As he disappeared behind his study door, Georgiana had hoped to slip away and compose a letter to her father, but instead she was applied to for a stroll around the grounds with Lady Bramley who, having much to get off her chest and no one else's ear to bend, was obliged to make do with her as a suitable confidant.
"I thought I was done raising boys after my two were grown. I never thought Henry would be left to my care too. He should have been married by now."
"Although I suppose a man has to feel inclined to marriage, just as a woman must, in order for it to be successful."
"Inclination comes second to duty, Miss Hathaway. What a man wants, or thinks he wants, is quite beside the point. It is Henry's duty to find a wife and create heirs. After all, if he has no sons, who will inherit Woodbyne?" She waved her parasol at the crumbling facade of the ancient, grey stone abbey. "It cannot be allowed to fall out of the family's hands. My dear brother, foolish though he was in many ways, adored this place, as did our father."
"But the Commander has cousins. Your own sons. Won't they—"
"My eldest—Mandrake, Lord Bramley— has inherited my husband's estate in Shropshire and, of course, the Baronetcy. He has no interest in this place, and if it fell to him he would only sell it. He may be my son, but I can admit he is dreadfully mercenary. Then there is Maxwell." Here she paused beside a blossoming bush resplendent with scarlet roses. As her fingers worked ruthlessly among the branches, tearing off dead heads, she continued, "Maxwell would wager all this away on a horse race, or some other bet. So you see, it is imperative that Henry produce a strong son and heir, or Woodbyne will be lost to another family."
Georgiana began to have the idea that perhaps the Commander was right to suspect his aunt's motives in bringing her there. But no, in the next moment she was reassured of the lady's disinterest in making her into a prospective wife for Henry.
"I have a number of eligible young ladies in mind, and I intend to persuade my nephew to hold a summer ball here at Woodbyne, to which I shall invite them all. You will assist me. Let us see if he can turn his back on matrimony when he is presented with a garden of fair blooms from which to take his pick." She looked over the bush, checking for any other unsightly brown heads of shattered roses. "Yes, indeed. I shall not leave Woodbyne until I am satisfied that I have seen to this matter for the future good of this estate. My brother— God rest his soul— would expect it. As a Thrasher by blood, it is my duty to be sure that Henry fulfills his."
Georgiana could not help but feel sympathy for the Commander, to have such a responsibility resting on his shoulders. As an only child he must feel keenly the expectations of his ancestors.
Lady Bramley now returned her attention to the lessons for which she'd taken her young charge under her wing.
"As I observed today, much has improved, but your conversation still leaves something to be desired, Miss Hathaway. Now, as we come to each shrub along this path, you must start a new subject. And make it interesting."
Alarmed, Georgiana looked down the gravel path ahead of them and counted ten tall boxwood cones. Brown was currently up a ladder trimming one of them with shears, for they were all overgrown and sprouting stray branches, which had caused Lady Bramley great upset.
"A new subject at each one, your ladyship?"
"That is correct. A woman should be capable of steering a conversation and keeping it flowing smoothly, even if the gentleman at her side has all the personality and good sense of a garden shrub."
So they turned and proceeded down the new path, bright sun beaming down upon them.
"Suggested approved subjects are the theatre, fashion, books— some of them, music, gardening and food. Stay away from politics, religion and your opinions."
But Georgiana decided to plunge bravely in with her first subject, which belonged to none of those categories. It had been burning in her mind like a cliff-top beacon all morning. "Who was Miss Milhaven?" She slowed her steps to give this conversation plenty of time before they reached the next bush.
To her surprise, Lady Bramley answered without hesitation. "Amy Milhaven was once betrothed to Henry. He was young and so was she. I always knew it was a mistake, but he was set upon it."
Suddenly the sun felt much too hot and it made her head ache. "I see. But she married elsewhere?" The Commander had not made it seem as if he was hurt by his fiancée's desertion, but the phrase "he was set upon it" hung in her mind, a heavy weight.
Suddenly she thought of his little glances, the touch of his hand on hers, that sense of recognition at first glimpse. Of the way he tried not to smile at her, and how, if she caught him doing so, he always looked away. She swallowed hard and felt a pinch of something she could not identify. Or perhaps she did not wish to.
He did not even remember the evening walks they shared.
You are not misshapen, Miss Hathaway, that I will admit. Your features have some favorable qualities. They are not grotesque.
That was stern Commander Thrasher's assessment of her slight charms. But Dead Harry saw something else in her. Something more. He had kissed her with passion, startled her with his desire.
Perhaps, at night, in the shadows and moonlight, Dead Harry didn't see her face well enough to know that her looks were only plain to mediocre.
Miss Milhaven, on the other hand, was probably very beautiful and accomplished. She must have been something quite special for the Commander to take notice, not to dismiss her as he did other people.
"When my nephew was lost at sea in 1812," Lady Bramley continued, "Amy Milhaven wasted no time sailing onward and putting him out of her mind. She married Admiral Shaftesbury within a year."
"And what happened with Viscount Fairbanks? What did he have to do with it?"
"There was a rumor about him seducing and then abandoning the girl. That was before Henry's engagement to her. I warned my nephew she was a trollop, but would he listen? No. He took it upon himself to rescue that girl from scandal. She was never grateful, never appreciated the sacrifice he was willing to make, and the length to which he would go for a girl he barely knew. It wasn't a love match, but Henry was willing to do it all for her, just out of the goodness in his heart. That's always been his way. He is terribly contrary, and I should have known better than to warn him against it, for that only made him more determined. When he gets an idea in his head he can rarely be prevailed upon to change it. He pretends to be careless, but he is far from that. Indeed, I begin to think he cares rather too much and has so many thoughts in his head that he cannot move forward."
Georgiana nodded slowly. It wasn't a love match. He took it upon himself to rescue that girl from scandal.
"And above all else," the lady added, "he believes in standing up for what is right, instead of what is proper or suitable. It can be so very tiresome."
A terrible waste of a good man, Brown had said.
They were already at the second shrub. Lady Bramley put up her parasol to shade them both.
"Next conversation, Miss Hathaway, if you please."
Conversation? On such a glorious day, who cared about conversation? How could she think of anything else but him? Her heart thumped in a reckless rhythm.
Lady Bramley could not have encouraged her into this giddy state any more proficiently had she set out deliberately to paint her nephew in a saintly light, but this was all uttered quite casually, even wearily, as if Harry's kind heart was a great nuisance and would always get in his way.
Now here came the man himself, striding toward them down the gravel path, coatless, hatless and all too handsome in the sunlight. Even from a distance the intensity in his dark eyes was startling. She felt it all the way to her toes.
Today she looked at Dead Harry in the daylight, as if properly taking him all in, for the first time.
"Brown, you missed a bit," Lady Bramley was calling out. "Give the shears to me! I'll show you how it should be done." She thrust her parasol and her dog at Georgiana. Fortunately, the sly theft of several rashers of
bacon and two sausages from the kitchen had, over the past few days, granted the ill-tempered lapdog a greater appreciation for the fingers of its previously despised enemy and they had formed a partial, tentative truce.
With his hands behind his back, Harry passed the ladies at some speed, whistling. He nodded his head toward them. Just once. Then he was gone, sweeping by, gravel crunching under his boots, which were, today, a complete pair.
And Georgiana Hathaway suddenly had the hiccups.
The little dog gave her a questioning growl, its furry head on one side, ears pricked.
In horror she remembered how and when this affliction used to come upon her sister.
This was the very worst thing that could have happened to an ambitious girl like her. But it wouldn't last, she reassured herself— that was the good thing about hiccups. She had temporarily fallen foul of a silly, girlish fancy and that was all. She had never had one of these, and at nineteen it was probably overdue.
Her heart faltered pitifully, unable to find a steady pace. Gripping the parasol handle and the little dog with all her might, she firmly resolved not to look over her shoulder. Under no circumstances could she let him see any difference in her. For sure he would tease her mercilessly if he ever suspected. As he had said to her once, "You are, no doubt, just as eager to be in love as any other addled girl of nineteen." And she had denied it fervently, because at the time she had no such intention.
She did not want any preposterous fixation in her way, particularly not one formed for the most impossible, inflexible and truculent of men. Oh, this was a disaster.
* * * *
That evening before dinner he found her at the little writing table in the parlor, bent over a letter and earnestly concentrating. She didn't even look up when he came in. Usually she would commence chattering immediately, asking questions and meddling, giving her opinion on all and sundry.
But today— nothing.
Harry walked by her several times and noticed how she hunched further over her paper, hiding it from his eyes. One moment he had all her attention and the next none. Perhaps he had been mistaken to worry about the girl forming any unwanted attraction to him. It could be that they were all like her these days— back and forth like a flame in a draft— and he was simply out of practice with women.
In that case he should leave her to her writing and be glad.
Instead he paused, turned on his heel and passed her again.
"Are you writing your nefarious thoughts in a wicked diary, Miss Hathaway, or is this another letter to your friend?"
Whatever it was, she blotted and folded it swiftly. "I ran out of paper from my own writing box, sir, and have not yet had the chance to get more. I hope you don't mind me using yours." She looked up worriedly. "Lady Bramley said you would not mind, but you were in your study and I did not want to disturb you just to ask about paper."
Suddenly she worried about disturbing him? It had not bothered her until now.
"Of course, I do not mind." He frowned. "Why would I mind?" Did she truly think him so curmudgeonly, as his aunt had said? "Somebody might as well make use of my writing paper," he added, trying to use a softer tone. "I have nobody to whom I would write a letter, in any case. You may as well use the bloody stuff."
As he walked by the desk again, she turned to watch him. "Sir, do you think Viscount Fairbanks really would bring a libel suit against my father's paper, because of His Lordship's Trousers?"
He huffed. "Wardlaw Fairbanks is all hot air. He likes to make a lot of noise. But I very much doubt he would put himself to the trouble of a law suit. Unless he has true cause to do so." He stopped and looked down at her. "Does he have cause? Can he prove that character bears more than a passing resemblance to himself?"
She scowled at his waistcoat, for some reason avoiding looking any higher. "Of course not. I'm quite sure that His Lordship's Trousers is not about him at all. It's a satire. I believe that's what they call it, is it not?"
"Yes." He ran a hand over his stomach, and wondered when was the last time he had a new waistcoat. "But Fairbanks is not clever enough to know what that is."
Her eyes remained concerned, her lips tense. She was definitely not her usual spirited self. "Do you remember, sir, when he called my sister a Norfolk Dumpling?"
"I do indeed. You rather ingeniously found a way to wreak your revenge that evening, as I recall." He thought of her sitting on that staircase, holding the Viscount's wig victoriously aloft at the end of a fishing line.
She looked up at him. "You were there to put the fire out, fortunately, or the damage might have been far worse."
Harry scratched his chin, hastily finding use for fingers that wanted suddenly, and unaccountably, to touch her shoulder and reassure her. "Another social event that my aunt insisted I attend. But I must say, it was the most enjoyment I'd had since they rescued me and brought me back to England."
Even this did not raise a smile from her lips.
"Fairbanks did want some sort of recompense after the wig toasting, I assume?" he asked.
She sighed heavily. "That's why I was sent away to school. To be taught the error of my ways. My father paid him too, for the cost of the wig. My poor sister, Maria, suffered most of all. The Viscount snubbed her, so after the party all his sycophantic friends did the same. We were very lucky she ever found anybody to marry her after that. Our stepmother is convinced Maria could have done much better than a solicitor, if not for all that business. Entirely my fault, of course. Neither lady has forgiven me."
He was much too distracted looking at her and could barely pay attention to what she said. So Harry walked to the cold fireplace and back again while she sealed her letter, giving her words time to sink in and make sense. Eventually he said, "Fairbanks could, therefore, plausibly imagine your father prints His Lordship's Trousers in retaliation. Even if it is not so."
"But it is not about him," she replied crossly. Jumping to her feet, she exclaimed, "The world does not revolve around him, whatever he thinks. If he sees his own faults in that character, he has nobody to blame but himself."
"Well, then," Harry said smoothly. "Nothing to worry about, is there?" He had never seen her concerned like this before, and he did not like to think of her worrying over that ass Fairbanks. Nobody should ever fret about that idiot. Least of all Miss Hathaway. In fact he did not like to think of her being afraid about anything and he would prevent it, if he could. It was the clearest, most certain thought he'd had for a long time.
His aunt had told him before that his "gallant heart" was his downfall, but he didn't think his heart had much to do with it. Surely his potent dislike of Wardlaw Fairbanks served as a large part of his interest in this matter.
"Thank you, sir, for the reassurance." An odd, strained look had come over her face and then a hiccup popped out. Apparently covered in mortification, she made a hasty, head-down course for the door.
"What's the matter with Miss Hathaway?" Parkes exclaimed, passing the young lady in the doorway. "What have you done to her?"
"Me?" he grumbled. "I have done nothing to her." Not that he wouldn't like to. Damn and blast.
"She seems upset. Have you been rude again?"
"Parkes, I take umbrage at the suggestion that I cannot spend ten minutes in the company of a woman without offending her."
"Umbrage? Do you, indeed? I always thought you took pride in it," she replied smugly. "Lady Bramley surely knows the risks of wheeling me out in public, as you said to me in May. One of these days, she will see the futility and stop doing it. That was your plan, was it not? Be as difficult as you could and scare everybody away?"
"I have no inkling of what you might mean." He reached down and turned the scrap of blotting paper Miss Hathaway had used.
gel eht guh ot tuc snoolatnap eremyesreK :eritta s'gninrom sihT
Ah.
Harry quickly folded the scrap and put it away in his waistcoat pocket.
"What did you say, Parkes?" Spinning around, he fo
und himself alone in the room.
Chapter Sixteen
Georgiana requested a bath in her room that evening, using this as an excuse to leave the dinner table early. Now that she was painfully aware of her attraction to their host, she felt awkward and clumsy. She was certain she might eventually do or say something terribly embarrassing in his presence. This fear eventually led to her falling completely silent, which even Lady Bramley commented upon.
"I hope you are not coming down with a summer cold, Miss Hathaway. You look rather pale, even with all those freckles, you have hardly tasted a morsel of Brown's rabbit, and we have not had a single opinion from you all evening."
So she leapt at the chance to say that she was not feeling well, and then retreated to her bed chamber.
Once relaxing in the bath she felt calmer, better able to put her thoughts in sensible order. This foolish calf-love would pass sooner or later. As for the trouble about His Lordship's Trousers, that could all be nothing more than rumor. Lady Bramley may have misunderstood, or made a mountain from a molehill. As the Commander said, Fairbanks was all hot air.
Despite what anybody else thought, the latest edition of The Gentleman's Weekly had not contained her column simply because she was unable to send it during the bad weather, but nobody except Georgiana herself knew that, naturally.
Within a few days her father should receive the episode Brown had finally posted for her, and tomorrow she would ensure the chapter she wrote today was also sent off. According to how her father reacted, she would know whether the Viscount's threat really had led him to end the column. If he published his paper next week without His Lordship's Trousers it would prove he had given in to fear. On the other hand, if he decided to print both her new chapters— the extra one to make up for the lost week— she would know all was well.
The Trouble with His Lordship’s Trousers Page 17