Sunday's Child (Heroines Born on Different Days of the Week Book 1)

by Rosemary Morris

  Nurse’s voice broke into his thoughts. “Miss Barbara insists you tell her a story, sir.”

  He chuckled and guided Georgianne to the night nursery. He patted Georgianne’s back to reassure her. “If our young madam insists I tell her a story then she is well on the road to recovery. Georgianne, you must be exhausted. I prescribe a glass of brandy before you retire for the night.”

  “No! Do you think I could make a habit of drinking strong spirits after I watched Mamma—” she broke off.

  He held her hands and raised them to his lips. “Oh, Georgianne, how I admire you. Although you are young, your backbone is strong.” He spoke too low for either Bab or Nurse to overhear him.

  His wife bent her head. “You think I am strong because you do not know me well. You are wrong. I am often consumed by anxiety.”

  “But you control it—not even in the church when Pennington tried to abduct you did you panic and—”

  “Even if I did not show it, I lost my nerve, but I am not the sort of female to fall into hysterics.”

  “No, you are not.” He sighed. She did not deserve a husband with part of his heart yearning for what might have been with another lady.

  * * * *

  Several days after Bab’s fever broke, Tarrant opened the library door and admitted his wife in answer to her knock. He looked sympathetically at her white face and eyes red-rimmed with fatigue. “Come, Georgianne.” He led her toward the fire burning in the hearth in spite of the mild, late February day. “Please sit. Tending Barbara exhausts you. When she has completely recovered, I will take you riding daily that will put the colour back in your cheeks.”

  Georgianne sat by the fire. Despite her obvious weariness, she kept her back straight. “Thank you for having the straw in the street replenished although it is no longer necessary to deaden the sound of passing traffic for fear of it disturbing Bab. Oh, Tarrant, at one point I was so frightened I thought we would have to send for Mamma.”

  “Well, thank the Lord it did not come to that. But I have not yet told you the good news. Your grandfather wrote to me. He has permitted your mother to return to Whitley Manor where a medical man visits her regularly and a nurse and a watchful companion care for her. Every drop of intoxicating liquor, including your cook’s dandelion wine, has been thrown away. My Aunt Whitley has forsworn strong drink. One day she might be able to resume her place in society.”

  “Can it be true? Will Mamma keep her word? If so, I am glad.” Georgianne put her hands on the arms of her chair and pushed herself to her feet.

  Tarrant stared at Georgianne’s bone-white face marked by violet shadows under her eyes. In a second, he crossed the small space between them and swept her into his arms. “You must rest. If you do not, you will become ill,” he said in an unsteady voice. “It is no longer necessary for you to attend Bab by day and night.”

  “Put me down,” Georgianne protested although she pressed her cheek against his chest. “What will Nurse think if she sees me in your arms?”

  Shocked because she weighed so little, he carried her into the hall, which Mrs. Deane was crossing. “My dear, I do not give a damn what anyone thinks.”

  “Do not swear Tarrant,” Georgianne reproved, although she snuggled closer to him.

  “Sorry.”

  Mrs. Deane hurried toward them. “Mrs. Tarrant are you ill? Can I be of assistance?”

  “My wife is exhausted, ma’am.” Followed by Mrs. Deane, he carried Georgianne up to her parlour where Elliot was supervising a maid engaged in dusting china ornaments on the mantelpiece. “Elliot.” The woman turned and bobbed a curtsey. “Put your mistress to bed. When she wakes up serve her a light meal.”

  “Broth, poached fish, and some fruit compote,” Mrs. Deane suggested. “Shall I instruct cook?”

  “Yes, please, Cousin Deane,” Tarrant replied.

  His wife smiled. “How nonsensical you are. I am not accustomed to sleeping during the day. I am only a little tired and—”

  Tarrant set Georgianne on her feet and refused to heed her protest. Affectionately, he tapped the tip of her nose. “Do not argue, Georgianne, I cannot abide argumentative females,” he teased. “Besides, once you are fully occupied by all the delights the season has to offer, you will soon grow used to rising late and slumbering during the day. Now, to please me, go to bed.”

  “Very well. To please you.”

  * * * *

  Several days later, Elliot opened the door of Georgianne’s parlour.

  Tarrant stepped into the room and inclined his head to his wife.

  “You may leave us, Elliot.” Georgianne put down her book and patted the space next to her on the sofa.

  Tarrant sat beside Georgianne. “Thank goodness, Bab is well.”

  “Yes, I do not have the words to tell you how relieved I am.” Georgianne smoothed her primrose-yellow muslin gown sprigged with forget-me-nots, and smiled somewhat self-consciously.

  “How pretty you look. I like your gown.”

  “Thank you.”

  He returned her smile. “Bab has made a good recovery but she is still pale. I think country air would benefit her. If you agree, we will send Bab and Helen to my parents’ country house. They can share my sisters’ governess and enjoy their cousin’s company.”

  As well as securing Helen and Bab’s safety, he wanted Georgianne to enjoy a pleasant season unhampered by the care of two young ladies. So, when she opened her mouth as though she would protest, he put a finger to her lips. “My dear, it is for the best, they will be safe there.”

  His wife’s face paled. “P…Pennington.”

  “Just so. That lunatic alarms me.”

  “Lunatic?”

  He toyed with her slim fingers. “Pennington must be more than eccentric to have acted as he did. Who knows what he might do in future.” Georgianne’s eyelids fluttered. He raised her hand to his lips. “Trust me.”

  “Always.” She tilted her face toward his. “I have faith in you, but what if my sisters do not want to go?”

  “They are children who must do as we think best.”

  “Helen is no longer a child. I think Langley is fully aware of that. He is all concern for her.”

  “Surely not, she is so young.”

  “That is what you said about me, and here we are, a married couple sitting side by side. Helen is only ten months younger than I am.”

  “Should I ask Langley what his intentions are toward her?”

  “Oh, no.” Her eyes filled with laughter. “Allow matters to proceed without our intervention. After all, Langley is as great a gentleman as you are. I am sure he will treat Helen with the utmost respect.”

  Much gratified by her compliment, he sat a little straighter. “So, we are agreed that your sisters shall go to my parents’ house.”

  “Will your father consent?”

  “He has already given permission. I called on him at his club and explained the circumstances.”

  Georgianne sighed. “I will miss my sisters.”

  Tarrant gazed into her blue eyes fringed with long black lashes. Desire rose unbidden. He swallowed. Georgianne put her hand on his shoulder as though responding to his primitive urge while unaware of its significance.

  Georgianne’s breath came faster, her eyes glittered and she parted her lips. Did she desire him as much as he desired her? Lost in a surge of physical longing, he bent his head and kissed her. She closed her eyes. He supported the back of her neck with his hand, his fingers wide apart in the silky delight of her hair. In return, Georgianne threaded hers through the hair at the nape of his neck. She trembled. Immediately, he released her. “Did I frighten you?”

  Her eyelashes shaded her eyes. The colour in her cheeks heightened. She shook her head. He could scoop his wife up into his arms, carry her to her inviting bed, and tenderly introduce her to the delights of lovemaking. For a moment Tarrant cursed the spectre of childbirth which prevented him from doing so. He swallowed and stood. “Shall I send for Helen and Bab to te
ll them what we have decided?”

  “Now?”

  He nodded.

  “Very well,” she said in a colourless tone and smoothed her hair.

  * * * *

  Georgianne struggled for composure. She would have welcomed more kisses. Why did Tarrant release her so abruptly? Had she done something to repulse him?

  Her dresser entered the parlour. “You rang, madam?”

  “Yes, Elliot. Ask my sisters to join us immediately.”

  After the woman withdrew, Georgianne eyed Tarrant with unaccustomed shyness. Should she tell him she enjoyed his kiss and wanted more? How should a wife behave? Oh, how she wished circumstances were different. If only she could ask Mamma for advice. She glanced at her novel. When would she experience the romance described between its covers?

  She picked the book up and put it on a small table set to one side of the sofa. “The weather is improving, Tarrant.”

  He stood with his back to her, looking out of the window. “Yes, and I will keep my promise to take you riding and—” he broke off when the door opened and Bab all but bounced into the room, her white muslin dress streaked with dust and her hair in a state of disorder.

  Georgianne frowned. “What have you been doing and where is your apron?”

  “Judging by her appearance, Bab’s health is fully restored. Halford told me that children recover from their illnesses faster than adults,” Tarrant said.

  “Not as fast as one would hope,” Georgianne replied. “Come here, Bab. Let me see if you are feverish. Your face is much too pale and your cheeks are flushed. What is Nurse thinking of to allow you to get into such a state? And what were you thinking of to burst in here without as much as a knock on the door?”

  Without the least sign of repentance, Bab plopped down on the sofa next to her. “I escaped to the attic.” She looked at Tarrant as though she hoped he would sympathise with her. “When I pretended the French surprised me on picket duty, I took off my pinafore and waved it like a flag of truce. Then my stomach grumbled and I guessed it was nearly time for nuncheon, and now I cannot find the pinafore and I know Nurse will scold me.”

  Georgianne ruffled Bab’s fiery curls. “I am glad you have regained your appetite, but you deserve a scolding.”

  “What does an apron matter now she is well?” Tarrant asked. “I will buy her a dozen.”

  “You spoil her.” Georgianne’s heart beat faster than usual while she admired her handsome husband. She loved him for his kindness to her sisters.

  The door opened again and Helen, as neat in green-sprigged muslin as Bab was untidy in white, stood at the threshold. “You sent for me?”

  Georgianne forced herself to smile. She and Helen had rarely been separated. In fact, her disastrous visit to Sarah, after Frederick’s birth, was one of the rare occasions on which they had. At Whitley Manor, they had shared not only a bedchamber but also their innermost thoughts. She waited until Helen sat by the fire before she spoke. “Tarrant and I think it would be for the best if you and Bab visit our Aunt Tarrant.”

  Helen frowned. “Why?”

  “Country air will benefit Bab and—”

  Bab grabbed Georgianne’s hand. “Please do not send me away. I will be good. I will not run away from Nurse and I will not lose any more aprons and I will—”

  Tarrant swept Bab up into his arms. “My dearest little girl, never think we are sending you to the country because you escaped from Nurse or because you were naughty. We are sending you for your own good.”

  Tears gathered in Bab’s eyes but she blinked them away. “But I want to go back to school and be with my friends.”

  “One day you might be able to.” Tarrant looked at Georgianne. “Shall I return Bab to Nurse?”

  She smiled at him, appreciative of his tact. “Yes please.”

  After he left the room with the child, Helen sat next to Georgianne, hands tightly clasped on her lap.

  Georgianne patted her sister’s hand. “Please be sensible, Helen. Pennington tried to abduct me on my wedding day and he kidnapped Bab. I believe he is not in his right mind and he may carry out his threat to try to force you to marry him. It will be easier to ensure your safety in the country. If I were not sure that you and Bab would be happy there, I would not send you. And you are studious. If you wish, you can share our cousins’ governess as well as their art and dancing masters.” Helen sat as though frozen. Georgianne put an arm around her. “Do you dislike the idea very much?”

  Tears formed in Helen’s eyes. “Yes…no…that is, I have no home.”

  “Of course you do. One day, if you want to, I hope you will be able to live with Mamma until you are married. In the meantime, my home is your home. Regard your visit to Aunt and Uncle Tarrant as a vacation.” She patted Helen’s hand. “I promise to visit you. And of course, Tarrant and I will be staying with Aunt and Uncle when they hold their winter ball. In the meantime, please do not fret, sooner or later you will marry and be the happy mistress of your own house.”

  “As you are?”

  “Yes. And if I am not mistaken you have already engaged a certain viscount’s affection.”

  Helen blushed. “Do you like being married?”

  “To be sure I do,” Georgianne replied, acutely conscious of a lack in her marriage, which she did not know how to fill.

  “After nuncheon, I will pack my paintbrushes and—” Helen broke off. “Curse Pennington. But for him, Bab could return to school where she was happy and I could remain with you.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Georgianne entered the large drawing room on the first floor of Mrs. Bettismore’s London mansion. Nothing had prepared her for a room furnished in the Egyptian style with the backs and armrests of sofas and chairs each carved to resemble a sphinx. Amazed by the imitation, gilded crocodile feet supporting the furniture, depictions of ancient Egyptian life hanging on the walls as well as several large busts of pharaohs, Georgianne stared. Although the décor indicated her hostess’s wealth—fashionable though it might be—its ostentation, bordered on the vulgar.

  “Come,” Mrs. Deane said.

  Georgianne walked by her companion’s side to her hostess, a rotund lady dressed in the style of the previous century. When Mrs. Bettismore stood to greet her, Georgianne made a small curtsy while trying to conceal her amazement..

  “I make a strange sight, don’t I?” Mrs. Bettismore asked with obvious amusement.

  “My apologies for staring at you, ma’am,” Georgianne replied.

  The lady ignored the apology. “Mrs. Tarrant, I daresay you are like most folk who think I am a figure of fun, yet I would be an even greater one in a new fangled gown. You must agree it would make me look like an over-full sack of potatoes.”

  “Grandmamma,” a beautiful golden-haired girl protested.

  Georgianne sought a tactful reply to Mrs. Bettismore’s comment. “No such thing, ma’am, if your dressmaker employed her skill properly.”

  Her hostess cackled. “Well put, Mrs. Tarrant, well put. I like you. Allow me to introduce you to my granddaughter, Miss Carstairs. I daresay she won’t mind you if you call her Amelia.”

  “Ma’am,” Georgianne said, amused by the unconventional elderly woman.

  “My girl’s been longing to meet you.”

  Georgianne wondered why Miss Carstairs longed to meet her. “I am pleased to make your granddaughter’s acquaintance.”

  Mrs. Bettismore indicated a sofa. “Mrs. Deane, my apologies, I’m neglecting you shamefully. Please sit next to me.” An audible breath escaped her as she settled her bulk and glanced across the drawing room. “Lord Pennington’s arrived. I’m honoured by his presence.” After she heaved herself to her feet Mrs. Bettismore advanced to greet his lordship.

  Sickened by the sight of the earl, Georgianne turned her head to face Mrs. Deane. “It is time for us to leave.”

  “Oh no, not so soon.” Amelia grasped Georgianne’s elbow. “Allow me to introduce you to some of our guests.”

&n
bsp; Georgianne tried to release her arm from the young lady’s grip. Short of engaging in a ridiculous struggle, she could not free herself, so she allowed Amelia to guide her to the other side of the drawing room, where Amelia introduced her to Colonel Herries.

  The colonel, a slim figure in civilian clothes with one sleeve of his coat pinned back, stood. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am. I admired your father.”

  “Thank you, Colonel, he is still sorely missed.”

  “Just, so, just so.” He cleared his throat. “I am acquainted with your husband and his friend, Viscount Langley, as gallant a pair of gentlemen as it has ever been my privilege to meet.”

  “How kind you are, sir,” Georgianne replied, wondering why Amelia’s cheeks bloomed deep pink.

  “Has Major Tarrant accompanied you, ma’am?” asked the colonel. “He and Viscount Langley arranged to meet me here before we visit Tattersalls.”

  How little she knew about her husband’s daily activities. Georgianne forced herself to smile. “The major did not know we planned to wait on Mrs. Bettismore.”

  “Herries,” said a soft voice from behind Georgianne.

  “My lord,” the colonel said to Pennington. “Good day to you. Have you met Mrs. Tarrant, wife of one of our gallant heroes?”

  Although she wanted to ignore Pennington, in order to keep gossip at bay, Georgianne curtsied to him. His proximity sickened her but they frequented the same society so she must accustom herself to his presence.

  The earl grinned like a wolf while inclining his head. “I am acquainted with Mrs. Tarrant. I also have the good fortune of having met each of her sisters. How is Miss Whitley, ma’am?”

  She wanted to say, “My sister is no concern of yours,” but convention obliged her to not be rude in public. Her jaw clenched. If he ever gave Helen the smallest cause for grief, she would…would…what? For all her bravado, she could not control a shiver running down her spine. Yet she would not show her fear, to do so would mean he had won his attempt to unnerve her.