Georgie let out a sigh and smiled. “No. No, of course not. Thank you, Evie. You always give such good advice. I feel better now, only….”
“What?” Evie asked, sensing Georgie’s uncertainty.
“Do you like him too?”
Evie blinked at her. “Like, Rochford? No!” she exclaimed, laughing. “I mean, yes, I like him well enough. He was very nice to me at the ball, but I have no interest in marrying him. Good Lord, what an idea. I’d have to stand on a ladder to kiss him. Well, I would for most men, to be fair, but especially Rochford.”
Georgie snorted and let out a breath of relief.
“You weren’t really worried, were you?” Evie demanded.
“No. Well, yes, a little bit jealous, I’m afraid. When I saw him dancing with you.”
Evie went off into whoops of laughter. “Good heavens, you are in a bad way if you think I’m any competition.”
“Why wouldn’t you be? Evie, you were besieged last night if you didn’t notice.”
Evie waved this away. “Oh, yes, but only with gentlemen who enjoy my company. I am a lot of fun, after all,” she added with a mischievous smile. “But none of them look at me in a romantic light. They were all goggling at Rosamund for one. She is turning into a beauty, isn’t she?”
“Yes, she is, but are you sure none of them look at you in a romantic light?” Georgie pressed, amused.
Evie shrugged, blushing a little. “Oh, well, perhaps Mr Hadley-Smythe. His attentions were rather particular,” she admitted.
Georgie shook her head, wondering if Evie was completely blind to her own appeal. It was true the prettiest, most glamorous young women took the gentlemen’s attention, at least to begin with, but once people got to know Evie, everything changed. She might not be a beauty, but she had warmth and charm in abundance. Being with her just made the day better, for everyone.
“And do you like Mr Hadley-Smythe?”
Evie gave a nonchalant shrug. “Perhaps,” she added, her eyes sparkling. “But never mind him now. Here’s Rochford.”
Chapter 15
Dearest Evie,
You were no sorrier than I was to miss the ball. The event of the season and I was stuck in bed with a red nose, looking like a three-day-old cadaver. And I had to endure Nani Maa scolding me for not wrapping up warmly enough and feeding me one of her disgusting concoctions. The devil of it is, I think it’s working. I’m not admitting that to her, though, not for a thousand pounds. She’s far too smug as it is.
Ash tells me it was a wonderful event, and that there was much talk about Rochford and Georgie. Tell me everything! And don’t you dare leave out the bit where you danced twice with the Comte de Villen. Georgie won’t be the only one setting the gossip mill alight if you don’t have a care.
―Excerpt of a letter to Miss Evie Knight (daughter of Lady Helena and Mr Gabriel Knight) from Miss Vivien Ashton (daughter of Silas and Aashini Anson, The Viscount and Viscountess Cavendish).
15th December 1840, Beverwyck, London.
Nic rapped on door of his brother’s room and waited for his valet, Elton, to answer.
“Monsieur Demarteau,” the valet said, stepping back to let him in.
“Where is he?”
“Still abed, sir.”
“I would like a word,” Nic said, watching the valet’s face tense. “That bad, eh?”
“I would rather not wake him, sir,” the valet admitted sheepishly.
Nic snorted and clapped Elton on the shoulder. “Go on then, make yourself scarce. I shall beard the lion in his den.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. There is a fresh pot of coffee on the table, just in case, sir,” Elton said, making a dash for the door whilst the going was good.
Nic watched the valet go and then picked up the tray with the coffee on and went to his brother’s room. It was dark and silent, the embers of the fire burning low. Setting down the tray, he tended the fire and then pulled back the curtains with a decisive tug. Bright daylight flooded the room, and a muffled groan came from the vicinity of the bed.
“Putain de merde!” Louis cursed, dragging a pillow over his head. “Elton, you bloody swine. Close the curtains.”
“Elton has decided discretion is the better part of valour,” Nic replied in French. His English was as good as Louis’, but it was still a relief to use his mother tongue.
Louis’ blue eyes glinted from beneath the pillow as he glared at Nic. “What do you want?”
“Is that any way to greet your dearest sibling? I come bearing coffee.”
“You’re my only sibling, and I don’t want coffee. I want to sleep. Va-t’en!”
Nic sighed, understanding Louis was determined to be difficult. He poured out a cup of coffee. “I will not go away. I wish to talk to you.”
Louis turned his back on Nic and pulled the covers over his head. “Va te faire foutre.”
“My, we are vulgar this morning. You can curse me nine ways till Sunday, but I’m not going anywhere. You can try to throw me out if you like.” Nic sat on the edge of the mattress and held the cup of coffee under Louis’ nose. Louis sent him a look that would have shrivelled a lesser man, but sat up, muttering profanities all the while. He took the cup of coffee, sipping with his eyes shut.
“At least close the damned curtains.”
Nic got up and obliged. He poured himself a cup of coffee before sitting down on the bed again.
“Well, and what was so damned urgent that you needed disturb my sleep?”
“You’re drinking too much,” Nic said, cradling the coffee cup in his hands.
“Me and most of the ton. Go wake them up.”
Nic smirked, shaking his head. “I don’t give a damn about them. I care about you.”
“How touching,” Louis groused irritably. “Do you mind caring during hours when I’m awake?”
Nic stared at him, and Louis subsided with a huff.
“What’s wrong, Louis?”
Louis frowned down into his coffee cup.
Nic sighed. “I know you’re unhappy, but—”
He bit back the words at a murderous flash of blue eyes. Well, perhaps another tack.
“You’re avoiding me.”
Louis waved an impatient hand, dismissing the words. “I’m not. You’re just busy with your beloved—and no, that wasn’t a criticism,” he added hastily. “I’m happy for you. You know that.”
Nic said nothing, watching as his brother finished his coffee.
“I’m fine,” Louis insisted, turning the empty cup in his hands.
Nic continued to watch him until Louis sighed and arranged his face into something placid and amenable.
“See? Perfectly fine.”
“Yes, very convincing, to anyone who doesn’t know you as I do,” Nic said with a snort. He set down his coffee on the bedside table, steeling himself. “Louis, Christmas can be a difficult time for anyone if—”
“I will kill you if you continue this conversation,” Louis murmured icily.
Nic threw up his hands, exasperated, and spoke before he really thought about what he was saying, driven by instinct. “Damnation. Is this about Evie?”
Louis went very still. “What the devil do you mean by that?”
“What the devil do you mean by last night’s behaviour? Alone with her, Louis? And what the hell were you playing at?”
“We’re always alone together,” Louis snapped. “It never bothered you before.”
“You never acted this way before.”
His brother’s face shut down, his eyes a glacial blue. “What exactly are you accusing me of? Do you think I’m intent on seducing her? Is that it?”
“Are you?” Nic demanded.
Louis erupted. He flung the coffee cup across the room where it shattered against the wall and scrambled across the bed, grabbing Nic by the cravat. “If any other man said that to me, I would kill him,” he growled.
Nic held his breath, not moving an inch, taken aback by the fury in his brother’s
eyes. “And is this display of temper because it’s something that could never, ever happen, or because you’re terribly afraid it might?”
It was a risk, one that could have backfired badly, but Nic knew his brother better than he knew himself.
Louis released him and stalked from the bed, snatching up his dressing gown and pulling it on. The silence was so profound Nic felt it ringing in his ears. He had to admit he was shocked. Although he’d been shocked last night too, but to have his suspicions confirmed—Putain! Louis and Evie? Before yesterday, he would never have dreamed it possible. Louis was besieged by beautiful women and yet… and yet now he thought about it, it made an odd kind of sense. His brother might never admit it, but he did not want to be worshiped, he wanted—needed, love, security and kindness, things Evie offered in abundance and without hesitation. Did Louis realise that was what he wanted though? Did he comprehend the risks to both him and Evie?
“Louis,” Nic pressed. “Talk to me, damn you. I know you care for her. I know you wouldn’t deliberately hurt her.”
Louis walked to the window, keeping his back to Nic. He pushed the curtain aside and stared out.
“I want her,’ he said, the admission raw.
Nic blinked, startled by his brother’s candour. He had not expected that. “Want to bed her, or…?”
Louis shot his brother a scathing look from over his shoulder. “My. You do have a high opinion of me.”
Nic muttered a curse and ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean that you would, but… Truly, Louis? You’re serious? You wish to marry her?”
“Yes. Yes, dammit, I do, but she is too young, Nic. Too young and far too innocent. She needs time yet.”
Nic let out a breath of relief. He had wanted Louis to settle down for a long time. Admittedly he’d never considered Evie, but he understood her appeal for Louis. “She was eighteen in the summer. Many of her friends have married already,” he pointed out.
“And I am almost ten years her senior in age, and a thousand in experience. I would feel like a damned predator taking a lamb. I do feel it. Believe me, you have no need to reprimand me for last night’s performance. I have chastised myself quite thoroughly, I assure you.”
“I believe you.”
Louis put his head in his hands. “My God, help me, will you? What do I do?”
“You could court her. There is no need to rush.”
Louis made a harsh, unhappy sound. “She does not see me, Nic. Not as a man, only as her friend and confidant. Is that not deliciously ironic?”
Nic’s lips quirked at his predicament, despite Louis’ obvious unhappiness. He could only imagine how galling it was for his beautiful brother not to be seen as a romantic prospect by the only woman he’d ever wanted for himself.
“Nic.”
Nic looked up, aware of his brother’s hard tone.
“If you tell anyone, even Eliza—non, especially Eliza, I will kill you,” Louis said, his expression fierce.
Nic held up his hands in a peaceable gesture. “Not a word. Upon my honour.”
Louis nodded, a little of the tension leaving his shoulders.
“So, what will you do?”
Louis shrugged. “I cannot seduce an innocent, and until she sees me as something other than her dear friend, I can do nothing but endure.”
“You could tell her how you feel,” Nic suggested.
“And have her run away from me?” Louis shook his head. “Out of the question. I could not bear it. Staying away from her this long has been agony. I cannot keep my distance as I ought to.”
“She might not run…”
“She would.”
Nic sighed, conceding the point. Louis knew the girl better than anyone, and he was an excellent judge of character. “Well then. You’ll wait for her.”
“Yes.”
“You don’t look very happy about it,” Nic observed with sympathy.
Louis turned, leaning back against the windowsill. “Would you be?” he demanded.
Nic shook his head.
Louis hung his head, staring at the carpet, his expression taut. “I’m afraid I will lose her, Nic. She is everything good and true in this world. She makes me happy, and I know that for the rarity it is. I am at peace when she is near, and I want her so badly I’m sick with it, but I am afraid.”
Nic stood, his heart aching as he heard the bleak note in his brother’s voice.
“Why?”
“Because I am not the only one who sees her. I am only the one who saw her first, and I must stand back and watch her flirt with other men, allow her the little romances that all young women adore and need to experience before they commit themselves to a husband. I think it might kill me, Nic. And even if I endure all this, she may still never turn to me.”
Nic crossed the room and grasped Louis’ shoulders. “Non. She will come around. Like you said, you must tread gently, that’s all. Be patient, Louis. You, of all men, know how to bide your time.”
Louis let out a breath of laughter. “Ah, oui. So I do, but that does not mean I have to like it.”
Georgie glanced across at Rochford, who must have felt the weight of her observation. He looked back at her, holding her gaze, and awareness prickled down her back.
“Do you miss your family, being away from them at Christmastime?” he asked.
Georgie nodded. “I do, very much. It’s the first Christmas I’ve not spent with them, but when Aunt Prue invited me I was so excited to come, and Mama thought it would be a good opportunity for me to—”
She hesitated, wishing she’d not begun that sentence.
“To find a husband,” he finished for her.
Blushing, Georgie nodded. “Yes.”
“Do you look forward to being married?”
Georgie swallowed, glancing around to see Evie was riding close enough behind for propriety but far enough away to allow them a private conversation. The horses walked out, their breath puffing in clouds of billowing white as the tack jingled.
“I suppose so, though I’m in no hurry. I love my life in Scotland, especially at Wildsyde, and everyone there has known me since I was a baby. It’s familiar and comforting. A new life with a husband… that’s rather terrifying, to be honest. I’m not sure I’m ready for it. I suppose I would need to trust any potential husband a great deal to commit my future to him.”
“I suppose you would, but any husband worth a damn would move heaven and earth to ensure your happiness.”
“What about you, your grace?” Georgie said in a rush, his words creating a heady mix of pleasure and anxiety that made her heart skitter about in her chest. “Do you miss your family?”
His expression darkened. “No.”
Georgie’s mouth fell open at the firm remark. “Oh, well, of course you have no siblings, do you? And you told me of your father. But do you have no grandparents living? No aunts and uncles?”
“My line has a rather discouraging propensity for dying young and in ignoble circumstances,” he said with a wry smile. “So, no. Only my mother lives, and she tolerates my company as one does a wasp in one’s shoe, which is to say, not at all.”
“I am sorry to hear you are estranged,” Georgie said, meaning it. “My mother is the dearest creature, and I rely very much on her good sense and her comfort. I realise I am fortunate, though, not everyone is so lucky.”
“Estranged?” Rochford mused with a rumbling laugh. “No, I do not believe we are estranged. That would imply there was once warmth between us when there has been nothing of the kind.”
“Oh.” Georgie stared at him, sympathy filling her chest. Coming from a large, boisterous, and loving family, it seemed incomprehensible that a mother could have no affectionate feelings for her only son.
“Don’t look so stricken,” Rochford said, his expression softening. “I’ve always been a difficult devil, as you know to your cost. I cannot pretend the blame is all hers.”
“But she’s your mother!” Georgie burst out, unab
le to keep silent. “And I do not believe you can have been born bad-tempered and cynical, no matter how flawed your character now.”
His lips twitched at her words and the rather damning defence of his personality. “My word, Lady Georgina, do you mean to say you think there was a time when I wasn’t quite so dreadful?”
Georgie flushed, aware he was teasing her. “I don’t think you’re dreadful at all,” she said, sounding breathless. “You are too ready to think the worst of people and you sometimes say dreadful things, but that’s not the same thing, you know.”
Rochford’s gaze on her was too intent, and she looked away.
“My father was a handsome man before disease ravaged him, and mother was a beauty—still is, for her years—and she is a perfectionist. She loves beautiful things, and for everything to be pretty and flawless. You can imagine how her hulking brute of a son fits into her immaculate world. I’m afraid I rather disturb her equilibrium.”
“I can only imagine what she does for yours,” Georgie shot back indignantly.
There was something bright and hopeful shining in his eyes as he stared at her now. “Would you defend me, love?”
His voice was warm, a note of wonder there that made her throat feel tight.
“Don’t call me that,” she said unsteadily, and urged her horse into a canter.
Chapter 16
Dearest Viv,
I am glad you are feeling better, your grandmother’s foul potions aside. Having been once on the receiving end of one of her remedies myself, I heartily sympathise, though I too recognise their efficiency. I suppose it’s better than enduring a head cold for days. Just.
So what if I danced with Monsieur Le Comte twice? I also danced with Mr Hadley-Smythe twice and the Duke of Rochford. So what do you make of that?
Shall I call on you next week?
―Excerpt of a letter to Miss Vivien Ashton (daughter of Silas and Aashini Anson, The Viscount and Viscountess Cavendish) from Miss Evie Knight (daughter of Lady Helena and Mr Gabriel Knight).
19th December 1840, Beverwyck, London.
The Mistletoe Dare (Daring Daughters Book 8) Page 16