The Reluctant Rake

by Jane Ashford

  This took Georgina by surprise, and she merely looked at him.

  “You did say yesterday that you would be leaving soon,” he added. “So when I didn’t see you today, I assumed you were making ready to go.”

  “You had visitors,” blurted Georgina.

  “Yes, of course.” His tone implied boredom, but in actuality, Ellerton was furious. He’d been taken by surprise by Georgina’s statement the previous day. He had not thought of her leaving, and his first reaction was denial. He did not wish her to go. And it was somehow worse that she had not discussed the matter with him first, but had simply presented it, in company, as a fact. And then she’d disappeared. Jenkins had brought his dinner and, as usual, remained with him through the evening and night, and at the hour when Georgina customarily joined him after breakfast, a pack of chattering Londoners turned up. Ellerton had sent them on their way as soon as he decently could, but even then, Georgina had stayed away. When he was forced to send for her, the baron’s temper worsened further. “Well, do you intend to tell me your plans?” he went on, some emotion in his voice now. “Or were you going to simply depart and leave me to discover it for myself?”

  “I didn’t… I wasn’t…”

  “Not, of course, that you have any particular obligation to me. You have done a great deal too much already. Jenkins and the others can look after me quite well.”

  His manner seemed to confirm Georgina’s worst fears. He didn’t want her here, she concluded. When he’d been too ill to care who attended him, it hadn’t mattered, but now he was weary of her constant presence, and using her own reluctant words as an excuse to be rid of her. The idea was very painful, but she refused to show it. “It is time I was getting back to town,” she agreed, her voice shaking only a little. “Susan needs me, especially now that William is to be married. He is engaged to Lady Marianne, you know.”

  This news diverted the baron briefly. “Is he?”

  “Yes.” Georgina gathered all her courage; whatever her own feelings, she was determined to thank him for his part in that affair. “That was your doing, I think. I am very grateful to you.”

  “You figured that out, did you?” He looked at her more kindly, impressed yet again by her powers of observation and quick understanding.

  “It could have been no one else. It was so kind of you.”

  “Merely pursuing my interest in human nature,” he answered lightly, and smiled. For a moment the conversation hung in a delicate balance. The established sympathy between them worked to dissipate the discord. But then the baron recalled his grievance. It seemed monstrously unfair that she should leave because of his “kind” act. “And so you return to London to help with the wedding?” he asked sharply.

  “I will certainly give what help I can,” she replied unhappily. “Though it is Susan who will need me most, I imagine. The MacClains will be too busy to take her about.”

  “Ah.” He couldn’t argue against this, though had he known how much Georgina regretted her words, he might have done so. “When do you mean to leave?”

  Somehow, Georgina thought miserably, she had maneuvered herself into a corner. While part of her protested violently, she responded, “This afternoon, unless you wish me to stay a day or two longer.”

  “No, indeed,” he said through clenched teeth. “Jenkins will take things in hand.”

  “He’ll be delighted to,” added Georgina with a spark of wistful humor.

  “He will.”

  She stood in silence before him. She could still change her mind, a part of her argued. She could find some excuse to stay. But the voice of reason was stronger now that he had, as Georgina thought, encouraged her to go. She would not hang about like one of those women the valet had described so vividly, waiting for the least crumb of attention, forcing herself on Ellerton when he couldn’t get away. The fact that she loved him was humiliating enough without playing out such a pathetic charade. “I…I should pack.” she said forlornly.

  The baron was too wrapped up in his own resentment to hear the tone. “Of course,” was his cool reply.

  She turned to go.

  “Miss Goring.”

  “Yes?” Georgina scolded herself for the eager hope she heard in the word.

  “Since I suppose we will not be seeing each other for some time, I should thank you once again for the help you have given me.”

  Her spirits fell as quickly as they’d risen. “It was nothing. I was…that is, Susan caused your accident, so it seemed only right.”

  “Nonetheless, I do thank you.” Inwardly he cursed the heedless Susan. The woman cared for nothing but her damned cousins, he thought. Let her go to them!

  Georgina made a dismissive gesture, as if to physically put off his thanks. She hesitated before turning toward the door again. He’d seemed to imply that she was not to come back here. “Well,” she ventured, “good-bye.”

  “Good-bye, Miss Goring.” Ellerton’s voice habitually grew more distant with intensity of emotion, so that by this time he sounded scarcely interested.

  Georgina waited one more instant, wishing to speak but having nothing to say, then turned again and went out. Ellerton gazed at the empty doorway for a long time after she left it.

  Sixteen

  Georgina’s packing did not take long. Most of her clothes were still in London, and Susan and William had been carrying books back and forth for her so that she had only a few in her possession. Her greatest problem was explaining to a startled Lucy the reasons for their sudden departure. The maid was full of questions for which she had no good answers, and finally she sent her down to ask the landlord about hiring a chaise simply to be rid of her.

  But Lucy was back almost at once. “He says it’s all right,” she told Georgina. “They’re harnessing up now.”

  “Oh.” This was what Georgina had requested, but she realized then that she’d had some lingering hope that she would be forced to stay by lack of a vehicle. She raised her chin. “Good. You can take the dressing case down now. And ask someone to fetch the other things.”

  “Yes, miss. I swear I had no idea we were going so soon. I—”

  “I decided rather quickly, yes, Lucy. Go on now.”

  In what seemed to Georgina a remarkably short time, all was ready. The innkeeper urged her to eat a bite of luncheon before she set out, but she wasn’t hungry. She allowed him to press a packet of sandwiches on her for Lucy’s sake, and then urged the maid to climb up. At the last moment, she nearly balked and went to Ellerton, but the interested gazes of the landlord, ostlers, and others in the yard changed her mind. She was very close to tears, and she did not want to break down before all these curious strangers. Thus, she got in the chaise, and the driver signaled his team. Georgina did not even feel comfortable twisting round to watch the inn out of sight.

  Inside the private parlor, Ellerton had no such qualms. Stretched out on the sofa, he had a clear view of Georgina’s departure through a front window, and was secure in the knowledge that none could see in as well as he saw out. This was the only gratifying circumstance, however, and he was very pleased to see that Georgina did not look happy as she left.

  But this pleasure was short-lived. When the chaise had disappeared around a bend in the road, and even the sound of its wheels had died away, Ellerton lay back on his pillows with a sigh. His anger was fading, and with Georgina gone, he had the leisure to consider his actions. Why had he flown into such a rage? It was inevitable that Georgina return to London in time, and surely he was not so selfish as to wish to keep her to provide amusement for himself now that he was better. He had visitors often, and the doctor was talking of letting him return to his own house.

  Yet these reasonable assertions did nothing to dispel the regret he felt at her leaving. He remembered some of their conversations, a smile curving his lips, and suddenly envisioned her face as he had sometimes seen it, vivid with
laughter. A most unusual woman, he concluded, with qualities one rarely found in anyone, male or female. He would look forward to seeing her again, in town.

  But when Ellerton imagined that scene—a crowded drawing room, loud with chatter and smoky with candlelight—his heart sank. That was not what he wanted, he realized. He wanted to continue as they had been, alone, quietly talking and laughing over shared observations, near enough to accidentally brush hands. Without warning, he was filled with blinding desire for Georgina Goring. All his senses came alive with memories of her, a series of glowing, sensuous pictures flashing through his mind. At first, he was too astonished to do more than lie still, eyes wide, breath quickening, and then, in an instant, he saw that he loved her. His body had been too weakened by injuries to respond until now, and he had mistaken his feelings for something milder. But at this inopportune point, when she was out of reach, perhaps forever, he saw the truth. This was the woman he had searched for all his life, and he had sent her away.

  But as he struggled to sit straighter, jarring his broken ribs, and started to call for Jenkins, Ellerton was shaken by a highly uncharacteristic doubt. She’d given no sign of feelings like these, he thought. She’d been performing a duty, and she had gone as soon as it was done. Ignoring his own role in her departure, the baron hesitated. He’d been ready to force Jenkins to hire a carriage and accompany him to London, and damn all doctors. But now he was uncertain. What if she should refuse him?

  This was a novel thought for the much-sought-after Baron Ellerton. All his efforts had been directed toward avoiding entanglement for years; it was odd to be not only contemplating marriage but also wondering whether his suit would be acceptable. And yet she had stayed, he told himself, and she had seemed to enjoy their times together.

  Ellerton had a very unusual afternoon. He spent it arguing first one side and then the other of his dilemma, unaware of Jenkins bustling blissfully about his room or the other sounds of an active posting house. He could recall no other time in his life when he had felt so indecisive, and he did not care for the feeling at all. It had driven him nearly to distraction when Jenkins came in yet again and announced a visitor. “Sir William Wyndham, my lord.”

  William was directly on his heels. “The others are coming, sir,” he blurted as soon as he was inside the parlor. “I rode ahead so that I could thank you for speaking to me the other day. You may have heard that Marianne and I are to be married.” At Ellerton’s nod, he grinned and shrugged. “And it is all your doing. You were dead right. One can’t let anything keep one from the girl one loves. I shall never be able to repay you for telling me that.”

  The baron was gazing at him fixedly. “Perhaps you will,” he said slowly.

  “What?” William looked mystified, but willing.

  Ellerton considered a moment, then nodded. “I must get to London at once,” he declared. “And you can help me. This damned leg won’t let me ride. It must be a carriage, and slowly, I suppose.”

  “But I thought the doctor—”

  “The doctor says you aren’t to travel for at least a week, my lord,” interrupted Jenkins indignantly. The valet had left the room when William arrived, but he had come back with a tray in time to hear Ellerton’s request. “He said he can’t guarantee that you’ll heal properly if you bounce about on the road just now,” he went on. “And you won’t while I’m alive!”

  “Mason is being overcautious,” snapped the baron. “I feel much better.”

  “And didn’t he say you would?” replied Jenkins. “And that you’d likely get restless and try to move before you should. No, my lord, I won’t allow it.”

  Ellerton looked to William.

  “I…I wouldn’t want to do anything that would prevent your recovery,” stammered the younger man, torn between gratitude and responsibility. “If the doctor says—”

  He was interrupted by the arrival of Susan, Tony, and Marianne, full of high spirits and teasing him about his neck-or-nothing riding on their approach to the inn. It was some minutes before this died away, time enough for the baron to stifle his rage and William to conclude that he had done the right thing. He could not, he decided, endanger Ellerton’s health, no matter what he owed him.

  “Where is Georgina?” asked Marianne then. “She will laugh at me for riding out twice in one day, but William convinced me.” The engaged couple gazed fondly at one another.

  “She has gone back to London,” was the curt reply. “You must have passed her carriage on your way.”

  “What?” They all looked astonished.

  “She didn’t tell us she was coming,” accused Susan. “And we didn’t see her. She would have called out.”

  “It was probably that ‘shortcut’ you led us into,” answered Tony. “Wasted half an hour, and made us miss her. I told you that—”

  “It did not!” protested Susan. “It was much quicker than last time. But I suppose Georgina kept to the main road.”

  “Of course she did.” Tony was contemptuous.

  “Well, we will see her at home,” retorted Susan, and turned her back on him.

  Marianne was frowning. “She said nothing this morning about going.” She looked at Ellerton, her earlier concern returning twofold.

  “A sudden decision,” he answered in an indifferent voice. “But you must allow me to wish you happy, both of you.”

  This successfully diverted William, who never liked to think the worst. He led Marianne in a discussion of their wedding plans, and the question of Georgina was allowed to drop. Ellerton could see that Marianne was not satisfied, but he had no intention of allowing her to find out the truth. This minor matter occupied only a small part of his attention, as did his visitors’ chatter. His whole mind was bent on the burning question of how he was to get to London and see Georgina. A letter would not do, he had concluded. He must see her and take his chance. William’s echo of his own words had tipped the balance of his indecision. He could not allow Georgina to slip away from him through his own inaction.

  Ellerton felt imprisoned during the next half hour. He was surrounded by jailers, with the best intentions in the world. How could he elude Jenkins and find aid in getting to town? He would not be at all surprised to learn that Jenkins had alerted the inn servants to his plight. They would refuse to help him, no doubt. And he could not travel without assistance; he was not so foolish as that.

  “They should let him do as he likes!” exclaimed Susan Wyndham at that moment, in response to some remark of Tony’s.

  Ellerton had lost the thread of the conversation, but this statement captured his attention. He eyed Susan speculatively. She might well have sympathy with his powerlessness, and she owed him a very large debt. Some of the tension left his expression as he began to plan his campaign.

  When the four young people rose to take their leave, Ellerton was ready. “Miss Wyndham, could I speak to you for a moment?” he asked. “Miss Goring left a message for you.”

  “For me?” Susan looked pleased to be thus singled out. “Of course.” She waited as the others filed out, Marianne frowning. When William shut the parlor door, she gazed inquiringly at the baron.

  “I fear that was a ruse, Miss Wyndham. What I wish to say to you does not concern your cousin.” Though he realized at once that this was untrue, he pushed the thought aside. This must be left as uncomplicated as possible.

  “If you are going to scold me again for driving your phaeton—” Susan began.

  “I am not. It has nothing to do with that either. I need your help, Miss Wyndham.”

  “Mine?” She looked mystified, and a bit intrigued.

  “I must go to London at once, and the servants here refuse to allow me to do so because of the doctor’s orders.” He had decided to be frank.

  “The doctor is afraid you will hurt yourself more?” asked Susan.

  “Yes. But he has said I may travel in a week,
and doctors are always overcautious.”

  “That’s true. When I had the measles, they made me stay in bed for days after I felt fine.”

  “Exactly. I will not be hurt, and it is vital I get to town.”

  She surveyed him speculatively. “Why?”

  “That need not concern you. I think you owe me your aid, Miss Wyndham. I would be in London now if not for you.”

  Susan grimaced, then shrugged. “Oh, very well. What do you want me to do?”

  For a moment Ellerton could not believe it was so easy; then he recovered and launched into his plan. Susan listened closely, nodding from time to time and seeming unconcerned with anything other than understanding what she must do. “You have it?” finished the baron.

  “Yes. I’ll come right after breakfast.”

  “Splendid! You are an unusual girl, Miss Wyndham.”

  She grinned impishly at him, and went out.

  Seventeen

  Once his plans were made, Ellerton relaxed and concentrated on carrying them through. His desire to see Georgina was undiminished, but he knew that certain steps must be accomplished first. His main problem was Jenkins, and he began at once to work on it. He kept his valet running here and there on various errands through the evening, attempting, without seeming to, to wear him out. Then he forced himself to wake after a few hours’ sleep and find new services his valet could perform. Ellerton had been sleeping soundly through the night since the end of the first week after his accident. Indeed, he had repeatedly told Jenkins that it was unnecessary for him to sit up. Now he was glad the man had resisted, for it gave him the opportunity to ensure his lack of alertness the next day.

  By early morning, the baron was satisfied, and he managed a few hours’ sleep during the time when Jenkins must be busy with the morning routine. When his valet brought the breakfast tray sometime later, Ellerton even felt a bit guilty, for Jenkins really did look exhausted. And it was with real sincerity in his voice that Ellerton urged him to go to bed.