A Duchess for all Seasons: The Collection

by Jillian Eaton

  “We’ll see about that.” Speaking with the arrogance of a man who regularly wrangled hedgehogs into submission, Sebastian swaggered towards the shed. Half an hour later, after countless attempts to coax the tiny creature from its hiding place, he threw the rake down on the ground with a curse.

  “This is bloody well impossible!”

  Although the corners of her lips twitched, Georgiana managed to refrain from smiling. “You’re the one who wanted to help,” she said innocently. “Don’t you remember?”

  He shot her a dark look. “That was before it tried to bite me.”

  “If you’d like to give up I won’t think poorly of you for it.”

  “Did I say I was giving up?” He scowled fiercely at the hole that the hedgehog was refusing to come out of. “What we need is a cat. Or better yet, one of those hunting terriers.”

  “I do believe killing the hedgehog would defeat the purpose of rescuing it.”

  His gaze narrowed. “Do you think this is funny?”

  “Yes,” Georgiana admitted. “Exceedingly so.”

  Come to think of it, she couldn’t recall the last time she’d enjoyed herself quite this much. There was just something delightfully amusing about seeing the great Duke of Warwick on his hands and knees poking a rake at a hedgehog.

  “I never thought I would see the day when you were outwitted by a common garden animal,” she said, trying - and failing - not to smirk.

  “This is not common garden animal.” Sebastian glowered at the shed. “It’s a demon sent from the pits of hell to antagonize me.”

  Georgiana rolled her eyes. “It’s a hedgehog.”

  “A demon hedgehog,” he grumbled under his breath as he stretched out on his stomach and started jabbing the handle of the rake into the hole. Dutifully resuming her position beside him with bucket in hand, she absently tucked a loose curl behind her ear.

  “We could always come back later,” she suggested. “I doubt the gardener will be able to get at him in there. He should be relatively safe for the rest of the day, and we can trying again tomorrow morning.”

  Sebastian lifted himself up on his elbow. “I’m not giving up as easily as that.”

  “Why not? You gave up on us.” The very instant the words were past her lips she wished she could take them back. Unfortunately, words - unlike wine or a poorly fitting dress - were not things that could be poured back into a bottle or stuffed into a chest.

  “Georgie.” Rolling to his feet with all of the sinewy grace of a large jungle cat, Sebastian cupped the back of his neck and stared down at her, his jaw clenched tight. “Let me explain-”

  “I apologize,” she said stiffly. “I spoke out of turn. There’s nothing you need to explain.”

  “But there is. There’s so much I want to explain. So much I want to tell you.” Dropping the rake he reached for her, but she deftly evaded his grasp by twisting to the side. Wrapping her arms around the metal bucket, she held it against her chest as if it were a shield.

  “Perhaps I was unclear. There is no explanation you could possibly give that would excuse your actions.” She meant to stop there, but seven year’s worth of suppressed words were not an easy thing to hold back. “I thought you loved me. I thought you were going to marry me.” As old memories resurfaced so too did old hurts. They slashed at her skin like tiny little knives, digging beneath the surface to reopen wounds she’d long thought healed. “But you married her instead. How?” she whispered, hazel eyes bright with bewilderment and the sheen of tears she refused - refused - to let fall. “How could you do that to me?”

  “Because I was a selfish bastard,” he said without hesitation. “Because it was easier to choose her. Because I never deserved you.”

  “And what makes you think you deserve me now?”

  Her met her gaze without blinking. “I don’t.”

  “Finally,” she said with a short, bitter laugh. “Something we can agree upon.”

  Dropping the bucket, she whirled around and fled back to the house before he could see the tears racing down her cheeks.

  Chapter Nine

  Seven years. He’d had seven years to work on what he would say to her if given the chance and that was the best he could come up with?

  Because I was a selfish bastard.

  Because it was easier to choose her.

  Because I never deserved you.

  Bloody hell. No wonder Georgiana had run from him. If it were humanely possible Sebastian would have run from himself. Since it wasn’t, he chose the next best thing: drowning himself in a bottle of his host’s best cognac.

  “A little early to be drinking, isn’t it?” Swiftmore drawled as he stepped into his study, took one look at Sebastian, and locked the door behind him. Given the early hour - no noble worth their salt was up and about before noon - he was still wearing a nightshirt and dressing gown, but his eyes were sharply alert as they passed over Sebastian’s grim countenance.

  “It’s never too early to drink when you’ve been chasing hedgehogs.”

  Swiftmore lifted a brow. “Pardon me?”

  “Nothing,” he muttered into his glass. Tipping it back, he drained what remained of the imported brandy in one thick swallow before lifting a crystal decanter and pouring himself another. “Care for a nip?”

  “Before breakfast?” His old friend gave a rueful shake of his head. “Ginny would kill me.”

  “And do you always do what your wife says?” Sebastian said bitingly.

  “If I want a happy, peaceful marriage I do.” Swiftmore’s slippers sank soundlessly into the thick Aubusson carpet as he made his way across the study and sat down in a leather chair. “Had another run in with our favorite dowager countess, have you? I take it this one went about as well as the last.”

  Leaning back against the earl’s massive desk, Sebastian’s mouth twisted in a bitter smile. “You could say that. I was a damn fool for ever coming here.” In a rare display of outward reflection, he stared down into his cognac and murmured, “I was a damn fool for thinking she would ever forgive me.”

  “Did you ask for her forgiveness?”

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  “In a manner of speaking,” Swiftmore repeated. He shook his head. “You’re a difficult man, Warwick. I suppose it only makes sense that you would fall for a difficult woman. Just get down on bended knee and say how you truly feel once and for all.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Sebastian scowled. “You’re a bloody poet compared to me. You always have been. I still remember the letters you wrote to your old flames back at Oxford. One line after another of foppish nonsense.”

  Swiftmore grinned. “Women love foppish nonsense.”

  “Some do.” He set his glass down and folded his arms. “Georgie doesn’t.”

  “Neither did Ginny,” Swiftmore said, much to Sebastian’s surprise. “Tore the first letter I ever wrote her into pieces and told me that if I was just going to repeat what I’d told a hundred women before her I could save myself the paper and show myself the door.”

  “Ginny said that?” Sebastian’s brows arched towards his hairline. “Your Ginny?”

  “Don’t let that sweet face fool you. My little wife has claws. Sharp ones, too,” Swiftmore revealed, although he didn’t appear the least bit displeased.

  “I suppose I always assumed your courtship was simple.”

  “True love is never simple, Warwick. That’s how you know it’s true love.”

  “I suppose.” His gaze pensive, he stared at a painting on the wall for several seconds before he asked, “How did you eventually win Lady Swiftmore over?”

  “I told her the truth.”

  “Which was?”

  But Swiftmore only shook his head. “Every man’s truth is different. Find yours, and you’ll have what you need.”

  Sebastian snorted. “Could you be any bloody more cryptic?”

  “And do all the work for you?” the earl said with a grin. “Where’s the fun in that?”
<
br />   Upstairs in her bedchamber Georgiana was having a similar conversation with Ginny, although it wasn’t going nearly so well.

  “I hate him.” Pacing from one end of the room to the other, she threw herself down onto a velvet settee and crossed her legs at the knee. “I hate him, Ginny.”

  “So you’ve said half a dozen times in the past ten minutes.” Sitting down beside her friend, Ginny placed a soothing hand on her shoulder and gently squeezed. “What is it, precisely, that you hate so much?”

  “What is it that I hate so - everything!” Georgiana exclaimed, looking at Ginny in disbelief. “I hate everything.”

  “Come now. You can’t hate everything about him.”

  “I can try,” she muttered.

  “You didn’t seem to hate him last night on the balcony,” Ginny pointed out, causing Georgiana’s cheeks to flush.

  “That was a rare exception.”

  “Not quite so rare as you’d like me to believe, I think.”

  Georgiana slanted her a sideways glance. “I thought you were on my side.”

  “I am,” Ginny said matter-of-factly. “But sometimes being on someone’s side means telling them what they don’t want to hear. Heaven knows that no one would blame you if you never spoke or saw Warwick again. But is that what you want?”

  “Of course.” Even to Georgiana’s own ears her words sounded hollow. Drumming her fingers on her thigh, she looked out the window. Weather changed quickly in the country, and what had been sunny skies only an hour ago were now dark and gray and threatening rain.

  “Just tell me one thing,” Ginny persisted. “Why did you marry Lord Hebron?”

  Why had she married James? It wasn’t because she’d loved him. Oh, they’d gotten on well enough. But it was mutual respect and admiration, not love and passion, that had been the foundation of their marriage.

  And what was so wrong with that? She thought defensively. She’d loved Sebastian, and look where that had gotten her.

  “Why wouldn’t I have married James? He was handsome, intelligent-”

  “Boring as lint,” Ginny said dryly. “I’m sorry. I know it’s horrible to speak ill of the dead, but he was. Lie to yourself all you want, but don’t lie to me. We’ve known each other too long for that. You married James because he was safe. Doesn’t it stand to reason Warwick may have done the same?”

  Georgiana’s brow furrowed. “You’re saying he married Abigail because he didn’t love her?”

  Ginny shrugged. “I can’t speak for him, naturally. All I know is that it was clear to anyone with eyes in their head that they never cared for one another. Just as it’s clear he is absolutely smitten with you.”

  “Sebastian isn’t smitten with me,” Georgiana scoffed.

  Was he?

  She knew he desired her. She knew he said he wanted her. But he’d said as much before. What made this time any different? What made him any different from the man that had broken her heart? Although even she had to admit that he did seem softer than the man she remembered. Kinder as well.

  The duke she’d known never would have followed her to a house party, or bothered continuing to pursue her after she had turned him away. And he never would have crawled about on his hands and knees trying to save a hedgehog. She bit the inside of her cheek. Maybe he really had changed.

  Or maybe she was just looking for signs that weren’t there.

  On a quiet sigh of distress she stood up, went to her armoire, and pulled out a long, high-throated cloak trimmed in black satin ribbon. “I am going for a walk to clear my head.”

  “Now?” Ginny glanced apprehensively at the gathering storm clouds. “But it looks as though it’s about to pour.”

  “A little rain never hurt anyone.” Unlike a certain duke. “How far is it to Glenbarry Keep? I’ve been wanting to see the ruins.”

  “A mile or so. Mayhap a little more. But-”

  “I will be fine,” she said, waving off Ginny’s concern with a flick of her wrist. “If I need to seek shelter there are plenty of cottages along the way.” Her bottom lip bowed in a wry grin. “If I haven’t returned by dinner you can send out the cavalry.”

  “At least take someone with you. One of the maids, or-”

  “I’ll be fine, Ginny. I can take care of myself.”

  I hope.

  Chapter Ten

  The skies opened just as Georgiana reached the keep.

  Carved out of the side of a hill, the castle had once been a grand showcase of wealthy extravagance and unparalleled military strength. Bestowed upon the Duke of Luton by King Edward during the 13th century, it had valiantly stood the test of time until the mid-fifteen hundreds when the third Duke of Luton had passed without a male heir and the castle had been allowed to fall into disrepair.

  Now it was little more than a pile of rocks and a single tower that offered views of the entire countryside - if one was brave enough to climb it. After one glance at the exposed stone steps spiraling up into the clouds, Georgiana contented herself with exploring a small section of rubble that appeared as though it had once been part of the kitchen.

  Having grown up in a castle herself, she had always been intrigued by old architecture and the people who had lived hundreds of years before she’d ever been born. What had their daily routines consisted of? What had they worn? Had a young girl - not unlike herself - been foolish enough to fall in love with a charming duke? And had the duke - for reasons that still remained unclear - spurned her for another?

  Drawing up the hood of her cloak as the rain began to intensify, Georgiana carefully picked her way through the crumbling rocks to an enormous fireplace. Easily three times the size of the ones that adorned modern kitchens, it was sagging on one side but remained intact on the other. As she was running her fingers across the damp stone something above the arch caught her eye. Squinting, she saw what appeared to be an inscription carved into the hearth itself. If only she was a bit taller…

  Blinking rain out of her eyes, she carefully stepped onto a large boulder that had once been part of the outerwall. Standing on her toes, she reached for the fireplace to balance herself. Without warning, a loud boom of thunder cracked the sky, so loud it seemed to shake the castle’s very foundation. Georgiana shrieked as she slipped sideways off the boulder and landed hard on her rump, but her fall didn't end there.

  Soaked through with rain, the hillside had become little more than a sliding pile of mud. Twisting onto her side, she tried desperately to grab onto something, anything to slow her descent. Dirt filled her mouth and nostrils, making her gasp for breath as she was carried with violent force towards the bottom of the hill.

  She heard the rush of the water, the roar of the earth...and then her head struck the sharp edge of a rock and she heard nothing at all.

  “Have you seen Georgiana?” Her fair brow lined with worry, Ginny stopped Sebastian in the hallway on his way to the dining room.

  “No, not since early this morning.” His eyes narrowed. “Why? What’s wrong?”

  Ginny bit her lip. “I’m sure it’s probably nothing…”

  “Tell me,” he demanded as the back of his neck turned cold. When he hadn’t seen Georgiana at any of the day’s scheduled activities he’d naturally assumed she was avoiding him. Wanting to give her some space and himself some time to collect his thoughts and ‘find his truth’ - whatever the bloody hell that meant - he hadn’t tried to seek her out. Now, seeing the worry on Ginny’s face, he wished he would have.

  “She - she left on a walk this morning. To clear her head.”

  “In this weather?” he said incredulously. What had begun as rain showers in the morning had turned into an outright downpour in the afternoon. Thunderstorms had been striking intermittently, forcing everyone to remain indoors. The women had taken over the parlor for an extended game of whist, while the men - excluding Sebastian, who had kept mostly to his private quarters - had spent the day drinking brandy and playing billiards in the gaming room.

  “I n
ever thought she would be gone this long.” Ginny’s small hands twisted fretfully together. “She said she would be back by dinner, but-”

  “Where did she go?” he bit out through clenched teeth. Stubborn woman! When he found her safe and sound - for he couldn’t imagine her as anything else - he was going to wring her goddamned neck.

  “The ruins,” Ginny whispered as all of the color drained from her cheeks. “She went to the ruins.”

  When Georgiana slowly opened her eyes the first thing she became aware of was a brutal pounding on the side of her head. The second thing she became aware of - once she’d scrubbed the mud from her eyes - was just how far she’d been carried from the castle.

  It loomed above her some two hundred yards away, the tall stone tower standing out in striking contrast against a gray and restless sky.

  At least the rain has stopped, she thought with a grimace as she slowly and painfully pushed herself into a sitting position. Pressing her fingers to a sharp ache just above her right ear, she blanched when her fingers came away sticky with blood. She must have struck her head on something when she fell, which explain her temporary lapse in memory. She recalled sliding off the boulder, but not how she’d gotten to the bottom of the hill...or how long she’d been unconscious.

  Her cloak was gone, as was one shoe. Soaked through to the skin and trembling from the cold, she managed to stagger to her feet only to quickly sit back down when her vision blurred and white dots danced in front of her eyes. Biting back a sob, she drew her knees to her chest in a desperate bid for warmth and prayed help was on its way.

  Chapter Eleven

  “GEORGIE! GEORGIE, CAN YOU HEAR ME?”

  Opening one eye and then the other, Georgiana sat up on her elbow and grimaced. She didn’t know how long she’d been asleep. Twenty minutes? Forty? It was impossible to tell. The sky was still the same dull, gloomy gray it had been when her eyelids had grown too heavy to keep open any longer, but her vision was sharper, and when she gingerly touched the open wound on the side of her head she was grateful to discover it was no longer bleeding. But it did still ache, the pain of which was only intensified by Sebastian’s loud shouting.