What kind of man failed to make himself known to his betrothed? How could he think that she would not read of his exploits in the gossip columns?
A horse cantered into the forecourt and a Prussian military uniform flashed past the window in that bright winter sunlight.
Her heart stopped.
Georgie rushed to the window pulling the curtain in front of her and peeking over the edge to ensure she stayed hidden. The last thing she needed was him to see her gawking and add to her shame. What she saw made her heart lurch and start racing. The gossip columns were not wrong, he was breathtakingly handsome.
Even his horse looked aristocratic, the type of horse a Prince would ride. It stomped and shifted at a height that made other horses look stunted. The man himself, uniform aside, looked as if the sun beaming around him had come out at his command. Each fluid mesmerizing movement spoke of his sovereignty in the world around him. Quivering threads of warmth slinked through her body even as she tried to beat them down with the anger of moments before.
Years she had waited for this moment, the chance to meet her betrothed. The agreement between their fathers was made when she was only six. Every event set up for them to meet over the years had been cancelled by his family, so here they were, the marriage a month away and they had yet to meet each other in the flesh.
Georgie drew out the small miniature portrait she kept in her pocket, the latest one which had arrived at Easter last year, and compared the man outside with the image.
His face was not clearly visible, shielded by the hat he wore, the distance from the window and the angle he dismounted obscured his visage. Yet she could think of no one else who would arrive in a Prussian uniform. His ash-blond hair was the same as in the miniature. Her thumb passed over the glass of the small oval frame in her palm. Can you fall in love with someone based on their image alone? It sounded foolish and shallow, but she had watched his face evolve over so many years, saw the change in his eyes and his features as life molded him. Having the small miniatures over the years she’d felt as if he was there with her in some way. It made his behavior since coming to London all the more painful, the rejection deeper than that of someone whom she had never met. To her mind, they had grown up together.
Georgie released the drapery and slipped the miniature back into her dress pocket. Regardless of the turmoil his recent behavior caused her, meeting this way, suddenly with no warning, no time to prepare, was not how she planned to begin. He was going to be glorious; he was going to glide in the front door and look magnificent. She didn’t need to glance down to know she wore a functional although pretty day dress, her hair tickled her cheek, clearly starting to come loose from the bun Maria had put it in this morning, and there was no powder on her cheeks or nose to camouflage her freckles. To arrive unannounced now after she had read yet another account of his exploits, the elusive and shockingly beautiful widow…., thus allowing no time to make herself into the goddess she needed to look like the first time he saw her in person, was another willful slight.
Damn him. She flew to the parlor door as her father came through it.
“Goodness what’s the problem?”
Georgie whisked past him, “He’s here. I need to change. Keep him occupied, father.”
And now that she had seen him in all his masculine glory, her mission was even more important. She needed to fell him, fell him and steal his heart at their first meeting.
Georgie raced up the stairs. She would make herself as beautiful as she could manage in the ten minutes she would have before being summoned. She would show him what kind of a woman he treated with such disregard. She was accomplished. She was modern. She understood business and could speak of politics. Her whole life had in fact prepared her to take up her role by his side.
As she ran up the stairs shouts went up from the grooms as they ran to the front of the house to take his horse. Then the sound of their large brass knocker chased after her as she flew down the hall. Totally unnecessary to bang like that as the butler, in all likelihood, had his hand on the doorknob. Her mind whirled as she dashed to her room.
Damn him, damn him, damn him.
And yet…he was here.
He had final come!
She was dizzy with excitement. Even as the week’s neglect tugged for her attention, she pushed it aside, hungry for the chance to finally meet the man who had been the center of all her girlish and womanly fantasies.
What if he took one look and didn’t like her? Her stomach twisted.
Nonsense, she had sent him miniatures every other year. He would know what she looked like. She simply needed to make his first sight of her in the flesh even better. Something to banish any doubts he might have.
Georgie flung the door to her rooms open, “Maria, Maria help!” The fire had been stoked but the bed was not yet made.
Oh heavens, what was she going to wear? The buttons at the side of her skirt refused to undo as she tried to remove her clothes.
Maria came rushing out of the dressing room with last night’s nightgown still in hand.
“He’s here,” Georgie yelped, the sound of desperation reverberated through the room. Those flurries of excitement turned to anxiety in a flash. And those buttons refused to give.
“What unannounced?” Maria dashed first in one direction and then another. Georgie found herself doing the same until, realizing they were both blindly running about, she stopped herself.
Calm down. Georgie took a deep breath, calm down. “So, it appears.” She willed herself to relax. If she simply focused on one controllable thing after another, she would get through this and get the result she wanted.
“Are you sure miss?” Drawers were flung open and the nightgown landed on the dressing table followed by ribbons, decorative combs, lace and velvets. The frenetic activity unhinging her yet again.
Georgie pressed her palms to her cheeks. “Large stallion, Prussian uniform, and arrogant enough to turn up without warning to a woman he is betrothed to yet has never bothered to come and meet!” Her voice reached an unattractive screech. She had no hope of gliding into the room as if she didn’t have a care in the world. She collapsed into a plush little velvet chair.
Marie turned and raised both hands and slowly lowered them. “We need to think.” Maria pulled herself together.
Georgie closed her eyes. Breathed deeply and reminded herself again, stay in the moment, one thing at a time, then opened her eyes. A more purposeful Maria had set herself to work and, although still rapidly pulling out items from draws and boxes, she was focused. “You’ll go Russian,” Maria said with authority.
Georgie nodded then screwed up her face.
“That’s a bit eager don’t you think?” Her head spinning, she was short of breath. Damn him….and yet.
Deep breath in, eyes closed the image of him on that great horse was etched to the back of her eyelids. He was magnificent.
Eyes open, the image was still there.
Sparks skittled through her. How could a man be so magnificent? Her heart lurched and she slipped into optimism.
There must be a reason why he hadn’t called. Surely, a man of all his accomplishments had a good reason for his behavior? The hope was shallow.
Shallower still was the fact that she wanted to forgive him because of who he was, what he looked like and how he made her feel. Shallow, shallow and yet she would be lying if she didn’t see how her foolish, girlish heart desperately wanted there to be a plausible reason for his neglect, A reason that would restore her heart and his worthiness.
Maria emerged from the dressing room carrying the Russian blouse which had been sent with the miniature in her pocket. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to wear his mother’s gift? It wasn’t the strikingly beautiful impact she wanted to make but going down in a ball gown would be pantingly desperate.
“It never hurts to remind a man about his part of the world. It is home for him after all, and home brings with it all kinds of good feelings.” Maria reached
out and pulled her to her feet. “Besides, it also lets him know you are comfortable and familiar with it, you are going to be his wife after all.”
Wife…
Georgie started to pace back and forth, the moment of calm receding. “That feels very tenuous to me.” She still couldn’t believe it …how could he do this to her, to her family? Arrive unannounced, no chance to show their hospitality, no chance for them to present her as she should be presented for the first time; with dignity and aplomb, at an evening event when a person could be dressed for impact.
“His mother did send the shirt. Men like their mothers, don’t they?” Georgie rationalized.
Maria brought her to a standstill and unbuttoned her petulant buttons.
“Shh now Miss, arms up.”
In short shrift she was in a navy skirt and a darling white linen shirt with oversized embroidered sleeves in the Russian peasant tradition. A belt with a shiny silver clasp, showed off her petite waist giving her the current fashion’s much coveted hourglass shape. Her hair was always going to be a problem, a mass of tight curls that turned to frizz when she wasn’t looking. Maria found ribbons and some tortoise shell combs to calm the unruly curly mane.
“Maybe I should do the red jacket, the one with the smart epilates?”
“No.” Maria said decisively and misted her with cinnamon and vanilla water. “There, you will smell like a Christmas treat.”
It did smell wonderful, would he like vanilla? Leaning forward she checked the powder on her face, her freckles passably covered. “Maybe I need more powder?” her hand reached for the powder puff only to have Maria give it a little slap.
“You’ll look all caked up in the light. Better some freckles than to look as if you are hiding something worse.”
Georgie nodded as another wave of doubt hit her. “Oh dear, what if he takes one look at me and hates me? I’ll see it on his face Maria.”
“You have been sending miniatures for years. I am sure he knows exactly what you look like.” Maria reassured her….it didn’t work.
“But seeing one in person is always different.” She wasn’t sure she could hide her hurt if he rejected her.
“Then you will release him and find a worthy man.” Maria guided her to the bedroom door and opened it.
Find a worthy man. By all accounts, other than the manner in which he handled his betrothal to her, Prince Vladimir Demetri James Petoskey was a worthy man indeed. It was challenging to reconcile the disinterested suitor with the provincial Prince who advocated in favor of education for all and a public medical system.
“Off you go. Remember to smile.” Maria gave her a gentle push out the door. Georgie looked back, clothing items and ribbons strewn all over the floor and chairs. A fitting reflection of the state of her mind, she was going take a mess of it.
“Smile.” Maria said with confidence.
Chapter 2
It felt like seconds later she walked toward the parlor, the soft sponginess of the carpet underfoot, the sounds of servants moving around the house and the deep rumble of male voices on the other side of the door. Nerves rioted under her skin.
Georgie smoothed her skirts, then glanced in the hall mirror for a final check. Her hair had a henna rinse creating auburn highlights, the natural curls already slipping out of their pins. Her skin hopelessly covered in freckles making her worry despite Maria’s reassurances and the powder puffed all over it. Her second-best feature after her hourglass figure was her striking amber eyes. ‘Powdered gold’ her father always told her. ‘One day when we are in need of funds, I will turn you upside down, the gold will pour out and we will all live happily-ever-after.’
Scanning her attire, her chest tightened. The Russian embroidered blouse suddenly looked like an overeager mistake. The red jacket with the epilates flashed in her mind, it would have looked so much smarter. She would change. He had made her wait; he could wait a further ten minutes.
Georgie walked briskly to the stairs and started up them as the parlor door opened.
“Ah, there you are Georgie,” her father called, and her fingers curled into her palms. This clearly was not going to be her best day.
Georgie turned to face the parlor door where her father stood and in an instant, over his shoulder she locked gazes with her betrothed. Her father’s voice faded as a cacophony of sensations burst under her skin and her legs turned oddly weak. She gripped the railing tighter to steady herself, to stop from turning into a pool of aspic as she starred.
His return stare raced to fill every corner of her being. She was no longer in the overeager blouse. She was entirely exposed; heart, body and soul, in the most alarming and yet delicious way. There would be no defenses against this man. There would be no protecting her heart from him as he had, in a very instant, sucked it straight out of her too-tight chest and taken it captive.
“Come in and meet General Petroski, he’s stopped by to talk about travel plans.” Her father secretly motioned her to hurry over with his hand.
Her mind was blank as they still held each other’s gaze, a current so vital and vibrant passed between them setting her body into a turmoil of distracting and unfamiliar sensations. General Petroski? Her brow creased as she tried to recall all her betrothed’s names and titles, Russians had more variations in name and title than a debutant had dresses. And…nothing.
Georgie looked away, had to look away to breathe. She drew air deep into her lungs and collected her thoughts. Yet only one thought went through her mind. The very real, deep seated recognition frightened her more than anything else in her life… he was the one. Ridiculous, of course. She swept the thought aside, once, twice, slammed a door in her mind on it, only to have it return wrapped in the confidence of a deep-seated knowing. Her hands clenched at how vulnerable that left her even as her foolish heart danced in her chest.
Desperately, she sought some counterbalance for her defenselessness. And then it floated to the surface …. The thought that surely, feeling like this could not possibly be one-sided. It was logical to assume that, if she was impacted so strongly at the sight of him, then he must surely be strongly impacted by the sight of her as well, even though his eyes gave nothing away.
Releasing the balustrade, holding on to that somewhat tenuous logic, she walked down the steps and across the hall. Her father said something that didn’t register as she stepped into the room with as much dignity as she could muster while her hands suddenly felt aimless, without purpose.
The parlor, which should have been her domain was now most clearly his. It was bathed in his presence. Every breath filled her lungs with air pulsing of him. He must feel something too, she reassured herself as she lifted her head and met his gaze.
And just as before her body swirled with sensations which ran under her skin, hot, delicious and full of promise.
“Georgie let me introduce you to General Petroski,” her father stepped into her view next to him.
Steps she hardly was aware she took brought her to a standstill in front of him, the man whose features she had memorized over the years. The miniatures which would accompany his mother’s apologies and later his, for failing to attend a holiday designed to bring the two of them together, to give them a chance to get to know each other. There had been six events over her childhood to now, all designed to ensure they didn’t marry as strangers. And yet here they stood facing each other for the first time and the wedding, not yet posted as was proper, was weeks away.
She curtsied and bowed her head as she had been taught, as she had practiced until it flowed out of her with ease. How much had her father spent on tutors getting her ready for a station in life far above her own?
He leaned forward and her breath froze, “You should curtsy after I introduce myself.” He said under his breath in a remarkable accent. He was right of course.
His heels clicked and he gave a nod of his head. “General Demetri Petroski, at your service.”
The breath shuddered out of her.
�
�Georgina Franklin,” she didn’t curtsy again, her body felt as if it would fall in on itself if she had to try it again. The omission was noted with the smallest movement of his eyebrow. A deliciously perfect eyebrow.
“You don’t use the title of Prince?” She reached for something to say. If she got talking, if he stopped looking at her, making her body behave like a perfect stranger, she had a chance of coming out of the exchange without looking like some empty-headed Harriet.
“That would be my brother.”
Pain sliced through her…that would be my brother….my brother… like a knife carving out a heart.
Georgie spun around as her stomach roiled and she thought she might throw up. It wasn’t him. The all too certain, he-is-the-one, stood its ground. It’s not him, she threw at it, yet it didn’t waiver and her chest squeezed tighter.
General Petroski’s voice came from behind her, perfunctory and full of authority. “I have come to offer my brother’s apologies. Matters of state which have followed him to London keep him from his greatly anticipated meeting with you, his betrothed.”
She took a few steps to the small Edwardian chair, a comforting favorite, took a steadying breath and turned around, tilted her chin up to gaze at the glorious looking man who was not her betrothed and her chest curled tighter. “You’re his brother?”
Ridiculous to confirm, he had said as much yet again and that confident he-is-the-one bundle in her chest refused to believe.
His heels clicked again. “At your service.”
She clamped down on disappointment as it trembled through her, that this man was not her betrothed, this perfect man whom she felt was hers at first glance… was not hers at all. Instead she focused on the other more important disappointment…her betrothed had not come.
“A Prince is a busy man. He will be here to meet you immediately, isn’t that correct, General?” her father added with an overly bright expression and eyes that warned her not to cause a fuss. Eyes which moved between her and the General in such a way she knew saw what she hoped would be hidden. Her stomach churned. Had the General noticed his impact on her too? Suddenly the idea that it must surely be a shared impact seemed foolish and full of girlish romanticism rather than likely. Which meant that he most likely noted her response and felt nothing in return as his face seemed to support. How mortifying!
Once Upon a Christmas Wedding Page 167
