by Eva Devon
“But,” she said, “we’ve just—”
“Yes?”
“Don’t you think perhaps you should stay with me?”
“Should I?” he asked, lowering his quill to the inkwell, dipping it, and cleaning the nib of excess. “I have a great deal to do.”
“But we’ve just been married.”
“So we have,” he said, writing numbers tidily in a satisfactorily perfect column. “And it was most pleasurable. Did you not feel that it was pleasurable?”
There was no reply, and the silence gave him pause. It struck him louder than words and he lifted his gaze from the ledger, an almost painful task, for the need to complete whatever he started was a powerful one.
“Yes, I did,” she said at last, “which is why I don’t understand what you are doing.”
A strange twist of a feeling shot through him. Her face didn’t match her experience. She had been pleased…but she did not look pleased. Or so he thought.
He stilled and forced himself to focus on her downturned lips and wide eyes. When so driven, he often forgot he needed to carefully assess the faces of others to know if he had gone amiss.
From Georgiana’s face…he most certainly had.
She sat, still naked upon his bed, the linen held tightly around her. Golden locks tumbled about her face, spilling down her back. How could he make her understand? When he had to work, he had to work. Numbers needed to be aligned. Columns had to be sorted.
Work had to be completed, no matter what was at hand.
Slowly, he cleared his throat. “I have a good many things I must do, Georgiana. And it’s simply how it is. It is my life as a duke.” He smiled then, hoping to assure her all was well. “Now, you may rest as long as you wish.”
Then he considered and his smile faded. “Though, with the encroaching light of day, you may wish to go back to your room, unless you wish everyone in the house to know that we have consummated our marriage.”
“I beg your pardon?” she queried.
He put his quill down for a moment, not quite understanding the note in her voice.
She sounded different than usual.
Not her usual sort of defiant, quirkiness, but something hollow, something harder, something strange. “Georgiana, are you angry with me?”
“I am not angry with you,” she said so calmly it was clear something was about to go very wrong. “I am furious. We have just married. We have just spent our first night together and you are leaving me to go and do your tasks immediately? Without even a good morning?”
Had he not said good morning? He supposed he hadn’t. Was that so very terrible?
“It is what I must do,” he said, at a loss. “I’m a duke, after all.”
She gazed at him as if he was a complete lunatic, a most unpleasant sensation.
Others had looked at him strangely in the past, when they didn’t understand him. Somehow, seeing that upon her face was deeply upsetting.
“But surely you could take but a few moments to stay here with me,” she protested. “To get to know me a little better, for us to have our first hours together as man and wife?”
“Is it truly necessary?” he found himself asking. “We are going to have years together.”
He was shocked when she threw back the covers, bounded out of bed naked, and grabbed her clothes from the floor. “This, sir, is appalling. I find that I am your wife. And if this is the sort of marriage that we are to have, this is unacceptable and you must know it immediately.”
He blinked at her. “I don’t follow.”
“You just made love to me.”
“Yes,” he agreed, though he winced at the word love. “I did.”
“Are we to have no affection outside of bed?”
“Affection?” he queried. “I don’t follow.”
“I can see that you don’t,” she bit out, “and this is a very important problem. I require affection if we are to have any sort of relationship.” She yanked on her chemise. “You have just shown me so much, and to take it all away in a single instant—I don’t know what to do.”
“Well,” he said, eying her wild movements as she pulled her clothes on rather ineffectively, “I’m sure that I can find you something to do. There is a great deal that must be done.”
She threw her hands up. “This is absurd. You are being thoughtless.”
He tensed. “Georgiana, it is who I am. I cannot help it.”
“Of course you can,” she hissed. “You can make an effort.”
He drew in a slow breath, the room starting to feel like it was humming, a bad sign. “I make an effort at a great many things.”
“No,” she countered, “at this. You can make an effort at being a kind person. I have given myself to you as your wife and I have been remarkably vulnerable with you. And I have never shown anyone my naked body or engaged in such intimate actions in all my life. And you have already left me alone by myself. And it feels most, well, unpleasant.”
And with that, she shoved her feet into her slippers, stockings in hand, and headed for the door.
He stared at her, the sound of her voice ringing in his ears.
How to stop her and make the ringing stop at the same time? “Georgiana,” he called.
“No,” she said, whipping around and leveling him with a hard glare. “If you feel this way, we shan’t talk again until you’ve had some time to reflect upon your actions and decide if you are able to change. And if you are not, our marriage is going to be an absolute misery. Of that I am certain.” She drew herself up and stated, “I also need to collect myself.”
With that, she headed out the door. Amid the buzz that had begun to spin around him, he heard her feet thumping through the hall. It was not the reaction he had expected. He looked about then stormed to the window. He threw it open and stuck his head out into the cold air.
As if on cue, Captain bolted into the room and sat down beside him. His warm body pressed into Edward’s leg. He stroked the dog’s fur, sucking in cold, fresh air.
Did she not understand him at all?
No, of course she did not. They’d had little time together. And though he had warned her time and time again that he was distant, she had insisted that he was not.
Finally, after the world had stopped buzzing, he let out a slow sigh. It had already gone horribly wrong. He shouldn’t have been surprised, but it was a bit dismaying.
No, not a bit. The ground beneath his feet had opened and he’d fallen into a black abyss. Was this to be how it always was with him? Was he to disappoint everyone he brought into his inner circle?
He would just have to stop, because he kept failing so intensely. It was terrible.
Gazing down at his wiry, trusting wolfhound, he swallowed back a wave of pain.
He’d had such hopes and things had seemed so perfect. But then he’d attempted to do as he wished, to be himself.
And she’d left him, as most everyone always did.
Chapter Eighteen
“We’re leaving.”
Elizabeth rolled over in her bed. “I beg your pardon?”
“Get up!” Georgiana exclaimed, storming to the bedside. “We are leaving immediately.”
“Why?” Elizabeth asked, sitting up so quickly she swayed.
Georgiana hated the way she felt. She hated that she was so full of emotion. And she hated that she couldn’t explain it adequately to her sister in this moment.
Even more so, she hated that she was not in Edward’s arms. But she didn’t want to be in the arms of a lout. How could she?
“I have to marry him,” Georgiana declared as she marched to the Chippendale dresser and threw it open. “But I don’t have to spend any more time with him than absolutely necessary.”
Mindlessly, she began thrusting Elizabeth’s clothes into the trunk next to the b
ed. “It is time to go home and have the last days before my horrible marriage in a place that I can at least enjoy.”
Elizabeth gaped at her, a look of alarm darkening her usually bright eyes. “What has happened? Everything seemed perfectly well last evening, and now you are in—”
The sleep fell entirely from Elizabeth’s eyes, and with a gasp of horror, she gestured to Georgiana’s state of dress. “Where have you been?”
“It matters not where I’ve been,” Georgiana huffed as she folded another gown rapidly and tucked it away.
“It does matter, indeed,” Elizabeth retorted, swinging her legs off the side of the bed and rushing to her feet.
A wave of panic washed over Georgiana. “If you must know, I have been with him.”
Elizabeth’s eyes could not widen any further with her shock, but they did. “You’ve been with him?”
“Yes.” Georgiana closed her eyes for a moment, wondering how it had all gone so terribly wrong. “But he is my husband.”
“He’s not your husband!” Elizabeth whispered so loudly half of Yorkshire might have heard her.
Slowly, Georgiana squinted her eyes open and a wan smile parted her lips.
“Oh my goodness,” Elizabeth said in hushed tones, “He is your husband.”
“He is,” Georgiana confessed, feeling such a tumult of emotions she did not know where to begin.
“You two married last night?” Elizabeth’s mouth dropped open as the full ramifications of Georgiana’s news hit her. “In secret?”
Now, in the cold light of a gray Yorkshire morning, Georgiana did not feel the romantic adventurer she had been the night before.
“It was a terrible mistake, because now I absolutely cannot go back.” She turned to the dresser and busied herself again with Elizabeth’s things. “There’s nothing to be done.”
“Would you have tried to go back?” Elizabeth asked carefully.
Georgiana’s hands stilled and a sorrow crept through her, then. “If I knew yesterday what I know now? I very well might have convinced mother and father that a life in the Americas was far preferable to my marriage to that man.”
Elizabeth’s face softened. “Oh, Georgiana. I’m so terribly sorry. Is he truly that awful?”
“Yes. He truly is,” Georgiana managed to say. How had she been so very foolish regarding him? She knew. It was all that chatter about flight and man taking to the sky. She’d seen the wonder in him…
Georgiana sucked in a steadying breath. “He has no idea how to be a husband.”
“Of course not,” Elizabeth said. “He has never been one.”
Elizabeth’s practicality struck Georgiana so forcefully she could scarce draw breath. Even so, when she had attempted to make a request of him, he had ignored her. She’d all but had to shout at him to gain his attention. She nibbled her lip then ventured, “He could not see that he should at least consider the fact that this morning…was different. It was our first morning together.”
Elizabeth reached out to her. “I am so sorry. Perhaps he knows little of such interactions. After all, everyone does as he tells them.”
Tears stung Georgiana’s eyes before she quickly blinked them away. It had almost been as if she wasn’t in his room at all, and she’d certainly seemed a nuisance. “It was horrible.”
Elizabeth winced. “Oh, well, they do say the first time is not particularly—”
“No, no,” Georgiana rushed. “Not that. That was actually quite, well, marvelous. But come morning he all but leaped out of bed to get away from me. There was no kiss, no good morning, no embrace. I can’t explain it.”
“Oh, dear,” Elizabeth said, wrapping her arms about Georgiana. “That isn’t very romantic, is it?”
“He could not tear himself from his work. I understand he has a great duty, but…”
“Perhaps no one has told him how cruel such behavior can be,” said Elizabeth.
“I have.” Georgiana groaned. “But am I supposed to educate him daily, on the hour?”
Elizabeth gave her a squeeze then leaned back. “I think you must be blunt and honest with him as often as is necessary. You’re going to be absolutely miserable if you don’t. For as you said, there is no going back now.”
Georgiana hated Elizabeth’s good sense just now. In her frustration, it was the last thing she wanted to hear but likely what she needed most. Even so, she needed time to formulate some sort of plan for life with her new husband. And she wouldn’t be able to do that at Thornfield Castle.
Elizabeth laughed softly. “You know, I do not think that we could run away to the Americas. How would we ever have paid for the travel?”
Georgiana laughed, too, though it was more a sound of vexation. “I don’t know what’s to be done. I’ve tried assisting him and teaching him not to be so arrogant and unfeeling. But it hasn’t taken.”
“Well,” Elizabeth said with her firm sort of gentleness. “You mustn’t give up. You can’t. You’re married now.”
“I do not think he’s capable of learning,” Georgiana bit out, her heart sinking as she remembered him studying his ledger, ignoring her in his bed.
“Everyone is capable of learning,” her sister said sagely, “if you take the time.”
…
“Scared her off, did you?” Montrose drawled, his Scottish burr particularly rich this morning.
Edward made no reply to Montrose as he stared at the bleak sight of his wife running away from him.
He let out a derisive sound, hoping to hide the fact that he was deeply affected by Georgiana’s abrupt departure.
Edward had made no attempt to stop her. If she so wished to be away from him, he wouldn’t trap her in his castle. He wasn’t a bloody gargoyle.
Gripping the windowsill, he dug his fingers into the stone as he watched the coach race down the immaculate drive and out onto the foggy Yorkshire moors. She had wasted no time in going home. She certainly hadn’t said goodbye to him.
No… She wasn’t going home.
This was her home now. She belonged with him. Here. But it had all gone horribly wrong.
Edward ground his teeth together, fighting the pain cutting through his gut. Damnation, he had not felt such pain since—
He wouldn’t allow himself to even contemplate it.
How could he have been such a bloody fool?
The night between them had been heavenly.
The morning had become hell.
Why hadn’t he pretended? Why hadn’t he forced himself to behave as most people did? Edward winced. It was so easy to think now what he should have done. He should have had a plan. When he had sent the note to the bishop for the special license, he also should have arranged for breakfast to be sent up to her. Hot tea. Flowers. Something. Anything to show he was not a cold lout.
It was the gravest mistake, allowing her to see him so preoccupied without some sort of plan in place. He always had a plan, but she had shaken him from his usual course.
Over the years, those that had seen him as he’d been this morning assumed he was rude, unfeeling, thoughtless. They believed the worst of him, just as she had done. But that side of him, the side which drove him to rise from his bed and go straight to the list of tasks inside his head could not be denied.
If he tried, and he had tried, it caused a visceral pain he could not shake. Why had he thought she might be different? He had not weighed the danger of it. And now he’d lost her good opinion of him, as well as lost her.
He shook his head and forced himself away from the painful image of her disappearing over the horizon. He’d see her again at Westminster in a few weeks.
The marriage was final. She already belonged to him…and he to her.
Edward swallowed the discomfort burning through his body. The way she had looked at him, as if he was the worst of men. He wasn’t thoughtles
s or cruel. Truly.
Montrose eyed him carefully. “Are you well? You look a bit green there, mon.”
“Perfectly fine,” Edward said without looking at his friend.
“Hmmmm. A young lady hasn’t put you in a twist, has she?” The sound of Montrose’s newssheet flicking shut filled the breakfast parlor.
Edward eyed the toast and eggs in their silver chafing dishes on the cherry wood sideboard and scowled. He had no appetite. In fact, the feelings, bloody feelings, racing through him coated him with such displeasure that he rushed out of the breakfast room.
He couldn’t stay and make niceties. Not with the morning’s memory pounding in his head.
“Thornfield,” Montrose called from behind him.
But Edward did not turn back. Not when he was like this. Not when the storm inside him threatened to break loose.
He strode as quickly as he could through the wide hall, down the winding stairs, and out into the crisp Yorkshire morning, which never quite felt the heat of summer.
South.
He needed to go south.
There was only one place that might improve him in the tumultuous turn after his brief moment of happiness.
His stables at Richmond.
There he could forget the way she had looked at him after their first night together. The certainty in her eyes that there was something truly amiss at his core had shone so intensely that his mind hummed with it now, repeating again and again how disappointed she was.
Edward shook his head sharply, desperate to rid himself of the echoing thoughts.
He stormed across the gravel drive, his boots crunching. He wasn’t going to linger to bid Montrose, his cousins, or his aunt goodbye. He’d send them an apology and ask them all down to London.
After he’d found himself again.
Yes, once he’d regained control, he could face them.
Once, he’d stilled the riot of distress pounding through him, he could face her too.
Even though he knew, he’d never be able to be himself with anyone.
Not even his wife.
Chapter Nineteen
“My dear, you do not have to marry him.”