The Rogue of Her Heart: A Regency Romance (The Other Bennet Sisters Book 2)

by Nina Mason

  This much, Georgie had learned from the profiles of “Biographical Sketches of Illustrious and Distinguished Ladies” published each month in Le Belle Assemblée, the leading lady’s magazine of the fashionable set. The rest, she’d heard from Lady Baldwyn, the highest ranking maven of Much Wenlock society, as well as the parish’s leading source of rumor and innuendo involving the crème-de-la-crème of high society.

  And Georgie liked nothing so much as a juicy morsel of gossip—and the story of Lord and Lady Derby was nothing if not salacious.

  As far as Georgie could see, Miss Farren and Miss Stubbs’s stories differed only in one detail: Miss Farren reportedly had the elegant airs and graces of a fine lady. Her refinements did not, however, stop the newspapers from lampooning the couple every chance they got.

  Poor Christian.

  When word of his engagement got out, he would be as cruelly satirized as were Lord Derby and Miss Farren, who the caricaturists variously dubbed “Darby and Joan,” “Miss Tittup and Lord Doodle,” and “the Platonic Lovers.”

  Georgie could not let that happen. She simply could not. And the only way to stop it was to run off that little trollip before she sank her hooks too deeply into the Lieutenant’s hide.

  Ready to rejoin the others, Georgie started to go down, but stopped when she saw Miss Stubbs approaching the foot of the stairs. Before she could turn back, the wicked little wench called to her, “Miss Bennet. There you are. I was just coming to look in on you. Is your headache any better?”

  “Yes. Much better.”

  As Georgie turned to beat a hasty retreat, Miss Stubbs called to her again. “Miss Bennet, before you go … might I have a quick word? I promise I will not importune you for long.”

  Begrudgingly, Georgie met her rival on the landing. “Yes, Miss Stubbs. What is it you wish me to hear?”

  “I was only going to ask if you might consider giving up the role of Amelia in your family’s theatrical. For now that I’ve come, it seems only fitting that I should play the lady who is in love with my fiancé’s character. Do you not agree?”

  “No indeed, Miss Stubbs.” So incensed was she by the hussy’s audacity, Georgie had half a mind to push her down the stairs. “Well, from what I have heard and observed so far, you have no love for the Lieutenant … or the least regard for his feelings, future happiness, or family honor. All you care about is his Earl’s Coronet and all that comes with it. Is that not so, Miss Stubbs?”

  Playing the innocent, Miss Stubbs replied, “Do you blame me for wanting to marry well?”

  “No,” Georgie said. “I blame you for forcing a man to marry where he does not love.”

  “It was he who proposed to me.”

  “And later asked to be released from the engagement, which you, for solely mercenary motives, have held him to despite his pleas for release.”

  Icy silence fell between them until Miss Stubbs said with narrowed eyes, “Are you in love with my betrothed, Miss Bennet? Is that why you are so keen to have him freed? Do you hope to marry him in my place?”

  Georgie received each question like a slap in the face. “How dare you come into my sister’s house and speak to me with such insupportable impertinence!”

  “How dare you use your wiles to try and steal my future husband, you high-born hussy!”

  “Hussy!” Rage roiled within Georgie’s breast. “How dare you, you … you manipulative little harpy!”

  To this, Miss Stubbs responded with a vicious kick to the shins, making Georgie shriek in shock and pain. Then, the trollop chased her up the stairs and down the hall, throwing anything she could lay her hands on.

  A book, a porcelain figurine, and a heavy vase filled with holly and evergreen cuttings sailed past Georgie’s head as she ran. Focused on dodging objects, she realized too late she’d trapped herself at the end of the hall. As she turned to flee, Miss Stubbs flew at her, tearing at her frock and coiffure. In the struggle to free herself, Georgie’s chignon came loose and the seam of her dress-sleeve tore open.

  “Get off me!” she screamed, swatting frantically with both hands. “Get off me, you witch!”

  Rather than yield, Miss Stubbs pulled Georgie’s hair until she howled in pain.

  “I’ll teach you to trespass on my territory.”

  “I did no such thing, you harridan,” Georgie cried, flailing at her attacker. “The Lieutenant and I are only friends.”

  “Liar!”

  “Fortune-hunter!”

  “Claim-jumper!”

  “Harpy!”

  “Bitch!”

  Georgie, having wriggled free of the hair-pulling, charged Miss Stubbs, fists flailing in fury. She landed several solid blows before Miss Stubbs lost her balance. Georgie dove, pinning her down. Tearing a hank of hair loose from her coif, Georgie pulled with a vengeance.

  “Ow!” cried Miss Stubbs.

  “Ha! It hurts like the dickens, doesn’t it?”

  As they continued to wrestle, a deep voice called out from somewhere nearby. “Ladies! Ladies! Upon my soul. What are you about?”

  The speaker was the very person over whom they’d come to blows. Beside them in a moment, Lt. Churchill hooked an arm around Georgie’s waist and lifted her crane-like into the air.

  Free of her weight, Miss Stubbs leapt to her feet and started pounding on the Lieutenant’s back, screaming in shrewish fashion, “You two-timing snake! You shameless rake! Did you think I wouldn’t figure out who you’ve been making love to behind my back?”

  “Miss Bennet, if that is to whom you refer, is not my lover.” As he said it, he set Georgie down on her feet. “Now, would one of you kindly explain what provoked the two of you to brawl like a pair of ill-bred guttersnipes?”

  “She kicked me,” Georgie said, rubbing her bruised shin.

  “She pulled my hair,” Miss Stubbs said, pointing accusatorily.

  He looked at Georgie, who could see he was fighting a smile. “Is this true, Miss Bennet?”

  “Yes…but only because she pulled mine first!”

  Realizing what a fright she must look with her tousled hair and torn frock, Georgie only wanted to get away—from Miss Stubbs, as well as the Lieutenant’s critical gaze. Just as she turned to retreat to her room, Louisa appeared at the top of the stairs. “Good heavens. What in the world was all the shouting about? It was racket enough to cause an avalanche, not to mention, wake the baby.”

  As if on cue, Sonny began to mewl in the nursery. Her focus diverted by the sound of her son’s distress, Louisa said, “He’ll want feeding, I suppose.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Georgie volunteered, hurrying toward the stairs.

  “Good,” Louisa snipped. “And while I am nursing, you can explain your unpardonable behavior in the hall just now.”

  Inside the nursery, Louisa accepted the baby from the nurserymaid and seated herself in her nursing chair—a mahogany rocker with curved arms and a woven cane back and seat.

  The room was pleasingly decorated with blue-striped wallpaper and a lace-canopied crib, but Georgie had no eye for the furnishings at present. She was much too preoccupied by what her sister might say about her recent affray with Miss Stubbs.

  Would she throw her out? That Miss Stubbs had made it through was a clear indication the roads were now travelable. And she had a sleigh, and was covering nothing like the distance Miss Stubbs had come (like a mongrel, to mark her territory). In this case, the Earl’s Coronet she so selfishly coveted.

  “I’m ready to listen whenever you’re ready to talk,” Louisa said from the rocker.

  Georgie, heavy-hearted, walked to the window and looked out at the snow. “I think you can guess what our row was about.”

  “How did it start?”

  Georgie told her everything, for she was not in the habit of keeping secrets from Louisa. When she finished the recap, she said, “That little fortune-hunter is not good enough for him.”

  “So, despite knowing he is promised to another, you still want him?”
/>   “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “For the simple fact that I love him.”

  “Do you have any idea of him returning your feelings?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Has he kissed you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Passionately?”

  Georgie was too embarrassed to answer. In the silence that followed, she could hear the baby suckling and muted conversation somewhere in the house.

  “Would you marry him, if he were free of Miss Stubbs?”

  “Yes.”

  “Even though he has deceived you?”

  “He has not deceived me,” she said, turning a sharp look on her sister. “He has said all along we could never be more than friends.”

  Louisa’s laugh, though brief, eased Georgie’s anxieties slightly. “Last time I checked, friends did not kiss each other with fervor.”

  “Yes, well.” Georgie blushed at the memory of Christian’s kiss. “We both did try to repress our feelings. Truly we did. But our passions won out in the end.”

  After a brief pause, Louisa said, “Tell me the truth, Georgie. Is he the man of your dreams?”

  “He is the man of my heart, Louisa.” She turned to look at her sister through her welling tears. “And I certainly love him too well to see him made unhappy for life by a devious harlot who does not deserve him, his Coronet, or the title of Countess!”

  “I agree she does not deserve him, rogue though he may be.”

  “I do not care that he was a rogue before we met…as long as he stays true to me now.”

  “Do you think he will?”

  “Yes, I do,” Georgie said, looking down with a sigh. “But first I must conceive a way to get Miss Stubbs out of the way.”

  “We could always push her down the stairs and bury her in the back garden. For I cannot imagine she’ll be missed by many.”

  The Captain’s remarks spun Georgie around. “You are not serious, I hope.”

  “Of course not.” He grinned at her devilishly. “Tempting as I find the notion.”

  “I share your temptation, believe me,” she replied, “but we must find a way that will not end with the three of us swinging from the hangman’s rope.”

  “I concur,” said Louisa. “Though I am fond of the Lieutenant, and do not wish him unhappy, I’m not quite willing to risk my neck to save his.”

  Georgie was surprised by the turn in her sister’s disposition toward Lt. Churchill. Had something happened since last they spoke? Or had she simply reconnected with her compassion?

  “But you do agree we should help him?” Georgie asked in earnest.

  “My only real concern is your happiness,” Louisa replied. “Do you have any brilliant ideas?”

  “Not yet, but I shall continue to rack my brain until I come up with one.”

  The Captain let out a chopped laugh. “In between bouts of fisticuffs, one can only presume.”

  Thirteen

  After breaking up the fight, Christian retreated to his bedchamber, and there he intended to remain until it came time to go down for dinner. He could not, for the life of him, make heads or tails of Georgie’s see-saw behavior. One minute she was telling him to marry Miss Stubbs, and the next, she was trying to scratch the harridan’s eyes out.

  What could have provoked her to scrap with Miss Stubbs? Only provocation, he’d daresay, inclining him to believe Miss Stubbs had indeed struck the first blow. And Georgie, God bless her feisty spirit, had gained the upper hand by the time he came along.

  Had he arrived on the scene a few moments sooner, he might have overheard enough to ascertain the cause of the brawl. But, alas, all he heard was the name-calling. Even so, he could safely assume, from Miss Stubbs’s coarse remarks, the fight was over him.

  You two-timing snake! You shameless rake! Did you think I wouldn’t figure out who you’ve been making love to behind my back?

  Oh, yes. There could be no doubt they were fighting over him—a fact he found as flattering as it was distressing. Oh, but how adorable Georgie looked with her dander up and her hair all akimbo. The sight of her torn frock and bruised shin, however, gave him no pleasure whatever. On the contrary, it aroused in him fierce feelings of outrage and protectiveness.

  A rap on the door startled him out of his reflections. “Yes?”

  “Christian? It’s Georgie. May I have a word?”

  More intrigued than alarmed, he hastened to the door and turned the key in the lock. When he opened the door, he saw with some pleasure she’d not tidied her appearance.

  Stepping past her, he poked his head into the hall and looked both ways. Seeing the coast was clear, he pulled her across the threshold by the forearm before re-closing and locking the door.

  She paced before the fire for several minutes, looking extremely anxious. Rather than hurry her, he waited until she was ready to speak.

  Just when he was sure he’d go mad from the suspense, she said, “I have a proposal to make.”

  “Not a proposal of marriage, I trust,” he said in jest, hoping it might ease the tension.

  “No,” she said, smirking. “I’ll leave that to you…when the time comes.”

  He wasn’t sure where this was leading or that he wanted to follow the trail of crumbs into the dark woods of the unknown. “Do you have reason to hope such a time might indeed come to pass?”

  “Only if we can free you from your current engagement.”

  So, she was in his corner, heaven be praised. “I’ve ascertained that much myself, but am out of ideas. Have you any to offer?”

  “I have one…but you are not going to like it.”

  He swallowed hard, fearing what she had in mind. “Does it involve murder?”

  “No. It involves giving up your inheritance.”

  Her suggestion took him aback. “Give up my inheritance! Do you have any idea what my legacy entails?”

  “I have a reasonable idea.”

  “In addition to the estate in Derbyshire, the plantations on Barbados, and a sizeable fortune, my father’s peerage will pass to me, and through me, to my first-born son, should I be blessed enough to have male issue.”

  She looked up at him, her eyes glassy with tears and her lower lip trembling. “And those things are more important to you than having a wife you love?”

  “No, not more important,” he said, seizing her by the sleeves. “But…”

  “But what?” She searched his eyes. “Surely we could live comfortably enough on your personal fortune.”

  Biting his lip, he let her go and turned away. “We might do, if I were debt-free. But I have borrowed against my prospects, dearest Georgie—and will go to debtor’s prison if I forfeit my legacy.” He shook his head in woe before adding, “Not that I might have much choice in the matter … once my father learns of my engagement.”

  “He does not yet know of it?”

  “At present, the truth is known only to those in this house.”

  “Oh, Christian,” she moaned. “What are we to do?”

  “Accept our fates, I suppose,” he said grimly.

  “When do you plan to spring the news on your father?”

  “I had thought not to tell him until the knot—or should I say the noose?—is tied.”

  “No, Christian, no. You must tell him before you marry. Surely you can see the sense in doing so. For if he disinherits you after you are wed, you will be saddled with Miss Stubbs for the rest of your life.”

  He could see the sense in what she was saying, but had been unwilling before now to face his father’s disapprobation—and his inevitable disinheritance.

  “Oh, Georgie. If I do tell…and he cuts me off without a penny … will you stand by me? Even if I am sent to debtor’s prison?”

  “Do you doubt that I would?”

  He chuckled nervously. “I will not scruple to confess that the tongue-lashing you gave me yesterday, did make me wonder. Not that you were wrong to tear a strip off me after the way I behaved. But I truly
believed you felt only friendship for me, and that my heart alone was at risk.”

  “Christian,” she said softly. “Let us sit down, so we can talk at length and figure this out.”

  “Yes, all right.” Two upholstered chairs were angled on either side of the fireplace. He moved toward the nearest one and sat down, rubbing his brow in despair. “But I do not know what more there is to discuss.”

  “There is a great deal more to discuss,” she said, taking the other chair. “Starting with a book I’ve been reading.” She paused and looked down at her hands, which were clasped in her lap. “Well, in truth, Winnie has been reading it out to me, but that is neither here nor there. What matters is that there’s a lady very like Miss Stubbs in the novel. Her name is Lucy Steele, and she has attached herself to Edward Ferrars, the high-born hero of the story, who is to inherit the family fortune. But Edward does not love Miss Steele; he loves Elinor Dashwood, the elder and more sensible of the two sisters whose sagas the novel narrates.”

  “Pardon me,” he said, still rubbing his forehead abstractedly, “but how is this relevant?”

  “Cannot you see how similar their situation is to ours?”

  “It is a novel, Georgie.” He tried to keep the impatience out of his voice, but failed. “A work of fiction. And a romance, from the sound of it.”

  She inhaled sharply through her nose. “What does that matter?”

  “It matters a great deal, as a matter of fact,” he said in extreme agitation. Then, realizing what a prat he was being, he added in a softened tone, “Forgive me. It was ungracious of me to interrupt you just now, so kindly continue.”

  “I was only going to say that Edward found himself in a situation similar to yours,” Georgie said, leaning forward in her chair. “Engaged to a woman he did not love, and unable to marry the one he did. Until his mother learned of the secret engagement and promptly disinherited him. Lucy then ‘transferred’ her affections to Robert, the younger brother and new heir, releasing Edward from his promise. Thereafter, he took orders and was given the parish at Delaford, the estate of the tragic hero who wins Marianne in the end?”