by Jane Ashford
“I’m not certain I understand you. My lord.” It was as if both sides of Sykes answered, in turn.
“No. Who would?” That speech had been a sterling example of garbled nonsense.
“Is there something I can do for you, my lord?”
Sebastian looked at the other man, alert and immaculate by the chamber doorway. Sykes had stepped in when he was an angry, discouraged youth, and he’d watched over Sebastian—in a way, in the part of life where he continually struggled—since then. Now, Georgina had taken up the reins and smoothed his path. Not in precisely the same way, but she’d summoned the words to sway her father, as Sebastian never could have. He felt an obscure sense of being handed off from one minder to another. It was not a pleasant thought. “No,” he said. “You can’t.”
“My lord?”
It was the wrong way round, Sebastian thought. He wanted to take care of Georgina, not be her charge. But could he? In one miserable instant, Sebastian’s view narrowed so that all he could perceive was his one glaring flaw. His prowess on the battlefield and host of admiring friends were forgotten. His expertise in the outdoors and many acts of kindness seemed as nothing. What right did he have to such a wonderful woman? Wouldn’t she, quite soon, begin to find him a burden? That notion hurt so much that he almost thought he’d rather lose her than face it. Only he wanted to marry her so very much.
Sykes put a hand on his arm. Unnoticed, he’d moved from the doorway. He looked genuinely alarmed. “Are you ill?”
“No.” Sykes couldn’t help him with this. “Perfectly well.”
“Are you certain? My lord?”
“Of course.” Sebastian regained control of his expression. He hated feeling so transparent. “Go ahead and get that letter off, Sykes.”
His valet hesitated, then bowed and left the room.
Alone, Sebastian sighed and rubbed his forehead. He hadn’t felt so despondent in…well, in years. His gaze was irresistibly drawn to a shelf of books between the two windows of his bedchamber. He walked over and picked one out. Holding it, he realized that some part of him continually hoped that this time the thing would be different. Blessedly, miraculously, mended. He opened the volume. As ever, the letters on the page were crammed together in solid, tangled lines. No effort he could make would force them to realign into meaning.
He clapped the book closed. He wanted to throw it across the room, but he carefully replaced it instead.
And with that simple movement, he was elsewhere, fallen into a memory more than twenty years old.
He’d been in the great library at Langford, alone with his father. Even now, Sebastian couldn’t imagine how that had happened, because the library was not his favorite room by any means. And with five brothers, he most often saw his parents in a crowd, rather than singly. Yet they were there, in his inner eye—his younger self and his deeply revered father.
Papa had been holding a book, and he’d read out a passage and invited Sebastian to comment. Or, really, to admire the sentiment; Sebastian had understood that much, even though the text had been a bit over his head. His father was offering to share a cherished idea with him. Naturally, he’d responded with great enthusiasm, delighted to be recognized in this way.
But then, his father had held out the book and suggested that he read the whole, which they could then discuss. Sebastian remembered that instant with agonizing clarity. Papa, the busy, sometimes distant duke, had looked so bright and eager. He’d offered the book like a precious gift, like the beginning of a bond. And Sebastian had had to refuse, because he’d known he couldn’t do it and couldn’t make other people understand why.
Sebastian’s hands closed into fists. He was swept by a longing to hit something.
Of course he’d tried. He’d said straight out that he didn’t read very well, no matter how hard he worked at it. But his father had heard his painful admission as a rebuff, an active youngster’s lack of interest in learning. In an effort to be kind—Sebastian knew it had been kindness and self-effacement and love—Papa had brushed his attempted explanations aside. He’d smiled, passed it off with a light rejoinder, and turned the conversation to Sebastian’s new hunter.
It had been partly a relief; Sebastian acknowledged that. His failure hadn’t been exposed. He’d gotten misunderstanding rather than contempt. They’d had a lively, comradely discussion of the horse’s good points. But it had put a limit on their relationship. Papa had never made such an offer again. Later, he’d found the intellectual kinship he’d been looking for with Randolph, and then to some extent with Alan, though their interests were different. Sebastian was shut out of those connections, and everyone thought it was by his own choice.
With a terrible sinking feeling, he wondered if it would be the same with Georgina. Would they come up against places where they could go no further, get no closer? That wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted…more…everything…a totality he didn’t know how to label.
Sebastian snorted, turning away from the rows of books. How his brothers would gape if they could see him now. He was bluff, hearty Sebastian. Not a thinker. Not deep like Randolph, or witty like Robert. Certainly not brilliant like Alan. Right at the opposite end of the brotherly spectrum from Alan, in fact. Spectrum—he only knew that word because of Alan and whatever it was he did with light. None of them understood that, Sebastian reminded himself. He shook his head. Even Nathaniel, ever kind and protective, would smile at the notion that he, the thickheaded soldier, was wrestling with such convoluted ideas.
“Devil take it,” Sebastian said aloud.
He would go riding. A good, hard gallop always swept the cobwebs from his brain. Indeed, he got his best ideas when he was on the move. His mind seemed to flow better then. And every member of the Gresham family acknowledged that he had no peer in the saddle. He could be proud of that. It was just the place to forget his troubles, for a little while at least.
Fifteen
What had gone wrong? Georgina wondered as she sat with her mother in the latter’s workroom. She’d faced down her father. She was still rather amazed about that. Papa was treating her with more respect as a result. The situation at Stane Castle had returned to its… Well, normal might not be the right word, but to its former state. Sebastian, however, had not. As the days passed and their wedding approached, the ease and freedom that had been developing between them had disappeared.
He’d…reverted. He was once again the handsome, urbane nobleman—the duke’s son—she’d first met in London. Admittedly, she’d been drawn to that man. He was attractive and assured; he could be dazzling. But she’d come to love the Sebastian who’d taken charge with calm authority while covered with mud in the ravine, who’d made her sisters laugh when they played lottery tickets, who kissed her with such searing passion that the mere memory made her dizzy.
The absence of that man had Georgina very worried. She’d tried to discover the reason, but he refused to admit that anything was wrong. Her questions seemed to simply slip off him, like rain running down a windowpane. Nothing could penetrate his polished manner. Which left Georgina imagining explanations that were far worse—had to be far worse—than reality. Her brain cycled back through early fears.
Had his visit given him a lasting distaste for her family? Was he was thinking derogatory thoughts about them behind his courteous facade? Or was it even more dire? What if he’d found, on closer acquaintance, that he didn’t really care for her? She’d learned about the man behind his society poses. What if he, having done the same with her, had been put off? She didn’t know what she’d do it if that turned out to be the answer. In fact, it couldn’t be. It wasn’t. She wouldn’t believe it.
“I think we should hold a dance when the Greshams arrive,” her mother said. “I shan’t call it a ball. We can’t muster enough couples in this neighborhood to merit the name. But we could manage something, don’t you think?”
“Um?”
“Are you listening, Georgina? You complained that I was not paying any heed to your wedding, and now when I do, you are off in the clouds somewhere.”
“Sorry, Mama.”
“Surely you haven’t changed your mind about marrying him, after all the trouble we’ve gone to?”
“No! Of course not.” The we was rather good, she thought. Mama’s part in making things right had been small.
“Well, what is it then?”
Georgina suppressed a sigh. It never failed. Her mother, usually oblivious to others’ feelings, grew acutely aware just when you didn’t want her to.
“Georgina?”
One of the dogs—because naturally they were surrounded by sleeping, scratching, panting pugs—came over and put a paw on Georgina’s foot, gazing up at her with dark, liquid eyes.
“You’re upsetting Nuala,” her mother said. “She’s very sensitive just now.”
“I’m sorry, Mama.” She reached down and patted the pug reassuringly. “You were saying?”
“That we should hold a dance when the Greshams arrive.”
“Sebastian loves to dance. He’s very good at it.” Their waltzes were among her favorite memories of their time in London.
“Good.” Her mother made a note on the page before her. “We just have to find enough young ladies for all those brothers.”
“Two are bringing their wives,” Georgina pointed out.
“Yes, dear, but they’ll need other partners as well. I suppose we’ll have to allow Hilda to dance.”
“Really?”
“I see no harm in it. Certainly nothing like what she might do if we forbid her to attend.”
The two women exchanged a speaking glance.
“It’s an informal family party,” the older woman added. “There’s no need for her or Emma to be officially out.”
“She’ll love it,” Georgina said. “They both will.”
This time they smiled at each other, in harmony at the thought of offering such a treat. “There’s not much other entertainment to offer such august visitors,” her mother went on then. “The shooting is very poor hereabouts, and Alfred keeps no coveys. But they’re only staying for a week. And there is the wedding. That’s a sort of entertainment in itself. And the reason they’re coming, of course. No doubt your father will insist on taking them to see his pet earthworks.”
Georgina imagined the duke and duchess on an expedition to view Offa’s Dyke. Who knew? Perhaps it would interest them. As long as the ride didn’t continue into the kind of session that had nearly ruined everything and sent Randolph running from the room.
“What does Sebastian say?”
“I beg your pardon, Mama?”
“Have you drifted off again? What’s the matter with you? I asked if you had spoken with Sebastian about what sorts of things his family likes to do.”
“Oh. No.”
Her mother sighed as if she’d been busily planning this occasion for months and Georgina was the laggard. “Perhaps that might be a good idea?”
All at once, Georgina had to find Sebastian. Something trembled inside her, and she couldn’t wait even a moment. She jumped up. “I’ll do that right now.”
“Georgina, I have a list of things yet to discuss.”
“We’ll do it later.” She hurried out of the room before Mama could reply.
Rain sheeted down outside, showing no signs of stopping. It had come in on a cold wind that was a taste of the approaching autumn. Yet even knowing that Sebastian must be indoors in such weather, Georgina had some difficulty finding him. At last, after inquiring among the servants, she traced him to the castle’s billiard room, a generally unused chamber in the most modern wing of the old pile. Her father didn’t care for the game, so he’d put the room to other uses.
Sebastian and Randolph were bent over the table, engaged in a game. They both straightened when she came in. “Didn’t realize you had a billiard room,” Sebastian commented.
She’d nearly forgotten about it herself, Georgina thought. They needed to consider such things before the Gresham party arrived. She’d gotten distracted from the duties of hospitality.
“Your butler mentioned it when we were talking of what to do in this filthy weather,” Randolph chimed in. “We cleared off some documents, but we placed them in the same order.” He gestured toward a sideboard stacked with papers. “I hope there’ll be no objection.”
“Papa never comes in here,” Georgina replied. “I daresay he’s forgotten all about those. He becomes fascinated by a topic and collects every scrap he can find on the subject; then he loses interest and moves on to another.”
“Ah.” Randolph nodded with the air of a tidy man who could not conceive of such disorganization.
Georgina sent silent signals in his direction, urging him to leave them alone.
They missed their mark. “He could hire a secretary to catalog all this,” Randolph said. “Some fresh university graduate who would be glad of the work, and very likely impressed by the materials as well.”
“I don’t think he cares to,” she replied in a discouraging tone. She tried to convey her ardent desire for him to go with a steady gaze, but Randolph wasn’t looking at her. He’d gone over to the sideboard and was glancing through the stacks of paper.
“Ah, care for a game?” Sebastian asked in the silence that followed.
“My word,” said Randolph. “Did you know that badgers eat several hundred earthworms every night?”
“I believe Papa has mentioned it,” Georgina answered in her least enthusiastic voice. This too failed to reach Randolph. She sighed. “Mama was wondering about entertaining your family,” she said to Sebastian. “What sorts of things they like to do.”
He shrugged. “They’re all fond of country pursuits.”
“Robert isn’t,” said Randolph, coming back to the billiard table. “He’s a creature of society drawing rooms. And James cares for nothing but ships.”
“Robert likes to ride and shoot,” replied Sebastian. “There’s no need to take any particular trouble.”
Georgina wondered whether she had the same idea of particular trouble as a duchess. She suspected not. At last, she caught Randolph’s eye and gave him a look that could have ignited the kindling in the hearthside woodbox.
“Oh!” he said, rather as if he’d been stuck with a hatpin.
“What is it?” Sebastian asked, eyeing his brother in surprise.
“Ah, I…” Randolph backed toward the door. “Some important letters to write. Must go begin at once.”
“But you said you had nothing to do this morning,” replied Sebastian.
“Forgot,” declared Randolph, and hurried out.
Sebastian watched him disappear through the doorway with a wry regret. For perhaps the first time in his life, he’d been glad of a chaperone. Randolph’s presence had kept him from having to think about his dilemma. Now he was back in the thick of it. He wanted to be open and honest with Georgina. He took pride in being that sort of man. And with an equally strong resolve, he didn’t want to expose his failings to her. Mostly, he wanted to forget he’d ever thought of the necessity.
She came closer. He caught a hint of the sweet scent of her perfume, which did intoxicating things to his senses. “Robert enjoys a game of billiards,” he said. “So does my father, come to that. They had a tally going, years ago, as to who’d won more often.”
Georgina looked at him as if she was gathering courage to charge a line of artillery. “Sebastian, you must tell me what’s wrong,” she said.
She’d asked before, and he’d fobbed her off. It made for short and stilted conversations, he thought sadly. “Randolph was beating me soundly,” he tried. “A rout, really.” He smiled, hoping to distract her.
It nearly worked. She paused and blinked. Her lips parted. Sh
e looked delectably kissable, and Sebastian was about to move in and do so when she said, “Really wrong. I know there’s something. I’m…rather well acquainted with you now. After everything.”
Memories of that everything tantalized and tormented him. How could forbidden actions—like making passionate love to a young lady on a bed of bracken—be so easy, while an unexceptional conversation—containing one damning admission, yes—could loom like a court martial? No one had ever told him this could be the case.
As the silence lengthened, Georgina stood straighter. “If you don’t wish to marry me any longer, you must tell me. I simply… I couldn’t bear it if I found out later that you’d gone through with the wedding because you’re too honorable to cry off.” Her voice broke on the final phrase.
“No!” exclaimed Sebastian, horrified. “How could you imagine…? I want desperately to marry you. I love you more than anything in the world.” The profound truth of the words struck as he spoke them. He’d loved others in his life—his family, some close friends—but never like this.
Georgina was gazing up at him, wide-eyed. It seemed to Sebastian that hope and doubt contended in those green depths. He hated to see the second. He had to quell it. “At first, when we met, it was just that you are so beautiful,” he explained.
“And rich,” she suggested.
Sebastian writhed a bit at her dry tone. This could not be one of the times when he said the wrong thing, or searched unsuccessfully for words and botched a conversation. “There were other heiresses,” he said. “I mean, they pop up now and then. Every season. But not like you.”
“How not?” she asked.
“The things you said, when I asked questions, were so wise and clever.” Sebastian suddenly realized that here was a confession he could make. “Ariel suggested it, you know.”
“Ariel…your brother’s wife? She suggested you offer for me?”