She had managed only to anger him further, and thus make him far more likely to hurt Nicholas. Why had it come to this? She was no one, certainly not a beautiful lady who drove men to suicidal tendencies. She knew Sir Edward’s motive was money and perhaps pride. She did not understand why Nicholas would throw away his life for an idea as fickle as love. Had she not proved to him that his case was hopeless? She did not love him and could never love any man. She would never allow herself to be so weakened by an emotion. Nicholas’s actions only proved her right.
Even now, he watched her with such intensity that she could almost feel him touch her. He was a fool. He was about to die for someone who did not return his devotion. She was not worth his life. No woman was, but she should have known he would not give up without a fight.
But even if she had known it would come to this, how could she have prevented it? His gaze burned into her, and she ached to reach him, to talk him out of this madness that could end his life. She was not uncaring, for he was after all like a brother to her. She owed him more than she could ever repay, and this was not how she imagined it would end.
“Come to your marks.”
Nicholas had removed his coat and stood like Sir Edward in a white shirt. They raised their swords to each other then assumed an en guard position, sword tips touching. A third party took his own sword and placed it under theirs, then raised it suddenly, parting the swords, and the duel began.
Nicholas lunged forward, attacking first, his right leg leading and putting Sir Edward on the defensive. He moved with a speed that she hoped wasn’t recklessness. Despite all his quickness, his blade never touched his opponent. The swords scraped and rang against each other, and she flinched at the sound.
Sir Edward elegantly parried the blows aimed at him, backing up as Nicholas advanced, the attack coming hard and strong. It was obvious that Nicholas being the younger and stronger had on his side energy and force, but Sir Edward seemed to be able to hold him off with skill. The two men circled a tree, trading feints and thrusts, almost impossible to see clearly through the mist. The sound of the swords sliding against each other and coming together rang out loudly in the stillness of the morning, jarring her nerves as she watched in horror.
She inhaled sharply as Sir Edward stumbled under the onslaught, catching himself with his free hand as he fell to his knee, his sword still engaged. Nicholas pressed his advantage and moved forward, but Sir Edward avoided his deadly aim, and grabbed his opponent’s arm, pulling himself up and unbalancing Nicholas. The move left Nicholas vulnerable, and Sir Edward’s sword found the exposed flank, cutting deep into Nicholas’s flesh. She winced as he stumbled. Finding his footing, he continued the attack.
Georgiana could see now that Sir Edward held the upper hand, and had since the beginning. His actions were not clouded by a reckless passion, rather controlled and calculating. He manipulated Nicholas into showing his weaknesses, his impetuous confidence.
His shirt scarlet, Nicholas was bleeding heavily but refused to quit the duel, ignoring Charles who tried to interfere, pushing him aside. The wound should have been enough to stop the contest, according to the rules, but neither man seemed to want to end it.
Nicholas continued to advance, intent and lethal, aiming for his opponent’s heart. He came close, and slashed through to Sir Edward’s shoulder. Sir Edward continued to avoid his blows, waiting for Nicholas to exhaust himself, or for the loss of blood to slow him down, but the younger man kept the pressure on him.
Georgiana saw the moment when Sir Edward changed his tactics. The feint was accomplished so subtly, but the outcome was lethal as he maneuvered Nicholas into a defense that put him at a disadvantage. Then Sir Edward moved forward, coming in hard with a lunge.
Nicholas had not expected the move but still managed to catch it on his blade. Sir Edward again came up under his guard with a twist of his wrist and aimed his point accurately. Nicholas deflected the parry before the sword would have sunk into his heart, saving himself, but the blow struck him on his injured side, jarring him again. Sir Edward disengaged his sword and with a combined parry and riposte moved forward, closing the distance between them to attack again, a bloodthirsty look in his eye.
Georgiana wanted to scream for them to stop but didn’t want to distract Nicholas, who was now fighting for his life. The advantage had shifted, as Nicholas lost blood. She gave him only a few more minutes before he would drop.
Why didn’t Charles do something? She lifted the blankets from across her legs and swung the carriage door wide, ready to jump out. She watched in horror as Sir Edward made a lunging run. Nicholas stumbled back under the onslaught and, losing his balance, went down hard. With another twist of his wrist, Sir Edward disarmed him, sending Nicholas’ sword flying, and moved in for his throat.
Georgiana heard herself scream, and Sir Edward stopped his blade at Nicholas’s throat, his eyes on her. She shook her head, her eyes pleading, and he stepped back and walked away, leaving his opponent bleeding on the ground. She wanted to go to Nicholas, but sat back against the seat and closed the door instead. She pulled the hood of her black cloak over her face. Sir Edward climbed in and the coach moved away back to the streets of London.
9
They were married within a fortnight in a small church near the Fairchild country estate in Devonshire. The quiet ceremony took a quarter of an hour, and Georgiana was barely conscious of her surroundings as she repeated the words required of her. She was seated in front of the altar, as was Sir Edward, who seemed more focused on a crease in his pantaloons, which seemed to give him offence, than on his bride.
His coat of puce superfine was draped over his broad shoulders by a master. His waistcoat was silver and white, elegant in pattern and stitch. His cravat, as usual, was beautifully tied but this time he wore in it a ruby pin. She looked quite drab beside him even though she wore her best, a light blue muslin gown with lace. She clutched her bouquet of white roses and thyme firmly, and lifted her chin higher, trying desperately not to give into the need to stand up and run out of the church. What a shock that would give them, she thought, and smiled to herself.
The vicar caught her smile and stumbled over his next words. In his dark grey cassock he swayed in front of her slightly as he read from the Bible, and she tried to pay attention to the verse. His hands were unusually strong for those of a vicar. Their skin a nut brown, they looked like a farmer’s hands. Did vicars work that hard? she wondered, while she studied his face which was equally tanned and rugged.
He was blond with neatly combed short hair, and his eyes were the color of the sky on a sunny day. Only his sizable nose prevented him from being truly handsome, but his mouth was sensual enough to further the idea. She smiled to herself as her thoughts turned to kissing the vicar, wondering if his lips were as soft as they appeared.
He wore no ring. She knew that a vicar drew a good wage, enough to keep him comfortably, and the small village they had driven through had looked prosperous enough. A young handsome vicar with a good income and unmarried? There had to be something wrong with him. She studied him more intensely.
He glanced up from his Bible and met her gaze. Again, he stumbled over the next sentence before finding his equilibrium, and she smiled, pleased to have an effect on him. Then, remembering she was here on her wedding day, she frowned and returned to studying the stone floor. Maybe she was as crazy as people probably thought she was.
After the ceremony, the party moved to Ravenstone Park, the Fairchild family estate in Devonshire. The carriage drove from the church, with its stone walls and spire, through the small seaside village of Linton, the beach deserted of walkers or fishermen. Boats lay like beached whales at low tide. Curious villagers lined the streets to watch the carriages pass and she returned a few waves she received.
A roundabout road through a park ended at a high wall covered in ivy behind which hid Ravenstone, clinging to its hill overlooking the ocean. Mullioned windows, pointed gables, and massive chimney sta
cks could be seen over the wall, and once they entered through the gates, she could see the entire stone mansion. She could not decide if the manor house was ugly or truly striking, as it seemed an odd mixture of a Gothic castle and a more traditional Tudor mansion.
“Do not judge it too harshly, my dear. It is built around a medieval manor,” Sir Edward said, watching her reaction to her first sight of her new home. “Give it time and it will surprise you yet with its strange beauty.”
She smiled and gazed back at the structure, which seemed to loom over her as they approached. The servants waited outside the great front door in two straight lines to greet the new mistress of the house, and she swallowed in apprehension at this new life she had begun.
The carriage slowed, then stopped, and Sir Edward carried her past the servants, who bowed and curtsied as the couple passed. Inside, a grand marble staircase led up to the floors above and she glanced at the family portraits that hung on the wall. The faces all seemed to frown or scowl at her. They were a serious looking group of ancestors. Edward carried her easily, and soon they reached a drawing room where he deposited her on a settee near the fireplace, and placed a blanket over her lap.
“If you will excuse me a moment, I have a few matters to see to and then I shall return to your side directly. I will order some tea. Is there anything else you wish?”
“No, thank you,” she said. He bowed and left.
She undid the ribbon on her bonnet, and put it on the settee next to her. Rubbing her temples, she lay back against the settee and closed her eyes to her new reality. The tea soon arrived carried by the housekeeper, Mrs. Bristow.
“Welcome to Ravenstone, my lady,” the woman said. “If you require anything, let me know.”
“Thank you,” Georgiana smiled, too tired to make any other conversation.
Charles and her mother arrived in the drawing room as Mrs. Bristow was leaving.
“Good heavens, it is a grand house,” her mother said, walking to the windows to glance out at the gardens. She ran a white-gloved hand over the writing desk and frowned at the dust on her glove. “But it has been too long neglected.”
Charles frowned at her and sat down next to Georgiana as she poured the tea. “Mama, we are just arrived at Ravenstone, and may I remind you, we are here to celebrate a wedding, not criticize our host’s housekeeper?”
“Indeed. Has it not been a most suitable match, Georgiana?” her mother asked, looking down her nose.
“Yes, most suitable, Mother. Sir Edward is most agreeable, and I have reconciled myself to my fate.”
“I am so pleased,” her mother smiled, and seated herself opposite them. “He does have a pleasant manner.”
“And a fine tailor,” Charles added. “I simply must have his name.”
Georgiana sipped her tea and watched her mother calculate the value of everything in the room. She was rather displeased with something as a frown appeared, and it did not move, even as her eye had found a new object to evaluate. Georgiana cast a glance around the room to see what had displeased her mother so.
The few paintings hung in the room were unostentatious, and lighter patches of wallpaper revealed where other paintings had once hung. The gigantic gold baroque mirror over the fireplace was in dire need of dusting. The carpets were rich in design but threadbare, and the few pieces of furniture in the room had seen better days. No amount of polish would restore the luster to their surface. She glanced at her mother whose eyes were watching her and she raised an eyebrow.
“Do you see?” her mother asked.
“See what?” she asked.
“The gardens are overgrown. The house seems to lack enough servants to maintain it. The art and furniture have been sold off. It is really rather shameful.”
“Ah, that. Sir Edward has exhausted his resources. I would have thought that obvious since I find myself married off to him so he can drain mine.”
“Why must you be so indiscreet?”
She sighed and rubbed her temple, setting her teacup on the table next to her. “I am married now, Mother, and I may be as indiscreet as I wish.”
“If it pleases you.”
“It does.”
Charles watched the exchange with amusement and seemed disappointed when their bickering ceased.
“However, I must proceed to guide you, perhaps, in those qualities which are needed for the proper management of a house,” her mother said, unable to help herself. “A profitable plan must be pursued, for the daily affairs of this house cannot continue as they are.”
“Thank you, Mother, but when I have need of your counsel, I shall request it.”
“Early rising is a great advantage, or servants may become sluggards and follow the mistress’s example.”
“But, Mother, a married woman never comes down for breakfast.”
“And neither shall you. You will breakfast in your room early, then see to the house.”
Georgiana rolled her eyes, and Charles chuckled under his breath as the exchange continued, one-sided as Georgiana refused to take further part in it.
“Cleanliness both in person and house must be observed at all times. You must demand to see the housekeeper’s account book and make sure that every entry is correct. Economy must be your utmost priority here, Georgiana.”
“Mother, you must quit this line, or I shall be forced to leave the room.”
Her mother raised an eyebrow as she realized what her daughter had said, and Charles laughed, breaking the tension.
“You could inspire her to walk again, Mother.” He stood and walked over to examine a painting of a hunting scene that had managed to survive being sold.
“I must agree with you, Mama, that the house is, indeed, in great need of funds in every way. Georgiana’s dowry will hardly restore it to its former grandeur.”
“Perhaps he plans to use all my money, then kill me, and marry another heiress with a greater fortune. He would probably need three… no, maybe four wives in total, depending on his gambling need.”
“I dislike it most heartily when you carry on in such a dramatic fashion, Georgiana.”
“Do you, Mother? Then it is rather fortunate you need not remain here, but are capable of returning to your own house.”
“Such impertinence. I was quite right in changing my mind about having Jane and Margaret accompany us on this trip,” she said hurtfully, and seeing her arrow strike home, smirked with great satisfaction. “I would not expose them to your temper.”
“You sent Jane and Margaret back?” she asked, alarmed.
“I promised you they would be at the ceremony, nothing more.”
“But they were to stay here a week,” she cried and shifted her focus to Charles, who scowled at his mother.
“Why was I not informed of the change in plans?” he asked, concerned.
“I did not find it necessary to bother you with tiresome details. I have sent them back to London with Nanny and they are quite safe. I am sure that Sir Edward will loan us the use of his carriage when the time dictates so I may return.”
“But I did not say goodbye to them,” Georgiana cried.
Charles sat down next to her and took her hands in his, rubbing them. “Now there, Georgiana,” he said, trying to comfort her and looking confused at her reaction. “It’s not all bad. You are to visit us on occasion, and I shall bring them soon to see your new home. Maybe Mama is right, and you should have some time to accustom yourself to your new husband and home.”
She didn’t hear the rest of what he said as her despair took control and her body shook as she cried. Charles held her, stroking her hair and talking to her softly while she struggled to regain her balance.
She had explained to Jane and Margaret the changes that would occur in their lives, and at first, they had been upset. She had reassured them that they would adjust, but now could not do the same herself.
She could barely suffer the separation. They would be well looked after with Charles, but how was she supposed to st
op needing them? She hadn’t been ready to say goodbye. Perhaps she never would have been. She would not finish Robinson Crusoe with them, and the thought was devastating.
She inhaled deeply as she felt the muscles around her heart constrict, and the seeds of hysteria bloom in the corners of her soul. She would not see them grow up. She thought she had been ready to face that reality but now that she was so suddenly without them, she felt her self-control slipping.
She wanted to fix Jane’s hair and see Margaret dancing across the room to her. She wanted to hear them giggle, and watch them fall asleep every night. All she had asked for was one more week of memories, one more week of seeing them in this house, playing in these gardens so that she might sustain herself through the long days and nights without them. She had been so strong through the years for them that she didn’t have any strength left to let them go.
She sobbed, feeling the hysteria growing and was vaguely aware that Sir Edward had returned to the drawing room. Charles carried her to a room where she was placed on a bed. Her slippers were removed and she was covered in a blanket. She cried herself to sleep, praying the deep ache she felt inside would be better by morning.
She slept fitfully, dreaming of running through a maze while Jane and Margaret ran ahead of her, slipping around corners until she could no longer see them. She called to them to wait, but they continued in their game, hiding from her, small giggles echoing around her as she tried to locate the source. She stumbled over a root, falling hard, and pulled herself up again, desperate to reach them, only to find when she reached the center of the maze that she was alone, and the world was as silent as if she had lost her hearing. She woke suddenly gasping for air, her heart pounding. She was alone in the room and the world around her was as quiet and dark as her dream.
***
Georgiana woke slowly as the maid drew the curtains. She tried to remember where she was. The room was unfamiliar with its huge, ornate bed and heavy furniture. Then memory returned and with it, the deep ache inside her, and she groaned.
Ravenstone (Book 1, The Ravenstone Chronicles) Page 13