And so did Georgiana. She was the one at fault, here. Now she was smiling at him as if it pleased her to see him angry. ‘Are you trying to decide how many of your rules have been broken?’ She reached into her reticule and removed a small notebook and pencil. ‘I think the answer is likely all of them. But it might help if you keep score on paper.’
‘Perhaps you should be the one keeping a tally. I know for a fact your husband forbade you from setting foot in this place.’
She shrugged. ‘I do not like it when he comes here, either. But what can be done about that?’
‘This is not the place to discuss it,’ he whispered. A few more words and everyone here would guess her identity and assume he had been cuckolded before the wedding cake had gone stale.
‘Where and when?’ she said, staring up at him without blinking. ‘I see no reason to go home just to talk to the walls of an empty house.’
‘But that is where you are going, all the same,’ he said, in the quiet voice he used when dealing with drunkards and hysterical courtesans. ‘Snyder, put this woman in a cab.’
Christian rose, ready to protect her. ‘She came with me.’
‘And she is leaving alone,’ Fred said, putting a hand on the insolent puppy’s shoulder and pushing him firmly back into his chair. ‘I want to know that she arrives safely where she has been sent.’
It had been a coarse and stupid thing to say, for it implied he trusted neither wife nor brother. Christian was giving him a militant glare, ready to add insult to insult. Without intending to, Fred had created just the situation he’d feared.
A feminine laugh cut the tension between them. ‘Christian, darling, remember what we spoke of? Now be a dear and collect my winnings. I will see you soon.’ Then she turned to Snyder and accepted his arm, allowing him to escort her from the room.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
It had been less than a week since the wedding and it was time to admit Fred’s plan for a scandal-free marriage was a total failure.
He might not have minded her visit to Vitium et Virtus if his wife had had the decency to lose her allowance like the flighty chit she pretended to be. Then, she might have returned home shamefaced and sorrowful, ready to come to heel and behave like a lady.
Instead, she returned with a reticule that contained all of her money and all of Christian’s as well. He’d have shouted at his brother for being a cloth-headed fool, if it had not been Fred’s own wife who had fleeced the boy. Instead, he’d behaved like a jealous lover and very nearly provoked a duel.
Since it was his fault that Georgiana had joined their family, he was responsible for the damage she caused. Instead of scolding him about the dangers of gambling, Fred had apologised for his temper and written Christian a cheque for the money he’d lost, promising to say no more about it.
By the time he had mended the quarrel and come home, Georgiana was asleep in her own bed and the door to the room was locked as it always was.
A visit to his parents’ home this morning had proved she was a bad influence on his sisters as well. Georgiana had encouraged them to buy Minerva novels and admitted that she was in the habit of hiding them in the cover of her prayer book so she might read them during chapel. Apparently, it was too late to forbid her to go to a prize fight. She had found her way into one before their marriage and described the action to Josephine in graphic detail.
Worst of all, she’d bought them a mynah bird that might have been the devil’s own servant judging by the words it knew. Though his sisters assumed it spoke nonsense, he’d been in Portugal long enough to know what a shout of ‘Ola, puta!’ meant. When the bird had greeted his mother with the phrase, he had snorted his tea through his nose.
He’d been leg-shackled to a disaster. But everywhere he went, from White’s to Vitium et Virtus, people were congratulating him. They patted him on the back, shook her hand, and bought drinks so they might toast to his good fortune at marrying such a thoroughly delightful girl.
Fred had no choice but to thank them and agree. But all the while, he feared that his smile, which should be the smug grin of a recently bedded groom, was actually the nervous rictus of a man trapped in a minefield.
And with each moment he spent with her, the chance increased that he might drag her to the floor and ravish her on the spot. Last night, as he’d raged at her before throwing her from the club, he’d caught himself looking down her bodice and wondering what it would be like to carry her, still masked, to an upstairs bedroom and take her against a bedpost. When he’d got home, he’d spent half the night listening through the wall to her even breathing and wondering what she’d worn to bed.
And this morning, before his call on his mother, he’d glanced in a shop window and seen something that would suit her so well he’d purchased it immediately. What sort of fool bought apology presents before the argument had even begun?
He had to get her out of the city. London might have space for well over a million people, but it could not hold both Georgiana and his sanity. He would ensconce her in his country house in Richmond and escape as soon as she was settled, giving her the separate arrangements she had wanted from the first.
There would be no discussion of the matter, or lectures for her to ignore, no more ultimatums or threats of punishment. He would give her no chance to disobey. When she came down to breakfast, he would tell her of his plans and order her back upstairs to pack her clothes. There would be pouting and foot-dragging, and more than a few childish tears. It would be just as it was with his mother and sisters, if they were denied even a day of the London Season. Half the gentlemen at the club this month were hiding from wives and daughters who had forced them to remain in the city until the last ball had ended.
But he was not some weak-willed, weak-kneed fellow who could be swayed on the subject. If she was not ready in an hour, he would throw her over his shoulder and make her leave here with nothing but the clothes on her back.
He heard her approach on the stairs, light, almost skipping as she came down to the breakfast room. She was whistling.
He winced. Weren’t women supposed to sing? All his sisters had been trained to do so. If Georgiana was capable of a solo, he had not heard it. Nor had he seen her drawing, or practising an instrument. But she was doing a creditable whistled version of a Mozart minuet, hopping down the last few steps in time to the end of a line. Her arrival on the landing seemed to jar her out of tune, which resulted in a laugh, and a series of bird whistles that ended in a slow, falling note as she arrived in the doorway to see him there.
‘Good morning,’ he said and glared at her.
After a moment of genuine surprise at his presence, she returned an equally dark, mocking frown. ‘And good morning to you, Major Challenger. What a surprise to find you here.’
‘It is my home,’ he reminded her.
‘And yet you chose to stay at Vitium et Virtus these last two nights,’ she replied as if she had reason to be incensed by it.
‘I belong there,’ he said. ‘You do not. In light of your scandalous visit last night, I have decided that we will leave for my house in Richmond this morning.’
Her frown disappeared instantly. But rather than turn to the confusion or irritation he’d been prepared for, it became the breathtaking smile that had dazzled half of London. ‘At last.’ She darted past him to grab a piece of toast from the rack on the table, slathering it with marmalade and taking a bite. ‘I will write a note to Father to tell him of my departure and will set Polly to packing immediately. If she cannot be done by the time the carriage is to set off, I will box her ears and leave directions for her to follow tomorrow.’ She turned and was halfway out the door before he could stop her.
‘Georgiana!’
She turned back to stare at him, tapping her foot as if impatient to be about her business.
‘You have no compla
ints to this?’ he asked, trying not to sound as confused as he felt.
She gave him an arch look, then shook her head, still chewing her breakfast. ‘None.’
‘I am not interfering with your schedule? You have no plans?’
‘Nothing I cannot send regrets for,’ she said, the picture of reason.
‘You would not prefer London?’
‘I have seen London,’ she said. ‘Every last inch of every house. But I have never seen your country home.’
‘It will not be very exciting,’ he reminded her.
She tipped her head to the side and took another bite.
‘There will be no balls,’ he prompted. ‘No shopping. Only the neighbours for company.’ There would be none of the things that smart, young girls claimed to want. Did she not understand?
She swallowed her toast. ‘Do you have a stream for fishing?’
‘A very little one,’ he admitted. ‘The trout are not large. But they are there.’
‘And woods?’ she pressed, stuffing the last bit of toast into her mouth and licking jam from her fingers.
He watched those fingers for a moment, and the tip of the pink tongue that lapped at them, then shook his head, frustrated to be caught in the same trap that had snared him before.
When he looked up, she was tapping her foot again, chewing furiously and waiting for his answer.
‘A wood,’ he reminded himself of the subject. ‘More of a copse, really. My land is less than ten acres, total. Not all of it has trees. It is not fit for hunting, but good enough for an afternoon stroll. It is just a simple country house and grounds.’ It was not as grand as his father’s nor likely hers.
‘But there are birds,’ she said with an approving nod. ‘And a meadow? Or is all of it a formal garden?’ She made a face as if to say this was not to her liking.
It surprised him. Judging by the parks in London, he’d always assumed that ladies liked nature subdued and in small quantities. ‘There are several acres of meadow,’ he assured her.
‘With wildflowers still in bloom,’ she said with a happy sigh.
He remembered her bouquet. ‘Yes.’
‘And insects, of course,’ she said. Once again, she surprised him by making no distasteful grimace. Instead, she seemed to approve of the fact.
‘Do you collect them?’ he asked.
‘You mean dead and on pins?’ She shuddered. ‘It has always seemed to me a barbarous way to treat one of God’s creatures, even small ones.’
‘You do not swat flies?’ he teased.
She snorted. ‘Of course I do, and midges as well. But once I have done, I do not save the corpse under glass as a trophy.’
‘Sometimes, for scientific purposes…’ he began.
‘If one wishes to study an animal, it is far more interesting to watch it go about its daily business. Ants, for example, are fascinating creatures. Have you ever dropped a lump of sugar on an ant hill? There is such joyful industry when they discover it.’
‘You find ants to be joyful?’ Now he was simply baffled.
She shrugged. ‘Perhaps not in the way butterflies seem to be. And they are another type of creature that does not deserve an early memorial beneath glass in the drawing room. Butterflies are nothing but pressed sadness when deprived of flight and energy.’
‘But ants…’ he reminded her.
‘Ants are good little Protestants,’ she replied. ‘If you look at them under a magnifying glass, you will find they have no faces to smile with. But that does not mean that they are not happy, in their own way. I am sure you would approve of the speed and organisation used to dismantle a sugar lump. It is positively military.’
‘Ants do have wars,’ he allowed.
She gave him a disappointed shake of her head for even knowing such a thing. ‘I prefer to imagine them filling their larders under the ground and contemplating their full stomachs with satisfaction.’
‘Happy ants,’ he said.
‘I suspect you have enough of them on ten acres to keep me busy for many afternoons to come. Now, if you will excuse me, I must get ready to depart.’
She reached past him for one more slice of toast before escaping to her room to call the maid.
* * *
George was ready to leave before the horses were fully harnessed. It was not because she cared for Mr Challenger’s opinion. Rather, she detested foolish delays. Let no one say the departure was postponed because the lady of the house was searching under the bed for lost ribbons. It also helped that she had begun her packing yesterday morning, after her conversation with Christian.
But that was not a thing she needed to share with her husband. He had been very angry of late and would be even angrier to discover that she had manipulated his rage to her own advantage.
But she was still unsure what she had done that actually bothered him so. She had spent time with his family. Was that not better than associating with strangers? She had played cards at his club. But she had not lost any money, nor had she partaken of any of the truly scandalous activities that had been happening all around them.
And she’d allowed him to kiss her. That could not be wrong, could it? Kissing was something husbands and wives were supposed to do. If how she felt afterwards was any indication, they were very good at doing it. If she was doing it wrong, the least he could do was tell her so, that she might improve.
After breakfast, he seemed to be in a better humour, giving her an approving nod at her speedy preparations. She had selected a small trunk of necessary clothing and saw that it was loaded on to the top of the carriage. The rest would follow with Polly, tomorrow.
When the coachman helped her up into the carriage, she was surprised to see Pootah, the bird, sitting in his brass cage on the seat beside her.
‘He is coming with us?’ she asked.
‘He is your responsibility,’ Frederick said, giving her another aloof look. ‘Until you can retrain him, he is not fit company for my sisters.’
‘You want me to make him talk?’ she asked.
‘I want you to make him stop,’ he corrected. ‘The ladies in my family may not understand, but it discommodes me to hear him shouting “whore” each time one of them enters the room.’
‘You mean…?’
‘Change his name,’ Frederick said firmly. ‘He must have belonged to a soldier, for he is speaking Portuguese. Some Hindi as well, I think. I will ask Oliver, when he returns to England, but I am not sure that we want to know what else he can say.’
‘Oh, dear.’ Why was it that, even when she tried to do the right thing, it all went wrong? ‘I did not mean anything by it,’ she said.
‘You could not have known,’ he agreed. ‘At least, I hope you did not.’ Was it her imagination, or was there a faint smile on his face as he turned away from her to look out the window? She could not be sure.
She glanced out of the window as well, watching the city disappear over the horizon. He had assured her that the journey to his house was a short one. Even stopping for lunch, it was less than a day’s ride into the country. Despite his early threats of a lack of entertainment, a trip back into town for shopping or society would be an easy one, even without his assistance.
Though she had not yet seen the property, she hoped for the best of both worlds. It would be not quite so remote as her father’s land. She would have to forgo some of the long and reckless rambling she had enjoyed growing up. But neither would it be quite so boring in the long winter months when she was forced to keep to the house. He likely had a library with books she had not yet read, and attics and cellars to explore. If the neighbours were not friendly already, she would labour industriously to make them so. When all else failed, there was London.
At the very least, it would keep him out of the way. Since he was still absorbed in
the running of his silly club, he could go back into town and enjoy himself, leaving her to her own devices. Perhaps she might not need to take her own rooms after all. She could cede him the town house and remain in the country all year.
When she thought about it, it was a surprise to find the idea so annoying. Though she might insist to herself that she did not want his company any more than she first had, neither did she want to be so easily disposed of. Considering how she’d felt after two days’ separation, the idea that he would be spending all his time at Vitium et Virtus, surrounded by naked courtesans and brandy bottles was positively infuriating.
Just then the carriage hit a bump, causing Mr Challenger’s coat-tail to shift and dump the contents of its pocket on to the floor. A rectangular leather box slid across the carriage, bumping the toe of her shoe and spilling its contents on to the boards.
Her throat tightened. It was a necklace of amethyst flowers, set in silver. It was so perfect that she had to curl her fingers into a fist to prevent reaching for it. Just because a thing was concealed in her husband’s coat did not mean that it was meant for her. More likely, he had bought it for some woman at the club and forgotten to give it away.
She braced herself for whatever denial might come, surprised to find tears pricking at her lashes. She blinked them away, refusing to do so much as reach for a handkerchief lest he notice her distress.
‘Well, this is awkward,’ he said, confirming her worst fears.
And why was it bothering her so? She was about to be free of him. He had said nothing about plans to remain in Richmond after delivering her there. Once he was gone, she would be completely alone, just as she’d wanted. But now that the moment had arrived, it did not content her. Although she could hardly expect him to love her, it seemed she wanted her husband to like her, at least a little.
She stared down at the jewels, afraid to look up, and took a breath. ‘Let us pretend that I did not see it.’ Then she closed her eyes and waited for him to return it to his pocket.
Convenient Bride for the Soldier & the Major Meets His Match & Secret Lessons With the Rake (9781488021718) Page 15