by Gaelen Foley
Wandering across the green meadows, Georgie took solace in the company of pale yellow butterflies that zigzagged across her path. Now and again, she could swear she sensed somebody watching her, possibly following her, but when she glanced back, peering over her shoulder, no one was there.
July had come. Her English-born husband thought this weather too hot, but Georgie was still used to India. She was comfortable, strolling through the sun-splashed parklands. Birds flitted about in the lilting fountain, and here and there, a rabbit nibbled the taller grasses in the shade.
She walked on. But when she spotted the top of the white marble obelisk beyond some robust saplings, she decided to go and have a look at Ian’s monument to her dead predecessor. Maybe it would hold some answers about the mysterious man whose life she and the late Catherine both shared.
A meditative silence reigned in the gentle hollow from which the white marble needle rose to rake the azure sky. A tall square column that tapered to a pyramid at the top, the obelisk’s setting was a perfect circle of crushed gravel, surrounded, in turn, by low boxwood parterres and a wreath of flower beds planted with violets and forget-me-nots, with burgeoning white azaleas here and there.
There were two curved benches where those who came to pay their respects could sit and remember Catherine in solemn serenity. Georgie wondered if Ian came here during those lonely hours when he wandered off away from the house.
She chose not to sit, but walked across the crunchy gravel to study the portrait of her predecessor inside an oval medallion set into the front of the monument. The picture showed an unsmiling, pale-skinned blond with brown eyes like Matthew’s.
There was a Latin inscription scrolled around the portrait, but Georgie had never learned Latin and could only wonder what sort of lofty platitude it communicated.
She was studying it pensively when a thin, quavery voice behind her broke the silence. “You’ve married the devil, my girl.”
Georgie nearly jumped out of her skin. She whirled around, clutching her chest. “Oh, my word! Mother Absalom, is it?” She laughed in relief, recognizing the old midwife whom they had seen hobbling along the side of the road on the day of their arrival. “Goodness, you gave me a start!”
“You should be frightened, dearie. I’d be, if I were you.”
“Ah,” Georgie answered with a bemused but patient smile. She was glad that Ian had warned her the old woman was senile. Even so, her words were a little disturbing under the circumstances. “No apples today?” she asked in a friendly tone.
The old midwife carried no basket now, but instead leaned upon a gnarled walking staff to support her wizened frame. She cupped her ear. “What’s that, dearie?”
“No apples,” Georgie repeated, smiling. “I saw you on the road when we arrived. You had a basket of apples that day.”
“I’ve got leave to pick from that orchard!”
“Oh! No—I didn’t mean that at all! I was only, er, making conversation.”
Mother Absalom’s lined mouth worked belligerently.
Goodness, all told, she could see why her cousins suspected she might be a witch! The woman presented quite an ominous aspect, with her thick dark cloak, piercing eyes, and stringy gray hair falling free of its bun.
She swung closer, leaning heavily on her staff. “So, how does it feel to know that you’ve married the devil?”
Georgie’s eyebrows shot up. “Lord Griffith?”
She cackled. “The devil, I say! The Father of Lies!”
Georgie blinked in pure astonishment. “He’s not so bad, I’m sure.”
“Aye! He did this, didn’t he?” Mother Absalom nodded toward the obelisk. “Put the poor young harlot in her grave.”
“Georgie blinked. Good Mother, you mustn’t blame my husband for the lady Catherine’s death. It is only natural for a man and wife to want to have a child. Sometimes things go wrong. But that doesn’t mean it’s anyone’s fault. Not his. And not yours. Sometimes, it’s just—fate.”
“Fate? Bah! It wasn’t fate that threw her in the river the night the bridge gave way!”
Georgie stared at her, paling. “W-what are you talking about? The first Lady Griffith died of fever.”
“Foolish girl, you had better be smarter than that if you mean to survive this place. Fever? That’s just the tale he told everyone to hide his wickedness. He is dark and wild and cunning, I tell you! But you are young and sweet, like this,” she said, pulling a ripened apple out of her voluminous cloak.
She offered it to Georgie, who took it, in a daze.
“They know what he did,” Mother Absalom said with a sly glance toward the mansion. “Every one of them was there that night. They don’t dare speak up, for fear he’ll kill them, too!”
“I don’t believe you,” she declared, hurling the apple away with a defiant throw. She turned back to Mother Absalom, who eyed her keenly. “Foolish old woman! How dare you tell such ugly and terrible lies about m-my beautiful husband? He houses you on his property, no less!”
The ungrateful hag laughed at her. “Pretty young marchioness. Blind girl! Watch your step with him. There’s room in these gardens for another monument. To you.”
She shuddered. “Go away!”
“Ask old Townsend if you don’t believe Mother Absalom,” she added as she began hobbling away. “The master killed Lady Catherine with his own hands, and he’ll kill you if you cross him, too. Beware, child, beware!”
Georgie stared after her in stricken silence. She didn’t believe one poisoned word of the old woman’s madness!
So, why, then, was she shaking?
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
C onfident that he had himself well in hand once more, Ian visited Matthew and reestablished amity there. The most blessed virtue of children, he thought, was how quickly they forgave and forgot their parents’ errors.
Wives, now, they were another story. Resolved to take his lashes like a man, he went in search of Georgiana.
A few hours had gone by since their quarrel and he still hadn’t seen her. He knew this couldn’t go on any longer. He despised fighting with her.
As the offending party, he knew it was his place to go to her rather than the other way around, and to tell her he was sorry for losing his temper and ruining their picnic.
He glanced in different rooms searching for her, determined to make things better between them, for without her, he was empty. He knew he had been difficult of late, but having had some time to think and will away his darker impulses, he was better now. All he really wanted was for things to go back to normal between them.
He was rather wishing they had never come here, a sentiment that intensified when he finally located her in the ghastly red-gold bedroom fashioned for the lady of the house.
She was alone, sitting on the edge of her bed, her back to him. She was very still, gazing out the window, her dark hair falling in soft, loose ringlets down her back. Maybe she was waiting for her maid, he thought. It was nearly time to dress for supper, but she was still clad in the same pale, pretty walking gown that she had worn this afternoon.
“My love?” He hesitated in the doorway when he saw how her spine stiffened in response to his soft greeting.
Oh, dear. He knew Georgiana didn’t hold grudges, but he had reason to fear that today she might not be so quick to forgive.
Vexing her was one thing, but his upsetting Matthew tended to drive the girl to rage. It touched him, how protective she was of his son.
“May I come in?”
“You may do as you please, I’m sure. It is your house.” She didn’t turn around.
He bit his lip, her low, clipped words enough to warn him he was in for a row. He closed the door behind him, going in. “I acted badly today. I’d like to make it up to you.” He paused to lean against the bedpost, keeping a wary distance.
When she turned her head and looked up at him slowly, his heart sank to find her blue eyes red and swollen. Obviously, she had been crying.
/>
He gazed at her in tender remorse. “I’m sorry, darling.” He moved closer, but when he laid his hand on her shoulder, hoping to take her into his arms, she jerked away.
He stopped.
She froze, keeping her head down.
He stared at her, bewildered by the fear in her sudden movement.
At a loss, his gaze fell, and he cast about for something to say in response, but it was then that he saw her traveling trunk, open, by the bed.
A week ago, it had been emptied and put away in storage. Now it was out again; there were clothes in it, and they looked hastily packed.
His stomach plummeted with sickening speed.
“Are you…going somewhere?” he asked, summoning up every ounce of his self-discipline to maintain an even tone.
“I haven’t decided,” she said barely audibly. Then she turned her eyes to him again.
He furrowed his brow in hurt confusion. “Georgiana?”
“Sit down, Ian.”
He obeyed, lowering himself to the space next to her on the bedside. She stared at him, her great, blue eyes filled with solemn intensity. “I need you to tell me exactly what happened to your wife Catherine, or I’m leaving.”
As quietly as she had uttered the words, they still knocked the breath out of him. She studied his reaction, though he did his best to absorb her ultimatum with at least an outward show of equanimity.
“I have been hearing…terrible rumors. If you don’t tell me the truth, then I’m taking Matthew and I’m going to Hawkscliffe Hall, and back to my cousins to wait for Papa.”
He stared at the hardwood floor, his mind reeling, his pulse a slamming drumbeat in his arteries. He rubbed his mouth for a second in thought, and then looked at her guardedly.
She met his glance with piercing force in her eyes, her delicate jaw clenched with all the resolve that reflected the blood of the warrior clan that flowed in her veins. “Don’t lie to me,” she whispered.
He dropped his gaze again and swallowed hard. My God, I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t. He stood and walked over to the window. He leaned against it and stared out at the still-sunny, peaceful evening. “I don’t want to lose you, Georgiana,” he said, staring blindly out the window.
“Then you’d better tell me what happened. Now. Can it be true, Ian? Are you everything I loathe?”
It would have hurt less if she had picked up a rapier and run him through. Struggling to absorb the blow that only she could deliver, he turned to her with pain in his eyes.
Her plump lips trembled as she held his stare from several feet away. “Did you kill her?”
He shut his eyes. He squeezed them tightly, and then he lowered his head. “It was an accident.”
“Oh, my God.”
He dragged his eyes open and stared at her in anguished pleading. She had risen to her feet, and one look at her shocked, white face assured him he had two choices: come clean or kiss her good-bye. World-class diplomat or not, it was too late now even for him to dance around the situation. And, in truth, he found he didn’t want to.
This was the very thing he had dreaded most, but now that it had happened, he realized how very tired he was of carrying his secret alone.
He didn’t bother asking who had told her. It scarcely mattered now. Probably one of the servants. Surely he had known that, sooner or later, one of them was bound to crack. Their little household conspiracy had lasted intact for five years.
“Promise me at least you’ll listen,” he said heavily.
“Talk,” she ordered in a shaky whisper. “Tell me if you loved her. Tell me how she died.”
“Loved her?” he echoed with a bitterness that rose up from his very core. “I hated her, Georgiana. We hated each other.”
“You hated her, so you took her life, is that it? I’ve already seen that you can kill.”
He stared at her, stunned by the accusation. “It was nothing like that. I was responsible for her death. But I didn’t murder her, if that’s what you’re thinking!”
“Then, what happened?”
He looked away with an agitated exhalation.
“So help me, Ian Prescott, if you tell me one single lie with all your silver-tongued—”
“I will give you the truth,” he interrupted. “Just please promise me you’ll listen. Georgie, without you, I—have nothing.”
Tears rushed into her eyes. “Nor I, without you. I don’t want to lose you, either. But I don’t even know who you are!”
“Do you really want to know?”
“Yes! Yes. More than anything,” she uttered quietly.
He dropped his chin to his chest, resting his hands on his waist. He studied the floor for a long moment. “Within a fortnight of our wedding,” he said at length, “it all went wrong. Disastrously so. But I never meant to harm her. I swear it on my father’s grave. Ours was…an arranged marriage.”
She sat back down on the bed, moving a little un-steadily. “Yes, you already told me that.”
“I only met her twice before we married. My parents chose her. I trusted them. And the truth was, I didn’t really care. I wasn’t the type to marry for love. Marriage was merely part of my duty.” He shrugged. “There was something about her I pitied. Tried to protect.” He went back to lean by the window and stared unseeingly into the distance. “The grand wedding took place in London. A line of carriages. Royal guests. Heads of state. Feast for a thousand. Nothing like ours.”
At his mention of their joyous wedding day, one crystal tear spilled from her eye and ran down her cheek. Ian watched it fall, longing to catch it for her, but he doubted she would permit his touch right now.
“Afterwards—well, she was so pure, so delicate, with such fine sensibilities,” he resumed in a bitter tone, “that she could not face the…vulgarities of the marriage bed, as she put it. Can you imagine that?” He cast a dark glance out the window, leaning his shoulder against its frame. “Women all over the world had gone out of their way to entice me. But my own wife couldn’t bring herself to sleep with me.”
Georgiana looked away, not appreciating this information, no doubt. “And?”
“I was patient with her, of course,” he replied. “I began to sense that she was troubled. But when a fortnight passed and she still showed no interest in consummating the match, I began to take offense.”
She scanned his face suspiciously.
“I could have wed nearly any girl in England,” he explained. “It did not sit well with my pride to be rejected by the one on whom I had bestowed the privilege of my title and my name. I was in my rights to claim her. Being continually pushed away—” He shook his head. “It infuriated me. It insulted me. So, one night, I plied her with wine to ease her fears and help her relax. And then I seduced her.”
Staring at the floor, Georgiana folded her arms across her waist.
He knew this could not be easy for her to hear, but then again, it wasn’t easy for him to tell. “And she gave herself to me at last. Unfortunately, I soon realized the truth about why she had been refusing.”
She looked up at him from under her lashes with a glare. “Why?”
“Catherine wasn’t a virgin. A fact that she was desperate to keep me from discovering. But I’m afraid that I, ah, turned out to be a little smarter than she anticipated. You see, she asked me to get her more wine after we had made love. A fool’s errand, naturally. It was the middle of the night by that time, and all the servants were abed. I had no wish to wake them. We keep the wine cellars locked, of course, and I realized I had forgotten the key. I keep it in my writing table in the bedchamber, and when I walked back in to fetch it, that’s when I caught her. Sprinkling a little vial of pig’s blood on the sheets in order to deceive me,” he said in disgust.
Georgiana’s lip had curled in revulsion. “Pig’s blood?”
“I would not have believed it either if I hadn’t seen it with my own two eyes. I had heard about that trick, but I never thought…” He shook his head in linger
ing bewilderment, then gave another shrug. “That was the moment I realized I had been betrayed from the very start.”
“Betrayed,” she echoed. “Yet you said the match was arranged. Who else knew? Her parents? Yours?”
“I cannot say for certain. All I know is that both families pushed the match. Well, it wasn’t as though she could simply come out and admit to her parents that she had allowed one of their stable grooms to succeed with her.”
“A stable groom!”
“Just so. Catherine had no wish to be disgraced, haughty as she was. She thought that if she played her cards right, she could have her cake and eat it, too. And I, well, I was the perfect target, wasn’t I? Too straitlaced and bloody honor-bound even to let it cross my mind that I could have possibly married a budding harlot. My God, it was the one thing I swore I’d never do. Not after I’d seen all the pain and havoc that your wanton aunt, the duchess, put her children through.”
“Aunt Georgiana?”
“The same.” He nodded and sat down beside her again, falling silent for a long moment. “Catherine was worse,” he finally admitted. “At least the Hawkscliffe Harlot made no secret of her amours, but faced up to the consequences of her actions with some spine. My wife, no, she was a coward as well as a liar. I tried, you know. I entered into our marriage with every intention of being an honest, decent husband. In those first two weeks, before the truth came out, I did my very best. I treated her gently and with as much consideration as I knew how. I intended to love her…in time. And I had presumed, rather naively, that one day she might love me.” He looked at the floor again with a bitter smile. “Unfortunately, she was infatuated with her stable groom.”
“So, what did you do?”
“Well, after I found her dispensing the pig’s blood, the rest of the night involved a great deal of screaming on my part and crying on hers.”
“Did you strike her?”
He turned to her impatiently. “Georgiana, do you really think I’d ever hit a woman?”
She flicked a chastened glance over his face. “No. Sorry.”
He shrugged. “Well, I’m glad you can at least see that. All I could do was browbeat her into making a full confession. Threats of social exposure worked better on her than anything else,” he added dryly. “I made her tell me everything, though I loathed hearing it. How it had begun, how many times she had met with him, which of her servants had helped facilitate their liaisons. By morning, I had a clear picture of their involvement.”