by Nichole Van
And why could men never be clear on this point?
She chewed on her lip, pondering. It seemed fairly marriage proposal-ish. What smacked more of marriage than a ‘permanent and lasting’ relationship? She would count this, she decided.
So that made five. Five marriage proposals.
“Georgiana, what do you say?” Shatner had that half-smile on his face. That look which said he was sure of her answer. Whatever the exact question had been, it obviously meant that he wanted to be more serious with her.
Georgiana paused, the words stuck in her throat.
Yesterday, she would have been ecstatic over such a declaration. But, now . . . how did she feel?
That enigmatic letter had caught her off-guard, the strong emotions it described. She didn’t know if she felt them for Shatner. She admired his intensity, his focus and passion, the work he did with his life.
But love? That had never been spoken between them.
Shatner noticed her hesitation and froze slightly, giving her a puzzled look.
“We’ve been seeing each other for months, Georgiana. I quite adore you and thought that you were coming to adore me too. Was I wrong?” His eyes pleaded with hers. He was so darling, so sincere.
She felt like a heel.
She stared at their hands, fingers twined together. Too many decisions.
“No . . . I mean . . . It’s just . . . I don’t know,” she said helplessly. “I adore you too, but I think I just need a little time to think it over. It’s a big decision, and there are . . . issues that I need to resolve once and for all.”
“Issues?” He looked at her blankly.
Poor, dear man. How could she ever tell him the full truth?
It’s not the idea of you I’m struggling with. It’s my two hundred year old past that concerns me.
Curse that silly letter with all its doubt-inducing allure. Kind, sweet Shatner deserved better than this.
Georgiana took a deep breath and gave him a trembling smile.
“Just give me a little time, Shatner. I’m sure I will come around.”
The tension in his body eased slightly, and he nodded confidently.
“Yes. Yes, I am sure you will.”
Chapter 2
On the road
Near Oxford
Oxfordshire
August 13, 1813
Time was running out.
Becoming an earl was supposed to solve problems, not create more.
Sebastian pondered this as his carriage rolled to a stop along the country lane. Out the window, he could see a hired post chaise teetering in the roadside ditch, its bright yellow paint splattered with mud. The postilion had managed to unhitch the horses and stood appraising the mired carriage.
A flash of pink muslin greeted Sebastian as he stepped down.
“Gracious, Lord Stratton! How fortuitous you have happened along.”
Sebastian watched Lady Ambrosia approach him, clutching a small white dog to her chest, blond curls bouncing under her jaunty hat.
His emotions see-sawed, bouncing back and forth. Irritation at her relentless persistence. Reluctant admiration for her clever maneuvering.
She gave a simpering smile meant to make her seem helpless and in distress. In need of his rescue.
She wasn’t.
“Indeed. What a remarkable coincidence.” Sebastian couldn’t help his ironic tone.
“M’lady,” said Captain Phillips, stepping down behind Sebastian, lips twitching in amusement.
Phillips had proved himself a loyal friend, acting as something of a man-of-business turned paid companion. There really should be a word for it, Sebastian mused. A gent who traveled and assisted another gent, particularly when faced with situations like this one.
Lady Ambrosia shifted the small dog in her arms, ensuring that both men could clearly see her thin pink muslin gown with its plunging neckline. Sebastian was not quite sure in what situation the gown would be considered proper. He was equally sure, however, travel along a quiet country lane was not one of them.
Of course, if gossip were to be believed, propriety had never been Lady Ambrosia’s strong suit.
Pretty and vivacious, she had married decidedly up in the world only to find herself recently widowed—Lord Ambrosia’s aged heart not being equal to the challenge of a young, scandalous wife. Widowhood should have had a sobering effect, but Lord Ambrosia’s money had quite rejuvenated her. She looked decidedly ten years younger, more debutante than widow.
“As you can see, we are quite in distress.” She gave a tittering laugh, gesturing toward the mired carriage, looking at Sebastian through her eyelashes. A few blond curls had been strategically dislodged and now tumbled about her shoulders.
Sebastian found himself reluctantly admiring her performance.
Though, really, he had hoped it would take her longer to find him. He and Phillips had left London stealthily enough, heading to Stratton Hall in Warwickshire.
Hoping to leave the chaos that had ensued in London behind them.
“I am so relieved to have a knight show up just in time to rescue me,” she continued, breathlessly. “I know Mr. Snickers is most relieved too. He was quite nearly shivering in his little tunic just before you arrived.”
She emphasized the point by giving the little dog a strangling kiss, allowing Sebastian to see that Mr. Snickers sported a pink knitted shirt the same exact shade as her frock.
“Yes,” Sebastian agreed, even more dryly. “It would be a tragedy of epic proportions if . . . Mr. Snickers were to quiver in his, uhm . . . tunic.”
Phillips covered his crack of laughter with a hasty cough.
Lady Ambrosia smiled brightly. Bending over, she set the dog down, purposefully giving both men a generous eyeful of her bosom in the process.
Subtly was also not one of her fortes.
Sebastian gestured to his coachman and footmen to help the postilion get the carriage back on the road. It looked to be sound, definitely more ‘purposefully driven’ into the mud than ‘accidentally fallen.’
“Bless you. I do hope I can find a way to properly express my thanks for your kind help.” Lady Ambrosia gushed as Mr. Snickers, blue tunic and all, toddled over to inspect Sebastian’s polished boots. “As I mentioned in London, I know oh-so-many eligible young ladies. I should dearly love to be your guide during this . . . difficult . . . time.”
Ah, yes. This again. Sebastian pasted on a smile.
“I thank you for your concern, Lady Ambrosia, but as I have said, I do believe I have the matter well in hand.”
He gave her a short bow and then stepped aside to confer with his men about the mired post chaise.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Phillips offering the lady his arm. “Come, my lady. While Stratton assists your men, allow me to regale you with tales of my service in Canada under General Brock.”
For her part, Lady Ambrosia gave Sebastian a longing look and then pasted a vapid smile on her face and took Phillips’ offered arm, obviously unhappy with the arrangement but helpless to do anything. Just as Phillips intended.
It was his assignment, after all. Block any and all ladies from getting too close to Sebastian. Phillips cheerfully referred to himself as Sebastian’s chaperone. Sans matron cap and smelling salts, of course.
They had just harnessed the horses to pull out the stuck chaise, when a jangle indicated the arrival of another carriage along the road. Sebastian turned in time to see a blur of muslin and bonnets approaching them.
He barely suppressed a groan. So much for leaving London surreptitiously. From the heads bobbing out of the carriage window, Sebastian identified Lady Michael Burbank and her brood of four daughters.
Four very well-connected, very silly, very unwed daughters.
As the younger son of a duke, Lord Michael Burbank’s family were received everywhere. But everyone knew that with his pockets-to-let and steep gambling debts chasing him at every turn, Lord Michael’s daughters needed to marry well. A
nd fast.
The carriage bore down upon them, a hurricane of lace and ribbon. With a sigh, Sebastian stepped back into the road. Phillips was at his side in an instant, being a most vigilant chaperone. Lady Ambrosia hovered off to the side with her dog.
“Lord Stratton, Captain Phillips. What a delight to see you!” Lady Michael said from out her window. She glanced down at Mr. Snickers and then up at the dog’s owner. “And Lady Ambrosia, naturally.”
The two ladies eyed each other like wary cats, hackles rising.
“Lady Michael.” Lady Ambrosia gave a stiff bow and simpering smile. “How lovely to see you and all your Miss M’s.” The bonneted heads of the Miss Burbanks bobbed inside the carriage.
Sebastian could never keep them straight, each girl being a copy of the next. Their names were even variations on a theme: Mica, Michelle, Micayla, Michaelina. Lord and Lady Michael had proved decidedly unimaginative when it came to child naming.
“Indeed.” Lady Michael gave Lady Ambrosia a scathing perusal. “What a lovely gown. I was unaware they made mourning gowns in pink nowadays.”
Sebastian saw Phillips biting back a laugh out of the corner of his eye.
Lady Ambrosia’s smile froze, eyes narrowing. “What brings you here, Lady Michael? Such a burden to find husbands for four daughters. Do you often scour the hedgerows of Oxfordshire for eligible men?”
Lady Michael’s gaze turned arctic. “At least I manage to keep my carriage on the roadway.”
Lady Ambrosia stiffened, causing Mr. Snickers to growl.
Before things could become more heated, Sebastian stepped forward. “How delightful to hear that your carriage is in excellent repair, Lady Michael. We shall not hinder your journey.” He moved to wave on the coachman.
Lady Michael’s eyes acquired a hint of desperation. “A moment, my lord. Perhaps you would be so kind as to settle a disagreement between Miss Michelle and Miss Mica.” She gestured toward two of her daughters inside the carriage. “Michelle thinks that lilies make the best subject for paper filigree, but Mica quite disagrees and insists that it is roses. What make you of this conundrum, my lord?”
As a specimen of absurd questions, it was truly superb. Inane and completely frivolous.
Sebastian forced himself to see the humor in the situation. The ladies hunting him down, all leaning toward him, waiting gleefully for his pronouncement on lilies versus roses.
It was either hilariously funny or terribly, terribly sad.
And, as with most aspects of life, Sebastian chose to laugh.
And so, he made a point of looking up at the sky as if thinking. “Lilies or roses? Are those my only choices? Personally, I have always been partial to lambs. What say you, Phillips?”
“Lambs? I am afraid I must disagree with you, my friend. For me, it has always been unicorns.” Phillips’ lips twitched.
Ah, he was truly the very best of friends.
Lady Michael looked back and forth between them, eyes wide.
“Lambs or unicorns?” she repeated faintly. And then rallying asked, “What would complement them more, lilies or roses?”
She was obviously not going down without a fight.
“Have you considered adding cherubs to your list of choices?” Phillips asked solicitously.
Sebastian just managed to stifle a chuckle.
Before long, all the ladies had piled out of the carriage and were fluttering around the roadside, shades of blue and yellow and pink.
It was utterly absurd.
By unspoken rule, Phillips engaged them in conversation while Sebastian directed the men in righting the yellow chaise.
“Bless you, Phillips,” Sebastian said as they resettled into his own carriage after sending both sets of women on their way. “Honestly, there is not enough money in Christendom to adequately thank you. It just keeps getting worse.”
“I predict that ladies will be falling out of trees next. Anything to ensnare you. You really do just need to get married, you know,” Phillips laughed good-naturedly.
Sebastian snorted. “I’m trying, my good man. I am most definitely trying.”
Phillips gave a grunt of agreement. “You have so little time left. Just under two months, right?”
Sebastian nodded in agreement. “A point the ladies all well know.”
Sebastian looked out of the carriage window, the trees passing slowly along. He had officially been earl for nearly eight months now. Which in and of itself was a good thing.
The problem, of course, lay in the old earl’s will.
Sebastian, along with the rest of aristocratic society, had been surprised to learn that the eccentric old earl had neglected to alter his will after the former Lord Harward married.
The will still required the heir to the earldom to marry before his twenty-seventh birthday or forfeit sixty thousand pounds: twenty thousand pounds each to three gooseberry societies—one the earl owned—the other two run by Sir Henry Stylles and Lord Blackwell respectively. He had never met either Sir Henry or Blackwell, but their devotion to gooseberries was only rivaled by their fierce competition with each other. They had apparently had a falling out several years previously over some gooseberry slight. Judging by the correspondence he had had with each man, the little fruit could inspire strong passions.
Sebastian had thought it all a merry joke until his solicitor pointed out the earldom could ill afford to lose sixty thousand pounds. Most of polite society considered Sebastian’s immediate marriage to be a necessity. As he would celebrate his twenty-seventh birthday on the eighth of October, time was running out.
A fact not lost on Lady Ambrosia, Lady Michael and other eager matchmaking mamas desperate to trap him into marriage. London had rapidly become intolerable with ladies following him everywhere, popping up at the most inopportune moments. Calling at odd hours of the day. Constantly accosting him during his rides in Hyde Park. One particularly enterprising young miss had even hidden herself in his carriage.
Thankfully Phillips had been there to help. As a cashiered officer, Phillips had no current ties to the army. Therefore, he accompanied Sebastian back to London and had proved himself a most useful friend ever since.
Phillips had proposed the ingenious solution of acting as Sebastian’s chaperone. Being caught alone with a young lady almost guaranteed a marriage. It was marry her or face her angry father/brother/guardian with pistols at dawn. Having already experienced enough violence for a lifetime, Sebastian wished to avoid either scenario. Phillips, always at his side, ensured that no young debutante managed to get Sebastian alone.
Besides, Sebastian had long ago decided who he wanted to marry. And no over-eager debutante would stand in his way.
He loved Miss Georgiana Knight, had always loved her and—now that he was an earl—was finally eligible to honorably court her.
From all reports, she was ill and, most likely, dying. She only cared for him as a brother.
But brotherly feelings aside, it gutted him to think of her wasting away without him at her side. Sick or no, he would relentlessly woo her, somehow persuade her to marry him and spend what little time they had together, ensuring that whatever life she had left was as comfortable as possible.
As far as plans went, it was an excellent one.
Now if he could only find the lady in question.
For someone supposedly dying of consumption, Georgiana Knight had proved remarkably agile at hiding from him.
As soon as he had cashiered out of the army and returned to London to assume the earldom, Sebastian had written James Knight, inquiring after his sister’s health and discreetly asking for permission to formally court her.
Arthur Knight had written in reply, informing Sebastian that his brother, James, had been killed in a carriage accident while on the road to visit their sick sister in Liverpool. Arthur welcomed Sebastian’s interest in his sister.
But, regretfully, her health is such that she cannot permit visitors.
Months passed. Becoming a new
earl had been overwhelming, so many things to learn, so many decisions to make, so many people suddenly looking to him. Sebastian quickly found himself drowning in duty, commanding a small army of servants and tenants, taking up his seat in the House of Lords. The demands on his time were such that he couldn’t drop everything and chase across England, tracking Georgiana down. Despite the fact that was all he wanted to do.
Fortunately, Phillips again saved the day, taking over the responsibility of sending out letters and inquiries. After several pointed letters back and forth with Arthur Knight—letters which took an inordinate amount of time going and coming—they had finally learned that Georgiana was in the care of a physician named Dr. Carson in Liverpool, a renowned specialist in the treatment of consumption.
Sebastian, himself, had written Dr. Carson separately, but the man had been circumspect, citing patient confidentiality. Phillips had then taken the extreme step of hiring a man to investigate the good doctor’s practice, but Phillips reported that their man had not been able to confirm or deny Georgiana’s presence in Liverpool. All the while, events managed to keep Sebastian in London: the ongoing war with Napoleon required his insight as a former soldier, legislation needed to be passed through Parliament, piles of legal papers demanded his attention.
At times, it felt as if Fate were standing in his way, preventing him from finding her. Everything he tried came to naught.
It was utterly maddening.
Everyone he questioned agreed Georgiana’s health had been failing for nearly two years now. She had lost weight and had developed a rattling cough. There was no suggestion from any quarter that she had left to cover an unwanted pregnancy or unequal marriage. Sebastian didn’t doubt she was genuinely ill.
Parliament had finally closed for the season, allowing Sebastian to escape London at last and devote all his energies to pursuing Georgiana in earnest.
“For the thousandth time, Phillips, it just makes no sense. Why does Knight resist telling me of Miss Knight’s exact whereabouts? Why the secrecy?” Sebastian gazed out the carriage window, fingers drumming his thigh in frustration.