Aha, that’s why you want me out of the house. “Let’s go shopping tomorrow. I want to get Susan something special for her birthday. You’ll have to lend me some money.”
“We shall have the bills for Susan’s birthday presents sent to the Duke of Gordon. After all, he is her father.”
Jane went directly to her writing desk the moment Georgina went upstairs to bed. For the second time in a week she wrote a letter to Susan, and then penned a separate letter to her son-in-law, William Montagu, Duke of Manchester.
“My compliments on your driving, Toby. You got me to Kimbolton in record time.”
The young coachman grinned. “That’s because the Duchess of Gordon wasn’t on board, Lady Georgina. Would you like me to carry your luggage inside?”
“No, you take care of the horses. You can leave the large box in the stables, and I’ll get one of the Manchester footmen to come for my luggage and the other two boxes.” It was the first day of February, and she wanted to give Susan her present early. The gifts from her mother and brother could be opened tomorrow on her actual birthday.
Susan, waiting for her at the front door, embraced her warmly. “It’s lovely to have you alone . . . I mean without Mother.”
“I know what you mean. Though I love her dearly, I needed a breather away from her. She is constantly pushing me to make a commitment to the Duke of Bloody Bedford, and throws a fit if I as much as look at any other man.”
Susan changed the subject. “You are just in time for lunch.”
“Good. After I unpack, why don’t we go for a ride? We could take young Jane with us. The woods must be teeming with wildflowers. I love it when spring comes early. The birds are already building their nests.”
“That sounds marvelous. I’ll leave howling baby George with his nursemaid. This outing will be strictly for us ladies.”
After lunch the two sisters changed into their riding dresses, then made their way to the stables, with seven-year-old Jane chattering excitedly.
“Happy Birthday, Susan! I want you to open my present today.”
The wooden crate held a red leather saddle decorated with silver bells. “Georgina! It’s absolutely beautiful. Now I know why you wanted us to go riding.”
When the stablemen had readied their mounts, Georgina tucked her drawing materials into her saddlebags, and the two sisters, with Jane riding between them, rode toward Kimbolton’s woods.
“I want some jingling bells, Mama.”
“Ask your father,” Georgina said, laughing. “He is Mr. Moneybags.”
They came to a small glade in the woods that was carpeted with bluebells. The heady scent and brilliant color were irresistible, and the three dismounted. Jane bent to pick some, and her hands became sticky with sap from their soft stems.
“Go and wash your hands in the stream,” her mother instructed.
“Jane, I’d like to sketch you sitting amid the bluebells,” Georgina said. “When we get back, I’ll paint in the colors.”
The three spent a happy hour, talking and laughing, while Georgina did a sketch of her niece, then one of Jane and Susan together. Jane was delighted that her aunt had drawn her as a flower fairy with delicate wings, and in one corner was a baby rabbit peeping from under a burdock leaf.
The sketch of mother and daughter was more serious and showed the marked family resemblance.
That night Georgina asked to give two-year-old George his bath.
“Georgy, you will make a far more devoted mother than I will ever be,” Susan said.
“I truly envy you your children, Susan.”
“I just found out I’m having another,” her sister confided. “I enjoy making them, but carrying them for nine months is a tedious business. William soon loses interest when I start to expand.”
Georgina sighed with sympathy. “That’s why I’m in no hurry for a husband. I’d rather wait until I find one who truly loves me.”
“No point in waiting, Georgy. All males have roving eyes . . . and hands . . . and cocks!” she declared.
“Cynical at only twenty-six,” Georgina teased.
“Twenty-seven tomorrow.”
Around ten o’clock that night, Georgina decided to explore the atmospheric chambers where Katherine of Aragon had spent the last months of her life.
At the foot of the gallery staircase that led up to Queen Katherine’s private chapel was a large oaken chest in which she had kept her clothes and jewels.
Georgina went down on her knees and traced her finger over the royal cipher, made up of Katherine’s initials that decorated the lid. “Your unhappiness still lingers. The very air up here is melancholy,” she murmured with a shiver. “You put your faith and your life in your husband’s hands, and he betrayed you for another woman.”
Georgina sat back on her heels and thought about Anne Boleyn. Anne didn’t love Henry. She kept him at arm’s length for more than seven long years. It was her family that pressured her into giving in to him. I
surely know what that feels like. She laid her hand on the lid as if it were a Bible. “I swear I shall never give in to the Duke of Bedford,” she whispered passionately.
The next day Georgina and Jane made special plans for Susan’s birthday dinner. They made arrangements with the head cook for all her favorite dishes. They ordered a cake with twenty-seven candles, they gathered early spring flowers to decorate the table, and planned the special music that Kimbolton’s musicians would play throughout the meal. They carried all her gifts into the formal dining room and piled them on a refectory table.
William Montagu returned from hunting and went upstairs to bathe and change. Georgina went to her chamber and put on one of her new gowns, a primrose silk embroidered with white rosebuds. One of her sister’s tiring women helped her with her coiffeur and threaded loops of white satin ribbon through her dark curls. She chose pearl earrings to complement the outfit, picked up her fan, and hurried downstairs.
“At last!” William declared in his usual hearty manner.
“We have a lovely surprise for you,” Susan announced.
Georgina stopped dead on the bottom stair, her happiness melting away like snow in summer. Standing between the Duke and Duchess of Manchester was the Duke of Bedford.
Chapter 20
Georgina put on a false face and assumed an air of politeness that was at odds with the way she felt inside. “This is a surprise. I didn’t know you had invited a guest to dinner.”
“Woburn and Kimbolton are so close, we are practically neighbors,” William said in a bluff voice.
Francis Russell offered Georgina his arm. “Once more unto the breach . . .”
“I had no idea you were a military man.” It was a stinging rejoinder. She knew damn well he had never served.
“Militat omnis amans . . . every lover is a soldier.”
She took his arm and looked up at him. “Isn’t that Ovid?”
“It is, my dear. I am surprised, yet utterly delighted, that you are familiar with his frankly sensual writing.”
Francis helped her into a seat opposite Susan. Georgina stared pointedly into her sister’s eyes as if to say, “What the bloody hellfire are you trying to do to me?”
Susan pretended not to notice her discomfort.
During dinner, the conversation, carried on mainly between the two dukes, ranged from hunting to rowing. William Montagu was a champion oarsman with a strong, athletic build, and Georgina couldn’t help but compare their physiques. Both men are devastatingly attractive to women—I can understand William’s appeal, but I’ll be damned if I know what the ladies find irresistible in Francis. Beyond his title and his immense wealth, of course.
Georgina pointedly ignored her sister, and conversed mainly with seven-year-old Jane, who had been permitted to attend the birthday dinner only because she had helped plan it.
At last it was time for the cake to be rolled in on a cart, and Georgina stood up and lit the candles.
“You must make a wish, Mama.
And if you blow out all the candles, it will come true.”
Susan stood up and smiled uncertainly. “Oh, I have no idea what I should wish for.”
Fidelity from your husband comes to mind! Georgina glanced at Francis. “I know what I would wish for.”
“Your wish is my command, dearest lady,” he said with a leer.
Then begone! She waved her fork as if it were a magic wand. Then she touched her napkin to her lips. She had almost said it out loud.
Jane wolfed down her cake. “Now it’s time to open your gifts.” She shot up from the table and began to carry the presents over from the refectory table and place them at her mother’s feet.
The first one Susan opened was a lap robe in Black Watch tartan and all knew it was from her mother before she read the card.
Her brother, George, had sent her a pair of riding boots he’d had made especially for her by Hobey, because he knew that she rode almost every day of her life.
Jane handed her a flat package. “Oh, this is the sketch Georgy made of us in the bluebells. You’ve painted it for me. Thank you. I will treasure it.”
When she opened her daughter’s small present, it was a pair of warm slippers Jane had knitted herself. “Grandmother taught you to knit, and you do it well, my dear. Thank you so much.”
“Do you really like them?” Jane asked anxiously.
“They are perfect. I shall put them on this minute.”
Georgina wanted to hug her sister. I almost forgive you for inviting Francis Russell. Almost.
Susan opened her husband’s present, and when she saw the ruby bracelet, she went still. “Whatever did I do to deserve this?’’
Oh Lord, she thinks he gave it to her because his conscience is pricking him . . . and I wager she’s right.
“Being a duchess has its rewards,” William said gallantly.
Georgina wondered if that remark was aimed at her.
Finally, Susan opened the last present, which was from the Duke of Bedford. It was an antique silver goblet with blue lapis lazuli decorating its foot. “Oh, it’s beautiful, Francis. Thank you so much. I shall christen it this moment.” She signaled a footman, who filled the goblet with champagne. He filled Georgina’s glass with the sparkling wine and served the gentlemen brandy. “Shall we repair to the drawing room?” Susan smiled at her daughter. “Time for bed, Jane. Thank you for helping make my birthday dinner so enjoyable.”
As Georgina watched her young niece leave, she felt she was losing her only ally present tonight. She took a deep breath and allowed Francis to escort her from the dining room. The disturbing suspicion that this whole thing was a conspiracy had been growing throughout dinner. She quickened her steps and caught up with Susan. “Did Mother pressure you into inviting him?” she demanded, sotto voce.
“It was William who invited him,V Susan murmured, relieving herself of all responsibility.
It was around ten o’clock, and Georgina wondered how she would get through the next two hours until midnight when she could retire to bed without giving offense. I must make an effort to be polite. I don’t want to ruin Susan’s birthday by sulking.
The men spoke of a race meet they would be attending at Newmarket at the end of the month, and that led to a discussion of the Prince of Wales. Both William and Francis were Whigs and in favor of a Regency.
Georgina remarked, “I’m surprised you married a lady from such a staunch Tory family as ours, William. I would think a match between a Whig and a Tory would be like mixing oil and water.V Of course she was alluding to the mismatch of herself and Francis.
“Susan has no interest in politics,” William replied.
“Politics is one of my consuming passions,” Georgina declared. “I hope Pitt regains his prime ministership soon.” She threw down the gauntlet, hoping for an argument, but no one picked it up.
Next she brought up the contrasts between the English and the Scots, cataloguing their differences in a transparent attempt to distance herself from the English Duke of Bedford.
“I find that opposites have a fatal, irresistible attraction,” Francis confessed.
Georgina was tempted to drop the name of one of his mistresses, but realized she was completely indifferent to his women. I must stop this charade. Since Francis Russell becomes more insistent each time I refuse him, I will have to confront Mother and demand that she stop her matchmaking. I warrant it will mean a terrible row, but I have to make her understand I will never wed Bedford.
Georgina yawned. “It’s been a lovely evening, but I cannot keep my eyes open. I’m off to bed. Good night, all.”
Susan drained her goblet “I’m off too. Good night, gentlemen.”
The sisters climbed the stairs together. “I know you planned all this with Mother. It was her idea that I come to Kimbolton for your birthday,” Georgina accused.
“We want only what’s best for you, Georgy. It’s quite evident Francis is mad about you.”
“I’m mad too. Blazing mad. Don’t ever do this to me again!”
“I must go and check on the children. Good night.”
Georgina made her way to the guest wing, relieved that at last she had escaped and was finally alone. Her anger toward her sister abated a little. What Susan said is true. My family does want what is best for me, but they put social position and wealth at the top of the list. They think it my duty to wed England’s premier nobleman. They don’t realize how unhappy I would be.
Georgina removed her gown and hung it up in the wardrobe. She kicked off her satin shoes and sat down on the bed. Then she took off her garters and her stockings. In her shift she walked over to the washstand and poured water from the jug. She glanced in the mirror and raised her hand to remove the loops of ribbon from her hair when she heard the door open.
Thinking it was one of Susan’s maids, she turned. And then she gasped. “What the devil are you doing?”
Francis Russell winked at her. “What do you think I’m doing?” He locked the door, slipped the key into his pocket, and set the bottle of champagne he was carrying on her dressing table.
“Leave my room this instant!”
“Don’t pretend to be angry, puss. You knew I’d come.”
“I knew no such thing.V Her voice rose in alarm. “Don’t come any closer! I want you to leave immediately.”
He removed his coat, threw it on a chair, unfastened his neckcloth, and closed the distance between them. “This intimate liaison was arranged a week ago. I know this is all new to you, but there’s no need to be afraid.” He reached up, plucked the ribbon from her hair, and watched it fall about her shoulders.
Georgina pulled away until her back was against the washstand. She couldn’t believe this was happening. Her heart began to hammer and her temper began to rise. “Surely you don’t expect me to join the ranks of Marianna Palmer and your other mistresses!”
“Of course not—you will be my wife.” “Your Grace, if you do not leave instantly, I will scream for my brother-in-law.”
vWho do you think gave me your key? Scream away, vixen. The walls of this castle are thick. None will hear you.”
Georgina was stunned. “William gave you the key?” Oh, God, William saw me at the brothel in Pall Mall where Francis Rotten Russell lured me before Christmas. He thinks we are intimate.
Francis slipped his arms about her waist and pulled her toward him. “You need to be wooed to a giving mood, my love.” He slipped her petticoat strap from her shoulder and placed his lips against the satin skin. “I think this calls for a private lesson in what’s known as foreplay.”
She pushed him away. Now she was not only angry, but also a little bit afraid. “Are you insane, Bedford? I have no intention of marrying you. I’ve told you, I don’t love you. Hellfire, I don’t even like you!”
He laughed. “You will be begging for marriage before I’m done with you, my love.” He took hold of her petticoat, and when Georgina pulled away, the material ripped. He tore the remnants of the flimsy white mater
ial from her body and tossed them aside.
Georgina screamed at the top of her lungs. She wore only a small busk that concealed her breasts, and tried frantically to cover the lower part of her body that was now completely nude. She screamed again, and kicked out at him.
He lunged at her, and his arms went about her like a vice. With deft fingers he unfastened her busk and rendered her naked.
She threw back her head and screamed again as he calmly undressed.
It slowly dawned on her that no one was going to come to her rescue. This rendezvous had all been prearranged, with the full approval of her mother and the Duke of Manchester. Even her sister was complicit in the plan.
When he picked her up and carried her against his naked body to the bed in spite of her wild struggles, she realized just how strong he was. He’s going to ravish me . . . He’s going to have his way with me. My denial makes him only more rampant! Her eyes flooded with tears, and she was about to beg him to stop. But when he dropped her on the bed and hovered above her, something inside her snapped. He came down on top of her, and when his erection slid against her mons, Georgina’s fear was blotted out by her raging fury. “You bastard!” She brought up her knees, and when he drew back she kicked him in the groin.
He yelped in pain and said between clenched teeth, “If you were a man, I’d kill you!”
“If you were a half a man, I’d be afraid!”
She was off the bed in a flash. She placed her hands on his shoulders, dug in her nails, and brought up her knee to jab him in his balls and his belly. Bedford curled over in agony; then he fell to the carpet and rolled about. “Cockteasing bitch! You’ve asked for it, and now you’re going to get it!”
Georgina realized she was locked in with him, and he was dangerous. Like a wounded animal, he was mad with pain and rage and lust. She watched in horror as he rolled to his knees and began to get up. Her thoughts flashed about, looking for a way to escape. Her eyes caught sight of the bottle of champagne, and she made a dash toward it. She picked it up, raised it high, and hit him. She managed only a glancing blow to his temple, but the Duke of Bedford dropped like a stone.
The Decadent Duke Page 23