An Inconvenient Kiss

by Carole Kimberly

  Simon broke into a huge grin. “Good,” he said satisfied. He tried to rise but immediately felt dizzy and laid back down, bumping his head on the headboard. Cursing, he rubbed his head as he told Nath, “I don’t give a damn about your family or mine. As soon as I can stand up without falling on her, I’m marrying her.”

  Nath nodded. “I took the liberty of talking to the chaplain for you. Everything will be ready as soon as you are.”

  “You’re marrying Miss Georgiana?” a small but welcome voice cried from the doorway. Baljit, his head encircled with a white bandage, padded into the room and over to Simon’s side. “May I come, Mr. Simon? I have never seen a British wedding.”

  “It won’t be much of an event, I’m afraid.” Simon gestured for him to sit on the bed, which he obediently did. Simon carefully ruffled Baljit’s hair. The boy looked ashen, and a bit thin, but otherwise he seemed perfectly healthy. “How are you feeling?”

  Baljit snorted impatiently. “I am tired of sitting in bed!” he exclaimed. “But Miss Georgiana and Geeta will not let me get up. And they keep putting honey on my wound so my hair is sticky and the flies are constantly buzzing around my head.”

  “The netting keeps them out, I hope,” Simon said, suddenly worried.

  “Of course it does,” Baljit grumped. “But it is tiresome! All day I hear little buzzing in my ears.”

  Simon grinned. “I’m glad you’re all right, Baljit.”

  Baljit’s huge eyes suddenly looked teary. “I am glad you’re all right too, Mr. Simon,” he said softly. “I know Miss Georgiana will take care of me, but I don’t want you to die. I—” His voice trailed off, and his cheeks burned dusky red.

  “I know, Baljit,” Simon said, saving him the embarrassment a young boy inevitably feels when discussing emotions. “I don’t want to lose you either.”

  Baljit’s eyes lit up. “So may I come to your wedding?” he asked again.

  “Not if you don’t stay in your bed and get healthy!” Georgiana declared from behind him. She was holding a tray laden with food and used her head to motion to Nath to pick up the boy.

  At Baljit’s loud protest she set the tray down and turned to face him. “Of course you’re coming to the wedding, goose,” she told him. “But I don’t want you passing out as I’m reciting my vows. You may see Simon once you’ve both had something to eat and gotten more rest. Geeta has lunch for you.”

  He pulled a face at her. Georgiana pointed a finger at him. “Keep arguing and I’ll put more honey on your head. Now go! I’ll check on you soon.”

  Baljit rolled his eyes and made a disgusted noise, but he was grinning ear to ear as Nath carried him from the room. Georgiana was busy with the tray, so she was not prepared for the invalid behind her to grab her at the waist and pull her onto the bed.

  “Simon!” she glared at him. “You need to rest!”

  Simon corralled his scattered wits and tucked her against him. The exertion made him woozy. It was frustrating to be so feeble, he thought. “I will, Princess. I just need to hold you first.”

  “For your information, I’m only coddling you because I was certain you were dead.” Georgiana sighed in exasperation, but he felt her relax into him. “Please don’t scare me like that again, love,” she told him.

  He kissed her lightly on the neck. “Georgie,” he murmured seriously. “I have something I need to tell you.”

  She turned to face him, her beautiful eyes flashing. “Don’t even think about telling me that you’ve changed your mind about marrying me, Simon Ashford,” she warned. “You are mine and I am yours, and you’re stuck with me.”

  Simon stared innocently at her. “I’m going to have wrinkles,” he said desolately. “And I may lose my hair.”

  Georgiana rolled her eyes at him. “I suppose you think you’re very funny.”

  “You haven’t heard the best of it. I’m going to get fat,” he continued. “Massive really. As big as a mountain.”

  “Wonderful,” she drawled acidly.

  “I don’t know about my teeth,” he said, “though I hope they stay as they are. I like my teeth.”

  “Are you quite finished mocking me?” she glared at him.

  “Not quite,” he teased. “I’ll not always look like this, Princess. I hope that doesn’t change how you feel toward me.”

  Georgiana sighed. “So you’re telling me that if I marry you...” she tapped him on the nose, “...I should be prepared to spend the rest of my days looking at a fat, bald, wrinkly old man.”

  “Yes,” he agreed.

  Georgiana shrugged. “Well, I suppose it’s good that I already find you incredibly unattractive.”

  Simon pinched her playfully, drawing a squeal. She was laughing as she gently rolled him on his back and scattered his cheeks with kisses. He traced her cheek with his fingers, loving every single thing about Miss Georgiana Phillips—beauty and flaws and all.

  “I love you, Georgie,” he murmured to her. “You are everything to me—my past, my future, my heart. I can’t imagine my life without you.”

  Even though his practical princess looked a bit misty eyed at his words, she didn’t hesitate. Meeting him head-on, she said, “I love you, Simon Ashford. And even when you’re old and fat and toothless and drooling—” she paused when Simon snorted, “—I’ll still want to argue with you and drag you into all sorts of impossible situations.

  “And I’ll still want to kiss you,” she said against his lips. “I’ll always want to kiss you. Starting now.”

  That kiss was as intoxicating and as sweet as their very first kiss had been so many years ago. It was also just as scandalous. For once again Nathaniel Phillips led a little group—this one made up of Dr. Whiting, Percival Skeffington, and Geeta the housekeeper—to the door of the room where Miss Georgiana Phillips was kissing Simon Ashford passionately and entirely improperly.

  This time, however, Nath just shook his head and closed the door.

  Epilogue

  Five years later

  “Miss Georgiana,” Baljit grumbled. “You are going to be late.”

  Georgiana looked up from her search and winked at the handsome young man scowling impatiently. Baljit had grown from a scrawny boy with eyes too big for his face into a strapping youth with a razor-sharp intellect. He also tended to be more properly British than his British family. As usual, she couldn’t stop herself from tweaking his nose a bit.

  “I’m the guest of honor, Baljit,” she said cavalierly. “I would guess they won’t start without me.”

  It was true. The English society that had reveled in its disdain for her now hailed her as one of Britain’s most celebrated travel writers. And while India would always be home, at least in Georgiana’s mind, it was nice to visit England each year for a few months. Sir Jon, with Simon’s help, was called upon frequently whenever the Company needed advice regarding the antiquities or environs of India. Georgiana would have found that extremely annoying had she not been so busy giving lectures about the people she’d met in her time abroad.

  Currently she was supposed to be hobnobbing with scholars from the Society of Antiquaries and Society ladies who had come to listen to her tales of world travel and foreign customs. Georgiana knew that most of them just wanted a peek at one of the most successful fallen women England had produced.

  But her audience would have to wait a few moments more. She wanted some private time with three of her favorite males. At home in India, she spent the majority of her days visiting the markets, meeting people, and having all sorts of grand adventures with the trio in tow. In England, however, her speaking obligations took time away from them, and Georgiana found herself stealing whatever moments she could.

  Baljit glowered at her. “That is intolerably rude, Miss Georgiana. And it is not a good example for Henry and James.” He pointed to t
he dark-haired toddlers currently peeking from behind the heavy fabric of the window drapery.

  “But Henry and James have disappeared,” Georgiana protested with an exaggerated tone, loving her young sons’ happy squeals. “I can’t find them anywhere.” The curtains giggled.

  Baljit sighed. “You go to the nuncheon,” he said sourly. “I will look for the twins.”

  “I just needed to see them before their naps,” Georgiana explained, not at all apologetic for being an indulgent mother. “Geeta is waiting for the boys at the townhouse. Will you take them there?”

  Baljit grumbled but nodded and fetched a giggling and squirming Henry from behind Somerset House’s finest drapery. He lifted the squealing boy onto his shoulders, and sure enough James burst from behind his curtain and began crawling up Baljit’s leg, demanding the same treatment. Baljit, naturally, pretended to grouse at being so misused—though the delight in his eyes told a different story.

  Georgiana smiled sweetly. “Once you’ve delivered these two hellions, dearest, you may return and join us for nuncheon. If you wish, that is.”

  Baljit’s large eyes grew larger. “Really, Miss Georgiana? I have not yet gotten to have a formal British nuncheon!”

  “This won’t be very exciting, I’m afraid,” Georgiana shrugged. “Mostly it will consist of scholars bragging over their own accomplishments and Society ladies pretending to be shocked by my exploits. But there will be refreshments. I requested lemon squares and gingerbread, of course.”

  Baljit flashed his toothy grin. He’d developed a healthy appreciation of English sweets on their visits. “I will be back shortly. Mr. Simon and Sir Jon are waiting for you in the vestibule.”

  Georgiana kissed all three of her sons, for she claimed Baljit as her own, and set off down the halls to find her husband and grandfather. She heard someone call her name and stopped short to turn to the woman who’d hailed her.

  It took a moment for Georgiana to recognize the older woman before her. Her golden curls had faded to a dull yellow and her fleshy bosom had become overly large—jutting out before her like the prow of a ship. As she assessed Georgiana, she wore a pinched expression that accentuated the small wrinkles around her mouth. Had it not been for the icy blue of her eyes, Georgiana may not have even known her.

  The years had not been kind to Octavia Fenimere

  “Mrs. Fenimere,” Georgiana inclined her head.

  “Mrs. Ashford,” Octavia returned haughtily.

  The minutes stretched between them like an abyss as they stared each other down. Finally, Georgiana broke the silence. “Is there something you wanted, Octavia?”

  Octavia Fenimere sniffed. “I just wanted to see you with my own eyes,” she said bitterly. “Rumor had it you’re more beautiful now than when you were ruined.”

  “But we both know rumors are frequently false, don’t we,” Georgiana said coolly.

  Octavia sniffed. “Quite.”

  “Have I satisfied your curiosity then?” Georgiana asked stiffly. “I’m afraid the Royal Antiquaries Society awaits my arrival.”

  She turned to go, but Mrs. Fenimere stopped her. “Ah yes,” she sneered. “You were always too good for us mere mortals, weren’t you? Terrible snob, you are. I imagine you think yourself above us even more now that your ‘memoirs’ and your travel journals are so popular. What kind of woman allows her private life to be put on display, I wonder?”

  Georgiana turned calmly back to face her past. “I do believe, Mrs. Fenimere, that you were the one who first put my private life on public display. What Londoners choose to read and believe is entirely up to them.”

  “I suppose you expect me to apologize,” Octavia bit out.

  A nasty retort came to her lips, but Georgiana took one look at the broken and pitiable woman before her and immediately swallowed it. Why should this one unhappy person have any effect on her? When she smiled at the woman who’d caused her ruination more than a decade ago, Octavia actually flinched. In that instant, Georgiana forgave her everything.

  “Actually,” Georgiana said slowly, “I should thank you.”

  Octavia merely frowned.

  “If you hadn’t sounded the alarm to my brother,” Georgiana told her, “I would never have gone to live with my cousin Jane and my grandfather—both of whom mean the world to me. I would never have traveled anywhere outside of England, and I wouldn’t have gotten an opportunity to be here talking about those travels. I would have been stuck living a dull, nothing life with a dull, nothing husband and suffering fools like Lord Rowling on a regular basis.”

  Georgiana shrugged, loving the truth of her words. “I’ve lived a full and interesting life, Mrs. Fenimere, and while it hasn’t always been easy, I cherish every second of it. Thanks to your meddling, I’ve been able to know my husband, my brother and myself on a much deeper level than if I’d lived a comfortable, reputable life in England. For that, I’m grateful to you.”

  Octavia Fenimere’s jaw was quivering, whether in rage or jealousy or relief Georgiana did not know. Nor did she particularly care. Inclining her head regally, she said, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a group of scholars and curiosity seekers awaiting my stories. Perhaps we’ll meet again, Mrs. Fenimere, though in truth I hope not.”

  Georgiana spun on her heel and floated toward the reception, putting Mrs. Octavia Fenimere behind her for good. Simon and her grandfather were awaiting her, and although her husband grouched something about promptness being a virtue, his eyes danced at the sight of her. He bent down to kiss her cheek, and Georgiana turned her head to kiss him full on the mouth.

  Sir Jon chuckled at their side. “You two are as bad as Jane and Thorne,” he groused good-naturedly. “It’s enough to make me question whether or not I truly want to spend the rest of the year with two love-sick couples. Even if it is in India.”

  “Just be thankful we’re not as obnoxious as Lord and Lady Bonnefield,” Simon said. “Rumor has it Celia was seen kissing her husband in Hyde Park just last spring, in plain view of everyone.”

  Sir Jon just shook his head. “I hope you two have finally outgrown such shocking displays,” he muttered in amusement as he headed to the nuncheon.

  “Speaking of shocking,” Georgiana said lightly as Simon led her down the hall to the banquet room, “I just spoke with Octavia Fenimere.”

  She felt him stiffen underneath her arm. He stopped abruptly and waved Sir Jon on. Glancing down at her, concern written on his face, he gently inquired, “Are you all right, Princess?”

  Georgiana felt herself smile at the only man she’d ever loved. Then, because she wanted to—and because fallen women can do whatever they please—she kissed him right there in the main hall of Somerset House.

  “I’m more than all right,” she told her husband. “I’m the luckiest woman in the world.”

  “It seems unkind of you to boast of your fortune. Unless you think I might get lucky too?” he murmured lasciviously as he kissed her.

  Georgiana nipped his bottom lip. “I’m sure if you set your mind to it...” her voice trailed off suggestively.

  Her husband whispered something delicious, and entirely improper, in her ear. Georgiana shivered at the suggestion and knew her cheeks were turning rosy, but she shook her head imperiously.

  “Simon I have a room full of scholars who wish to argue with me over my observations, and a group of Society matrons who eagerly await to hear every detail of—and then chastise me for—my naughty behavior. I simply don’t have the time for...that.”

  It wasn’t often that Simon Ashford issued ultimatums to his wife, but this was one of those times. “Princess,” he said, “you have one hour to regale these people with your wit and your brilliance. Then you’re mine, even if that means throwing you over my shoulder and hauling you out like a savage.”

  Georgiana raised an eyebrow
, daring him. “But darling,” she teased, “that would be scandalous.”

  “They revel in scandal,” Simon waved dismissively. “One hour, Georgie,” he reiterated, “and then you’re mine for the night.”

  Georgiana put her hand in his and let him walk her into the reception, loving the fact that after five years and two babies her husband still wanted her. It was like that with love, she supposed.

  “No,” she sighed. “I’m not yours for the night.” He turned to argue with her, naturally, and she smiled a smile of pure joy up at him. “I’m yours forever.”

  And so, to the scandal and delight of those present at the Royal Antiquaries Society nuncheon for Mrs. Georgiana Ashford, nee Phillips, the guest of honor had barely set foot into the receiving room when the dashing Mr. Ashford scooped her up and carried her off like a savage.

  * * * * *

  About the Author

  Caroline Kimberly has spent most of her life making up stories to help offset the daily grind. It wasn’t until she was in graduate school, however, that she realized she wanted to write for a living. Since then, she’s worked as a newspaper reporter and as a copy editor for a children’s book publisher. Historical romance has always been her favorite genre, however, and brainstorming romantic romps makes her life as a soccer mom much more interesting.

  She lives in Minnesota with her very patient husband, two busy daughters and three lazy cats.

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