“Actually, that probably won’t be a problem,” Oscar muttered sotto voce.
“No?”
“No. Cecil’s not that interested in females.”
“Not inter—/oh./” Tony cleared his throat and yanked down on his
waistcoat. She noticed for the first time that his knuckles were raw.
“Well. And that’s another consideration for you, George. Surely you
don’t mean to have /that/ kind of marriage?”
“It doesn’t really matter what kind of marriage I’ll have, does it?” Her
lower lip trembled. /Not now./ The last few days she’d found herself
almost constantly on the verge of tears.
“Of course it matters.” Tony was obviously affronted. “We want you to be
happy, Georgie,” Oscar said. “You seemed happy with Pye before.” George
bit her lip. She would not cry. “But he wasn’t happy with me.” Oscar
exchanged a look with Tony. Tony drew his heavy eyebrows together. “If
Pye needs to be persuaded to marry you—”
“No!” George drew a shuddering breath. “No. Can’t you understand that if
he’s forced to marry me, it would be far worse than marriage to Cecil?
Or no marriage at all?”
“Don’t see why.” Oscar scowled. “He might balk at first, but I think
he’d soon come around once married.” “Would you?” George stared at
Oscar. He looked taken aback. She switched her gaze to Tony. “Either of
you? If you were forced to marry by the brothers of your bride, would
you soon forgive and forget?” “Well, maybe—” Oscar began. Tony spoke
over him. “No.” She raised her eyebrows. “Look—” Oscar started.
The door opened and Cecil Barclay stuck his head around it. “Oh, sorry.
Didn’t mean to interrupt. Come back later, shall I?”
“No!” George lowered her voice. “Come in, Cecil, do. We were just
talking about you.”
“Oh?” He looked warily at Tony and Oscar, but he closed the door behind
him and advanced into the room. He shook out a sleeve, spraying drops of
water. “Ghastly weather out. Can’t remember when it’s rained so much.”
“Did you read my letter?” George asked.
Oscar muttered something and flopped into an armchair. Tony propped his
chin in a hand, long bony fingers covering his mouth.
“Quite.” Cecil glanced at Tony. “It seems an interesting proposition. I
take it you have discussed this idea with your brothers and it meets
with their approval?”
George swallowed down a wave of nausea. “Oh, yes.”
Oscar muttered, more loudly this time.
Tony arched a hairy eyebrow.
“But does it meet with your approval, Cecil?” George forced herself to ask.
Cecil started. He’d been looking rather worriedly at Oscar, slumped in
the armchair. “Yes. Yes, actually it does. Solves a rather tricky
problem, in fact. Due to a childhood illness, I doubt I’m able to, uh,
father a . . . a . . .” Cecil petered out, staring a bit fixedly at her
tummy.
George pressed a hand to her belly, wishing desperately that it would
calm down.
“Quite. Quite. Quite.” Cecil had regained his power of speech. He
brought out a handkerchief and blotted his upper lip. “There is only one
hitch, as it were.”
“Oh?” Tony dropped his hand.
“Yes.” Cecil sat in an armchair next to George, and she realized
guiltily that she’d forgotten to offer him a seat. “It’s the title, I’m
afraid. It isn’t much of one, only a obscure baronetcy that Grandfather
has, but the estate that goes with it is rather large.” Cecil passed the
handkerchief over his brow. “Huge, to be quite vulgar.”
“And you wouldn’t want the child inheriting it?” Tony spoke quietly.
“No. That is, /yes,/” Cecil gasped. “Whole point of the proposition,
isn’t it? Having an heir? No, the problem is in my aunt. Aunt Irene,
that is. The bally woman has always blamed me for being next in line to
inherit.” Cecil shuddered. “Fact is, I’d be afraid to meet the old bat
in a dark alley. Might take the opportunity to make the succession a
little closer to her own son, Alphonse.”
“Fascinating as this family history is, Cecil, old man, how does it
pertain to Georgie?” Oscar asked. He’d sat up during Cecil’s recitation.
“Well, don’t you see? Aunt Irene might challenge any heir that arrived,
er, a little early.”
Tony stared. “What about your younger brother, Freddy?”
Cecil nodded. “Yes, I know. A sane woman would see that too many stood
between her Alphonse and the inheritance, but that’s just it. Aunt Irene
ain’t sane.”
“Ah.” Tony sat back, apparently in thought.
“So what are we to do?” George just wanted to retire to her rooms and go
to sleep.
“If t’were done, t’were best done quickly,” Oscar said softly.
“What?” Cecil knit his brow.
But Tony sat up and nodded. “Yes. You’ve mangled the quote, of course,
but you’re quite right.” He turned to Cecil. “How soon can you get a
special license?”
“I . . .” Cecil blinked. “In a fortnight?”
Oscar shook his head. “Too long. Two, three days at the most. Knew a
fellow got one within a day of applying.”
“But the archbishop of—”
“Canterbury’s a personal friend of Aunt Beatrice’s,” Oscar said. “He’s
in London right now. She was telling me only the other day.” He clapped
Cecil on the back. “Come on, I’ll help you find him. And
congratulations. I’m sure you’ll make an excellent brother-in-law.”
“Oh, er, thanks.”
Oscar and Cecil slammed out of the room.
George looked at Tony.
He turned down one corner of his wide mouth. “You’d better start looking
for a wedding dress, Georgie.”
Which was when George realized she was engaged— to the wrong man.
She grabbed the basin just in time.
THE RAIN POUNDED DOWN. Harry stepped unwarily and sank ankle-deep in
oozing muck. The entire road was more a moving stream than solid ground.
“Jesus Christ,” Bennet panted from atop his horse. “I think I’m growing
mildew between my toes. I can’t believe this rain. Can you? Four days
straight without any letup.”
“Nasty,”Will mumbled indistinctly from his place behind Bennet. His face
was all but hidden in Bennet’s cape.
It had started raining the day of Thomas’s funeral and continued through
Lord Granville’s internment the day after, but Harry didn’t say that.
Bennet knew the facts well enough. “Aye, it’s nasty all right.” The mare
nuzzled the back of his neck, blowing a warm, musty breath against his skin.
The horse had gone lame a mile back. He’d tried looking at the
mud-clogged hoof but hadn’t found anything obviously wrong. Now he was
reduced to walking her to the next town. Slowly walking her.
“What do you intend to do once we catch up with Lady Georgina?” Bennet
asked.
Harry turned to peer at him through the downpour. Bennet had an
expression of studied nonchalance.
“I’m going to marry her,” Harry said.
<
br /> “Mmm. I’d got the idea that was your overall plan.” Bennet scratched his
chin. “But she did take off for London. You must admit it looks rather
as if she might be, well, /unreceptive/ to the idea.”
“She’s carrying my child.” A gust of wind flung a spatter of icy
raindrops playfully against Harry’s face. His cheeks were so numb with
cold he hardly felt it.
“That part puzzles me.” Bennet cleared his throat. “Because a lady in
such a state, you’d think she’d be running to you with open arms.
Instead, she appears to be running away.”
“We’ve already been over that.”
“Yes,” Bennet agreed. “But, I mean, did you say something to her before?”
“No.”
“Because women can be awfully sensitive when they’re in the family way.”
Harry raised an eyebrow. “And you would you know this how?”
“Everyone . . .” Bennet tilted his chin down, causing a trickle of water
to pour off his tricorn into his lap. “Damn!” He straightened. “Everyone
knows about women with child. It’s just common knowledge. Perhaps you
didn’t pay enough attention to her.”
“She got quite a bit of attention from me,” Harry growled irritably. He
noted Will’s brown eyes peering curiously around Bennet’s back and
grimaced. “Especially on the night before she left.”
“Oh. Ah.” Bennet frowned thoughtfully.
Harry searched for a change of subject. “I’m grateful to you for coming
with me,” he said. “Sorry you had to rush Thomas’s funeral. And your
father’s.”
“Actually”—Bennet cleared his throat—“I was glad you were there, rushed
or not. Thomas and I weren’t close, but he was my brother. And it was
hard dealing with the succession on top of his funeral. As for Father .
. .” Bennet swiped a drip of water off his nose and shrugged.
Harry splashed through a puddle. Not that it mattered. He was already
soaked to the skin.
“Of course, you’re my brother, too,” Bennet said.
Harry shot a glance at him. Bennet was squinting down the road.
“The only brother I have now.” Bennet turned and gave him a surprisingly
sweet smile.
Harry half grinned. “Aye.”
“Excepting Will, here.” Bennet nodded to the boy clinging to his back
like a monkey.
Will’s eyes widened. “What?”
Harry scowled. He hadn’t wanted to tell Will, as he was afraid it would
confuse the boy’s already complicated life, but it appeared that Bennet
wasn’t waiting to discuss the matter.
“It seems that my father might very well be yours as well,” Bennet said
now to the child. “We have similar eyes, you know.”
“But mine are brown.” Will frowned.
“The shape, he means,” Harry said.
“Oh.” Will thought about that for a bit, then peeked at him. “What about
Harry? Am I his brother, too?”
“We don’t know,” Harry said quietly. “But since we don’t, we might as
well say we are. If you don’t mind. Do you?”
Will vigorously shook his head.
“Good,” Bennet said. “Now that’s settled, I’m sure Will is as concerned
as I am about your impending nuptials.”
“What?” Harry lost the smile that had begun to form on his lips.
“The thing is, Lady Georgina is the Earl of Maitland’s sister.” Bennet
pursed his lips. “And if she decides to dig in her heels . . . might be
a problem, the two of us going up against an earl.”
“Huh,” Harry said. It hadn’t occurred to him before that he might have
to go through his lady’s brothers in order to speak to her. But if she
was well and truly mad at him . . . “Damn.”
“Exactly.” Bennet nodded. “It’d help if we could send word ahead to
someone in London when we reach the next town. Have them reconnoiter, so
to speak. Especially if it takes a while to get you a fresh horse.”
Bennet looked at the mare, who was definitely lagging.
“Aye.”
“Not to mention, it would be nice to have someone at our back when we
confront Maitland,” Bennet continued. “I know a couple of blokes in
London, of course. Might be up for it, if we can convince them it’s a
sort of lark.” His brow furrowed. “They aren’t usually sober, but if I
impress upon them the seriousness—”
“I have some friends,” Harry said.
“Who?”
“Edward de Raaf and Simon Iddesleigh.”
“The Earl of Swartingham?” Bennet’s eyes widened. “And Iddesleigh’s
titled, too, isn’t he?”
“He’s Viscount Iddesleigh.”
“How the hell do you know them?”
“Met through the Agrarian Society.”
“The Agrarians?” Bennet wrinkled his nose as if at a bad smell. “Don’t
they debate turnips?”
Harry’s mouth quirked. “It’s for gentlemen interested in agriculture, yes.”
“I suppose it takes all kinds.” Bennet still looked dubious. “Christ,
Harry, I had no idea. If you have friends like that, why the hell are
you playing around with me and Will?”
“You two are my brothers, aren’t you?”
“Aye!” Will shouted.
“So we are.” Bennet’s face broke into a broad smile.
And then he tipped back his head and laughed into the rain.
“THIS BLUE IS VERY NICE, my lady.” Tiggle held up the gown in question,
spreading the skirts over her arm.
George glanced at the frock so enticingly displayed and tried to muster
some enthusiasm. Or at the very least care one way or the other. It was
her wedding day. She and Tiggle were in her bedroom in her London town
house, which was presently strewn with the bright colors of rejected
frocks. George was having a hard time convincing herself the wedding was
real. It was only a scant week since she and her brothers had talked to
Cecil, and now she was readying herself to marry him. Her life had taken
on the aspect of one of those horrid dreams where a ghastly doom was
inevitable and nobody could hear the screams.
“My lady?” Tiggle prompted.
If she screamed now, would anyone hear? George shrugged. “I don’t know.
The neckline doesn’t really suit me, does it?”
Tiggle pursed her lips and set aside the blue. “Then what about the
yellow brocade? The neckline is square and quite low, but we could put
in a lace fichu, if you like.”
George wrinkled her nose without looking. “I don’t fancy all the ruffles
about the bottom of the skirt. Makes me look like a cake with too much
marzipan decoration.”
What she really ought to wear was black. Black with a black veil. She
looked down at her vanity and touched with one finger the little carved
horse standing on it. The swan and the eel sat to either side of the
horse. They looked rather forlorn without the leopard to guard them, but
she’d left him behind for Harry.
“You’ll have to decide soon, my lady,” Tiggle said from behind her.
“You’re to be wed in less than two hours.”
George sighed. Tiggle was being awfully kind to her. Normally, a bit of
vinegar woul
d have shown through her lady’s maid façade by now. And she
was right. It was no use holding on to dreams. Soon she would have a
baby. Its welfare was of far greater importance than the silly fantasies
of a woman who liked to collect fairy tales.
“I think the green, the one embroidered with lilies,” she said. “It
isn’t as new as the others, but it’s rather fine and I’ve always felt it
became me.”
Tiggle gave a sigh of what sounded like relief. “A good choice, my lady.
I’ll get it out.”
George nodded. She pulled out one of the shallow drawers at the top of
her vanity. Inside was a plain wooden box. She opened the box and
carefully laid the horse, the swan, and the eel inside.
“My lady?” Tiggle was waiting with the gown.
George closed the box and the drawer and turned to prepare for her wedding.
“THIS IS WHERE THE AGRARIANS MEET?” Bennet looked incredulously at the
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