by Cheryl Holt
“No, I don’t.”
“It’s your home.”
“It never was. After Augusta—” She halted and began again. “Once I decided to leave, I realized it was the perfect solution.”
“For who?”
“For me! Who else would I care about?”
Since she was a person who cared about everyone, it was a peculiar remark, and he took it as a sign that she might be a bit more distressed than she was letting on.
She wasn’t looking at him so he clasped her wrist and stopped her stirring. They had a brief tug of war she could never have won. Ultimately she grumbled with exasperation. She removed the pot from the flames and scowled at him.
“Step outside with me,” she said.
Without waiting for him, she stomped off and exited through a rear door. He followed, finding himself in an alley lined with the backs of other businesses.
“What do you want?” she asked as he joined her.
“I’ve told you several times already. I want you to come to Kirkwood. Don’t be ridiculous about it. You have to.”
“Why would I? I’ve never been welcome there, and I’ve made a place for myself here. My cousin has been wonderful, and I feel necessary and useful.”
“It’s a tavern, Georgina!”
“So?”
“You deserve so much better!”
“According to who?”
“To me.”
“Why would you suppose your opinion matters?”
“You don’t mean that.”
She waved to the door. “Would you go? I have to get back to work.”
He might have been talking to a stranger. How could she stare at him so coldly? He was dying inside. How could she be so composed?
“Augusta has left Kirkwood forever,” he said. “Portia too. And Miles. If it’s been vexing you, you needn’t worry.”
“It hasn’t been vexing me. I haven’t thought about them at all.”
“My friend, Kit Roxbury, is about to wed Sophia.”
“I hope they’ll be very happy.”
Her face showed no emotion. They might have been discussing two unknown people they’d read about in the newspaper.
“They’ll be living at Kirkwood, and they’re anxious for you to live there with them.”
“I can’t.”
“You had issues with Miles and your aunt, but I assumed you were fond of Sophia.”
“I was. I am.”
“She’ll never permit you to stay here.”
“It’s not up to her. I’m an adult and I’m fully capable of determining how to manage my life.”
“Georgina, you can’t want to toil and struggle.”
“I like to work hard, and I’m not struggling.”
“Not now. Not yet, but what if your cousin takes ill or has an accident? Then where will you be?”
“I’ll…I’ll…probably sail to America to reside with my uncle. He loved my father very much and he sought custody of me when I was a girl. I’m sure I’d be welcome.”
Damian hadn’t expected to remain in England himself, but the notion of her fleeing to another country was particularly alarming. He couldn’t let her do that, but how could he prevent it? He had no authority over her.
“You’re not going to America.” He definitely sounded as if he was scolding her. “You’re coming to Kirkwood with me. Sophia and I have it all arranged.”
“I can’t, Mr. Drummond. I was never happy there.”
“You were happy! Not with your aunt, but when I first met you, you were quite content. Don’t pretend you weren’t.”
“I had my position where I was running the estate for Miles. I was busy and my life was fulfilling. Why would I return? How would I spend my time? If I had to sit in the parlor and twiddle my thumbs, I’d die of boredom.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to apprise her she could have the post again, but he’d promised it to Kit, and Kit was counting on it. Damian couldn’t renege on the offer he’d tendered so where did that leave her?
Apparently—cooking in a kitchen at a village tavern.
“I have to tell you something,” he said.
“I’ve been waiting for you to say whatever it is. Get on with it.”
“I was horrid to you that last morning at Kirkwood.”
“Yes, you were.”
“I’ve regretted it ever since. I’m sorry for how I insulted and hurt you.”
“Thank you. I accept your apology.”
“I’ve been thinking about you. About us.”
“Us?” she scoffed. “There is no us. You’re mad if you suppose there is.”
“Listen to me. Please.”
“I’m listening, I’m listening. I wish you’d simply speak what’s on your mind.”
He took her hand and said, “Will you marry me?”
“What?” She yanked away and lurched back.
“You heard me. Will you marry me?”
“No.”
“But…I love you.”
It was the only time he’d ever declared himself so he was stunned by her reply.
“You do not love me. You don’t love anyone. You told me so. You don’t know how and I believe that’s true. You’re too damaged so you’ve lost the ability to care for others. It was beaten out of you.”
At her uttering the word damaged, he cringed. He couldn’t deny that he’d been wrecked in many important ways, but he’d prevailed over so many obstacles. He’d fought and endured and survived. He was rich and prosperous and had raised himself higher than any man ever could. He’d wiped away the remnants of the pain that had been inflicted—as much as he was able anyway.
“I love you,” he said again, feeling as if he was drowning.
She rested a palm on his shoulder. “Damian, you really don’t. Stop saying it. It’s embarrassing to both of us.”
“Ride to Kirkwood with me. Marry me. Be my bride. Be mistress of the estate. I’ll make you so happy. I swear it.”
She sighed. “It’s sweet of you to think I could do that, but I never would. Let Kit and Sophia have the blasted place. There are too many ghosts there—for me and for you. I would never be comfortable, and I doubt you could be either.” She walked over to the tavern. “Now then, I can’t stay out here with you another second.”
“What about Sophia? She’s expecting you. How will I explain why I didn’t bring you with me?”
“Tell her I refused. Tell her…I’ll write someday when I can.”
He held out his hand, like a beggar, like a supplicant. He hadn’t said what he planned to say, and he was choking on all the jumbled comments that might have persuaded her. He couldn’t put them in the correct order.
“Get going, Mr. Drummond,” she said, “and you mustn’t return to Whitfield. I don’t wish to see you ever again. It’s pointless for us to bicker.”
They stared, an impasse as vast as an ocean opening between them. He wanted to shout at her, wanted to shake her, wanted to fall to his knees and plead with her to have him. But he’d never pleaded with a woman. When she was so adamantly opposed to wedding him, it was beyond him to beseech her.
Finally he shrugged. “I won’t come back, but if you ever need anything from me—anything at all—contact Sophia. She’ll always know where I am. Whatever you ask of me, whatever you require, it will be yours.”
“I won’t ever ask.”
She stepped inside and shut the door, and he heard her bar it so he couldn’t follow her. He considered kicking it in and storming in like a berserker. He considered rushing around to the front and entering again, marching to the kitchen and insisting she attend him. His conversations ended when he decided they were over.
But her cousin was in the tap room, and if Damian forced his way in they’d likely engage in fisticuffs, and he was in no mood to fight. And why should he? She’d been very, very clear. She didn’t love him and didn’t need his help.
So…to hell with her.
He went down the alley to the street, climbed on his
horse, and rode away.
Georgina stood at the baking table in the center of the kitchen. She was gripping the edge so hard that her knuckles were white.
She gaped at the door, figuring Damian would pound on it and demand to be admitted so he could continue their argument. She’d never have imagined he’d track her down or that Sophia would want her back. It was all too much to absorb.
Suddenly she grew incredibly dizzy, and her stomach churned with nausea. The past few days, she’d been feeling a bit peaked. What was wrong with her? It would be just like the universe to strike her with a dreadful malady when she was so ill-prepared to suffer it.
She’d meant it when she’d told Damian she’d landed on her feet. She’d been lucky to find her cousin, John Fogarty, lucky he was kind and understanding. He lived in an apartment over the tavern and he’d welcomed her with open arms. He’d listened as she’d talked about Kirkwood, how shabbily she’d been treated, how Damian Drummond had broken her heart, how she’d been evicted by her aunt.
He hadn’t been surprised by how she’d been scorned and abused. The Fogartys had deemed Edward and Augusta Marshall to be cruel and unpleasant. They’d tried to rescue her from them, but hadn’t succeeded. Georgina had received enormous solace from learning how much they’d wanted her.
She was grateful to John and wouldn’t ever upset him or have him thinking she was a burden so she couldn’t have Damian Drummond visiting and being a nuisance.
He’d proposed! She couldn’t believe it. Why had he? Why would he suppose she’d be interested? How dare he seek her out! How dare he presume she’d obey like a meek puppy!
If there was another voice in her head, if it was gleefully celebrating his arrival, cheering the realization that he loved her after all, she didn’t have to heed it.
She’d never been able to resist him, not from the very first moment. She’d given up everything for him. Her reputation. Her home. Her chastity. She’d barely survived the experience of knowing him, and she had nothing left but what John—a relative she’d only just met—had chosen to supply.
She had to forget about Damian Drummond and begin rebuilding her life. She had to start over, count her blessings, and move forward in a positive way.
Mr. Drummond was the past and she was looking to the future.
Yet as she pictured his forlorn expression, her nausea gurgled again. She raced to the corner, grabbed a bucket, and retched over and over.
She was weak in the knees, drenched with sweat, and she went to the counter and dipped a cloth in a bowl of cool water. She was swabbing it across her hot cheeks when John entered from the tap room.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I had an attack of vertigo, but it passed.”
“You’re sick a lot all of a sudden,” he said.
“Well, I have been through a terrible time recently.”
“Yes, that’s probably it. Is Mr. Drummond gone?”
“Yes, thank goodness.”
“He won’t be back?”
“I hope not. I told him not to bother us again, but he’s very arrogant. If he’s set on an issue, it’s difficult to dissuade him.”
John’s gaze dropped to her stomach, and he frowned. “You know how to contact him, right?”
“Yes. He’ll be at Kirkwood, or if he leaves, he’ll inform my cousin, Sophia, of his whereabouts. I can’t imagine why we would ever communicate with him though.”
“You just can’t predict what might happen,” he enigmatically replied. “Circumstances might arise when we’re not anticipating any problems.”
He assessed her with such concern, and she smiled a tepid smile.
“I’m fine, John. Truly I am. I was simply distressed by Mr. Drummond’s appearance. I’ll get to work, and it will keep my mind off my troubles.”
“By all means, get to work but if you’re dizzy or nauseous promise you’ll head upstairs and lie down.”
“Why would I do that? I’m healthy as a horse.”
“Of course you are,” he said.
He patted her on the shoulder and returned to his friends and his card game.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
I have no idea where he is. Neither does Kit. The rude oaf has vanished.”
Georgina stared at Sophia and sighed with a sort of resigned aggravation.
She was back at Kirkwood, the one spot in the kingdom she swore she’d never see again. She’d expected to find Damian Drummond strutting about the property with his typical swagger, but apparently—after he’d stopped by the tavern in Whitfield a few months earlier—he hadn’t returned.
“He said he’d make sure you were apprised of his location,” she groused.
“Yes, and I’m surprised he’d upset Kit like this. Kit’s a worrier and he’s always fretting about Mr. Drummond.”
“You don’t suppose Miles’s men accosted him again.”
“According to Kit, there’s no chance of that happening.”
“Why not? Have you ever discovered what became of Miles?”
“No, and it’s likely a secret Kit will never share with me.” Sophia laughed wanly. “Actually I’m in no hurry to learn Miles’s fate. It’s more curiosity than anything. It’s lovely to realize he’ll never be around to cause more trouble.”
“Is he dead?”
“I don’t know.”
Feeling overwhelmed and exhausted, Georgina sighed again. “I don’t understand why Mr. Drummond went after this property so vigorously, but now that he owns it he couldn’t care less.”
Sophia shrugged. “He trusts Kit to watch over it for him.”
“I told him he should give it to the two of you. He doesn’t really want it.”
“What did he say?”
“I don’t recall. During our conversation, I was a tad disconcerted.”
Grimly she wondered why Fate was so cruel. From the day of her father’s death, she’d suffered naught but adversity, her latest problem being the very worst yet.
Her cousin, John, had been the one to identify her condition, and it was odd that a bachelor would notice. Georgina was so clueless as to the workings of the human body that she hadn’t guessed what was wrong. She’d been aware that a babe could catch from fornication, but she’d been so fatigued by her departure from Kirkwood that she hadn’t recognized what was occurring.
After John had sat her down and pointed out the obvious, she’d nearly fainted with shock and shame. A quick trip to the local midwife had confirmed his suspicions. Georgina was increasing, and since she’d only ever trifled with one man—one time, no less!—there was no question as to the identity of the father.
She’d stewed over what her course of action should be, but there was only one path. She couldn’t stay in Whitfield where her presence would create a scandal for her cousin who’d been kindness personified.
Ultimately she’d decided she had to travel to Kirkwood and speak with Mr. Drummond. And she had to admit she was intrigued as to what his opinion would be.
When he’d chased her down in Whitfield, he’d been absurdly repentant, had claimed he was eager to wed her, and she still couldn’t figure out why he’d suggested such a ridiculous attachment.
He didn’t want to marry her, and she didn’t want to marry him either. Nothing had changed on her end. She would never forgive him for how he’d treated her, for how he’d broken her heart.
But a woman couldn’t march around with a babe in her belly and no ring on her finger so she was in a definite pickle. She had to devise a solution, but when she was vehemently opposed to having him as her husband there weren’t many options.
Sophia had welcomed her home with open arms, and they’d been dickering over alternatives. Sophia was adamant that there was only one viable conclusion, that being a hasty wedding. Yet Sophia had just married Kit and was plagued by a newlywed’s obsession with matrimony. She felt everyone should leap into wedded bliss, but Georgina couldn’t imagine how marriage to Damian Drummond could supply bliss to any
wife.
She’d thought a better plan might be to insist he provide an allowance to her, then she’d slink off to a town where she was a stranger and could start over. She would pretend to be a widow, that her spouse had been a soldier killed in the army.
Women made those sorts of choices all the time, and while people speculated, they usually left the poor mother alone with her lies and reduced existence.
The other possibility was to find some hapless bachelor who’d marry her right away, but they weren’t acquainted with any man who might, and she simply wouldn’t proceed on a false premise. She’d have to tell any prospective candidate about her dishonorable situation, and what husband would begin his wedded life in such a mess?
But all their plotting and discussion had been futile. Damian Drummond hadn’t returned to Kirkwood, and for all they knew he might be halfway to China. She deemed it to be completely typical that she’d seek him out—after swearing she never would—merely to discover he couldn’t be located.
“I wish he would give us Kirkwood,” Sophia said. “Not for myself, but for Kit. He’d be so proud to own it, and after all he endured as a boy I’d like him to have a bit of good luck.”
“So would I,” Georgina agreed. “I’d like someone to have good luck. I only have the bad.”
“Don’t fret. We’ll solve this dilemma.”
“How will we? Very soon, I won’t be able to hide my condition so I can’t dawdle at Kirkwood.”
“I don’t care what others think,” Sophia loyally huffed. “Why should you have to leave? Mr. Drummond participated in the fiasco, and we’ll never see any scolding fingers pointed at him. Why should you consider yourself disgraced?”
“I ruined myself with no thought to the consequences.”
“You can remain here as long as you like, and if anyone gossips or condemns, I’ll have my husband speak to them. He’ll shut them up quickly enough.”
Georgina chuckled, thoroughly charmed by this new version of Sophia. Her marriage to Kit Roxbury had altered her—but in beneficial ways. She’d taken over the running of the manor, and with her vigilant management the house seemed fresh and bright, as if Augusta had been a black cloud that had finally cleared away.
Perhaps Sophia had simply grown up or maybe Kit Roxbury was a sorcerer who could force a miracle to occur.