by Nina Mason
He hoped she would always remember how special he’d made the moment for her. Telling her now, merely to make peace, would spoil all his careful planning.
“Only knew what?”
Because her voice sounded nearer, he thought she’d come to her senses. When she failed to open the door, he heaved a defeated sigh and said, “Very well. Have it your way. But I do hope you will not disappoint the rest of the party by refusing to do the play with me on Twelfth Night Eve.”
After an extended silence, she said, “I shall do the play … for myself and for them. But do not expect me to speak to you except when I am in character.”
Christian walked away, shaking his head. In a few days, she would see how wrong she was and he would be vindicated. In the meantime, he would play along, secure in the knowledge that, when the moment arrived, she would be as thrilled as she was astounded by his proposal. For he knew her to have a romantic heart, despite the pains she took to hide it from the world.
Twenty-Six
Early the next morning, when all but the servants were still abed, Georgie set off in her little green sleigh toward Craven Castle. Her reasons for returning home were many.
First, she did not wish to wear out her welcome. It was one thing to stay when she was snowbound, or could help with party preparations, but she no longer had an excuse to impose further upon her sister and the Captain’s hospitality.
Second, the snow on the roads was beginning to melt. If she delayed her departure any longer, she would have to leave the sleigh behind. If it snowed again, and it would, she’d be trapped indoors for days on end, which she simply couldn’t bear.
Third, the Twelfth Night Ball was a masquerade, so she needed what little time remained to put a costume together.
None of these were, of course, her foremost reason for going. The chief reason was to avoid being in such close proximity to Christian. When he was near, she could not think objectively about their relationship. And she needed very much to do so, as she was beginning to seriously question the sincerity of his marriage proposal.
Moreover, if he was near, she would find it difficult to uphold her threat not to speak to him until he announced their engagement. His power over her was too magnetic to resist. She’d only managed to do so last night because there was a door between them. Had she seen his beautiful eyes, or his handsome face, her resolve would have blown away on the wind like dandelion fluff.
Oh, but how dearly she had longed to let him in, to feel his arms around her, and to hear his seemingly heartfelt pledges of love and devotion. And she would believe every word, ignoring that still, small voice inside telling her that, if his promises were sincere, he would not keep their engagement a secret.
The more she pondered his contradictory behavior, especially his vague answers to her inquiries about his reasons for delaying, the more convinced she became that she’d been completely taken in. She now saw, for instance, that the betrothal only came about because she had put him on the spot.
Are you asking me to marry you?
I am.
As the sleigh glided along, she bit back her tears. What sort of proposal was that? Not much of one, she’d daresay. And certainly one he could later refute having made, just as he’d denied having made an offer to Jinny Stubbs. Would he one day treat her as badly as he had that wicked creature? It was not outside the realm of possibility, for she knew perfectly well that how people treated others was the way they would likely treat her one day.
No, she was right to get away from him. At home, he could not cast his spell over her. At home, she could think and plan. At home, she would be immune from the temptation of going to his bed. At home, she could ask her mother if Christian had yet applied for her consent.
Because he must have it before they could marry—or even become officially engaged—since Georgie was not yet twenty-one years of age.
That would be the true test of his sincerity. If he had written to Mama, she would know he was in earnest. And if not, she could safely assume the rat had been leading her down the garden path all the while.
Upon reaching Craven Castle, she pulled the sleigh around to the stable. Hurrying into the house, she found her mother and sisters in the breakfast room. As she entered, she said with false cheer, “The prodigal daughter has returned. Did anyone miss me?”
“Of course you were missed,” her mother said, looking up from her plate. “In fact, I was beginning to despair of your ever returning to the roost.”
“I had hoped to see you at Louisa’s party,” Charlotte said with a mouth full of food. “So you could see for yourself how many conquests I made.”
“And I missed you at church on Sunday,” Henrietta added. “It’s very unlike you to stay away, especially on Christmas. Mr. Goodman gave a brilliant sermon, as usual. He sends his regards, by the way.”
“I would not have missed either,” she told her sisters, “were it not unavoidable. I trust you all have heard by now what happened to me and Lieutenant Churchill on Christmas Eve.”
“Yes,” said Mama, her fork poised for a bite. “We had it yesterday from Lady Baldwyn. How terrifying it must have been for you. And the poor Lieutenant. To think, he might have died had you not studied poisonous plants as you have. Well done, by the way. I am exceedingly proud of you for being so clever.”
“Thank you, mother.” To hide her blush, Georgie moved to the buffet where the food was laid out. After making her choices, she joined her family at the table.
They ate in silence for several minutes before her mother raised her head, fixing her gaze on Georgie. “Pray, is there any other news from Greystone Hall?”
“We will be putting on a play on Twelfth Night Eve, to which you are all invited.”
“Oh, I do love a private theatrical,” Charlotte said excitedly. “Which play will it be?”
“Lovers’ Vows … and it should please you to know that Louisa and I both have been cast in leading roles.”
“I am pleased, but not surprised,” said her mother, “given that you and Louisa are the beauties of the parish.”
Georgie, blushing again, looked down at her eggs and cold meats. She did not consider herself a beauty. All she ever saw in the looking glass were pimples, unruly hair, and a figure no one could call voluptuous.
“Pray, who else will be attending the performance?” he mother asked.
“You three, I believe, will be the only audience, as everyone else has been given a role.”
“I see,” Mama said coolly, as if feigning nonchalance. “And is Lord Wingfield still at Greystone?—or has he gone home to Derbyshire?”
“He is still there,” Georgie told her, “and will play the role of Count Cassel.”
“How thrilling,” her mother cried. Then, appearing to consciously dim the light in her eyes, she added off-handedly, “What I meant to say was how thrilling that must be for him.”
“Yes, I do believe he is delighted to be taking part,” Georgie said, playing along.
“We shall all look forward to the performance,” Mama said, smiling around at her daughters. “Now, do you have any other news to tell us?”
Georgie studied Mama’s countenance, sure she detected excitement beneath the mask of genteel serenity her mother wore. What she could not determine was whether that tempered zeal owed to seeing Lord Winfield again or the expectation of her daughter’s engagement to his son.
“It might interest you to know that Lord Wingfield has disinherited his eldest son.”
“No!” her mother cried, dropping her fork. “He would not do anything so cruel, especially when …”
“When what?” Georgie asked.
“When … well, when he seemed so kind.”
Her mother was clearly covering her tracks, suggesting she knew more than she was letting on. But how to winkle it out of her without embarrassing them both in front of Henrietta and Charlotte? No, she must wait until they’d left the table to ask her mother if Christian had contacted her. Mama’s ig
norance of his disinheritance, however, seriously deflated her hopes. For surely a man would discuss his prospects when asking for a daughter’s hand in marriage.
“Did he give a reason for his decision?”
Georgie felt jarred, as if she’d stepped into deeper a hole than anticipated. For she could not tell her mother about Jinny Stubbs and still expect her to approve their marriage, if and when the time came. “I’m sure he had his reasons, but he did not inform me what they were.”
“Did the Lieutenant not tell you?”
“No,” she said with an off-handed shrug. “Why should he?”
“I was under the impression he was courting you.”
Seeing her chance, Georgie asked, “And what—or whom—gave you such an impression?”
“Your sister did,” Mama answered. “At the Christmas party. When the two of you did not appear, she speculated that you might have eloped.”
If only we had, Georgie thought with a sigh. If only we had, we would be married now, and I would not be riddled with such terrible doubts and anxieties.
* * * *
As soon as Christian was dressed for the day, he marched straight down the hall to Georgie’s room and knocked softly on the door. When she gave no answer, he knocked again. Still, there was no answer, so he tried the knob. To his relief, it turned in his hand. Pushing the door open, he stepped inside and looked around.
His heart sank when he saw that Georgie was not within. Deciding she must have gone down to breakfast early, he hastened downstairs and into the dining room. There, he found only Captain and Mrs. Raynalds at the table. “Where is Georgie?” he asked with rising alarm.
“Still in her room, I can only presume,” her sister answered.
“I have already checked her room and she is not there.”
Mrs. Raynalds looked at her husband before returning her gaze to Christian. “In that case, I suggest you try the library … or the Billiards Room, where she might have gone to practice her lines for the play.”
“Yes,” he said, mildly relieved. “I had not thought of that.”
Leaving them, he checked the suggested rooms and several others before concluding that Georgie was not in the house. With a knot of dread in his gut, he walked down to the stable. There, he inquired of one of the grooms if she’d gone out riding.
“No, sir. Miss Bennet went out in the sleigh.”
Concern stabbed Christian’s heart. “Did she mention where she was going?”
“No, sir. But she had a small trunk with her, if that is of any help.”
It helped him determine where she’d gone, but did nothing to restore his peace of mind, which had been much disturbed since their last exchange. He’d tossed and turned half the night, wondering if he’d been right to withhold his reasons for delaying the announcement of their engagement.
Now it seemed clear he had been wrong. Dead wrong. For she had left him, without so much as a word of farewell! It did not take a genius to guess the reason: somehow, she had wrongly concluded that his intentions toward her were dishonorable. He must, therefore, correct her misapprehension at once, even if it meant foreswearing his romantic surprise.
“Saddle my horse,” he told the groom. “Quickly, man.”
The moment his mount was ready, he found his seat, dug in his heels, and rode toward Craven Castle at the speed of a post-boy with an express delivery. Not until he was halfway there did he realize he’d set off without his overcoat, hat, or riding boots. But no matter. The important thing was to set both their minds at ease as swiftly as possible.
As soon as he reached Craven Castle, he hopped down from his horse, tied the reins to the hitching post, and strode quickly to the front door. He knocked twice before the butler answered. “I must see Miss Georgianna at once,” he impatiently told the manservant, “on a matter of some urgency.”
Opening the door wider, he admitted Christian only as far as the entry hall before telling him to wait there while he inquired if Miss Georgianna was home to callers.
Christian paced the floor for what seemed an eternity. At length, the butler returned and, saying only “Come with me,” led him to a darkly paneled drawing room with a tea-green sofa and massive Elizabethan chimneypiece.
Inside, to his surprise, he found not Georgie, but Lady Bennet, who regarded him with cold aloofness. “I will get right to the point, sir,” she said without directing him to sit. “I have reason to believe you obtained my consent to marry my daughter under false pretenses.”
“I did no such thing,” Christian avowed, as astonished as he was affronted.
She arched a penciled eyebrow. “Have I then been wrongly informed of your disinheritance?”
“No, your ladyship,” he replied, squirming inside. “I wish I could say that you have, but I have indeed been stripped of my legacy.”
“I see.” She stretched her neck to look down her nose at him. “And may I know the reason?”
Shame heated his face, calling perspiration to his forehead and upper lip. Aware that nothing he could tell her regarding Jinny Stubbs would do him credit, he simply said, “I beg your leave to keep that a private matter between my father and myself.”
“Does my daughter know what you have done to earn your father’s censure?”
“She does, your ladyship. Yes.”
He shrank beneath her withering glare. “And, being young and naïve, she has forgiven you, I suppose.”
“Yes, ma’am. I believe so.”
“So that is not the reason she came home this morning … or has been weeping in her room since breakfast?”
He swallowed hard to dislodge the lump in his throat. “No, your ladyship.”
All at once, he was back at Eton, kneeling on the hard step of the flogging block whilst two junior collegers held him down. As he struggled to free himself, a senior colleger took down his breeches, baring his buttocks to the headmaster, who stood behind him with a birch rod. The sickening hiss foreshadowing the flesh-splitting strike made his gonads draw up inside his body.
His palms and armpits were wet by the time Lady Bennet spoke again: “In light of your change in circumstances, and the objectionable conduct which must have provoked your good father to strip you of your legacy, I have no choice but to withdraw my consent. You may not, therefore, marry my daughter … nor pay your addresses to her in any form.”
Her words were as painful to him as any of the birchings he’d received at Eton. “I must beg you to reconsider, your ladyship.”
Lady Bennet eyed him warily. “Give me one good reason why I should.”
“I love her … most ardently.” He strained to push the words through his thickening throat. “And cannot bear the thought of living without her.”
“If you are in earnest, Lieutenant,” said the lady, steadying her gaze on him, “I can only advise you to endeavor forthwith to be worthy of her.”
Christian, still in shock over what just occurred, took stock of his life as he rode back to Greystone Hall. A week ago, he held everything he ever wanted in the palm of his hand. Now, he held nothing. Owing to his own mistakes, he had lost his legacy, had nearly lost his life, and now had lost the person who meant more to him than anyone else in the world.
How would he ever recoup such heavy losses?
His legacy did not matter. Not really. He could live quite happily without a title and fortune. He could not, however, say the same about Georgie. He meant it when he told Lady Bennet he could not live without her daughter. From the bottom of his heart. The only thing to do, therefore, was to get her back.
The question was: how to go about it?
They could elope, he supposed. Steal away in the dead of night and make for Gretna Green before they were missed. In Scotland, they could marry without her mother’s consent. Yes, yes. It seemed like the perfect solution, apart from one small hitch: running away with Georgie would make him a bigger scoundrel in her mother’s eyes than he already was—and in his father’s as well.
No,
he needed to show her mother he was good enough for her daughter, not prove accurate her poor opinion of him. The trouble was, Lady Bennet had not misjudged him. He was unworthy of Georgie. He should have broken it off with Jinny Stubbs months ago, and damn the consequences. He should have waited to court Georgie, openly and properly, only after he was at liberty to do so.
But rather than doing right by her, he encouraged her affections, kissed her passionately, and made violent love to her. He had ruined her, damn his black heart, by acting in a foolish, impetuous, selfish, and indecent manner. Instead of conducting himself in a gentlemanly manner, he behaved like a reprobate. And now, he was paying a heavy toll for his knavery—and so, regretfully, was Georgie.
Christian heaved a mordent sigh. Sadly, what was done was done. He could not change the past now. He could, however, change the future, by becoming the kind of man who deserved a woman as wonderful as Georgie. To that end, he vowed there and then to endeavor to be worthy of her, by conducting himself at all times like a gentleman.
Twenty-Seven
From her bedchamber window, Georgie watched with confusion, curiosity, and concern as Christian rode away from Craven Castle. If he’d come to seek her mother’s consent, as she suspected, why had he gone away without speaking to his betrothed?
Unless …
No! That could not be. Her mother could have no objection to them marrying. Christian came from a more-than-suitable family; he would make a decent living as a captain in the Navy; and they loved each other so dearly.
Surely Mama would not be so heartless as to keep them apart.
Georgie, her thoughts in a tumult, hurried downstairs. She found her mother in the parlor, looking pensively out the window. “Mama, I saw Lieutenant Churchill riding away just now ... and wonder why he came … and also why he went away again without asking to see me.”
“I sent him away,” Mama said, still gazing out at the garden, “after withdrawing my consent for your marriage.”
Georgie, in a state of shock, gaped at her mother. “But … withdrawing your consent implies you already gave it. Is that indeed the case?”
