Once Again, My Laird

by Angeline Fortin

  Her lack of immediate acquiescence or a mere dollop of eagerness sent a shaft of dread through him.

  “I’m asking ye to be my wife,” he corrected. He wouldn’t have her thinking of their union in such disreputable terms. “I’m asking ye to be my love. Do ye love me, Georgie lass?”

  “You know I do.” The confidence renewed in her voice, though she fiddled nervously with her reins. “I would risk anything to be your wife, even scandal. I invited it myself a few days past, didn’t I? I know it’s absurd to think so, but somehow the idea of eloping seems so much more disgraceful than being compromised. Although, we’ve been nothing but a scandal in the making so far, haven’t we?”

  She was rambling and he let her, knowing she was apprehensive. It was a lot to ask, feasibly too much for one who was so young and sheltered.

  “Dinnae worry yer head, lass,” he assured her. “I’d wait a lifetime for ye, ye ken that I would?”

  She nodded. “If that’s what I chose, would you be angry?”

  “Angry? Nay. Frustrated, tormented, and lonely? Aye. But I’d wait if that’s what ye chose.” The idea made his heart sink but he forced a more pleasant visage. “It’d gi’ me time aplenty to hone my writing skills. That last bit of poetry was a tad rough around the edges.”

  “I’d treasure each one as I do the ones I already have.”

  A sigh of resignation expanded and released heavily. The thought of years without seeing his bonny lass was difficult to absorb.

  “Is that yer decision then? To wait?”

  She hesitated. “Oh, dash it. I can’t bear the thought of waiting.”

  “Nor can I. I want ye by my side for the rest of our days. I want that now.”

  “I do, too.” She smiled wide, glowing with love and commitment enough to warm him through. Reaching out, she took his hand and squeezed tight. “You quite caught me off guard coming into my life as you did, shaking it about and turning it upside down, yet I’ve never been so filled with joy. It would break my heart to be parted from you.”

  “We dinnae ha’ to be. Run away wi’ me, Georgie lass. Be my wife,” he urged. “I ken it’s a frightening prospect. One that will change yer life irrevocably. Ye said ye’d fight for me. Are ye still willing to do that?”

  “I’ll fight for us, Mal.”

  “Aye, then?”

  She released a deep, shaky exhale that ended with a grin. “Aye.”

  Joy, pure and simple, poured over him, easing his tensions. Casting away his worries. Aye, it was meant to be, this astounding love that had shocked him as well with its intensity and fulfillment. He’d never anticipated that the prospect of being leg-shackled at a mere five and twenty years could be so appealing, but it was. There would be no greater achievement in his life than having Georgie as his wife and in being her husband.

  “Truly?”

  “Absolutely.”

  * * *

  The next night

  Mal paced in front of the livery stable. Two rented mounts stood ready nearby, tied near the mounting block. They wouldn’t take Georgie’s horse Crowley. She’d be heartbroken to leave him behind, but they couldn’t risk her departure being noted and reported until they had a chance to be well away and beyond the duke’s reach.

  They needed time. Plenty of it to get as far from Bath as they could before Wharton’s household roused with the dawn and her absence was discovered. Indeed, they should have been long gone by now. Impatience made him fidgety.

  The horses were, too. Shuffling their feet and chuffing peevishly. Mal checked his watch. Past one in the morning now. She was an hour late.

  “Where is she?”

  “Dinnae fash, mon,” Coll teased. He and Lindsay had come along to stand lookout and provide distraction should it become necessary. Mal was glad for their company. If it weren’t for them, he’d have scaled the Crescent by now in search of her bedroom window. “When ha’ ye e’er heard of a wumman being on time? They take joy in the misery they cause by making a mon wait.”

  Lindsay laughed but offered a more reasonable option. “No doubt that Eversley ball ran long or she couldnae get her maid to leave her for the night. Gi’ her time, laddie. She’ll be here.”

  But she didn’t arrive within the next hour. Nor any of the hours that followed.

  At dawn, they left and resumed their watch the next night. They waited for long hours for her to show. It didn’t take a blow to the head for Mal to realize the truth.

  She wasn’t coming.

  Not now. Not ever.

  His friends tried to offer their sympathy, then diversion at a pub near the barracks where the Black Guard celebrated prior to their first ship’s departure for the Mediterranean.

  No amount of reasoning from his mates provided any comfort, however. Whatever excuses they offered for Georgie’s failure to come—ranging from impediment to death—none were salve enough to assuage his anguish. All the ale on tap and buxom barmaids bouncing in his lap couldn’t divert him from the truth. She was lost to him.

  By her own choice. Her own will.

  The realization cut him to the quick. Strange how something he never imagined wanting could matter so much. He was beaten down, ravaged with pain.

  Why? Why hadn’t she said something? If she was truly afraid…of the scandal, of the elopement, or the hardship of life as a soldier’s wife, she could tell him as much. If it was a matter of waiting for her or losing her forever, she had to know he would choose the former. A dozen years, a lifetime. He’d written letters and poetry of his devotion. It was her choice; he’d made that clear.

  If telling him of her fears in person, seeing the disappointment Mal knew he couldn’t entirely disguise were too much for her to bear…och, he knew her to be as proficient with a pen and ink as he.

  Bugger it, but he deserved at least that from her. A word. An explanation.

  A half dozen more pints called Georgie’s commitment to him into question. For whatever reason, she wasn’t willing to fight for love. Fight for him. Mayhap her love wasn’t true enough to take the risk. Mayhap it wavered in the face of adversity. Mayhap it had buckled completely.

  In the wee hours of the morning, copious amounts of alcohol finally made the truth of it clear to him. Nay, it wasn’t the struggle that deterred her. Nor was it life he offered her she found contemptible.

  It was him.

  His Georgie would have been courageous enough to fight for true love. To risk all for the man worthy of that love.

  The only possible conclusion then was that she didn’t consider him thus.

  Anger settled in and took root. Somehow Wharton’s vitriol and disdain had swayed her against him. Convinced her that a mere soldier couldn’t possible merit the esteem of a lofty duke’s daughter. A penniless third son was not deserving of her affection. Not good enough for her. Period.

  Resentment blossomed. Aye, he was braw enough for a tumble in the stables but not lordly enough for the marriage bed. There was no other reason she wouldn’t have come to him.

  The capricious, snooty hoore.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Bath Botanical Society

  Bennett Street, Bath, England

  September 1821

  “Well, this is wonderful news, I’d say.” Bernie wafted her fan lazily in front of her pink cheeks, casting flirtatious glances over the top to a gentleman across the room.

  The gentleman also happened to be her husband, which by all society standards was a bit appalling. One did not generally flirt with their spouse. Especially at nothing more quixotic than a garden party for the Bath Botanical Society. Such behavior was usually reserved for ballrooms and candlelight, not an unusually warm day in September under the bright sun with the buzzing of bees accompanying the stringed quartet.

  Envy jabbed at Georgiana’s gut anyway, as it usually did when she witnessed their devotion to one another. Bridgewater had been kind and caring but never so affectionate, especially in public. She’d often wondered what it might have been li
ke to bask under the open regard of Mal’s love if they’d been wed so long. Would it have lasted as Widcombe’s had? Would Mal have wandered eventually?

  Now it didn’t matter and she didn’t want him here to remind her of how the past two decades might have gone if things had been different.

  “Wonderful news?” she echoed. She carried a parasol rather than a fan to combat the effects of the sun; otherwise she would have smacked her friend with it. “I tell you Mal has come to Bath and that’s all you have to say?”

  Bernie’s attention strayed as a waiter bearing a tray of refreshments passed by. She snatched two flutes of champagne and handed one to Georgiana who snapped her parasol shut and took it gratefully.

  “Don’t be obtuse, Georgie. You know you were hoping to rekindle your romance with him.”

  “I was not.” Georgiana tipped up the glass and swallowed down more than half the contents as if it might drown the lie. Or partial lie, as it were.

  Hopes of romance hadn’t been at the forefront of her efforts in finding Mal, but in retrospect there might have been a subconscious hope. One easily vanquished, given how events played out. “I located him only to alleviate Maisie’s endless nattering. On your counsel, if you’ll recall.”

  “And your own curiosity. Let’s not forget about that,” Bernie added, trailing her closed fan down her cheek as she glanced again at Widcombe. She added a wink to the coy gesture then turned her attention back to Georgiana. “Admit it, you wanted to find him.”

  “Perhaps, but I had no intention of trying to reengage his attentions. In fact, I was rather vocal in my conviction that there was no possibility of renewing our romance,” she protested. “I most definitely didn’t want him here in Bath.”

  “I would say it’s rekindled whether you like it or not, since he bedded you there and is now here.”

  “Bernie!”

  Grasping Bernie’s arm, Georgiana steered her away from the small groups dotting the pathways of the formal garden neatly laid out behind the pillared building that housed the botanical society. Heat that had nothing to do with the unseasonably warm day rose to her cheeks, and she looked around to make sure no one had overheard her friend’s casual mention of her liaison with Mal.

  Down one path of crushed oyster shells, they then strolled up an adjacent angle of the geometric design toward the fountain at the center. She reopened her parasol and angled it between them and the other guests, creating a façade of privacy, and scowled at her friend.

  “You’re being ridiculous, Georgie.”

  “I’m not the one courting scandal.”

  Bernie raised a mocking brow. “Aren’t you?”

  “Oh, shush!” She shouldn’t have mentioned it at all, but it’d been a long journey back to England. Weeks filled with conversation to pass the time. There’d been little chance it wouldn’t come out. Once she was sure they were out of earshot, she spoke. “Whatever happened then, you know I had no intention of luring him back.”

  “If it soothes your conscience, continue believing that.” Her friend’s broad grin dared Georgiana to contradict her further. It widened more when she concluded Georgiana had nothing more to say on the matter. She peeked over her shoulder at her husband once again. “You know, I should travel more often. Widcombe’s been most attentive since my return. See how his eyes follow me.” She downed her champagne in a single swallow and set her glass on the edge of the limestone fountain. “Whilst you try to think of more excuses for your own budding romance, I believe I’ll sashay past Widcombe a time or two and see what comes of it.”

  “I hate you.”

  Bernie laughed over her shoulder as she did indeed sashay away. “Liar.”

  Georgiana finished the rest of her champagne and scanned the garden for a waiter. A moment later, a full glass materialized in front of her, held aloft by a darkly tanned hand. She tilted her parasol back and farther still to trace it from wrist to arm to shoulder and to a familiar jawline. There she stopped before she could meet the warm brown gaze of the man holding it out to her.

  “Another?”

  She looked up at him with a shake of her head, but took the glass from him anyway. Apparently, she would need another glass or more now. Heavens, he was handsome. The inequity of life astounded her that he could only grow more attractive as the years past. More masculine, rugged. Meanwhile a lady simply sagged.

  “Why are you here, Mal?”

  “I thought ye dinnae enjoy being amongst a crowd.” He skirted the question. “Or has that changed as well?”

  “The crowds at these gatherings are normally sparse and the venue open. Besides, I am a chair on the fundraising committee,” she told him. “I have to be here.”

  “Balmy day to plan an outdoor gathering.”

  My God, was he going to talk about something so bland as the weather when having him so close scorched her more than a dozen suns?

  “One would think ye’d avoid such a thing on a hot day, especially considering the formal attire required,” he went on. “’Tis bluidy uncomfortable.”

  Georgiana took in his blue superfine coat, buckskin trousers, and boots with a reluctantly appreciative eye. Again, he was dressed to the nines, right down to his ebony walking stick and top hat. She would never have dreamed of seeing him so properly attired in the past when his uniform was the most formal thing he owned.

  Or preferred to, she amended. She’d always liked him best in his shirtsleeves and kilt. As he’d been in Scotland. The memory of him striding out of the stables, so virile and magnificent, sent a shiver of lust through her. Her hand trembled, sloshing the champagne up the sides of the flute. Lifting it to her lips, she drank deeply to cover the near mishap.

  “As the weather this time of year is usually more temperate, I don’t believe I can be held accountable for the inconvenience,” she said at last. “You didn’t answer my question. Why are you here?”

  “The fundraiser was open to any inclined to donate, lass. So I did.”

  A snort of disbelief escaped her before she could suppress it.

  Mal raised a brow. “Rather generously, I might add. Besides, could be I thought to enjoy the afternoon and keep company wi’ friends.” He scanned the assembly hall. “I did happen to see a couple of men from my auld company. It comes as something of a shock to see how those we once knew ha’ aged, doesn’t it?”

  He sounded so surprisingly maudlin; Georgiana’s annoyance and edginess slipped away. “We’ve all aged. A great many years, in fact.”

  “Ye couldnae tell by looking at ye,” he said quietly. His admiring gaze slipped down and up again. “Ye’re verra fetching today. The purple complements yer hair. I even like yer bonnet.”

  Georgiana resisted the urge to run her hand down her plum silk skirts. Simply designed as most her gowns were, adornment was sparse. Pleated swags and rosettes of the same fabric looped around the lower half of the skirts, the scooped neckline, and along the edges of the puffed sleeves. Tucked among the detail, tiny silk roses of green and blue peeked out here and there. The same ornamentation trimmed the brim of her straw bonnet and her plum silk parasol. It was one of her favorite and most flattering ensembles. Even so, she hadn’t expected a compliment and could do little more than gape at him.

  “Yer friend, Miss Gregson, remains much as I recall her also.”

  “Lady Widcombe.”

  “Aye. She seems happy enough.” He looked in Bernie’s direction. “I hope her husband disnae mind her dalliances.”

  “That is her husband,” she told him with a wisp of a smile. “I know, quite shocking, isn’t it? They’re happily married with five children.”

  “Is that her daughter with her?”

  Georgiana saw Maisie and Ardmore had joined the Widcombes. The two ladies hugged one another and talked with open affection. Maisie was about the same size as Bernie and similar to the viscount in coloring, so she could see why he might think so.

  For a moment, she was tempted to let him believe it, but answered hone
stly. “No.”

  Mal frowned at her brusque response and shifted his gaze back and forth between her and the ladies. “I see, she’s yers, is she? I see the resemblance now.”

  There was something in his tight voice that drew her attention. Hurt? Discontent? “Yes, she’s my daughter. I have a son, as well,” she added, hoping the information might drive him away.

  His lips flattened into a stiff line. “The current duke, I take it? Rabbie told me ye’re a widow now.”

  “Is that why you’re here?”

  “I thought we established why I’m here.” He lifted his glass in silent toast to the garden party.

  “You know what I mean.” Georgiana pinched the bridge of her nose wearily. She wasn’t in the mood for such circuitous conversation. “Why are you in Bath?”

  He studied her again for a long while, his gaze indecipherable. Then he sighed as if he, too, tired of the game. He drew her arm through his before she could protest and led her to the far side of the structured garden layout to an area closer to the building and shaded from the late afternoon sun.

  She closed her parasol but kept it at the ready to use it as a weapon…or at least one of polite disregard if necessary.

  “Have you no answer?”

  “To be honest, lass, after what happened in Scotland, I thought we should talk. Or rather, my mother thinks so. Rabbie, as well. Truth be known, they bullied me into coming.”

  A reluctant smile tugged at her lips. “I haven’t any acquaintance with your mother for reference, but I’m surprised you didn’t oppose Colonel Lindsay’s efforts. You’re far more brawny than he.”

  “But he is my oh-so-superior officer, as he likes to remind me.”

  His wry humor struck another chord and before she might begin to enjoy his company, she went on, “Might I ask how he was injured? It seemed rude to inquire and he didn’t volunteer the information.”