The Greatest Lover Ever

by Christina Brooke

  Georgie gripped the arms of her chair hard.

  Violet … Violet and Beckenham …

  Now the whirling was not around her; it was inside her brain. She even felt a little light-headed, but good Heaven, she was—she was damned if she’d faint now.

  “Violet is very young,” Georgie managed, a scrape in her throat.

  “Older than you were when you became betrothed to Beckenham,” said Lady Arden briskly. “Eighteen and thirty. Very nice. Eminently suitable. And of course, she has the added advantage of Cloverleigh.”

  Georgie’s gaze shot to her stepmother. Had she planned it all along? Had this been the reason she’d urged Papa to change his will and leave his estate to his younger daughter?

  No. She couldn’t credit Lady Black with so much foresight.

  But what did that matter now? And what would Violet have to say about this?

  “There is no time to lose,” Lady Black reiterated. “We must return home to pack at once for an extended stay in the country.”

  “My dear Dorothea, there is no need for such haste,” said Lady Arden with a smile. “I believe we shall not chase after the earl all over England.”

  Thank God, thought Georgie. How humiliating that would be.

  Her stepmother opened her mouth to protest, but Lady Arden held up her hand. “Nothing disgusts a man so much as the feeling he is hunted.”

  She tapped a slender fingertip to her lips. “I shall think of a way to present our dear Violet in the best possible light. But you must leave it to me, Dorothea,” she adjured with a severe look at Lady Black. “And do not go running off to tell all and sundry of our plans. You will only be made to look foolish if they do not bear fruit.”

  Lady Arden rose and shook out her skirts, signaling her intention to leave.

  As Georgie curtsied to her, Lady Arden grasped her chin, tilting her face upward. “You had your chance with him, my dear.”

  And you threw it away.

  Georgie didn’t need Lady Arden to say the words. She said them to herself every single day.

  * * *

  “But I do not wish to marry Lord Beckenham,” said Violet. “He is yours.”

  That night, the two sisters snuggled under the covers together in the big tester bed in Georgie’s chamber. They often talked like this, making plans, sharing secrets until the candles guttered, long after Lady Black had retired to bed.

  Lately—ever since that night at Steyne’s villa, in fact—there’d been a certain level of constraint, Georgie thought. But perhaps she was imagining it out of her own guilt. She did not mean to share all her secrets with Violet, did she?

  Tonight, Georgie’s heart was wrung with conflicting emotions. Despite her love for her sister, she experienced a corrosive, shameful envy of Violet and all that might be hers.

  After a silence that was perhaps a trifle too long, she made herself shake her head in reassurance. “Dearest, he is not mine. He never really was, not in that way.”

  She reached out and smoothed back a lock of hair from her sister’s brow, tucking it behind her ear. “Beckenham is a good man, darling. He would make—” She drew a deep breath. “—an excellent husband.”

  “Then why did you give him up?” asked Violet with an oddly penetrating stare.

  A very good question, indeed. “We did not suit,” said Georgie.

  Violet’s nose crinkled a little. “That is one of those polite social phrases which means precisely nothing.”

  “In this case, it is the truth. Lord Beckenham’s character is so very different from mine—steady, honorable, straightforward.” Autocratic, unemotional, rigid.

  She sighed. “He grew impatient with my foibles, my headstrong ways. I took delight in driving him to fury, I admit.”

  She stroked Violet’s hair. “But he would adore you, my dear.”

  What man wouldn’t adore Violet? Sweet, pretty, and agreeable, with enough intelligence and spirit to make her interesting, but not so much spirit that she was labeled a termagant.

  Despite her recent accidental foray into Lord Steyne’s den of vice, Violet did not flout convention or indulge in outrageous exploits. She did not flirt or challenge or argue. True, Violet could be quietly obstinate at times, but it was Georgie’s habit of violently and openly opposing his slightest efforts to control her that Beckenham detested. Besides, he ought to have a wife with a bit of backbone, not some chit who wouldn’t say boo to a goose.

  “Lady Arden says she will bring me out in society early, before the season, so I may meet Lord Beckenham.” Violet shifted a little on the pillow, so she could look directly into Georgie’s face. “He is quite … old,” she ventured. “Don’t you think?”

  “Old?” Georgie snorted, feeling oddly annoyed. “He’s not yet thirty.”

  She used to embroider him samplers with silly corruptions of famous aphorisms on them for his birthdays. He’d received each of them with a slightly baffled laugh.

  She sighed.

  Violet slid a glance at her. “So you don’t think the disparity in our ages is a bar?”

  “Of course not.” Georgie did her best to plaster a smile on her face. She flicked Violet’s cheek with a fingertip. “Silly. It’s not as if he’s in his dotage. You could do far worse, you know. In fact—” She forced herself to say it. “—I couldn’t have chosen a better man for you myself.”

  “You told me he was the stuffiest, most pigheaded brute in the world.”

  Startled, Georgie said, “I said that?”

  Violet gave a decided nod. “Yes. You always spoke as though you hated him.”

  “I never hated him.” Georgie knew her voice sounded hollow. “My criticisms were unjust. You know what my temper is like. We did not deal together, but that did not blind me to Lord Beckenham’s many excellent qualities.”

  She wished Violet were not quite so perceptive, that she would not stare as if to silently challenge every assertion Georgie made. Unable to maintain her front much longer, Georgie lowered her gaze and fingered the coverlet.

  Violet rolled onto her back. “Lady Arden is talking of persuading Lord Beckenham to hold a house party of his own. A short list of ladies would be invited to compete for the honor of his hand in marriage.”

  “What?” said Georgie. “That is monstrous.” And so like Lady Arden to know what would most appeal to Beckenham. It was a masterstroke.

  Violet sighed. “Oh, she will not couch in those terms, of course. And she will prevail, I have no doubt.”

  “So that is why Lady Arden is so confident nothing will be decided until the end of this ridiculous tour Beckenham is making,” said Georgie. “You have to hand it to her. She is magnificent in her ruthlessness.”

  Violet raised herself on her elbow and clutched Georgie’s hand, looking suddenly intent. “You will come with me, won’t you, G? You would not leave me to deal with Mama and Lady Arden on my own.”

  She couldn’t think of anything she’d like less. “No, darling. It wouldn’t be wise.”

  Violet’s delicate hand gripped her wrist in a surprisingly firm hold. “But I need you.”

  Georgie shook her head. “People would gossip. You know how they are.”

  Violet’s grip on her hand tightened and the mulish look she so seldom wore settled over her delicate features. “You’ve never bothered what people have said about you before.”

  Georgie slipped her hand from Violet’s grasp and touched the tip of Violet’s nose. “But I do care for what they might say about my sister.”

  “But—”

  “I am not going with you, and there is an end to it, Violet. Indeed, it is high time for me to set up my own household. My twenty-fifth birthday is not far away and I believe I may talk my trustees into loosening the purse strings in anticipation.”

  Violet didn’t relent, and Georgie dug her nails into her palms to stop herself shouting a refusal. Oh, this was too much for her to be expected to bear!

  Why had she felt compelled to plead Beckenham’s caus
e with Violet? Let Lady Arden and Lady Black get on with their schemes. Georgie need have nothing to do with it.

  Wasn’t it enough that she’d been forced to give up Beckenham without everyone conspiring to marry him to her sister?

  “Violet, you will have your mama and Lady Arden. That is quite sufficient, I should think.”

  There was a long silence.

  “Lord Beckenham is very handsome, isn’t he, G?” said Violet, almost idly, into the semidarkness.

  Georgie cleared her throat. “Very.”

  She realized now that she’d been wrong in her suspicions that Violet had a tendre for Pearce. Wonderful. That was wonderful news.

  Violet twirled a lock of hair around her finger. “With my fair looks and Beckenham’s dark coloring, we would make a fine couple, would we not?”

  “The finest.”

  “And there is Cloverleigh to think on, of course,” mused Violet. “The earl is known to be an excellent steward of his lands.”

  “That is true.” Georgie doubted whether Violet remembered much about Cloverleigh. She’d never evinced interest in visiting the place or inspecting her holdings, relying on her trustees to do what they thought best.

  “Then, too, Papa would have been pleased at the alliance,” Violet added. “In fact, now I come to think on it, Papa most likely left me Cloverleigh for that very reason.”

  The acid burn in Georgie’s chest made breathing difficult. A measured reply was out of the question. If Violet had purposely set out to emotionally eviscerate her, she couldn’t have done a better job. Knowing her sister had no such intention only made it worse.

  “I think you are right,” said Violet at last, as if Georgie had spoken. “Lord Beckenham would make a perfect husband in every particular. I shall be pleased to go, after all.”

  Impulsively, Violet hugged Georgie. “Thank you for advising me. Without your blessing, I could not possibly have agreed to this. Goodness, I am so excited and yet I believe I shall sleep like the dead tonight. Can I stay in here with you?”

  There was nothing Georgie wanted less, but she said, “Of course, sweetheart,” and used the excuse of blowing out the candle to remove herself from Violet’s embrace.

  She lay there, staring up at the canopy overhead. She trembled uncontrollably, as if it weren’t the height of summer at all.

  With a sleepy sigh, Violet said, “And you truly do not mind.”

  Georgie made herself say, “I would be happy to see you wed to such a man.”

  “Well, if Lady Arden has her way, I will be,” said Violet on a yawn.

  And as they both were well aware, Lady Arden could be a very determined woman, indeed.

  Chapter Ten

  Dear Lizzie,

  Do you remember how cast down I was that I am obliged to go to Gloucestershire on a matter of family business? Now, I am so happy, I could dance several jigs, for He is following me there.

  Can you believe it? Even with all of his obligations and worries, He counts them for nothing if he cannot be close to me. I could not fathom how he will do it, but he told me I should trust him to find a way.…

  Two months later …

  As their chaise rumbled through the gates of Beckenham’s country estate, Georgie’s heart drummed harder than the rain on the carriage roof. The knuckles of her clasped hands grew white.

  How had she come to agree to this fiasco? Did she truly think she could bear to stand by and watch while all those ladies—including Violet—vied for Beckenham’s favor?

  She rather wondered what the earl himself would make of the process. Another man would preen at the attention, but Marcus … No, he was not a man given to preening. In all likelihood, such a surfeit of adulation would make him distinctly uncomfortable.

  The thought cheered her slightly, until she recalled that be he never so impatient with toadeaters, he was still a man. Ladies could be extremely clever about making a man feel like a god.

  And what if he showed preference for one of these ladies? Worse: what if he fell in love with one of them? With Violet? Her body gave a shudder of revulsion at the thought.

  “Thank you for coming with me,” Violet said for perhaps the thirtieth time since they’d set out. “I feel so much better, knowing that you will be here and I needn’t face them all quite on my own.”

  “Only for you would I even contemplate it,” said Georgie, striving to keep the grim note from her voice. She tugged at her gloves a little more forcefully than necessary.

  If it were not for her stepmother’s sudden nervous collapse, she would not have set foot in this house, nor taken part in such a demeaning charade.

  No matter in what terms Lady Arden delicately couched it, everyone knew the root cause of this invitation to Beckenham’s country seat. The Earl of Beckenham wished to take a wife, and to choose her with the least inconvenience possible. The matchmaking mamas would parade their charges for Beckenham’s scrutiny like cattle at market.

  Nothing could have been more unfortunate than Lady Black’s sudden illness. Georgie knew it was genuine. Nothing less than total incapacitation would have induced her stepmother to be left behind on this venture. The excitement of anticipating this house party was undoubtedly to blame for her recent hysterical episode. The doctor had diagnosed nervous exhaustion and sent her to take the waters in Bath.

  Knowing how hopeless it would be to expect a quick recovery or any exercise of willpower on her stepmother’s part, Georgie offered to remain behind to nurse her. Violet, too, had argued that they ought not leave her mama if she was feeling so poorly.

  But Lady Black insisted that with her brother’s wife to tend her and with dear Dr. Wilson at her beck and call, she had no need of them. Indeed, her poor nerves couldn’t stand the mere thought of Violet throwing away such a golden opportunity.

  So, here Georgie was, preparing for day upon day of exquisite torture.

  Beyond the massive wrought iron gates, the drive to the house was a long and winding one, lined by ancient oaks. One last turn and Winford burst into sight, a great monolith against the lowering sky.

  Georgie leaned forward to peer out the window. She’d thought the house couldn’t be as grand as she remembered, but if anything, her memory had downplayed its magnificence.

  If Beckenham had intended to signal what a great honor he would bestow upon his future countess, he couldn’t have gone a better way about it than to invite the candidates here. What woman wouldn’t wish to be mistress of such a house?

  Georgie would wager the place ran like clockwork, too. No fear that his lordship had allowed the estate to sink into rack and ruin as his grandfather had before him. The grounds and exterior of the house were a testament to that. Neatly tended gardens and sloping lawns bordered by woods. The ivy that sprawled over the bricks of the great stone edifice was well tamed, the windows sparkling clean, the gravel drive raked just so.

  “Goodness,” said Violet. “It seems larger than I remembered. Which is strange, for I was only a child when I saw it last.”

  Six years ago, Violet had been twelve, or thereabouts. Did Beckenham remember her? Probably not. Young men didn’t tend to take much notice of little girls.

  “You must call at Cloverleigh while you are here,” Georgie reminded Violet.

  “But it is tenanted,” Violet objected. “I should not wish to intrude.”

  “You must write to them and ask,” said Georgie. “In fact, you might request Lord Beckenham to accompany you. He has more than a passing interest in the place, and your prospects there will set you apart from the rest of them as nothing else can.”

  Violet opened her eyes wide. “You mean he will not be instantly smitten with my beauty and charm? I must, instead, lure him with my inheritance. How disappointing.”

  Georgie’s gaze sharpened, but the twinkle in her sister’s eye reassured her. Perhaps she’d imagined the dry, cynical note in Violet’s voice.

  “Of course he will be smitten,” Georgie replied. “But men like Beckenham
are never guided solely by their personal wishes, Violet. From a practical point of view, Cloverleigh is a singular and powerful inducement. He wishes to regain the lands his grandfather lost.”

  Had it been vanity on her part to expect more from him than a practical marriage all those years ago? Probably. Well, if she had any vanity left, it would be effectively trampled out of her by the end of this delightful sojourn. Once again, she cursed her stepmother’s frailty. She felt like a caged bear on its way to a baiting.

  The carriage crunched to a halt before she was ready. Thunder rolled overhead, as if to echo her foreboding.

  “Hmm. No afternoon ride for me, I fear,” she said, glancing at the rapidly darkening sky. “What a pity. I’d looked forward to renewing my acquaintance with the estate.”

  She’d looked forward to some form of escape from the trial by social intercourse that awaited her. In fact, she’d sent their horses ahead of them for this very purpose.

  The humiliation of standing by while Beckenham weighed his marriage options was nothing to the pain of it, and every excruciating moment would be underscored by slighting comments and gossip from the other ladies present, particularly their mamas.

  A footman, smart in hunter green livery, opened the carriage door and let down the steps. Another footman held an umbrella, waiting to hand them down.

  Georgie gestured to Violet to precede her, gathering all her resolution to face what came next. What was the point in fighting the inevitable? She was here now and must make the best of it. If there was one thing Georgie abhorred, it was people who wrung their hands over what couldn’t be helped.

  If she must assist in this farce, she would do everything in her power to see to it that Violet won Beckenham. As long as she decided marriage to Beckenham would be best for Violet, that was. She hadn’t quite made up her mind to that yet.

  * * *

  “No rest for the wicked,” quipped Violet sotto voce as they entered the hall to find Lady Arden awaiting them.

  “And just what, may I ask, in the name of all creation are you doing here?” Lady Arden eyed Georgie up and down.