Miss George's Second Chance

by Heather Boyd

  Walter opened the drapes wide, revealing a furnished bedchamber containing the fabled writing desk, a chair and a narrow bed at one end of the room. The other end was piled high with discarded furnishings, some of which he remembered seeing in other parts of the house before. Walter repositioned a small table closer to the furniture, setting a boundary to their work area, and wandered back out with a grin on his face.

  Peter let his gaze linger on the bed a moment. If the writing went well, perhaps he could engage in other pleasant activities with her, too. He studied Imogen. Her hands were clenched around her walking stick as if she were uncertain of her surroundings. “Relax.”

  Imogen glared in the direction of the door. “Does he not care that we are alone. What have you done to convince Walter to behave like this?”

  Peter opened the desk, spied quill and ink bottle, a short stack of blank papers and drew them out onto the worktable. The ink swirled inside the bottle when he tested it was still good to use. “Nothing except suggest I might be able to make you happier than you have been. Are you ready?”

  “Ready?”

  He looked at her but then realized that of course she may not understand his intentions were serious. Her writing was important, and not just to her. “Yes, ready to write. Ready to tell me a story I can write down. How do you come up with your tales anyway? I always meant to ask.”

  She rubbed her brow. “It isn’t easy to explain. No two days ever start out the same, but usually I begin the day thinking of what I want to write and then I sit and compose until there are no more words.”

  Peter smiled and dipped his quill into the inkpot, ready to take down her words. He couldn’t wait to see what she would come up with. “That sounds easy enough.”

  At Imogen’s silence, he glanced over his shoulder.

  She stood where he’d left her, fingers still tightly clenched about the walking stick, her teeth worrying her lower lip.

  “Imogen?”

  “I have no words yet.”

  “Good, because I need more than one kiss to start my day.” Peter tossed the quill away, headed for the door, and quietly pushed it closed. He tugged Imogen into his arms, taking the walking stick from her hands and setting it aside. He inhaled the subtle perfume that clung to her skin. Lavender and another scent he couldn’t place. Not a trace of fragrance that would make him sneeze. Then he remembered being with Imogen had always improved his mood.

  He brushed his lips against hers softly, marveling he had the chance he should have taken long ago to prove he was a man of passion. Imogen sighed once and then she kissed him back, mouth molding to his, delightful body pressing closer.

  He explored her delicious curves slowly with his hands, unwilling to rush even though his pulse raced with excitement. He couldn’t wait to touch her bare skin and looked forward to the day when she would be his wife. The passion he sensed in her last night had exceeded his wildest dreams. They would be happy together if she’d just concede that he was right. They needed each other.

  Suddenly, Imogen pushed hard against his chest until he released her. Although her face was flushed and her chest rose and fell quickly, she merely stared at his waistcoat with a determined expression on her face and said nothing to him.

  Alarmed by her sudden withdrawal, Peter scrambled to apologize. “I’m sorry. What did I do wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she said and then rose on her toes, caught him about the neck to pull him close again. She kissed him soundly. “You did something incredibly right. Quickly, write this down exactly as I say it.”

  Peter spun back to the desk, adjusting the bulge in his trousers before he sat and cursed the end of his exploration. He dipped the nib in the inkpot and quickly scratched out what Imogen said next. She paced behind him and spoke at a speed that he could write to but an hour later, when she’d not paused for longer than a breath, he begged a halt. He threw the quill away and flexed his fingers. “My hand hurts like the very devil itself.”

  She drew close behind him and caressed his shoulders, sending goose flesh racing all over his body. “Forgive me. Did you manage to write any of it down?”

  He looked up at her and admired the contented smile lingering on her face. “I believe I caught every word. Not exactly neat but still legible.”

  Her fingers slipped forward and caressed his cheek tentatively. “I’m surprised that worked so well.”

  Even as his desire soared again, set free by her exploration, a thought occurred to him. “You could have hired a secretary long before this.”

  Her hands twisted into the hair at his nape. “I doubt I could have found the courage to let a stranger hear such terrible words.”

  Although he didn’t mind Imogen touching him in the least, Peter shoved back his chair and pulled her into his lap so he could touch her too. “I was captivated. I have a hundred questions about the heroine already.”

  She laughed and her fingers rose to his face again, covering his lips. “No questions yet. Save them until the end.”

  “As you wish but keeping my curiosity at bay will likely prove difficult.”

  Her fingers danced lightly over his sideburns and the edge of his ear. “That was the roughest of drafts. Later, when each sentence has been polished to brightness, it will be a work to be proud of.”

  He kissed the tip of her nose and then her cheek. “I’m proud of you now.”

  She wriggled, innocently brushing her hip against his hardening length. “Shall we give your poor hand a break?”

  “Thank you.” He looked longingly at the bed and then the door where he was startled to find Walter standing, one eyebrow raised in question. He nodded and Walter went away. Since a romp between the sheets sadly could not be accomplished he’d have to settle for kissing her instead. He wasn’t entirely disappointed. Peter caught her lips gently with his and kissed her urgently before Walter came back to check on them again.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Imogen gripped Walter’s arm, aware that unknown persons surrounded them and that she could appear clumsy if she didn’t pay strict attention to where she placed her feet. The day was warm, a light breeze blew in from the sea, but she could not concentrate on enjoying the outing for Walter was not always the best of guides. “Promise you will not abandon me today,” she demanded

  Walter sighed loudly, his arm tensing beneath hers. “I’ve already promised you my full attention for the duration of the outing. What more do you want from me?”

  She tightened her grip further and leaned toward him. “Leaving me alone with Sir Peter so often this week is a sign of absolute neglect for my reputation.”

  “Are you still annoyed over that?” Walter patted her hand. “He seems to have the making of a devoted secretary. Where’s the impropriety in the business arrangement we struck?”

  Imogen snorted. “Business arrangements are not conducted in that fashion.”

  “There is all kinds of business. At least he’s been honest.” Walter chuckled. “He wanted to court you publicly, but you’ve refused him every opportunity to be a gentlemen and escort you about. Don’t deny it. I have ears, too. However, as I recall, you don’t really approve of proper gentlemen as suitors. Forgive me if I place little weight on your complaints. To make you both happy the rules must be bent in the short term.”

  She snorted again. “Bent? How about completely broken?”

  Walter paused. “Then you’d better marry him this time and be done with your protests that a closer association won’t work between you. It’s apparent to even a blind man you are not indifferent to his attentions. And from what I can see, he is equally smitten with you.”

  And there was the rub. She wasn’t suitable to be his wife, but Peter was unbelievably good company. “I do like him.”

  “Then marry the man and put him out of his misery before some other woman gets between you.”

  That didn’t appeal to her but still… “It’s not that simple, Walter.”

  “Sure it is,” he said immedia
tely, amusement lightening his tone. “He asks. You accept. You move next door and live happily ever after. That’s what you’ve written in your books many times. Are you claiming the rules of attraction don’t apply to you?”

  Imogen crossed her cane before them and tapped him on the shins with it. “How would you like me to ask when you are going to marry?”

  Her brother spluttered. “Never.”

  “Why not? Are you afraid?”

  “Damn right I am afraid. Every woman I’ve ever met wants nothing more than to change a man into her personal lapdog. That’s not the life for me. I’d rather die an old bachelor than have to bend to fit the mold a woman expected.”

  Imogen bit her lip. “If you think women always try to change men then why are you suggesting I marry your friend?”

  “You and Peter are an exception. You’re alike in many ways. Stubborn. Bookish. Always have been.” He bumped into her side. “I kept an eye on you both at work yesterday. Each time I poked my head through the door you had Peter’s complete attention. I know he didn’t see me because he didn’t pause in kissing you.”

  “I didn’t hear you on the stairs.”

  A deep laugh sounded beside her. “Miss Radley is not the only one who attempts to sneak around you. He makes you happy, sister. You may not have figured affection or even love into your decision to marry him last year, but I think he has your heart now. Why fight against it?”

  Imogen considered that as Walter led her on in silence. To her right the relentless roar of the sea muted the growing murmur of many voices. Walter stopped frequently, pausing to speak with mutual acquaintances and the odd stranger’s voice Imogen couldn’t place. As usual, Walter neglected to introduce her to some, but she didn’t mind so much today. She had a lot to think on. Had she underestimated Peter badly? He said she should have given him a chance last year. In truth, Imogen had been afraid he’d not return and leave her dangling so she’d acted first to save herself from the eventual disappointment. She’d never dreamed he’d come back.

  “I say, what a peculiar day to see Miss George out in the sunshine.” The vicar’s booming voice cut into Imogen’s introspection, forcing her attention back to the present and her location on a crowded beach she couldn’t see the beauty of.

  She lifted her chin. “I’m here for the race, sir.”

  “But she cannot see it.” His daughter, Miss Pease, advised in a perplexed voice.

  Imogen inhaled and the scent of lilac swept over her. She blinked her watering eyes and tried not to pull a face at the stench of Miss Pease’s distinctive perfume in the air.

  “Yes, yes. Quite a wasted effort,” Vicar Pease agreed in a loud voice. “Shouldn’t she be sitting down, Mr. George, and resting in the shade?”

  “I’m fine.” Imogen said through gritted teeth. Being spoken of as if she wasn’t there was rude, being spoken of in a louder than normal voice set her teeth on edge. She was blind not stone deaf. “Miss Radley will see I have come along to support her endeavors and that is all that matters.”

  Silence descended. “A word, Mr. George,” the vicar barked.

  Walter slowly unraveled Imogen’s arm from his. “I’d better see what he wants. Stay right here and I’ll be back before you know it.”

  Imogen hated that Walter never stood up to the vicar when he used that tone. Walter had his own mind and often enforced his will, however, the vicar was another kettle of fish. “Walter, you promised.”

  He patted her shoulder. “You’ll be fine. Miss Pease is right here to keep you company.”

  Imogen hoped she did not roll her eyes at the idea of having a scatterbrained twit watching over a blind woman. It was better than no escort at all. Imogen held out her hand, hoping to encounter Miss Pease’s support. When no touch came, she cleared her throat. “Miss Pease?”

  Silence. Imogen took a cautious sniff of the air. Not a trace of lilac. She listened but could not hear Walter’s voice or the vicar’s booming baritone. In fact, it seemed as if the crowd was moving away from her. What was she to do now? Miss Pease had likely deserted her the moment Walter’s back was turned and she stood alone with no idea in which direction he had gone. Her palms grew damp inside her gloves. Her worst nightmare had come to pass.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Peter tapped on the Georges’ front door, frustrated that he was running late. It wasn’t his fault exactly. He’d overslept and then his housekeeper had decided he needed a much bigger first meal of the day than usual. She’d gone to so much trouble on his behalf he hadn’t had the heart not to at least sample every dish. He pressed a hand to his stomach. He’d have to stop her from doing that again. If he ate in such a grand fashion too often he’d never fit his clothes.

  Perkins eventually opened the front door.

  “I’m here to see Miss George.”

  “I’m sorry, Sir Peter,” Perkins frowned. “Mr. George and Miss Imogen are already en route to the gathering by the sea. You have missed them by a quarter hour.”

  “Damn. Thank you, Perkins.” Peter firmed his hat on his head and set off down Cavendish Place. Imogen wasn’t aware he had intended to join them at the race. He’d hoped to surprise her and linger in her company. Then, when the race was over, Peter had a plan in mind to steal her away from Walter and propose at the exact spot she had proposed to him a year ago.

  As he turned onto the next street, he ran into Miss Pease and the vicar coming from the direction of the beach. “Ah, Sir Peter Watson. As I live and breathe. My daughter and I were just discussing hosting a dinner in your honor next week. Jane has spoken of you very warmly and I’m sure you must feel the same.”

  Peter scowled. “Is that so?”

  “Why yes, of course,” the vicar went on. “’Tis difficult, given the subject of our last conversation, to declare one’s feelings so soon, but I am sure that can be forgotten.”

  The last time he had spoken to the vicar was to advise him that Imogen wouldn’t be marrying him. At the time, Peter had been a touch harsh in his tone, but his feelings hadn’t changed in any way.

  He wanted to marry Imogen.

  “Sir Peter!”

  Peter turned at the sound of Valentine Merton’s voice and found his friend rushing toward him, his arms full.

  “I need you,” Merton insisted, tossing several wrapped parcels into his arms and dragging him away from Vicar Pease and his daughter at speed. “We’re late.”

  “I know.” Peter glanced down at the parcels in his arms. “What is all this.”

  “A monstrosity. Please don’t laugh too hard when you see me in it?”

  “Merton, what the devil are you banging on about?”

  “I’m the one racing against Julia Radley today.”

  Peter stopped in his tracks. “Are you out of your mind? I thought she must have convinced her brother to race her and he was too embarrassed to say.”

  His friend hooked his arm and dragged him onward, frowning. “Radley is against the competition.”

  Peter shook his head. “Your sister has also been quite scathing of the whole idea. She has been rather harsh toward Miss Radley on the subject, or so I hear. What does she say now?”

  “Melanie has no idea and I’d like to keep it that way until the very last moment. I had to wait for her to leave the house before I could follow. Could you imagine the earache I would have gotten if I’d let slip our plans for the race?”

  Peter glanced ahead and saw Merton’s sister and cousin just ahead. “She’d be unbearable.”

  Merton spotted his sister too and jerked Peter behind a slowly moving carriage so they wouldn’t be seen, but could still proceed. “Exactly. When this is over I’m sure she’ll complain for at least a week or two solid without pause.”

  “You could always change your mind.”

  Merton shook his head decisively. “I won’t let Miss Radley down at the last moment and have her be disappointed. She has wanted a chance to prove herself for a long time and this is it.”

  Peter g
lanced at his friend and noticed the stubborn set of Merton’s jaw. He was committed. “Do you think a lot about Miss Radley’s happiness often?”

  Merton grinned. “There are worse ladies to be captivated by. I like her energy very much.”

  Peter gave up all attempts at seriousness and laughed at the trouble Merton was heading into with open eyes. “She’ll be the death of you. Linus is always complaining about her antics.”

  Merton shrugged. “Harmless fun. Nothing more.”

  “If you say so. However, this might not be so harmless to her reputation.”

  Merton pointed to a distant bathing machine. “I can change there. Julia will be fine. Will you stand guard and keep everyone away. The race begins at eleven o’clock. I don’t want to be seen until the very last moment.”

  Although Peter was eager to catch up to Imogen, he nodded and checked his pocket watch. “You have only a few minutes you know.”

  Merton grabbed his arm and ushered him across the open beach. “I know. Shut up and allow me to change.”

  Merton locked himself inside the little rolling cabin. Peter moved away from the door and scanned the crowd lingering on the pretty stretch of beach between them and the starting line. A goodly crowd had shown up for the sport. More than he imagined for such a scandalous turnout. He hoped they were kind to Miss Radley when she lost. It was only fun and not meant to be taken seriously.

  He spotted a few familiar faces ahead but not the one he wanted. He was about to give up when he spied Walter, standing in conversation with Linus Radley. Imogen wasn’t with him, but she must be close by. He took a few paces forward and finally saw her, standing alone far away from Walter, hands clutched together at her waist. Damn Walter.

  He tapped on the bathing chamber wall urgently. “I need to go.”

  He turned without waiting for an answer and hurried across the coarse sand. He was half way toward her when a boy of about ten ran past Imogen on his way toward the seaside gathering. As the boy bumped into her, she spun and then a dog, likely the boy’s pet, knocked her off balance on the uneven, shifting ground.