by Nina Mason
“Which you have not read, I can only presume.”
“I have not.” Georgie stubbornly folded her arms across her bosom. “Nor do I intend to now that you have embarrassed me.”
“I can only presume, therefore, you are determined to ruin yourself.”
“Good God, Louisa,” Georgie cried with more feeling and volume than politesse permitted. “You are making a mountain out of a molehill! For we only shared an innocent kiss under the mistletoe, which hardly constitutes ruination, I daresay. Even by the strictest of standards.” Then, recollecting her manners, she added with more civility, “Now, my dear sister, let us make peace and return to the drawing room—and the evening’s entertainments. For if you continue harping on the subject, we will only fall out and spoil the holidays for more than ourselves.”
“Fine,” Louisa snipped in begrudging agreement. “I shall say no more on the subject—to you, at least—and pray you come to your senses before immutable harm is done to your reputation. For who will marry you then?”
“What makes you so sure the Lieutenant will not?”
“Because he cannot,” Louisa returned, raising her voice. “And that is more than I ought to have said on the subject.”
Turning on her heel, Louisa left Georgie standing there, exasperated by her continuing concealment of Lt. Churchill’s secret. She must know what it was—and, like it or not, there seemed only one way left open to her.
Composing herself, she returned to the drawing room, claiming a seat beside Miss Raynalds. Leaning in, she whispered, “My dear Miss Raynalds, I know it is a lot to ask, given how I triumphed over you by winning the role of Amelia, but would I impose upon you too greatly by asking you to continue your private reading of Sense and Sensibility?”
“By no means,” said Miss Raynalds, “for I bear you no grudge with regard to the play. And I do so enjoy reading aloud. Shall I come to your room when the evening’s entertainments are finished?”
“Please do,” Georgie told her with an appreciate smile. “For I will not rest until I know how the story resolves.”
Ten
Too ashamed of himself to remain in company for long, Christian feigned a headache and turned in early. Mrs. Raynalds was right; he should never have trifled with the dear lady. It was very wrong of him to kiss her, especially with such feeling, when he was engaged to someone else.
But her pull on him was too strong to resist. She was a siren and he, but a helpless sailor drifting within range of her song. He’d tried to fight his attraction; truly he had. But he was too weak—and made weaker still by her heartrending confession this evening.
He could not be mistaken in her meaning, which was further reinforced by the passion with which she returned his kisses. She returned his love, too. She must. She did. He could not be wrong.
And now, he must be honest. For no longer in good conscience could he persist in giving her hope where little existed. Or jeopardize his relationship with the Captain’s wife by continuing to be less than forthright with her sister.
His only excuse in delaying this long was that he still hoped—rather naively, perhaps—to throw off his fetters by some method he had not yet considered. For his heart would not admit defeat, even in the face of such formidable odds.
Perhaps, rather than say it to her face, he should put his confession in a note and slip it under her door. Yes, that would be easier. And better. Yes, much better. For he was no orator. No indeed. If he wrote it out, he could not trip over his tongue or fail to express himself with forethought, delicacy, and eloquence.
Giving up his pacing, he hastened to the writing desk at the foot of the bed and withdrew from the center drawer the various and sundry tools of correspondence. Picking up the quill, he cut a fresh nib and dipped it in the inkpot before scratching out the salutation.
My dear Miss Bennet,
Pausing to let the ink dry, he brushed the feather end of the pen back and forth across his chin as he considered what to write next. How to begin? For a few moments, he was distracted by memories of their last kiss. She had been so passionate, so willing. Had her sister not interrupted them, he might have…
No! He must not think such thoughts.
Oh, but what a devoted wife and passionate lover she would make him. Ah-hem. Would have made him, were wedlock open to them. But it was not, curse his luck, because of that harlot’s treachery and his own bloody inanity.
Heavy hearted, he wrote:
Your friendship means the world to me, but more than friends we can never be, much as we both might wish it were otherwise. Do you wish it were otherwise, Miss Bennet? Because I certainly do. But I made the foolish mistake—the worst of my life, I daresay—of engaging myself to someone else more than a twelvemonth ago. Someone who, unlike you, I care nothing for.
“It was inexcusable folly on my side, the consequence of idleness and estrangement from my family. Had I an occupation after leaving the Navy, or felt it was safe to go home, I think—nay, I am sure, it would never have happened. But instead of returning to Wingfield Hall, instead of finding a new profession or enrolling at Oxford, I remained at loose ends in Portsmouth. I had therefore nothing in the world to do but drink and carouse …
Christian set down the quill, dissatisfied. What he’d written so far was too honest. He could not profess his love with one stroke and put her off with another. He reached for the pen, ready to strike out what he’d written so far, then drew back his hand in disgust.
The quill was a white feather, the very symbol of cowardice.
Good God! Was he being cowardly by putting his confession in writing? Yes, he was. A brave man would tell her to her face and take his lumps, not hide behind a letter like a spineless slug.
Disgusted with himself, he slammed down his fist on the desk, nearly upsetting the inkwell. Then, he wadded up the unfinished note and chucked it in the bin. To hell with it. He would tell her in person. Right after breakfast. Or perhaps before, if he could catch her alone before they went down.
No. That would never do. He must tell her tonight. He simply must. For he would never sleep if he put it off until morning.
Just then, he heard footsteps approaching the door from the outside. Light, feminine footsteps. Was it a chambermaid bringing him a fresh piss-pot? Or Mrs. Raynalds coming to give him another dressing down? Well, whoever it was rapped softly on the door.
“Christian? Are you still awake?”
Good God. It was Georgianna. And here he sat in only his shirtsleeves. Did he dare make an answer?
Deciding he should, he said, “Yes, Georgie. I’m still awake.”
“Are you decent?”
“That would depend on who you ask,” he wryly replied.
She laughed. “I’m asking you, Christian.”
He laughed, too. “Then, no.” And he did not merely mean his state of undress.
“Well, put on your dressing gown and let me in. There is something I would speak to you about.”
“There is something I would speak to you about, too.”
Something that will tear out both our hearts, I fear.
He got up, but did not put on his dressing gown. Instead, he pulled up his braces and slipped into his waistcoat, which he buttoned as he crossed to the door. He opened it a crack and looked out. Still wearing her dinner dress, she looked as achingly lovely as ever.
“Your sister would not approve of your visiting a man in his bedchamber.”
“My sister can go to the devil.”
Her language shocked him, for he’d never heard her curse before. “Then far be it from me to turn you away. Particularly when your timing is so fortuitous.”
He stepped back, opening the door wide enough to allow her to enter. She swept past him in a whisper of silk. Then, facing him squarely, she said, “I must know what you were about to tell me before my sister interrupted us with all of her nonsense.”
He thought back to their earlier conversation, trying to recall what he’d already disclosed�
�and what he had not. He remembered telling her he’d made a promise he now regretted, but not what the promise entailed or to whom he’d made it.
As he looked at her standing there, waiting for his explanation, anguish crashed down on him like an avalanche. “Oh, Georgie.” He covered his face with his hands. “I have been such a fool. A blind, naive, drunken fool. In a youthful moment of passion, I made a promise I soon regretted. And now cannot break it without serious consequences. That is why I have been away all these months without writing. I have been in Portsmouth, endeavoring to free myself…so that I might … Oh, Georgie. I do have feelings for you beyond friendship. Feelings I wish I could act upon … but I cannot do so in fairness to you. Because … well, because I am bound by honor—and the threat of ruination—to keep a promise made in a moment of weakness.”
“Ruination?” she repeated, clearly unsettled by his speech. “What sort of ruination do you mean?”
“Legal action against me … and the scandal and publicity that will surely come with it.”
He could see the gears moving inside her mind. She was trying to make sense of what he’d said. Working out what kind of promise he might have made that could bring scandal and ruination.
“Can you not simply pay this person off?”
“I have tried,” he said in earnest. “Upon my soul, I have. But she wants more than a one-time settlement from me. She insists upon a lifetime of wealth and privilege at my expense.”
* * * *
She?
The word plunged a knife into Georgie’s bosom. It also opened her eyes to the truth: the promise he’d made was an offer of marriage. That was what he had in common with Edward Ferrars. And now, though he harbored regrets, the lady was holding him to his promise by threatening to sue him for breach of promise.
Appalled and incensed, Georgie leapt to her feet. “Oh, Lieutenant. I had no idea of your being such a rogue—or capable of such despicable behavior. You must, of course, keep your promise to the lady and think no more of me. For I could never marry a man who behaved so dishonorably…or who so deceitfully encouraged my affections while he was bound to another.”
“But Miss Bennet, upon my word …”
Unable to bear the sight of him, Georgie turned toward the door. “Say no more, sir. For, I assure you, whatever hopes I might have entertained where you are concerned have been extinguished—and shall never, never be revived.”
Her rebuff was far more definitive than were her feelings at present, but she was confident her heart would cool toward him in time.
“But … I am in love with you,” he said with heightened color and desperate looks.
She received his declaration the way an archery target receives an arrow. Five minutes ago, such an admission would have filled her with joy, but now the words only increased her disgust with him. So bitter were her feelings, in fact, she dared not trust herself to speak, les she said something she would later regret.
Rushing from the room, she raced down the hall, eager for the solace of her bedchamber. Along the way, she met the Captain’s sister. Too choked by grief to speak, Georgie barely acknowledged the girl as she pushed past her.
Hurrying into her room, she flung herself down on the bed, weeping inconsolably. Miss Raynalds followed her, seated herself on the bed, and took Georgie’s hand. “My dear Miss Bennet. What has happened to upset you so? Shall I get your sister?—or a glass of sherry to ease your anguish?”
Georgie, though still unable to speak, felt all the comfort of the girl’s kindness and, after some time passed in silent sobbing, dabbed at her tears with her handkerchief. “You are very good to offer, Miss Raynalds. But I require only solitude at present.”
“Are you certain? For I will gladly sit with you until you recover your spirits.”
Georgie looked from the girl to the place on the floor, between the bed and the wall, where the book had landed. How much ill-will was bound up in that object! She now detested that vile novel, which symbolized for her not only the Lieutenant’s dishonesty, but also the negligence of her sister and brother-in-law. For, through their mutual silence, all were complicit in the deception.
Only Miss Raynalds was blameless—or so Georgie presumed. To be certain, she asked between sniffs and sobs, “Did you know Lieutenant Churchill was engaged?”
The shock that registered on the girl’s features gave Georgie her answer. “Oh, Miss Georgianna. Is that what has distressed you to such a degree?”
Still finding it difficult to speak, Georgie only nodded.
“You poor soul. Do you love him very much?”
Muted by a new storm of tears, Georgie nodded again.
Miss Raynalds squeezed the hand she still held. “Is there anything I can do or say, which might be of comfort to you?”
This kindness, as everything else had been, was too much for Georgie, who could only exclaim, in the anguish of her heart, “Oh! Miss Raynalds, I only wish there were,” before her voice was lost once more in sobs.
“You will rally, Miss Bennet,” the girl assured her. “And when you do, mark my words, you will congratulate yourself on your lucky escape.”
“Will I?” Georgie was sure Miss Raynalds was wrong.
“Of course you will. Much as I esteem the Lieutenant—for saving my brother’s life, you understand—I have long suspected the heart of a scoundrel might beat beneath those fancy waistcoats of his. For he is too dashing by half to be entirely honorable—and too similar to Mr. Willoughby in temperament to be dependable.”
Georgie, unfamiliar with the name, squinted at her through her tears. “And who, pray, is Mr. Willoughby?”
“The villainous heartbreaker in Sense and Sensibility, who misleads poor Marianne Dashwood.”
Georgie considered this for a moment. If Mr. Willoughby was the villain of the novel, why had Louisa not made him the object of her hint? “Is Edward Ferrars also a villain? And, if so, is he better or worse than the wicked Mr. Willoughby?”
“Oh better, Miss Georgianna,” Miss Raynalds burst forth excitedly. “At least in essentials. He is the eldest brother of Mrs. John Dashwood, the sister-in-law of the heroines, Elinor and Marianne Dashwood. Fanny—Edward’s sister—is a pretentious snob who convinces her husband to break his deathbed promise to his father to help his stepmother and half-sisters. Can you imagine such a thing? What terrible people were the Ferrars. Except for Edward, of course. When he comes to Norland, the Dashwood estate John has inherited, the poor man meets and falls in love with Elinor, the elder and more sensible of the two sisters. After the Dashwood ladies move to Devonshire, Elinor learns Edward is secretly engaged to someone else—from Edward’s calculating intended herself, Lucy Steele, who confides her secret knowing full well it will torture poor Elinor. Though Edward regrets giving his promise to Lucy, he is too honorable to break the engagement, despite his love for Elinor. Eventually, his mother—every bit as pretentious as her daughter, Fanny—learns of her son’s engagement to Miss Steele and disinherits him irrevocably. After she settles her fortune on her younger son, Robert, Miss Steele conveniently transfers her affections to him. Free from his promise at last, Edward proposes to Elinor, and she accepts him.”
This rather long-winded explanation set Georgie’s ever-hopeful heart to racing. Perhaps Lt. Churchill had more in common with Edward Ferrars than merely being secretly engaged. For had Christian not professed his love for her? Yes, he had. “Did Edward love Miss Steele when he proposed to her?”
“He was young when they met. And she, being a beauty in want of a rich husband, turned his head with her wiles. He long since came to his senses, of course, and realized how shallow and false she was, but he could not break the engagement without offending his sense of honor.”
With rising hubris, Georgie steadied her gaze on the girl. “And yet, he was not too honorable to engage himself in secret to a woman of whom his family would certainly disapprove? Does that not strike you as a double-standard?”
Appearing mildly disc
omfited, Miss Raynalds replied, “Now that you mention it … it does indeed.”
“And what of the wicked Mr. Willoughby?” Georgie pressed her. “Was he only trifling with Marianne when he paid his addresses to her?”
“No,” the girl said emphatically. “His intentions toward her were honorable, as far as it goes. Earlier, however, he had seduced and abandoned a girl—the ward of Colonel Brandon, another of the characters—who he’d gotten with child. And when his Aunt found out, she disinherited him, whereupon he abandoned Marianne in favor of a lady with a sizeable fortune. He later regretted his choice, of course. Not only because he truly loved Marianne, but also because his Aunt forgave him and reinstated his inheritance after he wed Miss Grey.”
“So, had he not been so hasty, he could have had his fortune and the woman he loved?”
“Yes. I suppose he could have.”
“I see,” said Georgie, thinking over all she’d heard.
From Miss Raynalds’s description, the novel sounded much more to her liking than she’d anticipated. Reaching to the place where it lay on the floor, she retrieved the book and handed it to Miss Raynalds. “I have thought of something you might do to give me comfort, if the offer still stands.”
“You need only name the favor, Miss Georgianna.”
“Read to me,” Georgie said, sniffing back her tears. “From the third chapter onward.”
Miss Raynalds looked surprised, though not displeased. “The whole book?”
Georgie nodded. “Or as much of it as you can get through before your voice fails, or one or the other of us falls asleep.”
“All right. Why not? For I do dearly love the story, and would very much enjoy sharing it with my new friend. For we are friends now, are we not, Miss Bennet.”
“We are, indeed. Intimate friends. And in that spirit, you must call me Georgie from now on.”
“Thank you. I shall. And you must reciprocate by calling me Winnie.”
