The Undoing of a Libertine

by Raine Miller

  “Of course I think about it. I never forget. Those were the best days in my whole life, with a loving wife and my children about me.” He paused and squeezed her arm. “I lost my path when your mother died, Georgina. I know I wasn’t the father I could have been. I wasn’t a comfort to you in your hour of need. I let you down, and I am so grievously sorry for my actions.”

  He pulled them to a stop and looked at her. “You turned out magnificent in spite of my lacking attentions, and I love you very much and am so proud of you. I can now only hope you might forgive your old dad his foolish ways.”

  Georgina felt the wall of fear that had haunted her crumble to dust. In the acknowledgement of his failings, Georgina knew blessed peace, finally. Papa did not blame her for what had happened to her. He loved her still. He is proud of me.

  Georgina fell into her father’s arms a second time. “I do forgive you. You have restored my heart in this declaration.” She kissed his cheek. “More than you can ever know. I am truly happy, Papa.”

  “I am so relieved to hear it. I have worried, Georgina, over you.”

  “Worry no more, Papa. I am blessed in my life and very content. Jeremy is the best of men and takes very good care of me. And thank you for this lovely gift of memories tonight. They are most precious to me.”

  “As you are to me, my daughter. And if you are willing, I want to make more happy memories with you, and your good husband, and your children.”

  Georgina blushed. “I would love that, very much, Papa.”

  Jeremy appeared in their midst and stepped forward to greet his father-in-law. “Welcome, sir. Your presence is a comfort to Georgina. Thank you for coming tonight.”

  “Thank you, son. I pledge it shall be only the first of many visits,” John Russell answered sincerely. “I was just inquiring to Georgina when you two might see fit to make me a grandpa.” He smirked at them both.

  “Papa!” Georgina felt the flush spread to the roots of her hair, imagining she must be the color of a strawberry.

  Even Jeremy looked a bit discomfited, but recovered quickly and managed a saucy, “I’m giving it my best effort, sir.”

  In an attempt to steer the topic away from bedroom antics, Georgina touched her father’s cheek. “You’ve cut yourself. Does it hurt?”

  “Not in the slightest. I don’t notice it a bit. Is it very ugly?” Her father shrugged.

  “How did you do it, Papa?”

  “Oh, we had a change of carriages—driver got sick—and we made a detour on our way here tonight. I’m afraid I misjudged the height of the roof. I ran right into the door pin and nicked myself right here.” John touched his cheekbone gingerly. “I probably should get ’round to see the optical while I’m in Town. It may be time for your old man to don some spectacles, my dear.”

  Jeremy spoke up. “Did your situation with your driver resolve itself? I hope you didn’t find trouble on your way here tonight.”

  “Oh, just a trifling bit. An inconsequential nuisance, really. Everything worked out in the end and all persons got to where they needed to go.” Her father smiled cheerfully at Jeremy. Jeremy raised an eyebrow and returned the gesture.

  Georgina was so glad for the gift of this night. To have Jeremy and her family all together and to see them enjoying one another’s company just filled her heart full to bursting.

  * * * *

  “Lord and Lady Rothvale, my wife, Georgina.” Jeremy provided the introductions gracefully and turned to her. “Lord and Lady Rothvale come to Kilve in the summers, Gina. Their place, Marlings, borders Hallborough at our south end.”

  “Delighted to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Greymont, and please accept our heartfelt congratulations upon your marriage,” Lord Rothvale greeted kindly.

  “Thank you, my lord, my lady,” Georgina returned. “I look forward to having summer neighbors. My husband has had nothing but lovely things to say about your family.”

  “Thank you. Speaking of family, would it interest you to find that I knew your mother, Mrs. Greymont? Anne Wellesley?” Lord Rothvale winked.

  “Yes, it would, my lord.” Georgina was intrigued.

  “Our mothers were best of friends, and thus your mamma and I enjoyed countless hours together. Childhood playmates we were, in our halcyon days of youth.”

  “What a small world it is, Lord Rothvale.”

  “True, my dear. You look very much like your mother from what I remember of her. She was tough as nails, Miss Anne Wellesley. I had a beast of an older brother, Jasper, who set out mischief at every turn, and she always bested him. Used to amaze me how she could entangle Jasper in his own devilment.”

  “I’d love to hear more about my mother from you, Lord Rothvale. You and Lady Rothvale must come to see us at Hallborough when you are at Kilve.”

  “We will look forward to that, and I’ll dig through my drawings. I imagine I have a sketch or two of Anne that I did when we were children. I’ll bring them along to give to you.”

  “Oh, thank you, my lord. I would be so grateful for such a gift and would love to introduce you to my father. He is here tonight, and I know he would find your childhood memories of my mother most endearing.”

  “It would be my great pleasure, Mrs. Greymont. I should tell you though, I am not here tonight without ulterior motive.” He winked again. “I want to talk to your husband about running for a seat in the House of Commons.”

  “Parliament, my lord?”

  “Well, yes of course. Time to put that university education and his talents to good use.”

  “What do you consider my husband’s talents, my lord?” Georgina gave Lord Rothvale a wink of her own.

  “He’s an upstanding land owner, a successful businessman, and now that he’s gone and married such a delightful wife, a settled, family man. Just the good sort of useful person we need in Parliament.” Lord Rothvale grinned at Jeremy and then back to Georgina. “What do you say to my idea of your husband becoming the next MP for West Somerset?”

  “I think it is an outstanding idea, Lord Rothvale. I can think of no one better suited than my husband.” Georgina beamed at Jeremy.

  “What do you say, Greymont? Do your part for God and country and all that? England needs men like you.” Lord Rothvale’s green eyes twinkled.

  “I’ll think about it, my lord,” Jeremy told him, his eyes wide with disbelief at what the man had just proposed.

  Georgina squeezed Jeremy’s hand and looked on him with pride before reluctantly turning to greet the next guest.

  “Dr. Cameron! Thank you for coming tonight.” Georgina held out her hand.

  “Ah, the pleasure is mine, Mrs. Greymont.” He kissed her hand gallantly. “It is always well met to mix patient visits with festive punch. You looking glowing with good health, I am happy to observe.” Dr. Cameron winked at her before turning to Jeremy. “And you, sir, clean up quite smart. You’ve got some color back, and your strength. It’s a well thing, too. You’ll need it when you’re fighting for the rights of good Englishmen in Parliament.” Jeremy took the outstretched hand of his friend.

  “Ah. You heard that did you?”

  “I did. And, Greymont, I think you should do it.”

  “Well, I told Lord Rothvale I’d think on it. We’ll see.” Georgina noticed that Dr. Cameron no longer seemed to be listening to Jeremy. The doctor’s attention was diverted elsewhere. Jeremy glanced to look. It was easy to see what captivated the good doctor, too. Dr. Cameron was studying the recently widowed, and very lovely, Mrs. Golding, who had accompanied her aunt, Lady Lampson, to the party tonight. Jeremy nudged the doctor to get his attention. “Shall I have Georgina introduce you to Mrs. Golding?”

  “No,” Dr. Cameron said sharply. “There is no need. Mrs. Golding and I are already acquainted.”

  “Ah. Well, have a good time then,” Jeremy teased his friend, who ignored him completely.

  Jeremy arched a brow at her, and they shared a giggle, hoping to learn more about this acquaintance of Dr. Cameron and the m
ysterious Mrs. Golding in the course of the evening.

  * * * *

  Jeremy and Georgina found themselves staying close by each other’s side during the party, chatting with old friends and making new acquaintances. They were together for the entertainment and the singing of carols, and when the more raucous parlor games began, but never had even a second for little more than a word or two.

  It was during a game of similes that Jeremy pulled Georgina into the servants’ stairwell for a private moment.

  “Finally,” he whispered, pressing her back against the wall as his lips descended.

  Jeremy kissed her wickedly slow, plundering her open mouth with his hot, seeking tongue. He met her hips with his in a slow thrust, and she felt the familiar ridge of an erection push into her.

  “I thought I might die if I had to wait another minute to kiss you, sweet wife.”

  “I know, adored husband,” she breathed, pushing right back with a thrust of her own.

  Georgina could taste the spices from the wassail on his tongue, and for some reason it made her want to strip him naked. The vision of him in the altogether, stretched out for her, caused a smile to form on her face. She’d have a cup of wassail with her so she could dip her fingers in and splash drops of the fragrant wine down his chest and lower. She could just imagine the taste of the drops mixed with the salt of his skin as she lapped up each and every bead, until she reached his—

  “What are you thinking about right now, my Gina?”

  “About what a lovely party this has been?” she quipped.

  Jeremy shook his head and traced the swell of a breast with his finger. “I don’t think so.”

  “I’m thinking about Lord Rothvale’s proposition that you take a seat in Parliament?”

  He dipped a finger into her bodice. “Highly unlikely, from the look you were giving me. Try again, my pretty minx.”

  “Hmm.” She put a finger to her lips in thoughtfulness. “I am thinking about what a happy woman you have made me by loving me so much, and about how much I love you?” The giggle she’d tried so hard to suppress was desperately close to erupting.

  He waggled a finger through the layers of undergarments until he found her areola and busied himself until he’d raised the center into a hard peak.

  Her giggle escaped and then evolved into a moan of desire as she melted into his touch.

  “You’re getting closer, sweetheart, but haven’t quite hit your mark. I think you need to give it one more try—”

  His other hand whipped to her waist and tickled.

  She managed one shriek before he muffled her with another plundering kiss.

  “Tell me,” he panted in between kisses. “As your lord and master, I command you to tell me.”

  Georgina laughed at him and stroked her hand up the front of his formal trousers, and then down inside for a feel of skin on hot skin, taut and ready.

  “All right, I recant what I just said,” he mumbled into her ear. “As my lady’s enraptured servant, I beg you to tell me.”

  “Since you are so humble, I will tell you, but remember that you have a houseful of guests just beyond that door and it’ll be hours and hours before we can act on it.”

  Jeremy nodded, his blue eyes gleaming, anticipating what she would say.

  “Well, it involves you stripped out of your fine new suit, and some strategically placed drops of wassail, and my mouth…” She whispered the rest right into his ear.

  * * * *

  The London Evening Standard

  December 23, 1837

  Lady Lampson, the woman who knows everything worth knowing in London, attended a Christmas party held by Sir Rodney and Lady Bleddington at their Grosvenor Square townhouse last night. Notables such as Lords Rothvale and Verlaine, Lady Dorchester, and Sir Nathaniel Cameron graced the gathering for a festive celebration of the season and shared acknowledgement for the recent nuptials of Sir Rodney’s grandson and heir, Jeremy Greymont to Miss Georgina Russell of Oakfield, Wiltshire.

  Lady Lampson tells us the party wound down rather quickly after Mr. and Mrs. Greymont were spotted leaving the servants’ stairwell rather abruptly. It might have had something to do with the mistletoe catching fire after a candle was lifted to it.

  Mr. Greymont remained focused in the urgency of the situation when he doused the flames with a bowl of the Christmas punch, saving the house and preventing any injuries. Not a soul was harmed.

  The silk wallpaper, the carpet, and the mistletoe might take exception with the “no harm” assessment though. The mess was quite extensive. And sadly Mrs. Greymont’s beautiful silver gown got splashed, necessitating her withdrawal as hostess for the evening.

  Mr. Greymont was last seen heading upstairs to check on his lovely wife and had in his hand a cup of wassail for refreshment. The happy couple was not seen again that evening by any person in attendance at the gala event, which along with the Greymont marriage, has been declared a resounding success.

  Epilogue

  Oh happy state! when souls each other draw,

  When love is liberty, and nature, law:

  And then is full, possessing, and possessed,

  No craving void left aching in the breast.

  —Alexander Pope, “Eloisa to Abelard” (1717)

  December, 1840

  London

  The love of a good woman was satisfying in a way that nothing else could ever compare. And he’d needed her so badly. She was precisely what he’d required, and he’d found her just in time. It was hard for him to imagine how his life might have turned out if he’d never spied her that autumn day in the rain.

  Jeremy stood back and took in the scene around him. He indulged in the feelings of utter contentment and love for his family. Those feelings had been enjoyed for the past three years, and he knew they would only grow stronger with the passage of time.

  That was the thing when he was with the woman he loved, knew her better than he knew himself, and intended to keep right on loving her for the rest of his days.

  Looking around the room, he saw it for what it was. Tastefully done in blue and green silks and filled with the people who mattered to him, gathered together in communion, and in respect, and in caring for one another.

  There was his brilliant, two-year-old son, Roddy, sitting upon his Grandpapa John’s lap, pouring through a picture book of animals. Both men, young and not so young, looking as if they might succumb to a nap at any moment.

  His younger brother, Revé, now a strapping lad of fifteen, and on holiday from the winter term, was taking the finer points of poker instruction from his brother-in-law, Tom, and his grandfather, Sir Rodney, who was still a spry old fox for a man of six and seventy years.

  There were new additions and, sadly, departures as well. Jeremy’s grandmother, Leticia Bleddington, had died peacefully in her sleep after a garden party at Hallborough in the heat of August this past summer. The party had been just the sort of event she loved to fete, and they all took comfort in the fact that she had gone to her maker swiftly after a rewarding experience from which she took much joy.

  Therese Blufette died soon after her disclosure, entrusting her beloved son into his older brother’s care. The brothers shared a bond that, be it blood or be it common ground, regardless, drew them together in a way that was a comfort to them both.

  Tom Russell had taken a wife. A no-nonsense girl from Somerset that Jeremy had known his whole life. The new Mrs. Russell was scheduled to deliver the much anticipated Baby Russell, sometime in late spring, and was now hard at work knitting a tiny sweater for the young master or miss soon to join the family.

  Jeremy had taken Lord Rothvale’s suggestion to run for the constituency at West Somerset and had won it by a respectful margin. Politics suited him in a way he never thought possible for himself, when he was younger and self-propelled by actions that did nothing to embolden his service for the common good.

  A beautiful person had changed all of that though, was still changing hi
m, for the better, in her support as a wife and a mother, a confidant, a lover, and his very best friend.

  His Georgina.

  Their eyes met across the room and held a moment. Jeremy mouthed, “I love you.”

  Georgina returned with, “I know,” gave him one of her retiring half-smiles, and then looked down at the infant she held in her arms.

  Their sweet baby girl had been born just three weeks earlier, and already he could see Gina reflected in her tiny facial features and diminutive personality. They named their daughter Anna Clare Marguerite in honor of both their mothers and one other person to whom Jeremy would ever be indebted.

  Upon reflection, Jeremy accepted that even though it had been a struggle at times, and risks had to be leveraged in the willingness to alter the way he viewed the world, life had done him a good turn. He looked around the room once more before settling his eyes back upon his Gina and smiling. Yes, a very good turn.

  THE END

  WWW.RAINEMILLER.COM

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Raine Miller has been reading historical romances since she picked up that first Barbara Cartland book at the tender age of thirteen. And it’s a safe bet she'll never stop, because now she writes them, too! Granted Raine’s stories are edgy enough to turn Ms. Cartland in her grave, but to her way of thinking, a hot, sexy hero never goes out of fashion. A school teacher out in California during the day, and a writer of sexy romance stories every other chance she can get pretty much fills the days. She has a handsome prince of a husband, and two brilliant sons to pull her back into the real world if the writing takes her too far away. Her sons know she likes to write stories, but gratefully have never asked to read any, thank God! Mr. Miller has permission to read them though, despite the fact that the naughty bits embarrass the heck out of him.

  Raine loves to hear from readers and to chat about the characters in her books. You can contact her at raine_miller@ymail.com or visit www.RaineMiller.com to find out what she's working on now.