposed he’d have to go in and endure a half-hour of their tedious conversation if he wanted to persuade everyone that he was in earnest about courting Georgie. But then that was what serious suitors did. They also informed a girl’s guardian of their intentions and asked permission to pay their addresses. All of which he’d also better do.
He handed his hat to Wiggins, then stood for a moment perplexed as to how to remove his gloves whilst holding a posy.
Wiggins cleared his throat.
‘The posy is for Miss Wickford, I presume?’
‘Yes. I heard she was indisposed.’
The butler’s face sobered. ‘Indeed, my lord,’ he said with a rueful shake of the head.
All Edmund’s senses went on the alert. What did that mean, that grave look? The sorrowful tone in his voice? The doleful shake of the head? Just how sick was Georgie?
Terrifying visions of scarlet fever, or typhus, or smallpox claiming her before he could speak to her again leapt into his mind.
‘I will have the maid take them up to her,’ said Wiggins, just as a harassed-looking girl carrying a tray emerged from a door to the rear of the hall that no doubt led to the servants’ hall. Or whatever passed for the offices in a house as small as this one.
She shot a mutinous look at the posy and then at the butler, then eyed the tray in her hands in a pointed fashion.
If only etiquette was not so strict, he’d save her from having to take on another duty she clearly had no time for, by taking the flowers to Georgie himself. In a more reasonable world, it would be the perfect excuse to see her. Which was what he really wanted. So that he could find out exactly how ill she was and with what. And, yes, he knew he could simply ask the stepmother those questions, but that wouldn’t be the same.
And what if she died? Without ever learning the truth about why they’d parted and how it had affected him? Without understanding why he’d rejected her proposal the way he had? Without hearing that now he intended to make amends for all of it?
Why, for God’s sake, were the rules governing society so rigid? Why shouldn’t an unmarried man enter the sickroom of an unmarried girl if she was at death’s door? That rule wasn’t only rigid, it was downright cruel.
Resentfully he handed over the posy to the maid, who’d slammed the tray down on a side table, and his gloves and coat to the butler.
Since Wiggins had long since given up trying to make him wait in the hall while he took his outer garments to wherever it was that butlers stashed them, Edmund began mounting the stairs only a few paces behind the maid.
It was when he was about halfway up that it suddenly occurred to him that if Georgie was suffering from anything contagious, and deadly, her stepmother would not be admitting visitors to the house at all. Which was an immense relief. In fact, he couldn’t think why he’d leapt to such dire conclusions in the first place.
The Debutante's Daring Proposal Page 17
