by Jane Ashford
“What?” Georgina jumped up to face him. “Don’t be ridiculous, Papa.”
“I forbid it, I say!” The marquess’s face was red with anger.
“But…but if my story was wrong, why not Sebastian’s as well?” Georgina replied.
“Because it fits, doesn’t it?” He glowered at Sebastian.
Sebastian struggled to formulate arguments against this ridiculous accusation.
“No,” said Georgina. “It does not. Sebastian is a fine—”
“Deceiver,” her father interrupted.
“Papa!” Georgina looked as if she’d like to box his ears. Sebastian watched her struggle for control. “You said I was inexperienced,” she went on finally. “Well, so is Sebastian. Even more. I’ve been listening to you talk about reincarnation for weeks. This was simply…a sort of dream, as you suggested.”
“If I could—” began Mr. Mitra.
Georgina’s father spoke right over him. “How would he know that the ancient tribesmen tattooed themselves or wore checkered clothing, eh? Answer me that. He’s not exactly a scholar.”
This familiar criticism stung, not least because it was so true. Sebastian couldn’t think what to say to change his host’s mind. If he could grab him and shake him, perhaps…but he couldn’t. And it would probably just make things worse. No, certainly it would. Demonstrate his barbarian tendencies or some such nonsense.
“Listen to me!” Mitra exclaimed. His vehemence was so uncharacteristic that they all turned to stare. “You cannot directly associate these…possibilities we unearthed in the meditation with what is happening today.” Mr. Mitra glanced at Joanna Byngham and then away. “There is no absolute succession.”
Georgina’s father glared at him. “You’ve also said that the lives a person experiences are determined by character and deeds.”
“Yes, but…”
“Ha! And none of the rest of us turned up as uncivilized Welshmen, did we?”
“Papa,” cried Georgina.
The marquess paid no attention. “Pack your things and be on your way,” he said to Sebastian. “Today. You and your brother. He didn’t even dare tell us what he saw, did he? Eh? What’s he hiding?”
“Papa,” said Georgina again.
Sebastian rose. He had the sense that he stood alone against a crowd. Georgina started toward him, but her father held her back. “Go on,” he said. “Get out.”
The man was his host, and the father of the woman Sebastian still firmly intended to marry. He couldn’t fight him. And he couldn’t think how to change his mind. If Georgina couldn’t sway him, how could Sebastian hope to? He would only make things worse. Angry, bewildered, he walked out.
He strode through the castle corridors, his brain trying to make sense of what had just happened. It couldn’t be that his future happiness was to be destroyed because of…an attack of imagination. That just wasn’t possible. It was cruelly unfair. He didn’t even have much of an imagination. But Georgina’s father had seemed perfectly serious. Sebastian couldn’t summon a shred of hope that he’d been joking. What were they going to do?
Sebastian stopped in the middle of a hallway, parade-ground rigid. One thing he wouldn’t do. He wasn’t leaving. If the marquess threw him out of Stane, he’d park himself nearby until he got Georgina back. He’d pitch a tent below the walls, if necessary.
As a last straw, Sebastian found Randolph lying in wait for him in his bedchamber. His brother sprang up as soon as Sebastian opened the door. “I hope I didn’t offend our host,” he said, moving from foot to foot as if anxious.
“Not nearly as much as I did,” replied Sebastian dryly.
It didn’t appear that Randolph heard him. “That was simply an…overwhelming experience. I could think of nothing but writing it all down. Astonishing. And then when I finished, I suddenly began to wonder what the council of bishops would say.” He walked over to the window and back, looking at the floor rather than Sebastian. “They do not always find me…entirely congenial, you know.”
“I don’t think they’re likely to hear of it,” replied Sebastian. “Considering what happened after you were gone.”
Deep in his own thoughts, Randolph didn’t even ask what his brother meant. “Do you think they would consider it some sort of…spell?” he said.
Under any other circumstances, Sebastian might have speculated and probably teased his brother a bit. Now, his own problems weighed too heavily. “How would I know what a bunch of bishops would think?” he replied. “I like Mitra. But I wish to God he hadn’t done…whatever that was.”
Randolph looked regretful. “I suppose I shouldn’t participate in any more…”
“You won’t have the opportunity,” Sebastian interrupted. “We’ve been ordered out of Stane Castle.”
This penetrated Randolph’s preoccupation. “What?”
Under his brother’s increasingly astonished gaze, Sebastian related the scene that had just taken place.
“Your engagement is ended over imaginary tattoos and checkered trousers?” Randolph asked when his brother had finished. “Are you certain you understood him correctly?”
“He left no room for doubt,” Sebastian assured him.
“Then perhaps he mistook your meaning,” said Randolph. He hesitated. “Now and then you…garble a story…just a bit.”
Sebastian’s jaw tightened. But he had to acknowledge the truth of it. Words were not his friends. “Not this time,” he answered.
“Well then, Stane must be mad. Perhaps you should reconsider an alliance with his family.”
“No.” All of Sebastian’s resolution rang in that single syllable.
Randolph eyed him. “No. Well, I’m happy to talk to him. Though I must say he seems an extremely intransigent fellow.”
“No,” Sebastian said again.
Randolph surveyed him. He nodded. “What do you mean to do?”
“Stay on,” Sebastian vowed. “I’ll find lodgings nearby, put up a tent if necessary, and remain until this idiotic mess is straightened out. And I am married, as planned.” He caught his reflection in the mirror above the mantel. His expression was fierce, as well it might be. He wasn’t going to lose, not for anyone or anything.
“Are you sure…?”
“Everyone’s blowing this out of all proportion.” Now that he was cooler, Sebastian felt this had to be right. “It was more like a party game than anything else. Stane will see that he’s being ridiculous.”
Randolph nodded as if this made sense. “I shall stay with you, of course,” he said.
Of course he would. That was the thing about his brothers, Sebastian thought. When it came to the point of nonplus, they never let him down.
Eleven
Distraught she might be, but Georgina was no fool. As soon as her father released her, she went to find her mother. It was a measure of the unusual nature of the evening that Mama was not in the drawing room but sitting in her workroom surrounded by her dogs. Of her sisters, there was no sign. “Oh, Mama!” Georgina cried.
The marchioness was self-absorbed, but not oblivious to an offspring’s real distress. “What is it, my dear?”
The story came pouring out on a rising tide of emotion. The pugs responded to the latter with a swelling chorus of yapping. “And so Papa has declared my engagement at an end,” Georgina finished.
“What?” Her mother sat bolt upright and stared at her.
“For no reason at all,” she added. The unfairness of it overwhelmed her once again. “Mr. Mitra says that these…experiments—whatever you call them—have nothing to do with who one is today. Not in the least.”
“Experiments,” repeated her mother. She rose from her chair. “I’ll show Alfred experiments.”
She hadn’t even noticed that she’d dislodged Drustan from the folds of her skirt, tipping him head over heels. Georgina
saw a ray of hope. She trailed behind her mother like one of the dogs, rushing back the way she’d come.
Papa still sat in the circle of armchairs around the candelabrum. Of the rest of the group, only Joanna remained. She stood before him, making sweeping gestures with her arms as she slowly turned.
Georgina marched in behind her mother, who practically skidded to a stop, putting her hands on her hips. “Oh, lud,” she said. “Alfred, what do you think you’re doing?”
Joanna didn’t seem to notice their arrival. She continued her eccentric movements.
Papa looked glad of the interruption. He rose and edged around the governess to join them. “Charlotte, our meditation had the most amazing results. You should have joined us.”
“It appears so indeed. I could have prevented you from acting the fool with Georgina’s future husband.”
His face went stubborn. “That is at an end. My daughter will not marry a…”
“My daughter as well,” interrupted Mama. “She told me the whole story. I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous.”
“Gresham was condemned by his own words! He bore all the marks of a Welsh barbarian.”
“Alfred, can you not hear how silly that sounds?”
He seemed to swell with anger. “Silly? This from a woman addicted to tales of princes turned into swans and queens eating their children.”
“That was a lie perpetrated by Rhiannon’s enemies! As you know very well. And yes, I prefer a poetic, magical story to your roaring tales of hairy bullies blustering and chopping at each other. And this is their heaven!”
“Offa was a Christian king!” Georgina’s father retorted. “And a proper man. Not some whining oath breaker like Drustan, Tristan, whatever his name was.”
“He was fated to…”
“Mama,” said Georgina.
Her mother turned to look at her. It took a moment. “Yes,” she said then. “This is beside the point.” She faced Georgina’s father again. “Lord Sebastian, my daughter’s affianced husband, is a welcome guest in my home. He will stay until the wedding, which will take place as planned.”
“There will be no wedding! I told you, I have forbidden it. Gresham is to go.”
“No.”
Georgina’s parents stood toe to toe. Though her mother was much the smaller figure, she was no less formidable. “I will not have this, Alfred,” she said quietly. “I said nothing when you paid five hundred guineas for a supposed Anglo-Saxon crown—which turned out to be nothing of the sort—or when you nearly cut off Fergus’s fingers with that ‘war ax.’ But I draw the line here.”
“You will allow a savage’s blood into our family?”
“Mr. Mitra told you that isn’t true,” Georgina couldn’t help but interject.
Her mother held up a hand to restrain her. “If you persist, I shall have to order the servants to ignore your commands. That would be quite uncomfortable for me, but I will do it. I hired nearly all of them, you know.”
“Fergus will stand by me,” Papa growled.
“I suppose he will. Do you wish to see me standing before Sebastian’s chamber door repelling an advance by the two of you?”
Papa shuffled and muttered and glowered. He seemed to be searching for further arguments, and finding none. Finally, he threw up his hands and stamped out, slamming the door with a resounding crash.
“He should take counsel from the ancestors,” Joanna said.
Georgina had forgotten she was there. Clearly her mother had, too, because she jumped at the sound and whirled.
“They are founts of wisdom,” Joanna added.
“Don’t tell me you’ve been taken in by this nonsense,” said Georgina’s mother.
“I have been transformed!”
The two women gazed at each other. Georgina could almost see an unbridgeable chasm opening between them. She thought her mother saw it, too, because after a moment she sighed and said, “Well, it is time to go off to bed, whoever you have become.”
Georgina went to tell Sebastian that he was not to be ejected from Stane Castle, but she remained uncertain and unhappy. For one thing, she didn’t want to be at odds with Papa. She wanted his blessing on her marriage. And for another, she was concerned about what he might do to prevent it.
These considerations sent her to the top of the old stone tower the following afternoon. Mr. Mitra’s airy refuge was well known by this time, and she did indeed find him there.
“Lady Georgina,” he said, rising as she appeared at the top of the stair. He gave her one of his characteristic bows. “I have thought of offering you my apologies, but I didn’t wish to intrude.”
Or be dragged into her parents’ disputes, Georgina thought. She didn’t blame him for hiding. “I have come to ask if you can do something to change Papa’s mind,” she said. “He listens to you.”
“Alas, that is only partly true,” responded the Indian gentleman. “And less so lately. Your father certainly enjoys our conversations. He forms his own interpretations of what I say, however. And then holds to them very…firmly.”
“But you are the scholar, the expert. He respects you very much.”
Mr. Mitra bowed again. “I greatly value your good opinion. But I fear it is exaggerated where your father’s…engrained views are concerned.”
Sebastian’s head appeared at the top of the stair. “Ah, we had the same idea,” he said to Georgina as he climbed up. “You’ve got to do something, Mitra.”
Mr. Mitra sighed. “As I was just telling Lady Georgina, I fear there is nothing I can do.”
Sebastian came over to stand beside Georgina. “Couldn’t you stage another of your…sessions? One where I turn out to be that Offa fellow’s loyal retainer or something?”
Georgina couldn’t tell if Mr. Mitra was offended by this suggestion or simply weary of being misunderstood. Perhaps he was both at once.
“I do not stage them, Lord Sebastian. You must not imagine I don’t believe in the principles I impart. Even though I take the liberty of doubting the…enthusiasms of some people.”
Georgina had noticed Mr. Mitra’s distaste for Joanna’s declarations.
“Well, but—”
“I would help if I could,” Mitra interrupted. “I simply do not see how it is possible.”
“I am going to marry Georgina,” declared Sebastian.
Georgina gave him a tremulous smile as he took her hand. It was an enormous comfort to hear him say that so definitely. She remembered how expertly he’d managed during their recent misadventure. He’d taken care of everything so confidently and capably. Taken care of her. Her spirits rose.
“I think you should do so,” replied Mitra. “You seem admirably suited.”
“That’s all well and good to say,” responded Sebastian. “But you’ve pretty nearly wrecked our engagement.”
“I do not agree that I did so,” was the polite but adamant reply.
“If you hadn’t been there, drumming and warbling and putting us to sleep…”
Georgina broke into what was obviously going to be a futile argument. “You will help us if we can think of a…suitable way?” she asked the older man.
“Most happily.”
Georgina tugged at Sebastian’s arm and led him back down the stone stair.
“I think it was just a dream,” he said as they went. “That room was very stuffy. We all nodded off. Or I did, at any rate.” He frowned as they reached the first level of the tower. “It’s how I would have known to dream of checkered trousers that stumps me,” he added.
Georgina stopped him as he headed for the last rank of steps. “Over here,” she said. She pulled him into a recess blocked off by an ancient wooden screen. No one else was likely to come into the tower, but if someone did, they wouldn’t be seen. “We have to think what to do,” she said. Sebastian looked down at her, t
all and broad shouldered and strong. Despite their difficulties, when she was alone with him, she felt that all would be well. “We need a plan.”
“Right.” He looked at her hopefully.
She waited, silently willing him to take charge. “You must have made all sorts of plans as a soldier.”
“Well.” He frowned. “The first step in a military campaign is to list troop strength.”
“Troop?”
“How many you can muster in the battle line.” Sebastian ticked off one finger. “We’ve got Mitra. He promised to help.”
“If we can find him a task he accepts,” Georgina amended.
Sebastian nodded. “Same goes for Randolph. He’ll do anything I ask. Though I don’t want to get him in trouble with a bishop.”
“What bishop?”
“Any bishop. He wants to be one himself, you know. Archbishop, even.” Sebastian shook his head. “It’s odd enough to see your little brother rigged up as a cleric. Can’t really picture him in the miter and robes.”
It was a startling picture, if beside the current point. “No.”
“At any rate, Randolph will stand by me. We can count on him.”
“Mama is on our side,” Georgina pointed out. “But she isn’t tactful or…subtle. She’s most likely to march right in and demand whatever she wants.”
“A blunt instrument,” said Sebastian, nodding. “We’ll put her down as infantry, the division you throw straight into the thick of the battle.”
Georgina had to laugh at the comparison. “A division likely to be distracted by a barking pug at a critical moment.”
“The dogs,” Sebastian mused. “They are distracting. To put it mildly. Perfect for diversionary tactics. Providing you can get them where you want them to go, of course.”
“Diversion from what?” Georgina asked.
“I don’t know. We’re in the early stages of this campaign. There’s Sykes; he’s up to anything. He once stole a whole crate of oranges from a French cook tent. It was heavily guarded, too.”
Georgina wondered how a valet could do this. She’d ask some other time. She hesitated, then said, “Hilda.”