Where had his love been then? The love he had so grandly declared over and over again. Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear...
In the end, it had turned out to be nothing but pomp and illusion. The man who had stood in front of her, shredding her life to pieces, had been a stranger. A cold-hearted stranger with ice flowing through his veins.
And I will luve thee still, my dear...
Accusations had spilled from his lips in a sheer endless stream and had burrowed into her skin like acid. He had given her no chance for explanations. Even if she had been able to make them, they would have fallen on deaf ears. But as it was, all she had been able to do was to keep from bending over with horror and pain under his cruel onslaught.
O my luve is like a red, red rose...
She remembered the numbness of her lips as the blood had drained from her face, as she had realised that this was the end.
The shudders grew stronger. Hard wood scraped across her back.
“Jessus, Püppi, what is the matter with you?”
Strong hands gripped her elbows and pulled her upright. Through a film of tears, Georgina recognised Hanno, the gatekeeper.
And fare thee weel, my only luve,
And fare thee weel awhile...
“Püppi, Püppi.” Awkwardly, he patted her shoulder. “Let’s get you back to the house, and then I’ll go and get Maria for you.” With one arm around her shoulders, he helped her to the gatekeeper’s house and saw her settled on the canapé in the tiny kitchen. “I’ll send Maria to you. No need to cry, there’s a good girl.”
But neither tears nor shivers would stop, not even when Maria, his wife, came and clucked over her like a mother hen. “Oh sweet, whatever is the matter with you?” The older woman rocked her in her arms, until finally, finally the tremors subsided.
After wiping Georgina’s face with a kitchen towel, Maria eyed her critically. “You look a fright. You cannot possibly go up to the big house like that. Why don’t you go up to your room and lie down for a while? I’ll say your excuses at the villa.”
“Yes,” Georgina murmured. But what an effort it was to walk up the stairs when your legs felt like lead! She pushed the door to her room open, and exhausted, she sank down on the chair at the window.
Whatever should she do now?
~*~
Twilight had already fallen when a knock sounded on her door. Her son poked his head into the room. “Over at the big house they say you’re ill. Why, you’re sitting all in the dark, Mama!” He came into the room, bustled around, lit the lamps. All the while Georgina’s gaze followed his every movement.
No wonder she had thought he looked different when he had come home from Italy! For it was clear to her now that the boys must have met in Italy. In Florence perhaps. Had he not talked about meeting somebody, somebody special, in Florence? And what an extraordinary coincidence that would have been! Her sons... Both of them. Together for the first time after seventeen years.
Tears welled up in her eyes. Hastily, she blinked them away before he could see them.
“There.” He turned, tinder box still in his hands. “This is much better, isn’t it?”
In the soft glow of the oil lamps, he looked awfully young and vulnerable. Not at all the boisterous young man.
But he had never been that with her, not really. He might have driven poor Weidel to despair with his mischief and his ignorance about silks and calicoes, he might have caused offence in a hundred little ways and got into trouble just as many times, but with her he had always been unfailingly charming. Indeed, he had soaked up her love and attention like a dry sponge.
Had he been only starved of a mother’s affection, she wondered, or had he missed love as such?
“Thank you.” Georgina attempted a smile, but was afraid she failed miserably. Her lips were stiff and unresponding; her whole face, her whole body, felt stiff and numb as terror and excitement warred within her.
Her son beamed at her, fiddled with the tinder box. But the next moment, he frowned. “Are you hungry? I could get some broth from the kitchen, I’m sure. I...” He turned towards the door.
“No,” she said hastily. “Stay.” Her heart was beating hard and fast. “Stay... Gareth.” She held her breath.
The tinder box crashed to the floor. He whirled around, stared at her, his eyes huge in his suddenly pale face.
She had been right. Dear heavens, she had been right.
New tears sprang into her eyes. “Gareth,” she whispered, and opened her arms wide.
In an instant he was on his knees at her side and in her arms. “Mama,” he murmured into her hair, hugging her so hard she could hardly draw a breath. But she didn’t mind, didn’t mind at all.
She whispered endearments to him, all the sweet names she had called him when he had still been a baby.
“How did you know?” he finally asked.
With a choked laugh, she drew back and dashed her hands across her face to wipe away the tears. “Why, I should have suspected something much earlier. You and Finn might look alike, yet you’re quite different actually.” She trailed her finger down his cheek. “I knew today when I saw you at the river. Your strawberry mark...”
“Oh.” He gave her a sheepish smile. “I forgot about that.”
“Yes, oh. For how long would you have carried on with your charade if I hadn’t found out today?”
With an even more sheepish smile he ducked his head and shrugged. “Well, we didn’t think about that. We...” And then he poured out the whole story. How he and Finn had stumbled across each other quite by accident and had, after several secret meetings, decided to unravel the mystery of their family and switch places.
It had been, Georgina suspected, mainly his idea, since Finnian had so far never displayed any tendencies to run into mad scrapes. Despite herself, she smiled. “What a mess.” She tousled his hair.
He sank back on his haunches. “Is it?” he asked, his voice quiet, while he regarded her intently. “We didn’t understand—”
“No, I suppose you didn’t.” Georgina sighed.
“I still don’t.”
And how could he, when there were things about the past she didn’t understand herself? “How is Finn faring?” she tried to distract him.
All at once, his expression clouded.
A sliver of fear touched her heart. “Gareth.” She gripped his shoulders. “What is it?”
“I haven’t heard from him in weeks. Before, he always wrote every three or four days. You don’t suppose...”
Her fingers spasmed. In vain she tried to suppress the agitated flutters of her heart. Finn was conscientious, almost scrupulously punctual. What could have kept him from writing? What had happened back in England? Sweet, sensitive Finn all alone at Ashburnham Hall...
“What are we going to do now?” Gareth asked in a small voice.
“I will...” She licked her dry lips. It would not do to disconcert him even more, and so she pushed her own fears aside. “I will think of something,” she said, and even managed to make her voice sound firm. “Why don’t you get us some of that broth you were talking about earlier? We’re both in need of a bit of sustenance, aren’t we?”
He nodded and stood. Yet when he turned to leave the room, she reached for his hand and held it fast. She couldn’t let him leave without... “There is something I want you to know, Gary.”
Surprise registered on his face.
She pressed his hand against her heart. “All these years ago, I had to make a terrible choice. It was not easy to leave you behind. In fact...” She choked down her tears as the memories threatened to overwhelm her again. “In fact, I felt as if I were ripping out my own heart. But I had no other option. I simply couldn’t take you both.” Her view of him blurred. She gave him a small smile and hoped he would understand. “You see—you are the heir, the Viscount St. Asaph.”
Gareth pressed her hand before he leaned down to kiss her cheek. His fingers slipped from her grasp, and he turned towar
ds the door, but didn’t yet leave. With his face averted, he spoke, and his words made her blood run cold. “And yet I wish you would have taken me instead of Finn. It’s not charitable against my brother, I know. But God knows how sick I am of being bloody Lord St. Asaph.”
Quietly, the door clicked shut behind him.
~*~
In the end it was all surprisingly easy. For how could she let the heir to an earldom continue lugging around bales of fabric? How could she not want to find out what was wrong with her other son? True, she could have sent Gary home on his own, but wouldn’t that mean to abandon her sons a second time?
And so she told Frau Else she would leave the villa to go back to England. A mere fortnight later she packed her few belongings, booked two seats on the mail coach and took leave of the existence she had forged for herself in the past seventeen years. She cried a little when she finally bid Frau Else farewell. The old woman patted her hand. “You know you can always come back, my dear,” she said, her voice a little hoarse.
Attempting a smile, Georgina wiped her fingers over her cheeks. “I know. Thank you.” Yet she had to bite her lip hard to prevent more tears from spilling over, for she knew that even if she did return, everything would be changed and her life shattered beyond repair. This time, Ashburnham would truly destroy her.
And I will come again, my luve,
Tho’ ‘twere ten thousand mile...
Frau Else’s hand slid into the hidden pocket of her dress and drew out her cards. “One last time, my dear, will you?”
Georgina shuffled the cards and gave them back, her hands trembling ever so slightly, before she left the room and the villa.
As she stepped outside, she was nearly blinded by the brilliant blue of the sky and the beaming rays of the sun that danced on the golden-tipped leaves of the chestnut trees—autumn had arrived at the Villa under the Linden Trees, and Georgina would not see the glorious green of another spring here. With a heavy heart and stinging eyes, she walked down the drive.
One last time... one last time...
She thought of the first time she had walked beneath those same trees that rose high on her left and right like the pillars of a cathedral. As she had done then, she stopped and laid her head back to follow the lines of the dark trunks with her gaze. And even after all these years, she still felt the same awe, was overwhelmed by the beauty of black, whispering branches and glittering leaves against the blue sky.
Georgina’s breath hissed through her nose as sharp pain sliced her heart.
Just in that moment the wind picked up. A puff of air let the branches rustle, and suddenly hundreds of small leaves were raining down on her. She didn’t notice the tendrils of hair the breeze blew across her face, but lost herself in the whirl of glitter and gold. If only this moment would never end...
She knew she would treasure it always, this last present the villa had given her. She threw a last look at the house. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“Mama! We have to hurry!”
Georgina shook her head, then turned her back on the Villa under the Linden Trees and walked down the rest of the drive, brushing the leaves from her dress.
Martin Renner and Hanno, the gatekeeper, took the small travel trunk with her belongings to the coaching station, while Gareth carried the old carpet bag she had given Finnian for his Italian journey. And then the mail coach arrived, a few passengers got out, new passengers bustled about, their luggage was stored away, and the postmaster called everybody to get into the coach.
So soon...
Georgina’s heart was hammering against her ribs. She watched Gareth climb on top of the roof like a monkey, watched him wave his farewells to Hanno and Martin Renner.
So soon...
“Farewell, Püppi.” Awkwardly, the gatekeeper patted her shoulder. “We wish you the best of luck.”
Dazed, she turned to Martin Renner. He gave her a crooked smile. “Farewell, Mrs. Crawley.”
So soon... Two weeks ago she had been thinking about seducing him and now she had to take leave of him? She had wanted to start anew, had been filled with so much hope. Put the past behind you. Forget these dark spectres. Only to have Fate slap her in the face. New pain welled up inside her, and for a moment Georgina thought it was more than she could bear. How Fortuna must laugh at those vain struggles of mere mortals.
“The coach is waiting,” Martin Renner said quietly. Regret filled his voice and made his warm eyes sad.
All at once, Georgina did not care about propriety, about the people around them who might watch them. All she cared about was that she was leaving this man whom she could have loved if things had been different, if Fate had been kinder.
She stepped up to him, lifted her hand to his neck, and drew his head down to press a kiss against his mouth. For a moment, she felt him stiffen beneath her hands, but then his lips moved against hers. Bittersweet emotions coursed through her. In desperation she gripped his shoulders and lifted herself on tiptoe to press her body even tighter against his. Her mouth opened. One taste... His tongue stroked against hers, filled her almost roughly.
A taste of what could have been.
The postmaster sounded his horn.
Her breath escaped in a sob. She stepped back.
“Georgina,” he whispered.
A last quick, sweet kiss on the corner of his mouth, then she whirled away and stepped into the waiting coach.
The door banged shut behind her—and at the same time the door to her future firmly closed.
Wearily, Georgina leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes.
She was travelling back into a past she had sworn never to visit again. And even if she would be able to escape a second time, she knew that this time she would lose both of her sons.
Chapter 8
Miss Simmerly prided herself on being the belle of the district. She also prided herself on having excellent taste—be it in regard to conversation, music, or men. No wonder, then, that the musicale her parents had allowed her to organise promised to become the talk of the month. All the important families in the neighbourhood had followed the invitation—including Lady Ashburnham and her elusive son, Lord Ashburnham. Even at nearly forty years of age he was a prime specimen of manhood, Miss Simmerly mused, with his athletic figure and dark good looks. What did it matter, then, that he chose to remain aloof at the few balls and parties he attended? He was a prize well worth catching.
If only he would let himself be caught, she thought wryly. Or if he would just stop looking so sour. Heavens, judging from the expression he wore, one could be led to believe that he had absolutely no appreciation for music. How very vexing!
Expertly, Miss Simmerly’s fingers glided over the keys of the fortepiano and mastered even the greatest technical difficulties. Not by accident had she chosen a piece designed to dazzle. And as expected, the audience was dazzled, and she even earned a few bravas at the end of her performance. She accepted them gracefully, one hand rising to her breast in maidenly bashfulness as if she were surprised by her own success.
Lord Ashburnham, however, was far from dazzled, she noted with annoyance. Instead he listened intently to the footman who had appeared at his side.
Miss Simmerly frowned.
She would not tolerate any disturbances of what promised to become a most perfect evening. Yet as she watched, the earl’s expression turned even more forbidding than usual. Abruptly, he stood and left the room.
His departure did not remain unnoticed. Heads swivelled around, gazes turned speculative, and soon a gentle swell of murmurs filled the room.
How utterly vexing!
Miss Simmerly gritted her teeth and fought hard to keep her smile glued on her face. How dare that oaf ruin her splendid musicale?
“Miss Emmely, I believe it is your turn.” She nodded at the pale, moon-faced creature, who looked about to drop dead with nerves.
Splendid, just splendid.
Hoping the stupid chit would not embarrass herself, she
followed Lord Ashburnham out of the room. Indignant rage filled her breast.
She caught up with him in the entrance hall, where he was apparently waiting for his carriage. “Surely you cannot mean to leave us already,” she said sweetly.
He barely spared her a glance. “I am afraid I must.”
She noticed a footman in the Ashburnham livery hovering in the background and shot him a dark look. Was this chap responsible for ruining her evening? She took a deep breath and aimed at keeping the sweetness of her voice intact. “I hope Lord St. Asaph’s health has not taken a turn for the worse.” For hadn’t that bratty boy come down with some sort of a lingering nervous fever a few weeks ago?
“St. Asaph?” cut in the voice of the dowager countess. Her bosom heaving, she joined them. “Whatever has that boy done now?”
Lord Ashburnham made an impatient gesture with his hand. “Nothing, Mother.”
“Well, then.” Lady Ashburnham narrowed his eyes at him. “What is it? Why did you storm out of the room like that?” She turned to Miss Simmerly and patted her arm. “I must apologise for my son, my dear. What a dreadful disturbance of your lovely musicale.”
Miss Simmerly gritted her teeth. Yes, indeed. “Not at all,” she said with her most charming smile.
One of her father’s footmen opened the entrance door. “The carriage is ready, my lord.”
“Good.” Ashburnham let his own footman help him into his coat, then he turned and sketched her and his mother a slight bow. “Miss Simmerly, Lady Ashburnham.”
The dowager countess gasped. “Ashburnham, you cannot possibly leave!”
“I will send the carriage back to take you home after the musicale.” With that he strode out of the door to his waiting carriage.
Miss Simmerly’s eyes burnt. Oh yes, her musicale was going to be the talk of the month. Yet it would neither be remembered for the company nor for the music, but as the event from which a lord of the realm had fled in haste.
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