But even though his fears abated, the urge to storm into her room and tell her how he felt did not. He’d put it off long enough as it was.
In fact...
He came to a dead halt, one foot on the landing, the other on the last tread, as the implications of doing just that unrolled in a series of vivid tableaux. The scandal. The inevitability of marriage...
It would solve all his problems at a stroke. Chepstow and Havelock had said he ought to consider kissing her, in public, in order to compromise her. But this would be even better. In fact, it was downright brilliant. She’d be compromised all right, but he wouldn’t have to do anything he had good reason to know she would hate.
Besides all that, there would be a pleasing symmetry to storming her room in order to solve all the things that had gone wrong between them. Georgie had regularly sneaked into his bedroom when he’d been sick, as a lad. And had eventually been caught by his outraged housekeeper. The events of that day had torn them apart, though neither of them had known it at the time. If he invaded her room, today, it would bring their relationship full circle.
He half-smiled at the elegance of the solution. It would mean an end to all the uncertainty, all the wild emotions that had been making him so uncomfortable of late. Once he and Georgie married, he could settle back down into a regular, ordered existence, with her at his side.
He only hoped he would have sufficient time with her, alone, before discovery, to convince her he was in earnest about wishing to marry her. Although surely sneaking into her bedroom would convince any girl a man truly wanted her, wouldn’t it? It certainly wasn’t a place any man who was determined to remain single would stray.
It was a great pity he hadn’t thought of this in the first place, rather than wasting time buying horses and flowers. That time would have been far better spent studying this house and discovering if a handy tree happened to be growing outside her bedroom. He could have climbed it and gone in through her window. That was the kind of gesture Georgie would appreciate.
It was at that point that he realised that searching for a tree would have been useless without first ascertaining where, within this house, Georgie’s bedroom was situated.
He swore under his breath. This was the trouble with acting on impulse, rather than taking time to make a watertight plan. The house was not all that large, but who knew what lay behind any of the doors he’d be obliged to open in order to discover her whereabouts? If he opened the wrong one, he’d have to...
But, no, actually, there would be no need to search the whole house. All he would have to do was follow the maid who was on her way to Georgie’s room with that insipid posy. He’d only been mulling things over for a moment or two. She couldn’t have got far. Could she?
Hastily, he took the final step that carried him up to the landing and was just in time to see his quarry turning into an alcove at the far end. Then he heard the sound of her feet, stomping up another set of stairs.
He glanced briefly to his left, to make sure that the drawing-room door was shut, before turning to his right and tiptoeing along after the maid at full pelt.
He was halfway up the second flight of stairs before he saw the flaw in this plan. The maid, having delivered the posy, was bound to return this way and she’d see him. And demand to know what he was doing.
His hand instinctively went to the pocket that held his purse. Would he be able to bribe the maid to turn a blind eye to his presence on the upper floor?
Unlikely. Even if she was of a romantic disposition and inclined to be sympathetic to his cause, her superiors would expect her to alert them at once. And, though discovery was vital, he needed time alone with Georgie first.
While he was calculating the chances of making her an ally against the odds of her losing her job, his feet were carrying him inexorably to the upper landing. He arrived just in time to see a door at the far end of the passage closing. He stood stock still, though his mind was still racing. Would ten guineas be enough to get the maid on his side? It was all he had about him at the moment, but he would give ten times that much if only he could get to Georgie. Perhaps he could offer the girl an alternative position if she was turned off. Surely she’d prefer to work in the household of an earl than one of a woman like Mrs Wickford?
Though what the hell did he know of the aspirations of housemaids?
A cold sweat broke out on his brow as the door at the far end of the corridor opened again and the maid came out. He braced himself for the inevitable confrontation, but, instead of heading his way, the maid turned to her left and disappeared into what looked like an alcove just beyond Georgie’s bedroom door. He then heard the distinct sound of her feet descending another, uncarpeted staircase. And sagged into the wall in relief. She’d taken the back stairs, which must lead directly to the servant’s hall. His heart pounded. So hard that it made him tremble in anticipation. This was going to work. It was really going to work. With a sense of exaltation, he strode along the corridor to what he now firmly believed to be Georgie’s room, scratched briefly on the door panel, pushed open the door and went in.
At which point he blinked, wondering if this could really be her room after all. For it was tiny. More like a storage room than one in which a young lady should be sleeping. Moreover, it would have been in complete darkness if not for the light streaming in from the landing, through the door which was still open behind him.
But that light illuminated a narrow bed, in which a figure lay hunched up. A hunched-up figure that let out a moan.
Chapter Sixteen
Georgie couldn’t believe that yet another person had come into her room. She’d heard the knocker going she didn’t know how many times this morning, which meant the drawing room must be crowded with visitors. Surely, nobody had the leisure to come all the way up here to torment her? Couldn’t they leave her in peace, for one hour? They knew she couldn’t defend herself when she was laid this low. Besides, what more could she say? It wasn’t her fault Edmund had chased after Mr Eastman and knocked him down. It wasn’t her fault that half the people from the charity ball had taken it into their heads that Edmund must be on the verge of proposing to her.
Though, admittedly, it was her fault that he had done no such thing. There was nothing on earth that would make Edmund propose to her, not when the only reason he might ever contemplate marriage at all would be to produce heirs.
And Stepmama knew she felt guilty about something. Which was why she wouldn’t listen to her protestations that Edmund merely felt protective of her, because they’d been friends as children. Why, for the first time since her thirteenth birthday, Georgie had actually welcomed the monthly event that so frequently rendered her incapable of leaving her bed.
Although, whoever had just come in apparently had no sympathy for the wretchedness of her condition. For they were marching across to the windows and...
Drawing the curtains?
‘What,’ she protested feebly, ‘do you think you’re doing?’
‘I should have thought that was obvious,’ said the intruder.
In a voice she recognised. But couldn’t possibly. Because Edmund could not possibly be here.
Gingerly, she rolled over, and opened one eye. To see Edmund thrusting up the sash window.
‘I don’t know what ails you,’ he said, turning to her and making as if to approach her bed, ‘but you aren’t going to get better in a room shut up like this. You need fresh air, Georgie.’
She held up a hand, screwing her eyes shut against the dazzling light thrusting its way into her skull.
‘Shut the curtains,’ she begged. ‘Can’t stand the light.’ Even saying as little as that made her feel nauseous. With a whimper, she dragged a pillow over her head and gave a series of rapid, desperate swallows.
From the sound of curtain rings rattling along the rail, and the subsequent dimming of the light, s
he knew he’d done as she’d asked.
‘Sorry,’ he said. And then approached the bed. ‘Can’t abide the smell of a sickroom, you know.’
By the creak of the webbing she could tell he was sitting down on the chair beside it.
‘Comes of having been shut up so often as a lad,’ he said. ‘And I know how you love the outdoors. I thought...’
She felt a tug at the edge of the pillow. Presumably, he was trying to see her face. If she’d had the energy she would have snatched the pillow out of his inquisitive fingers and thwacked him with it.
‘Actually, no, I didn’t think,’ he said, his voice full of concern. ‘What is the matter with you, Georgie? Do you have a fever?’ He reached under the pillow and touched her forehead. His strong, yet gentle fingers felt wonderfully soothing. They’d probably feel even better if he would only stroke her there, where the pain in her head was so intense. ‘Sore throat? Is that why you aren’t yelling at me to get out?’
She shook her head. And winced.
‘Hurts my head to speak,’ she said.
‘And you cannot stand the light.’ He paused. ‘If you were a man I’d say you were suffering from a hangover.’
If she were a man, she reflected bitterly, she wouldn’t be going through this.
He shifted in his chair and leaned forward until his face was almost next to hers.
‘You shouldn’t be in here,’ she whispered, because at least, now that his face was only inches from hers, she didn’t need to speak at a volume that set her head ringing.
‘Of course I should,’ he murmured. ‘You are ill. And whenever I was ill, you used to sneak into my bedroom to try to cheer me up. And you never feared catching anything that I had, either.’
‘But we were children then, so it didn’t matter. This, now...it isn’t proper.’
‘Mrs Bulstrode didn’t think it was proper back then, either. Don’t you remember how shocked she was when she came in and caught us on my bed with the curtains drawn closed?’
The word trollop screamed at Georgie down through the years, making her shudder. ‘As if I could ever forget.’
‘I thought it was funny, at the time, but looking back, it must have been most unpleasant for you,’ he said, reaching out his hand to stroke her hair.
She flinched. She couldn’t help it. His gesture was so unexpected, but more than that, she craved his touch so much she was afraid if she didn’t retreat, she’d somehow give herself away.
He drew his hand back.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I did not mean to make you uncomfortable.’
‘You mean, more uncomfortable than I already am at having a man invade my bedroom?’
‘If you were really uncomfortable, you would be demanding I leave. Or screaming for help.’
‘I cannot scream,’ she retorted. ‘My head hurts far too much. The sound of my voice is like someone banging a mallet inside my skull.’
‘Poor Georgie,’ he said. ‘Is there anything I can do to help? Some medicine I can administer?’ He glanced at the bedside table, upon which lay the water bottle she’d discarded once it had cooled, and the posy of roses Betsy had just slapped down, spraying her pillow with a shower of pink petals.
‘Nothing helps. I just need peace and quiet and darkness. Until it passes.’
‘You get these headaches regularly, then?’
Not every month, fortunately. But even when her head didn’t feel as if it was about to split open, she could never go riding, sometimes not even out walking. And she always felt so unclean, so diminished at this time of the month. Not even Sukey could understand why she couldn’t manage her monthly indisposition with more grace. But then Sukey floated through it all so daintily. She hardly ever complained about experiencing anything more than the occasional twinge. Because she was far better at the business of being a woman.
She dragged the pillow from her face and scowled up at him.
‘Yes,’ was all she said.
‘I’m so sorry. I always thought...I mean, you always seem so healthy.’
She made an effort to peer at him more intently and saw that he was not as calm as she’d at first thought. But then, how could he be calm when the chances were he was going to be discovered, in her bedroom, at any moment?
‘Edmund, I don’t know why you came in here, but really, you shouldn’t have done.’
‘Yes, I should,’ he said with a glint of defiance in his eyes. ‘When I was ill, you always came to visit me. Nothing could keep you away.’
‘That was different. I didn’t know any better.’
‘Do you mean,’ he said slowly, ‘that you regret befriending me and offering me comfort?’
She sighed. ‘Sometimes, yes, I do,’ she admitted. She was sick of hiding the truth from Edmund. Sick of having to put on a brave face when he was about. Of having to pretend that she only thought of him as a friend. Only pride, stubborn pride had kept her going, through so much, for so long. But he was seeing her at her absolute worst today. And somehow, now he’d seen her reduced to this, there didn’t seem any point in hiding all her feelings from him, any longer.
‘It wouldn’t have been so awful when you went away, if we hadn’t grown so close. Or at least, if I hadn’t thought of you as my best friend. But what I meant about not knowing any better was that I honestly had no notion that it was wrong to make friends with a boy, or to be alone with a boy, or to go and play in a boy’s bedroom.’
‘Ah.’ He lowered his gaze to where she’d curled her fingers into the edge of her sheet. ‘Well, now there are two points that need addressing there. Firstly, your approach to your own gender. Which is understandable, since your father treated you as though you were a son. No concession was made to the fact that you were, in actuality, a girl. Which meant that it was perfectly natural for you to look for companionship from a boy of about your own age, rather than any of the local girls, whose habits and interests were limited to a strictly feminine sphere.’
‘That’s true.’ The other girls in the area had always seemed such silly, empty-headed little things. All too easily shocked at the notion of climbing trees, or wading through a pond to see how deep it was, or saddling their ponies and staying out all day, eating whatever they could find in the hedgerows.
Which had made it come as a terrible blow when her body began to demonstrate that it was capable of conceiving a child. She felt as if it had betrayed her. Along with Edmund and her father. Her whole life had undergone a series of drastic changes in such a short period of time that she’d sometimes thought she knew what it must be like to live through an earthquake. There had been no solid ground on which to stand. Nowhere to run, to escape from the huge great boulders that were raining down on her, threatening to crush the life out of her.
‘So you need not feel any guilt, whatsoever,’ he said firmly. ‘You acted in complete innocence.’
She felt a great rush of affection for him, so strong it was all she could do not to reach for his hand and clasp it. It was a good job she was hanging on to the sheet so hard, to preserve her modesty, or who knew how foolishly she might have behaved?
‘And now to move on to the second point,’ he said, his jaw firming, as though it was something he felt very strongly about. ‘From the emphasis you placed on the personal pronoun, I take it you were implying that I did not consider you my best friend.’
Golly. She wouldn’t have thought he would want to take issue over that.
‘But you didn’t, did you? I didn’t realise at the time, because I was such a silly little goose. But later on I realised you simply tolerated me, because you were bored and your parents wouldn’t let you have anything to do with any other child—’
His hand shot out, but the touch of his finger to her lips to silence her was very gentle.
‘That was not how it was,�
�� he said sternly. ‘You were my best friend, Georgie. My only friend.’
He seemed to mean it. But it couldn’t be true.
‘You soon forgot me, though, didn’t you?’
‘No. Far from it.’
‘Oh, come on—’
‘The memory of that last day we spent together, the day you brought me the butterflies—’ He shook his head and blinked, as though attempting to rearrange his thoughts. ‘No, that was not the last time I saw you, in point of fact. It was the day they sent me away. I caught a glimpse of you, through the carriage window. You were waving.’
‘You didn’t wave back.’
‘I did. But clearly you didn’t see.’
‘No.’
‘You looked as though you were crying. But then I thought, no, not Georgie. Nothing makes her cry. She’s too brave. But funnily enough, it helped me to think you might almost be on the verge of tears. Because it meant that you were going to miss me as much as I was going to miss you.’
She shook her head in disbelief. ‘But you didn’t miss me. You forgot all about me the moment you left Bartlesham.’
‘You are wrong. I missed you very much indeed. And I was hurt, very hurt, when you appeared to break your promise to me.’
‘What promise?’
‘To write to me.’
‘What? But I did! That is, I didn’t!’ She groaned inwardly at her clumsiness of speech. ‘Why are you trying to twist everything round?’ she hissed furiously. ‘I kept my promise. You were the one who didn’t write to me.’
‘Oh, I wrote to you,’ he said. ‘Every week. Even when I received no reply I kept on, in the hope that your letters were delayed by...bad weather, or something.’
‘What?’
He carried on speaking though his mouth twisted with bitterness. ‘Then I began to think you must just be too busy out riding, or swimming, or fishing, to want to sit down and write. I struggled to forgive you. I reminded myself you’d never been much of a one for sitting down and applying yourself to anything of the sort. Surely, I kept telling myself, she will at least send me greetings for Christmas. But Christmas came and went, and there was nothing from you, and I ate my solitary Christmas dinner, far from everything I’d known, wondering how you could be so...’ he drew in a sharp, pained breath ‘...so cruel.’
The Debutante's Daring Proposal Page 18
