by Devon, Eva
Georgiana stared at her kind mama in the single candle’s light. Her throat tightened. “I do. I absolutely do.”
“No, you don’t, my darling,” her mother assured, as she sat upon Georgiana’s bed in her night rail. “Somehow we will overcome. Yes, the entire country knows what transpired that night at his ball. But you have been most miserable since returning from his house. And you came home post-haste. You were supposed to stay at least a week and you stayed but one night. I can only imagine the disaster of such a visit, and I would not condemn you to such a marriage of deep unhappiness. I myself have not always known the felicity of a happy marriage, though your father is a good man. I would not wish to bestow the same upon you.”
“Mama,” Georgiana whispered. “I have been very, very foolish.”
Her mother cocked her mob-capped head to the side. “Foolish, my dear?”
Georgiana wound her hands about her linen sheet then rushed, “Mama, I have already married him.”
“Married,” her mother repeated flatly.
“I confess it to be true,” Georgiana stated, her heart heavy. “He convinced me. He’s most persuasive. And to be honest, Mama, I desired him very much.”
Her mother took her hands in hers and looked upon her without recrimination or disappointment. “I can only imagine how much you desired him, my dear, for it was a desire for him that got you into this in the first place. Do you think perhaps you could love him?”
“I do not think so, Mama.” She shook her head as she thought of their encounters. “He’s not the sort of man one can love or who loves. He is very beautiful, though. And he knows how to…”
Her mother smiled. “Yes, my dear?”
Georgiana felt her cheeks burn and she coughed. “Let us simply say that I do think he has done a good deal of study in the carnal arts.”
“Yes, my dear, society does seem to suggest that he is a rake. And rakes generally have done a good deal of studying. You enjoyed yourself, then?”
“Mama, there are no words to explain how I felt.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” her mother said. “At least on that score things shall be well. Many women do not have that luxury.”
“No?” Georgia queried, surprised.
“No,” her mother said plainly. “Many women have never experienced any sort of pleasure at all within matrimony. They go from wedded wife to their deathbed without knowing bliss. So at least there is that for you.”
“At least there is that,” Georgiana agreed before she sat up a little straighter. “But he is so strange, Mama. He does not seem to have an ounce of affection in him, even if he is capable of, well, pleasing me.”
“My dear, perhaps you can like his other points.”
Georgiana scowled. “What other points?”
Her mother smiled. “He is a skilled duke. He is respected throughout the land, and he’s extremely intelligent.”
“But am I expected to go through my entire life without affection and intimacy?”
A look of regret deepened the shadows that the candlelight threw upon her mother’s face. “You will have children, and they shall give you a great deal of affection.”
Georgiana fought a sigh and a feeling of frustrated resignation. That wasn’t what she’d planned on. It only made her think that she really, truly should’ve stuck to her spinsterhood.
There was something to be said about independence and the ability to not have to look outside of oneself for assurance.
“Since you have no other choice but to go forward,” her mother said, “you must make the best of it. And he will make the best of it, too. Would you like me to have a word with him?” In her deepest heart, Georgiana knew she had to simply accept the fact that she was marrying a man who would likely never love her. Who might not even know how to. Still, it was…hard.
“No, Mama,” she said, lifting her chin. “I think I am capable of handling this.”
Her mother leaned forward and patted her hand. “I am glad to hear it, my dear, and I do not wish to think you have given up. I did not raise a daughter to give up in the face of adversity, even if it happens to be in the face of a duke. You mustn’t be intimidated by him. He is your husband now.”
“I’ve never been intimidated by him.”
“Good,” said her mother. “Now start acting thus. I don’t like to see you downtrodden. You mustn’t let it get you down, my dear. I think you will handle this quite marvelously as long as you do not mope about.”
Georgiana scoffed. “Mama, I have never moped about in my life.”
“Good.” Her mother pressed her forehead lightly to Georgiana’s. “Do not begin now.”
And with that, she kissed her daughter on the head and went back out into the hall.
Georgiana stared at the closed door and contemplated her mother’s words. Moping. She had never moped before.
She certainly would not begin now, as her mother suggested, but what did that mean?
She knew exactly what it meant.
She needed to take charge of her affairs, be the best duchess she could be, and not let Edward get away with protestations of lack of feeling.
And that was that.
…
Edward could not outrun the mistakes he had made. It did not matter how much he wished or longed to change what had happened between himself and his wife, he could not.
All he could damned well do was get on with it. And when the time came to see her again, he’d…
He’d what? Be different than who he was? He was almost certainly going to make the same error over and over, because in all the years that he had tried to change, he’d never succeeded.
Dark defeat loomed in his mind. It was a place he did not tolerate himself to go. It was far too hard to come back from that. And so he faced the new horse and willed himself to be still.
His stables at Richmond were a special place, the only place in which he could truly bring himself back from the brink, when the world seemed to fall apart. And it surely had fallen apart. If he allowed himself to think of the look upon her face, as she stood naked beside his bed—
No. He closed his eyes. He could not think of it. Not if he wished to accomplish anything this day.
The horse stamped his hooves into the earth, clearly sensing his agitation.
Edward turned to the gelding and met his wide but wary eyes. The horse reared his head a bit, and Edward let out a soothing sound. Oh so slowly, he moved closer. The beautiful animal had had a rough year. The reports had been full of unkindness. And so Edward would need to take even more care than he usually did.
He circled round the horse’s side and reached out and stroked his shoulder. The gelding gave him a look through his angled lashes as if to say, who exactly do you think you are?
Edward wanted to tease, The Duke of Thornfield, of course.
But horses did not care about titles. They only cared about feelings.
And if Edward allowed his thoughts to wander in the wrong direction, his feelings would go with them. Pointedly, he managed the thoughts inside his head, kept his gaze upon the horse’s beautiful face, and said, “You are safe here. I am safe here. Together, we are safe and I shall help you to find a bit of peace, my new friend.”
The horse considered him.
His tail flicked back and forth. But then, the horse did just as Edward hoped. He lowered his head, a sign of relaxation. A sign not of yielding or supplication, but acceptance that Edward might indeed be his friend.
“There you go, my lad,” Edward murmured, firmly stroking the horse’s withers. “That’s the stuff. No more trouble for you.”
Edward smiled to himself.
He loved it here.
If he could throw all of his inheritance away and not have to worry about the duties of being a duke, something he rarely thought about, he would choose
to keep this place. All the hard work and attention to the details of so many animals that needed specific care was worth it for these moments, these moments of stillness, these moments where he could ease the pain of a horse that had been taken advantage of.
And they gave him something in turn, too. A temporary peace.
He’d come here for that today.
He stroked the horse’s neck, refusing to allow his mind to wander to difficult waters.
No, he would not think of his wife.
He would not think of the pain in her voice and the shock tensing her features.
The horse’s withers trembled beneath his hand, once again, the fellow clearly sensing that he was in a moment of disturbance.
“Forgive me, forgive me, old boy,” Edward whispered. “I had a recent run of bad luck, but who knows? Perhaps it will prove good. One never knows what bad luck will bring. Look at all the bad luck you had and now you’re here.”
The horse let out a whickering sound as if to agree.
With that, Edward rested his forehead against the animal’s warm neck. The horse shifted his weight from hoof to hoof. Then as if one, they relaxed together, both exhaling the weary woes they held.
Chapter Twenty
Standing outside Westminster Cathedral, Georgiana wondered if she had gravely miscalculated in her offense at Edward’s insistence that she might be ill-suited to the role of duchess.
There was a crowd.
It stretched toward parliament and the cheering was positively deafening. Thousands of Londoners stood outside the famed entryway to the ancient religious house. She gazed over them, astonished. In this moment, she realized she had not understood the scope of Edward’s power. Not truly.
Oh, she knew he was one of the greatest men in the land, but it had never occurred to her that half of England would want to come out and see her wed.
They had.
She stood in her wedding gown, a beautiful, soft-yellow silk striped with ivory, her hair coiled in soft waves about her face, spilling over her shoulders.
Pearls had been studded into those locks. The diamond coronet Edward has given her had been woven into her curls, the weight of it a reminder of both the splendor and seriousness of her new position.
She felt dressed in a way that only a princess might, she supposed, for all her life she’d known nothing but muslin and cotton, and sometimes gowns passed down by her mother. This was a gown made just for her and it fit her in a way no other garment ever had.
She adored it.
And she knew it did wonders for her figure.
Once she had donned it, she’d understood why her husband had sent Madame Yvette to her home in Yorkshire to take measurements and create a series of frocks for her.
Edward stood beside her, seeming undaunted by the cheering masses, a pillar of perfection in his morning coat.
His dark hair was brushed to a sheen that made it seem obsidian in the morning light. His cheekbones were just as chiseled as ever. He held one arm behind his back, and with the other, he offered his forearm to her.
She placed her palm upon it.
She had not seen him in a month, and it felt terribly strange.
As he gazed out over the ribbon waving crowd, she thought he looked exactly like a king might. Only he was far more handsome than any king ever could be. That she knew for certain. For she’d seen pictures of monarchs and English monarchs were always rather disappointing when it came to their looks.
Whereas her husband? Her husband was more handsome than any man she’d ever seen and felt she would ever see again.
She was not beautiful. She knew it. But she was unique. And she would cling to that with every fiber of her being.
Georgiana lifted her chin.
Indeed, she wouldn’t concern herself with what other people thought. She was more interesting on the inside and more capable than the members of the ton, surely.
Edward led her down to and inside the coach as the crowd continued to applaud loudly and cry out over and over, “Hurrah for the Duke and Duchess of Thornfield!”
They pulled their way through the mass of Londoners. On pure instinct, she leaned toward the window and waved at them all for several minutes.
As they continued west, Edward observed, “You are doing very well.”
She turned to him and arched a brow. “Thank you. It is not particularly difficult to wave one’s hand.”
“You’d be surprised,” he countered. “Many people become overwhelmed by the sight of so many people.”
“I find that this doesn’t trouble me,” she said honestly. “As opposed to Society, they’re simply people who are excited to see us.”
“Very true,” he said. “You’re not worried if they approve of you?”
She contemplated him, weighing her answer before she replied, “As long as I act in a good way, then I have nothing to fear.”
“Oh, Georgiana,” he said, leaning back against the brocade squabs across from her, “you are naive.”
She refused to take offense. After all, he was not wrong. “I’m only naive because of lack of experience, but I am incredibly well-read and shall make the most of it.”
“Theory,” he said, “is not reality.”
She shrugged, feeling her bosom press against her tightly cut bodice. “I cannot help the fact that I do not have a great deal of real experience. I shall simply have to wait for that to come.”
He merely studied her at that.
The silence stretched between them, and she was brought to mind of that strange morning after they wed. Did he always fall into such silences?
“And you,” she found herself asking suddenly. “Are you not afraid of what they think of you?”
“Not particularly,” he stated, gazing toward the polished window. “They know what to expect from me, a steady hand in an uncertain time.”
A steady hand could be a welcome thing at such a time, she had to agree.
The newssheets were full of terrifying accounts coming from France. Most of the English aristocracy was frightened that such a thing could happen to them. And instead of easing their tactics and giving help to the poor, many of them wished to crack down and simply make more rules to ensure that none of the people who lived so far beneath them could ever attempt to rise up and take power.
Georgiana stared at her new husband and leveled him with a hard look. “I want you to know I intend to be a good duchess, despite your dire predictions.”
His jaw tightened, but then he pointedly leaned back against the brocade squabs of his coach, extending one leg out in front of him, the beautiful cut of his breeches stretching over his muscled thigh. “I’m glad to hear it. We shall endeavor to make it so.”
She cleared her throat and said boldly, “While I do not have the opportunity of as much polite company as you, I think I shall actually do better in it, for I have seen how rude you can be.”
His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “Still upset, are we, over that morning?”
“Indeed, I am.” Her teeth gritted at his audacity. “And you do not seem to have taken my words into effect.”
He shrugged his shoulders ever so slightly.
“Edward,” she said bluntly, “you must listen to me and attempt some affection if we are to have a pleasant marriage.”
He stared back at her. “Affection,” he repeated.
She nodded encouragingly.
“Is it really so very necessary?”
“Yes,” she said.
He sighed. “If it is required, I shall endeavor.”
“Good,” she said, feeling a rush of optimism at his relent. “Let us practice.”
“Practice affection?” he queried, his brows rising, which seemed a veritable storm of emotion for him.
“Indeed,” she said.
“How th
e devil does one do that? Do you wish me to kiss you?”
“Kissing is not all there is to affection,” she said, wondering at the life of a duke.
“Affection is intimacy and kindness.”
“Intimacy,” he repeated, with a slight curl of his lip.
“Have you not known intimacy?” she asked gently, shocked at how her heart suddenly hurt for him.
All her life she’d been surrounded by love and the kindness of those ready to assure her, take her hand, or hold her. Had he not known those things?
“Of course, I have,” he scoffed.
“No, no,” she corrected, realizing he had not taken her meaning at all. “Not carnal. Not that kind. But did no one comfort you when you were a child or take care of you? Do none of your friends?”
He made no reply. In fact, his lips pressed into a disapproving frown.
“No,” she ventured, feeling all the more for her husband who had apparently known a lifetime of distance. “I suppose not. English boys are not well-known for intimacy and friendship, are they?”
He laughed, a dry, manufactured sound. “Indeed we are not. And as to my childhood…”
His gaze grew unreadable, but there was a sudden vulnerable and intense pain about him as he whispered, “My parents died when I was but a boy.” His voice hitched. “But while they were living…” He sucked in a sharp breath and his hands fisted on his knees, his knuckles whitening. “Simply know that they loved me deeply and their loss was monumental.”
“I am sorry for it,” she said gently, wishing she could offer more comfort but seeing that he would reject it harshly if she made the attempt now.
“Thank you.” He took three slow, distinct breaths. “They understood me in a way no one ever will, and that’s an end to it.”
She studied him.
Whatever could he mean by that?
But she had to take him at his word. And so she decided not to push him in this. The death of one’s parents had to be a very painful thing indeed. She could not even fathom such a loss. Nor did she wish to upset him. Not today. It wasn’t a memory she wished to make on her wedding day.
“Well, then,” she said, with forced cheer, “let us see how terribly the wedding breakfast goes.”