Julia was quite content to be looked after by Jane and Manfred, who both made a great fuss of her and in turn were rewarded by sweet smiles and grateful looks. Mrs Randall too, took the trouble to make Julia her favourite dishes; the young lady had become a swift favourite with them all.
‘When shall I be allowed to come downstairs, Georgie? I feel almost well again!’
‘Not just yet,’ said Georgiana smilingly. ‘You cannot yet even stand up without help! When you can walk a few paces, we shall bring you downstairs to sit in the drawing room. Captain Brandt has a very fine collection of watercolours you shall look over. But we shall have to make a very fine fire, for it is vastly cold, and we cannot have you catching another chill!’
‘Oh yes, do let me come down soon. You cannot imagine how I will like it of all things! Captain Brandt is very nice, is he not? He has been very kind to us!’
Georgiana dipped her head and made a fuss of tidying Julia’s books. ‘Yes,’ she replied calmly. ‘Very kind.’
‘Georgie?’
‘Yes, dear?’
‘It was a great shock, wasn’t it, to be overturned, I mean, and our carriage wrecked? And John dying? I think you must be very brave, Georgie, to pull us here, thought the snow. What will happen to John?’
‘Ah, dearest, do not trouble yourself with such thoughts. Captain Brandt has taken care of John. He will do what is right for the family, as soon as the snow clears. In the meantime, you must get better, so that we can be ready to go when the snow melts and the roads are passable again.’
‘Yes, Georgie,’ was the meek reply.
~~*~~
Jane turned out to be a surprising font of intelligence as to the former inhabitants of Thornleigh, chattering about its age and history whenever she was given the chance. When Georgiana submitted to her help to dress for dinner, she made a curious enquiry as to how the young girl came to be so familiar with the house and its master.
‘I was ‘ere before young Miss Rose went away, you know, Miss. Me mam and me did for the Cap’n, and before that too, when the master, Mister Osmand, lived ‘ere. Very sad it was, Miss, what ‘appened. The Cap’n ‘asn’t been his same self since. The little girl, Rose, we all thought her very sweet-tempered and charming, but when she went back to the aunt’s, there was no call, I s’pose, to keep Mam and me on.’ She sighed at the memory. ‘It is very different ‘ere now, you know. It used to be such a cheery place, with the little one running about and the Cap’n jogging her on ‘is knee. She never minded ‘is animal looks, no indeed Miss, she jus’ loved her uncle for ‘im self.’
‘I see,’ Georgiana frowned. It would not do for the servants to discuss such matters, and she changed the subject of their discussion with haste. If she had coloured up a little at the mention of the “Cap’n”, she did not admit it to herself. ‘Now, if you could just lace my stays for me, Jane, that would be very kind, and then help me to drop this gown over my head. There! Yes— thank you. It is abominably difficult sometimes to balance, unless I sit on the bed, then I am in danger of falling over when I stand up. But at least I have the bed to fall back upon!’
The young girl helped Georgiana on with her gown, a deep rose-pink silk, a little worn, but fine in quality, and the colour a very becoming match for the blush on the cheeks of its wearer. She slipped on her shoes and allowed Jane to pin her hair, using her sister’s shell pins for decoration.
‘Will I do, do you think?’ she asked the young girl. There was no glass in the room, and she was not willing to have the Captain find her in the hallway, examining her toilette! He might think her preening for his benefit!
‘Very pretty if I may say so, Miss. Now, if you will excuse me, I shall make up your fire and get you a new candle. Why, this one’s almost burnt down to nought!’
~~*~~
Georgiana was rather more self-conscious than she had been two nights ago, as she made her way down to the dining room, cane in one hand and the other on the railing. She was very aware of the need to be on her guard and had determined to keep the conversation on general subjects, such as the house and its surrounds, rather than the more personal topics to which they had gravitated two evenings ago.
She entered the candle-lit dining room full of trepidation, and was not sorry, she told herself, to find that she was the only occupant. However, only a few seconds later, her brief feelings of relief fled as Manfred appeared, carrying some dishes in his hands, and the Captain followed in his wake. His brown velvet coat and tailored cream breeches rippled as he bowed to her, and Georgiana was flustered without knowing why. She dropped him a polite curtsy which she hoped hid her heightened colour, and allowed him to pull out her chair.
He took in the sight of her, delicate and tiny in the rose silk which matched the colour of her cheeks, but said nothing. His expression as bland as ever, he set about pouring them both wine from the decanter on the sideboard. Manfred set down the dishes, served them both with a very delicious-smelling white soup, while muttering under his breath, and retired from the room.
Her host ventured a wry grimace. ‘Mrs Randall has improved the menu somewhat, although I don’t think Manfred is very impressed with her improvements. He is quite out of humour!’
‘He must be feeling a little out of place, if the kitchen is usually his domain,’ she observed tentatively, ‘but I must confess, this soup is very good indeed!’ She sipped gently from her spoon. ‘Your Mrs Randall is a culinary genius, I am disposed to think!’
He laughed aloud, an unfamiliar sound to Georgiana’s ears. ‘After Manfred’s efforts, anybody would be considered a genius,’ he noted drily. ‘My manservant is a good man, a very good man indeed, but I do not employ him for his cooking skills.’
He paused and took a moment to observe her carefully downcast eyes. ‘I wondered— have you been avoiding me, Georgiana?’
Her stomach fluttered. ‘Not at all, Captain.’ Her eyes were large and dark as she met his gaze ingenuously. ‘I have been very much engaged with my sister’s care.’
‘So formal, tonight? I much prefer ‘Asher’. I liked the way you said it the other night. As if we were friends.’
Had he read her mind? She dropped her head but could not help a quick glance at him. This! This familiarity between them, it was of this she must be careful, yes, wary even. It would not do to be too easy, too familiar, lest it grow into— but no! It was not to be countenanced! She composed herself, chiding her fluttering heart. Friends with Asher Brandt! It was a beautiful thought, but a dangerous one. She exhaled jaggedly, and set about feeding her body, while her soul waited, hungry and yearning.
If she was in a state of inner turmoil, she concealed it well. In turn, he made some small conversation on general matters, and asked after her sister, without appearing to notice her increasing quietness. Indeed, she wondered where the previous Asher Brandt had gone, since the one before her tonight had none of the lack of social graces and deficits in conversation that he had previously admitted. He did not talk a vast deal, but when he did speak, he spoke with an intelligence and judgement that delighted her against her will; he was as well-informed as she found him four months ago, and she was grateful that his own efforts to appear congenial took the onus off her, and allowed her to simply nod or smile her agreement as she saw fit. She did not trust herself to speak.
By the time several slices of a very good mutton and some cured ham were devoured, and Manfred had brought in Mrs Randall’s speciality, an almond blanc-manger and quinces, Georgiana’s mind was quite composed again.
‘I should think when we leave, you will want to retain Mrs Randall for yourself,’ she remarked calmly, as they tasted the cooled, sweet dessert.
He was silent a moment. ‘I am afraid that will not be very soon, since the snow is still quite overspreading the roads. Are you so keen to leave Thornleigh, Georgiana?’
She reddened. ‘I— that is, no, I mean, yes, my aunt is expecting us daily!’ she expostulated, all her composure ruined in one moment. ‘I— I
think we must!’
His one open eye seemed to take in all her flushed countenance, but if he divined its meaning, or he did not, his own face did not flinch. ‘I see. I shall, of course, see you to your aunt’s house as soon as the weather will allow, but I do not think that will be for some two or three days hence, at the earliest. As soon as the roads will accept a carriage, you shall be returned to your aunt.’
She did not meet his eyes. ‘Thankyou. It is very kind of you. Julia is yet not well enough to travel, but I am sure it can only be a matter of a few days.’
‘Yes.’ He fell silent. His brow was brooding, and his scar twitched in that way she had come to recognise as a sign of internal discomposure.
He set his plate to one side. ‘Will you tell me something?’
She raised her brows. ‘Why, yes, perhaps,’ she added warily.
‘How came you to suffer an injury to your leg?’
She was silent. His question had not shocked her; but it had left her exposed. No one had ever asked her directly about her limp before. But she knew that he was not judging her, nor making sport of her. She forgot her resolve to avoid personal subjects.
‘I had rheumatic fever as a child. When I was about five years old. There was some damage to the joint in my hip, and the result was a limp.’
‘And there was nothing they could do for you?’
She defiantly raised her eyes to his, challenging him to pity her, but she could see nothing in his countenance but compassion. ‘No. I remember being forced to wear special boots, and I was given some draughts, but nothing worked. I have accepted it; it does not hold me back, because I will not let it.’
He smiled slightly. ‘Yes. I remember how well you dance. One barely notices your limp.’
She blushed again. ‘Thankyou.’
‘And your walking stick —your cane— it holds special meaning for you?
‘Papa gave it to me,’ she replied candidly, running her finger absently over the little ivory hare which formed the handle. ‘It was the last thing he gave me, before he died. He made it himself, you see. He was a very skilled craftsman.’
‘You miss him very much.’
‘Yes.’
They were both silent a while, and yet, it seemed to Georgiana that the room was full of unspoken words.
‘Are you fond of music, Georgiana?’
She startled at the change of subject. ‘Why, yes, very fond,’ she replied, her eyes questioning.
‘Come.’
He presented his arm, and rising from her chair, as if propelled against her will by some supernatural means, she laid her hand on his arm, and leaving her cane, allowed him to lead her out of the dining room and into an adjoining room. The room was large, and quite dark but for several candles which had been put there, and these shed light upon a large, gilt harp which stood proudly in the centre of the room, next to a rosewood pianoforte, both of which were very elegant looking.
She lifted her a hand, to run it lightly over the curved neck of the harp. ‘Why, it is a fine instrument,’ she said softly. ‘Do you play?’
‘Who, me? Not at all,’ he replied smiling a little. ‘My sister in law was a devoted musician, and Rose was showing all the talent of her mother, when she went away to her aunt’s. But, do you play? You seem to know how to touch it.’
‘Yes, that is, a little, and not very well, I’m afraid.’ She sat at the gilt instrument and ran her fingers gently over the strings. A sparkle of notes issued from the harp, and she laughed self-consciously. ‘I used to learn when Papa was alive. But there was no more money for lessons after he died, and I stopped,’ she finished simply.
‘Your father left very little for you and your family to live on. That must be very difficult for you. Have you come down so very far in the world? Was there not something left for each of you?’ He sat down on the piano stool and tilted his head at her. His too-long sandy hair dropped over his brow, hiding his half-closed eye.
‘Papa gambled all that we had. He spent it all, at the tables. There was very little left after his debts were paid.’ There. She had said it aloud. It did not seem so very mortifying as once it had. But she took a quivering breath all the same.
‘I am sorry. I ought not to have pried.’ He stood and moved to the window, staring out into the darkness there. The candle light played over his broad back. ‘Was that what you meant, when you said earlier that you had been disillusioned?’
She played idly with the strings, stroking first one, then another, creating small, delicate sounds in the half-lit room, then paused. ‘I looked up to my father. He was my champion. I used to watch him in his wood-working room, making bird cages, small tables, oh, he could make anything!’ She made a small gesture. ‘I thought he was— well, I thought he was next to God in wisdom, and he made me feel special, and beloved. My deformity didn’t signify to him. He encouraged me to dance, even though Mama did not like me to make a display of myself.’
‘He was an ideal father.’ It was a statement, not a question.
‘Yes, he was all that father could be, and yet, he was not inhuman. He had his vices. At first, I blamed Mama, for she pushed him to live a lavish lifestyle, a great deal beyond our means at the end.’ She turned to look him full in the face. ‘But I ought not to have blamed it all on Mama; Papa was flawed, but are not we all, Asher?’
The question had been rhetorical, but her soul earnestly supplicated him for an answer, and he moved toward her as if unable to prevent himself. As the distance closed between them, she stood up from her stool, as if to run. His hands lifted to grasp her shoulders, and she found herself looking up at his face. Her gaze settled upon his full mouth, touched at one corner by a flicker of pink, shiny scarring. His breath brushed her skin like a warm caress.
‘Yes, Georgiana, we are all flawed. But that is what makes us human. We none of us are Gods.’ His voice was soft, dangerous.
She stared at him, her dark eyes huge. It seemed as if time stood still between them, and she was frozen there, with only inches between them. Then, collecting herself, she pulled away from his grasp, mortified and distressed beyond speech. It was unsupportable that she would allow herself to submit to such ungentlemanly behaviour! The other idea that came to her in that moment, that her distress was perhaps more than a little to do with the fact that his presence had come to affect her deeply, but that she could not consider. Her cheeks crimson, she turned from his face to hide her confusion.
His face became wooden, his voice rough. ‘Forgive me. I did not mean to— I forgot myself, I forgot who, what, I am— Ah, the devil take it to hell!’ He broke off, and strode from the room, and was gone.
Moving as rapidly as her uneven gait would allow her, she too, fled the room, almost dragging herself upstairs. Once in her room, she turned, put her back to the door, and wept bitterly.
Twenty One
Any other young woman of the same age might reasonably have expected to have had her heart brushed up against by the tender, painful touch of love; Georgiana had never experienced those merciless arrows of Cupid. Indeed, even despite Captain Brandt’s unpropitious proposal in town Georgiana had felt herself quite positively beyond the reach of that slender, winged youth. Now she was unprepared for the onslaught of feelings which battered her heart and stole sleep from her eyes.
When she woke early, having dozed fitfully in the dawn hours, she stole in only her night gown and a shawl, to her sister’s chamber and there, sat for almost two hours, watching her sister sleep. Last night Asher had been close to making love to her, when he had taken her by the shoulders. We none of us are Gods! She collected bitterly that he had been referring to his male, his animal inclinations. He had wanted to kiss her, and she, she had wanted— nay! She could not say! Within her was a thirst, for something more, something she felt he could give her, but she could not explain why! He had offended her in town, and now, he thought to use her, and humiliate her with his open, ungentlemanly, degenerate behaviour toward her!
G
eorgiana, despite her lack of experience, was not practiced in the art of self-deception. She could own her feelings; now she must admit unequivocally to herself that her strange attraction to Captain Asher Brandt had become more serious; she must own herself to be more emotionally drawn in than she had previously thought herself possible! It vexed her greatly that she had thought herself immune to his powerful presence, and yet, she now must admit to herself that, despite everything, she had fallen in love with him!
She determined to spend the day in her sister’s room. Jane presently came to draw her a bath, into which she gratefully sank. She let the hot water wash over her skin, soothing away her anxiety, and lulling her with its warm, comforting embrace. When Jane came back to help her to dress, she enquired as to the state of the roads, and was informed to her relief that some passage by horseback was now possible, and by the following day, a carriage might travel carefully, with a man to clear snow banks in those places still too deep to pass.
She rejoiced at the news, and a new scheme forming itself in her mind, she sat down at her writing desk, and penned a short note to her aunt. Having seen it into Jane’s hand, with her promise of getting it sent away that morning by one of the village boys, and giving her a good part of her meagre purse to ensure its being delivered that day, she left her room satisfied.
Julia was now strong enough to walk around her room and was at the window when her sister entered. On hearing that Georgiana had written to her aunt to request a carriage be sent directly, the young girl was both yielding and disappointed to be leaving Thornleigh.
‘I did so want to see Captain Brandt’s watercolour collection, and to see the garden. Manfred says he will take me, if I don’t object to being carried down the stairs. Oh, may I, please, Georgie? Manfred promised to take me to walk in that sweet little garden, outside my window.’
Beauty and the Beast of Thornleigh Page 16