by Jane Ashford
“That I had eloped.”
Hilda nodded. She did look contrite.
“And they all simply believed you.” This was the part of the rigmarole that bothered Georgina the most, that her family should trust the word of Hilda—a known scamp—over her own history and reputation.
“They didn’t at first,” admitted her sister. “I had to say you’d left a note. And that I’d burned it because of the scandal.”
“You…you what?” Georgina could only gape at her.
“Later, I set fire to a sheet of notepaper in my bedroom fireplace and then showed Mama the ashes.” She seemed proud of her ingenuity.
“Ashes. Mama.”
“Actually, Mama was the one person who kept on doubting,” Hilda added. “Papa was much easier.” Under Georgina’s accusing gaze, she grew petulant. “Well, it seemed like something you might do.”
“Elope?” Did her sister actually think her so lost to all sense of propriety?
“Go off and abandon us,” Hilda replied. “Like you did for the season in London. Without caring a whit whether we went mad from boredom.”
“Even you cannot think that makes any sense.”
Her sister wilted under Georgina’s glare. “It was a good story,” she muttered, almost too softly to hear. “Like something out of a novel.”
“It didn’t occur to you to worry about us?” Georgina asked.
She received a blank look in return.
“When we couldn’t be found?” she continued. “When there was no sign of us near the waterfall?”
“Well, I…” Clearly, Hilda hadn’t reckoned with this aspect of the matter.
“I had a serious accident. I hurt my leg quite badly. Sebastian was injured trying to climb out of that ravine. We could even have been killed.”
At long last, Hilda looked guilty. “I didn’t think of that,” she said in a small voice.
“You were too concerned about covering up what you’d done.”
“I suppose so.” Hilda hung her head.
“And you also didn’t consider the fact that you would make me very angry.”
Hilda’s head came up like a hound catching an unfamiliar scent.
“So angry that I wouldn’t wish to have you in my household.” It was harsh, but Georgina felt she had to make Hilda understand the enormity of what she’d done. “If you care so little for me, why should I want you near me?”
Her sister looked stricken. “You wouldn’t… I do care for you. Of course I do. You are my sister.”
“Yet you didn’t think of me at all as you plotted this. Only of yourself.” Her sister started to speak, but Georgina forestalled her with a quick gesture. “You know the servants will have been gossiping. Some garbled tale will get out to our neighbors, and then on from there. Perhaps even to London next season. I will have to endure all sorts of whispers. And how am I to face Sebastian’s brother when he arrives?” Not to mention recover the good opinions of his family, Georgina thought with real trepidation.
“But it’s settled we are to go with you!” Hilda exclaimed.
“This is your only response to what I have said?”
“I’m counting on you!”
“I know you are,” replied Georgina gravely. “But why should I wish to help you after this?” The flare of apprehension in her younger sister’s eyes made her feel like a beast. Extreme measures seemed required to get Hilda to listen, however.
“I’m sorry!” her sister cried. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise. I’ll talk to Lord Randolph. He won’t blame you.”
“There’s no need for that.” Afraid she’d gone too far, and not wanting to imagine such a conversation, Georgina added, “Please just be more patient and…conventional.”
“I’m not very good at being patient,” said Hilda.
As if that had not been noisily evident since her sister was two years old, Georgina thought.
“Or conventional, I think.”
“Hilda just…don’t do anything.”
“But I’m sure I could explain to Randolph why I had to…”
“No!”
Hilda pouted. Her inclination to hatch plots seemed to have overcome her remorse in record time. Georgina left her sister sitting chin in hand, pondering. She had the uneasy sensation that she hadn’t improved the situation, only expanded its scope.
What was she going to do after she was married? Georgina wondered as she walked along the corridor toward her room. Because she had no doubt that Hilda would simply show up on her doorstep if no other arrangements were made. She would run away from Stane to get there, thinking herself up to whatever obstacles she might encounter. Anything could happen to her.
Georgina sighed. It wasn’t that she objected to inviting her sisters to stay in her new household. It was just that she’d rather wait a while—six months or so, say. She wanted time for her new life to settle a bit, to anchor herself solidly as Sebastian’s wife.
A thrill ran through her at the silent phrase. With it came vivid memories of their intimacies on the bed of bracken Sebastian had made for her. She was so eager to be Sebastian’s wife, so happy in her choice.
Hilda would see six months as an eternity, however. She would take it as a refusal. Georgina shuddered to imagine what her sister might do then. She’d mentioned this problem to her mother, but she didn’t think Mama had really taken it in. Perhaps after this latest prank she would listen.
Georgina reached her bedchamber, shut the door on this dilemma, and fell backward onto her bed. She hadn’t realized how worn down she was until they were safely home. When she could let go of the fear and determination that had kept her walking, she’d discovered layers of exhaustion beneath it. Her eyelids drooped. She forced herself upright. It seemed too much effort even to ring for the maid she’d put off earlier. She struggled out of her gown, barely managing to undress and crawl under the covers before she was sound asleep.
The following afternoon, Sebastian caught Georgina as she was coming out of her mother’s workroom. He’d been lying in wait for more than an hour, watching for her and evading her father. He felt the marquess’s eyes on him wherever he went now, full of suspicion despite their explanations and Hilda’s admissions of guilt. Somehow, Georgina’s father continued to blame him, which bothered Sebastian almost as much as the large purple bruise on his upper arm. “Come into the garden,” he urged.
“Mama sent me for a fresh supply of notepaper,” his fiancée objected.
“She’ll forget about it when one of the dogs calls for attention.”
Georgina looked back over her shoulder, then shrugged. “Probably.”
Sebastian offered his arm and was inexpressibly relieved when she took it. After all they’d shared in the last few days, he hated being away from her. It seemed an age since they’d touched. They went out the back way and hurried straight into the shrubbery where they couldn’t be seen from the castle. “Are you all right?” he asked her then. “Have you recovered?”
“I have great blisters on my heels,” she replied. “That is a lesson I have thoroughly learned—never go walking in riding boots.”
He nodded. His own feet suffered similar complaints. “And…otherwise?” He looked down. She looked up. Their eyes held. God, how he wanted her! Their time together in the wild had fired his desire rather than assuaging it.
“I am very well,” she said. “My only problem…”
“What?” he interrupted. Did she regret what they’d done after all?
She leaned closer. “I am so impatient to be married,” she murmured in his ear.
Her tone, her nearness, brought their lovemaking back even more strongly. “By God, yes!” He couldn’t help himself. He kissed her.
She melted against him, meeting his longing with her own, and for a few minutes they lost all consciousness of their surroun
dings. Then the sound of pugs yapping and the marchioness calling broke them apart.
“I can’t stay,” said Georgina. “Mama is keeping me close. I think she suspects that we…indulged. And she doesn’t know quite what to do about it.”
“Well, your father is treating me as if I pushed you into that gully,” Sebastian replied, reluctantly letting her go.
“They’ll get over it with a bit of time,” she said. “But, oh, Sebastian, your family. What must they think? What will your brother say to me?”
“You needn’t worry about that.”
“Worry? They believe I consented to an elopement! The idea of your mother…and the duke believing that. It makes me shudder.” She wrapped her arms around her chest and grasped her elbows as if to contain her reaction.
He should have gotten a letter off right away, Sebastian realized. It was just such a chore to produce one. But it had to be done. He should have known that. “I’ll tell them different,” he said. “Randolph will understand.”
“You don’t sound as if you believe that.” She gazed up at him anxiously.
“Of course I do,” declared Sebastian. “All will be well once I explain.” That would be heavy work, he feared, what with his distressing tendency to flail about in a muddle of words. Randolph was just the opposite; words were his joy and his playground. He could get so lost in a book that they had to shout to get his attention.
“He’s a clergyman.” Georgina held her elbows tighter. “And I’ve never even met him. He’ll think I’m a dreadful person.”
“He will not!” The mere suggestion made Sebastian want to hit something. He put an arm around her. “He’s not a priggish parson, far from it. You mustn’t worry.” Indeed, Robert had told him that Randolph had been relegated to his rustic parish because of “inappropriate levity” at a doctrinal conference. Sebastian thought of repeating this tidbit to Georgina, but he didn’t know what it meant precisely, and he didn’t want to give her the wrong impression of his brother.
Georgina was turning into his arms once more, where she belonged, when a slight figure burst out of the shrubbery and ran up to them. For once, it wasn’t Hilda.
“I’m so sorry,” panted Emma, clearly breathless from running. A sprig of evergreen was caught in her golden hair. “I was upstairs, and I saw you come out, and I wanted to tell you both. Together. I’ve never been sorrier about anything in my whole life.” Tears began to leak from her eyes and run down her cheeks. “I’ll never listen to Hilda again,” she said. “Ever. I knew it was wrong to leave you out there. But I had no idea she was going to say that, about eloping. I swear I didn’t! Please forgive me.” She was weeping hard now.
Sebastian would have blurted out reassurances; he hated to see a girl cry. Or anyone, really, though fellows hardly ever did. But Georgina spoke before he could. “You should have told the truth at once,” she said. “We were in some danger, you know.”
“If I had realized…” began Emma.
“You knew we were lost,” Georgina interrupted. “You knew something had gone badly wrong. And you knew we had not eloped.”
Emma looked at the ground, snuffling.
“So it isn’t just a matter of not listening to Hilda. You must learn to judge for yourself what is right to do. And then do it, no matter how difficult it may seem. You see?”
As Emma nodded forlornly, Sebastian looked at his fiancée in admiration. She really was one of the wisest people he’d ever met.
“Georgina?” The marchioness’s voice carried across the gardens. “Where are you?”
Emma started and took a step back. “I don’t want to meet Mama,” she said. “She’s still angry with me. And I’m supposed to be in my room.” Wiping her cheeks with the backs of her hands, she faded into the shrubbery.
“I must go,” said Georgina. She took Sebastian’s hand and squeezed it before walking quickly away.
Trying not to feel morose, Sebastian went off to find Sykes and prepare a letter to his mother.
“What a tale,” exclaimed his valet an hour later, when Sebastian’s dictation came to an end. Still holding the pen, Sykes sat back and gazed out over the writing desk into endless distance.
Sebastian watched as Sykes’s free hand rose and sketched an indefinable shape in the air, rather like a painter at an invisible easel. Now and then, he was allowed a glimpse of another person behind the smooth facade of his gentleman’s gentleman. This hidden Sykes never said “my lord” or made deferential bows. Those things fell away as if they’d never existed, and Sebastian wasn’t sure Sykes even knew it. As now, this fellow’s brown eyes were vague and dreamy rather than alert for services to perform. His spare frame arranged itself quite differently, with…somehow more carelessness and more weight at the same time. One could almost see dramatic vistas forming in his mind.
Despite the years of their association, Sebastian didn’t feel well acquainted with this man. Nor encouraged to be. It was deuced odd. They hadn’t much in common, of course, although Sebastian admired Sykes’s artistic abilities.
“I declare it is better than I could imagine,” Sykes said, clearly speaking to himself. “The wild tangles of vegetation, the heroic pair lost to all aid.”
“You may have the ravine,” said Sebastian. “With all its delightful mud and slippery walls and thorns as long as my thumb, but you mustn’t portray Lady Georgina.”
“I do not incorporate real people into my plays,” was the absent reply. “I gather traits and quirks from a variety of individuals and…amalgamate them into a fresh character.” Sykes’s hands drew together as if scooping up eels, or something equally slippery.
This was all very well, but Sebastian had found certain figures quite recognizable on the rare occasions when Sykes read bits of his plays aloud. And he knew he wasn’t the most discerning of auditors. He’d even mentioned it, but Sykes insisted he was mistaken. Sebastian didn’t mind a large, nobly born cavalry officer turning up in Sykes’s dramas. Not even the one who’d turned out to be a black villain. But… “Not Lady Georgina,” he repeated.
Sykes nodded to show he’d heard—like a preoccupied artiste, not a servant.
Sebastian supposed he might feel differently about the villainous colonel—a promotion, too—if the play was ever staged. Sykes had not yet achieved this goal. Sebastian had once offered to ask his father or Nathaniel for funds to mount a production, but his uniquely unusual valet had refused, insisting that his work must succeed on its own merits.
“This place is a veritable gold mine of material,” Sykes murmured. “I’ve never seen such richness and variety of character.”
That was one way of describing the Stanes, and Mitra, and the dogs, Sebastian thought. Actually, he rather liked the phrase. Perhaps he would repeat it to Georgina, should the chance arise.
“I must make notes.” Sykes half rose, then hesitated.
Sebastian watched him become fully conscious of his surroundings again. One day the man would move on, he thought. Indeed, Sebastian had asked him more than once if he wouldn’t prefer some other living arrangement. Sykes had denied any such desire, claiming that the world of a duke’s son was a source of endless inspiration, as well as a decent living. “I don’t know what else I’d do to earn my bread, to tell you the truth,” he’d said.
“You might be a great actor,” Sebastian had mused. Sykes demonstrated his acting skills every day as the perfect valet.
But Sykes had responded to his offhand suggestion with all the hauteur of a prince being asked to keep pigs. “I wouldn’t stoop,” he’d replied.
Frankly, it had been a relief. Sebastian didn’t know what he’d do without him.
Sykes straightened and somehow shook himself without moving. With that, he was back in his valet role. “I’ll get this off right away, my lord,” he said, folding the page and sealing it.
“Thank you, Sykes.”
/> Silently acknowledging the wealth of implication in his tone, the other man went out.
Nine
The atmosphere at Stane Castle remained stiff over the next two days. The only matter that everyone agreed on was the placement of a warning sign at the ravine. The marquess had ridden out to examine the site for himself. Or perhaps to verify their story—Sebastian wasn’t sure. Afterward, with some grumbling that no one had ever fallen in before, he ordered a wooden alert to be prepared and erected. In his presence, Sebastian kept feeling he should apologize and then realizing that he had nothing to apologize for.
Georgina’s mother kept her busy with household tasks or wedding plans or something. Her excuses differed. Sebastian found no more opportunities for private conversation. Had he not been inured to the often-inexplicable mandates of the army, he might have railed at the unfairness of it all.
Thus, it was actually a relief when Randolph arrived, prompt and eager, as always. Despite Sebastian’s reservations, a brother joining him at Stane felt like reinforcements. When introductions had been made and a few pleasantries exchanged, Sebastian was happy to agree with Randolph’s suggestion that he accompany Sebastian to his assigned bedchamber. There were a few points he wanted to make before Randolph went blundering among Georgina’s family.
“Well, now, what can I do for you?” Randolph asked as soon as they were alone. He sat in an armchair beside the hearth, leaning forward, smiling, hands laced on his knees. “I am ready for anything, you know.”
That was the trouble. Randolph’s enthusiasm for helping out could take him far beyond what was wanted. At this moment, he looked ready to leap up and wrestle dragons. Sebastian sat down opposite him and struggled to summon a coherent, convincing narrative. Though Sebastian was two years older, he hadn’t won an argument with Randolph since…well, ever. But this wasn’t an argument. He only had to explain.
“You’ve contracted a very good match, I must say,” Randolph went on before Sebastian managed to begin. “Lady Georgina seems a lovely girl… I expect we shall soon put things right.” He offered Sebastian a reassuring nod.