Not that she had to think for long before seeing exactly what it was.
‘Are they going to end up the same as all the varieties of butterflies I brought you, that last day we had together, before you were sent away?’
The tension he’d been carrying across his shoulders eased at once.
‘That’s right. All the ones I could find, that is. This one,’ he said, pointing to a pale green grub with black spots, ‘is going to become a large white butterfly. The little brown ones feeding on the hops will become commas and these black ones, amongst the nettles, will become, believe it or not, peacocks.’
Their heads were so close together as they examined the box of caterpillars that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek. Which made her feel warm all the way down to her toes. Until she remembered that he didn’t seem to feel the same way.
‘This is really...sweet of you,’ she managed to say, though her voice wavered. ‘It would have been well-nigh impossible for you to find the butterflies, in London, at this time of year, so you couldn’t give me back, exactly, what I gave you, as a boy. But you are saying that you want me to look upon you as a friend. A friend who will always come to my side, no matter how hard it might be, or what obstacles you have to climb.’
‘That’s it,’ he said, in approval. ‘We were good friends when we were children, weren’t we? And I see no reason why we cannot base our marriage on friendship. And caring. And mutual respect. I know you only proposed to me at the start because you were scared of leaving Bartlesham, but now we are married you can go back there as often as you like. And stay as long as you like. Fontenay Court is your home now. You need never fear someone will take it from you. You are safe now you are married to me. Secure.’
A great depression seized her. Because he was giving her everything she’d asked him for when she proposed.
Oh, how stupid had she been that day at the stream?
‘But more than that, I hope you will be happy, too. And to that end, I will fill the stable with horses for you. Actually, I’ve already started negotiations to buy Whitesocks back for you.’
‘Oh, thank you,’ she whispered through the lump in her throat. At one time, hearing she was about to be reunited with Whitesocks would have filled her with untrammelled joy. But not any longer.
‘It’s nothing.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Furthermore, I will never put pressure on you to join me in London, if you don’t wish to come. You don’t seem to care for all the social frippery that most women come here for and I’m quite sure you wouldn’t want to attend lectures or dissections with me. Well...’ he gave a hollow laugh ‘...what wife would?’
‘But, when I proposed, you said you didn’t want that kind of marriage,’ she pointed out.
‘I said that because...largely because...that was the kind of marriage my parents had. My father with his life and my mother with hers. But I have realised that we don’t need to be like them. Because I will respect you and treat you with courtesy. You won’t be staying at Fontenay Court because you are too embarrassed by my behaviour to face the gossip, but simply because you prefer life in the country. When I come down to Bartlesham, or you come up to London, it won’t be to have furious arguments, but because we actually want to spend time together.’
He smiled at her then and regarded her expectantly. ‘Well?’
She thought for a bit. And could only draw one conclusion.
‘You have decided you want to keep on having mistresses, then. And you don’t want me...at all!’
‘Not want you? Are you mad?’ He checked himself. ‘That is, of course I find you very attractive, but I know how you feel about that sort of thing and I care for you too much to distress you by—’
She came to the end of her tether. ‘What rot!’
‘What?’
‘Rot,’ she repeated. ‘If you cared for me at all, you would want to...’ She waved her hand in the vague direction of the bed, since she wasn’t too sure of the correct term to describe what a man and woman did there.
‘It is because I care for you that I won’t—’
‘Don’t give me that,’ she said, tears welling in her eyes. ‘All your mistresses have been tiny, wispy little blonde women. Practically the opposite of me in every way.’
‘Well, doesn’t that tell you something?’
‘Yes,’ she sniffed. ‘It tells me that I am not your type.’
‘That is not it at all,’ he said irritably. ‘It is...’ He took a pace away from her and ran his fingers through his hair. Turned back to her, a rather sheepish expression on his face. ‘When I first began to...um...experiment with that particular pastime—’ he rolled his eyes bedwards ‘—I deliberately avoided involvement with females who could remind me, in any way, of you.’
‘And why, pray,’ she said sarcastically, ‘could that possibly be?’
‘Because there is nothing more pathetic,’ he blurted out, ‘than a man who selects his bed partners because they remind him of the one woman he cannot have.’
‘Oh.’ The world rocked. At least that was what it felt like. As though the very floorboards under her feet were shifting and settling into a different pattern. His admission that the women he’d selected for his liaisons did not truly reflect a preference for dainty blondes sounded such a typically Edmundish thing for him to do, in order to prevent anyone knowing how he really felt, that it gave her hope for the first time in days. ‘You mean...’
‘Yes. Forgive me, Georgie, but even that day you brought me the butterflies, my feelings for you were not completely brotherly.’ He swallowed and lowered his head. ‘My mother could see it, even before I had acknowledged the way my feelings for you were changing, myself.’
‘Oh,’ she said again. ‘You mean, you do want me?’
‘I’ve always wanted you. Even during those days when I thought I hated you, it infuriated me to see how very beautiful I still found you.’
‘Oh.’
‘But you need not worry that I shall behave like Major Gowan, or his ilk. I can control myself...’
‘But perhaps I don’t want you to.’
‘What? No.’ He shook his head. ‘You don’t need to say that...’
‘I know I don’t. You have made it very clear that should I wish it, we can live out the remainder of our lives like...like a brother and sister. But, Edmund, I don’t wish it.’
‘You don’t?’ An expression that could have been the precursor to panic flitted across his face. But this time, she didn’t let it stop her. She was going to be utterly miserable in the kind of marriage she’d asked for, the kind that Edmund was so determined to give her. And if she didn’t speak up now, before they set out, then how far along that road would they go before she got another chance to get him to change direction?
‘No. Because I am not a caterpillar any longer.’
‘Caterpillar?’
‘I meant to say, a child,’ she said, just barely suppressing the urge to stamp her foot at her lack of eloquence. ‘When I proposed to you, I was still thinking like a...well, not like a grown woman. But when you spoke to me about caterpillars not being able to imagine being butterflies, or what it would be like to fly, it really struck a chord. I need more, to be blunt, than a roof over my head, and someone to keep me company. I need...I need...’ She ran out of words. Until inspiration suddenly supplied the perfect one.
‘I need love, Edmund. Not the love a boy and a girl can feel for each other. But real, adult love.’
He flinched. Shook his head.
‘That is the one thing I cannot give you.’
‘You...cannot love me?’ The ground beneath her feet shifted yet again. ‘But...from the way you were talking, I thought...’ She reached out blindly for something on which to sit as her legs almost gave way. And found herself landing on the dressing-table stool
.
‘Georgie, I’m sorry.’ He knelt at her feet, and took her hands between his. ‘I am just not capable of it. I...after I thought you betrayed me, I...made myself hard. Swore I would never give anyone the power to hurt me like that again. I...am no longer capable of that sort of sentiment.’
‘So why did you hit Mr Eastman then, if it wasn’t in a fit of jealousy?’
He frowned. As though confused.
‘And why did you go to all those balls, and d-dance with me?’ A single tear finally broke free and slid down her cheek. ‘And cut out other men? And drag me into the refreshment room? And sneak up to my room?’
‘Don’t cry, Georgie,’ he said, aghast as a second tear slid from her other eye and ran down her face. ‘I cannot bear to think I have made you cry. On our wedding night, too, when I thought my offer would make you so happy.’
‘It isn’t your fault. You can’t help not being able to l-love me. I’m just not very l-lovable.’ She hiccupped.
‘Of course you are lovable. In fact—’ a wild look came to his eye ‘—Havelock and Chepstow told me I loved you. They said my actions bore all the hallmarks of a man in love, but I—’
All of a sudden he got to his feet and began pacing back and forth. ‘Do you think it is possible that...that they could be right?’
She held her breath.
‘I couldn’t bear the thought of any other man touching you,’ he muttered, pacing away from her. ‘Or making you unhappy,’ he said, pacing back. ‘Or making you happy, either.’ He ran his fingers through his hair. ‘It was seeing Armitage outside your house and wondering if he might be able to persuade you that he could that made me determined to get you to listen to a proposal from me. And then, when I thought you might actually be dying, I panicked. That was why I came up to your room, Georgie, because I panicked.’ He whirled round on the spot, to stare down at her with a touch of belligerence in his stance.
‘The thought of never seeing you again, of never being able to tell you about the letters, was so dreadful that suddenly, enduring only half a marriage, if that was all you were capable of giving me, was as nothing. Do you think...am I describing the actions of a man in love?’
He looked so distressed at the prospect that Georgie’s heart went out to him. What good was it demanding words he wasn’t sure he could define with absolute precision, when his actions described his true feelings so very much better?
‘It sounds as if you might be,’ she said. ‘But,’ she added, getting to her feet, ‘never mind that, for now.’ Because when a caterpillar emerged from its cocoon it was bound to be a bit confused by the discovery it had wings. And Edmund had confessed to having wrapped a hard, defensive shell round his heart a very long time ago. And just as a newly emerging butterfly needed the warmth of the sun to be able to unfurl its wings, so Edmund needed the right conditions to be able to start trusting in his feelings for her.
‘I...’ She took a deep breath and a step towards him. ‘I love you, Edmund. I always have, I think. First I loved you as a grubby little girl. And then our love for each other seemed to die, when they tried to separate us. We both went through a stage of...being in a sort of cocoon. We had to wrap ourselves up in pride, and denial, to survive. But now we are emerging into something new. Something I think could be wonderful, for us both, if only we can find the courage...’
And with that, she reached for the ribbon at her throat, which tied her nightgown closed. And tugged at it, defiantly.
His breath hitched in his throat as her nightgown parted. But he kept his eyes glued very firmly to hers. ‘You do not need to do this, Georgie.’
‘I want to do this,’ she countered, undoing a second ribbon tie.
Edmund clenched his fists. ‘Georgie, if you undo any more of your gown—’
She undid another ribbon.
His breathing grew ragged. ‘I’m just a man, dammit. With the same base needs as fellows like Major Gowan.’ He took a step back. ‘I’m sorry. I couldn’t bear it if I repulsed you, the way he does, which was why I swore, my dearest, dearest friend, that I would never do anything you don’t like.’
‘You could never repulse me, Edmund,’ she said, staying exactly where she was. She wanted to follow after him, but her legs were shaking so much she wasn’t sure if she could. ‘It is true that I couldn’t face...love with any other man. But you aren’t any other man. You are...’ She shrugged. ‘Edmund. My Edmund.’
He looked as though he was trembling slightly as well. Which was a comfort because standing here, with her nightgown open, practically daring him to look at her partially exposed breasts, was just about the hardest, scariest thing she’d ever done.
‘If anyone can help get me over this hurdle, it is you. I realise that I’m going to need a lot of help. More than most women, probably. Because I have no idea what to do. I am aware that I am painfully lacking as a woman, on account of avoiding the issue of...attraction between the sexes, all these years. And I know you deserve someone better than me. But I don’t think you will ever find anyone who wants to try harder to please you. I...I really do want to be the best wife I can be. If only you will tell me what to do, and show me how to do it, I swear—’
‘Georgie, no,’ he said. ‘You don’t need to do anything but be yourself. And you don’t need to strive to please me. You do please me.’
‘Do I?’
‘Very much.’
‘Well, then, why are you still over there then, when I have...’ She gestured to the front of her open nightgown.
‘Because I would rather die than give you a disgust of me. I know you find all...this sort of thing a bit repulsive—’
‘With any other man, I would. And when I said all those things to you, I meant them. But...you bringing me these caterpillars has opened my eyes to certain things.’
‘Has it?’
‘Yes, Edmund. It’s time I learned to be a proper woman. I don’t want to stay stuck in this state of...’ She shook her head. ‘Being in a female body but not being at home in it, if you know what I mean? Always at war with what I am. It’s...it’s miserable, Edmund.’
‘I don’t want you to be miserable.’
‘Then teach me how to be a butterfly,’ she said, spreading her arms wide. ‘I need to spread my wings to the sun. To your love, Edmund.’
‘I need...’ he gasped ‘...I need...oh, God,’ he groaned and closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms tightly round her and burying his face in her neck.
And then he let go, rather abruptly, and stepped back.
‘You have bared yourself to me,’ he said, shrugging off his jacket with a very determined look on his face. ‘It is only fair that I do the same.’ He ripped off his neckcloth and tugged off his shirt.
‘There,’ he said, stepping close to her again. Within touching distance.
And she so wanted to touch. Because his chest was so beautiful. So powerful-looking. So she reached out and swept her palm over the sculpted surface, her fingers lingering in the fine dusting of hair in the centre.
He sucked in a sharp, shocked-sounding breath. But when she instinctively snatched her hand back, he took hold of it and placed it back over his heart. And then stood perfectly still as she explored him, though he shuddered when she stroked down along the line of hair that led directly to the buttons that held his breeches closed.
And grabbed her hand before it got there.
‘No more of that, for now.’
‘Was it wrong?’ She’d thought he’d been encouraging her to explore him. ‘Shouldn’t I have done that?’
‘No, it wasn’t wrong. And I am glad you did it. Glad you don’t find my body repulsive, or frightening.’
‘Nothing about you is repulsive or frightening. Because it is all you, Edmund.’
He swallowed. And his eyes glistened. Then slowl
y, almost tentatively, he reached out and slid his hand inside the gaping front of her nightgown.
And now it was her turn to gasp, as he began to stroke and then fondle her. It felt so good that she half-closed her eyes with the pleasure of it. At which point he stopped gazing directly into her eyes and stared, as though transfixed, at his long, supple fingers curling round her breast.
They were both breathing raggedly now. She could have stayed like this, with one of his arms round her waist, his free hand caressing her, for ever.
But then he lowered his head and began to place tiny, gentle kisses on the upper slope of her breasts. And for some reason she took hold of his head, spearing her fingers into his hair as though urging him on.
And it was all the encouragement he needed. He suckled her and squeezed her, and even nipped at her with his teeth for several utterly blissful moments. Until she groaned with the sheer pleasure of the feelings that were flooding her.
He glanced up. ‘Are you sure about this?’
‘Yes, yes,’ she responded, halfway between a whimper and a plea.
He swept her up into his arms and carried her over to the bed, where he laid her down gently. Stood back and just looked at her for a moment or two.
‘I don’t think I have ever seen a more beautiful sight,’ he said thickly. ‘You, Georgie, lying there, waiting for me. Wanting me.’ He knelt on the bed beside her. Took her left hand, upon which she wore his ring, and kissed her knuckles, one by one. And then her wrist and then the skin of her inner forearm.
‘So soft,’ he breathed against her skin, sending hot shivers racing through her veins.
He knelt down on the floor by the bed, and, still keeping hold of her hand, leaned forward to kiss the toes that were peeping out from under the hem of her nightgown, on top of the counterpane.
The Debutante's Daring Proposal Page 23
