Divine (House of Oak Book 2)

by Nichole Van

  Georgiana paused, chewing on her cheek. She hadn’t considered that possibility.

  Unbidden, she pictured herself walking into the parish churchyard.

  A crowd of men surround a simple wooden coffin, each wearing a black band around their upper arm. Arthur stands next to the vicar, trying to look desperately sad despite knowing that the coffin is filled with rocks instead of her lifeless body. Arthur raises his head and they lock eyes. She sees that instant when jubilant recognition sweeps him, joy which suddenly turns to alarm as his eyes drift down to her supposed coffin. The vicar raises his head and sees Georgiana as well and then gasps in horror. At that, everyone turns around. Someone cries “Ghost!” and points a shaking finger at her . . .

  “Georgie. Georgiana! C’mon. Stay with me.”—James snapped his fingers—“Stop imagining your own funeral. It would be ghastly, trust me. Not romantic at all.”

  Really? Because the way it was playing in her head was actually quite delicious . . .

  But she had enough sense not to say that to James.

  “I promise not to go near the churchyard until I’ve talked with Arthur. How does that sound?”

  James heaved an enormous sigh. The sound he made when exasperated.

  “What about Shatner? Are you giving up on him?”

  “No! Of course not.”

  “Do you love him?”

  She paused.

  “I don’t not love him. I like the idea of our life together.”

  James let out a heavy gust of air, shaking his head. “Georgie, in my experience, if you have to think about whether or not you love someone, you don’t love them. When you are truly in love, you know without a single glimmer of doubt.”

  She mulled the idea through briefly.

  “Is that always the case, James? I think that sometimes love just grows, and it takes a while to realize it.”

  He made a skeptical noise, shrugging. “Love can take a while to blossom, perhaps. But once you’re in the middle of it, you just know.”

  “Well, maybe the universe wants me to return to 1813 so I can understand my own heart. I clearly am in love in this letter. This might be how I come to realize the depth of my attachment to Shatner—”

  “I suppose.” James made a dismissive gesture. “So visit 1813 and then you come back and decide to marry some guy who heads off to Namibia and then—”

  “Pardon, James? I haven’t mentioned that Shatner is going to Namibia.”

  A long, drawn out silence.

  She stared at him on her phone screen, noting the gentle breeze buffeting his hair.

  “In fact, he just barely informed me of the matter.” She fought to keep her voice calm. “I cannot believe that you are monitoring Shatner. Have you hired someone to track him?”

  Another pause.

  “Maybe.” James groaned and hung his head.

  “James, how could you trust my judgment so little? I feel so . . . so betrayed.”

  He lifted his head and ran a hand through his hair again.

  “Heavens, Georgie. You’re overreacting. This has nothing to do with not trusting your judgment. I just want to make sure that everything is on the up and up with the man I am entrusting with my sister and my money.”

  Georgiana sucked in a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. James just cared for her. He had always been the very best of brothers, her closest friend and confidant. Even if that closeness drifted into over-protectiveness from time to time.

  “I am not fourteen years old anymore, James. You need to let me live my life.”

  James sighed. “I think that it is normal to want to go home, to return to the life you had before this time travel adventure. But if you are not able to come back to me—”

  “Of course, I know that is a risk, James. But I need to understand why the universe sent this letter to me. Who I am still linked to in the past—”

  “Georgiana, please, don’t go back.” He looked away. Swallowed. Brought his gaze back to her. “After Emme, you are the person I hold nearest to my heart. Please don’t leave me, Georgiana. I nearly lost you once. I don’t want to lose you again . . .” His voice trailed off, eyes bright.

  Georgiana blinked back the raw burning in her throat.

  “I’m so sorry, James. Trust me, just this once.”

  He let out a long breath of air. The pause lengthened.

  “Of course I trust you, Georgie,” he finally said, scrubbing his hand through his hair as he did. “Just, please, find a way to come back to me.”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “I will. I promise.”

  In the end, she never did call Shatner.

  Chapter 4

  The drawing room

  Haldon Manor

  Herefordshire

  August 23, 1813

  Birthday in minus 47 days

  “Really, Knight, this endless going around and around grows tiresome. I cannot believe you have no knowledge of your sister’s exact whereabouts,” Sebastian said, trying to keep frustration out of his voice. Failing to do so.

  Sebastian sat in Arthur Knight’s drawing room at Haldon Manor, the whitewashed interior gloomy from the rain pattering against the mullioned windows.

  Like thieves, Sebastian and Phillips had stolen from Stratton Hall in the dead of night, traveling quickly by horseback, telling no one of their destination. In so doing, he hoped the husband-hungry ladies would take a week or two to find him.

  He and Phillips had arrived at Haldon Manor the night before. Arthur Knight had been surprised to see them but had immediately recognized the advantage of having an earl under his roof. Arthur had insisted they stay at Haldon Manor instead of the Old Boar Inn in nearby Marfield. Though grateful for the hospitality, Sebastian needed Arthur to provide detailed answers to a few, very basic questions.

  Well, it was really only one question: Where is your sister?

  Sebastian had been surprised to find Arthur did not greatly resemble his brother or sister—his hair more sandy-brown than golden, his eyes decidedly gray instead of blue.

  Even more, Arthur seemed tensely wound. A far cry from Georgiana’s sunny smile and impulsive nature.

  Being at Haldon Manor was a painful juxtaposition of joy and heartache. There were reminders of Georgiana everywhere: the fine painting of flowers done in her hand, that work basket decorated with quilled lambs and roses she had done with her old governess, the small miniature portrait on the fireplace mantle. The entire house echoed her presence.

  Currently, he sat staring at a larger portrait of her on the drawing room wall. Obviously done several years previous, she sat serenely in front of a curtained window, embroidery in her lap. The artist had expertly captured the golden sheen of her hair and width of her smile, but the image lacked the vibrancy of her eyes, the energy of her presence.

  It was a hollow imitation of the real woman.

  Arthur sat across from him, straight and proper in his chair.

  “I should like a little honesty between us,” Sebastian continued. “I have made it abundantly clear that my intentions toward your sister are honorable. I fully intend to do everything in my power to persuade Miss Knight to be my countess. So I ask you again, where is she?”

  He didn’t even try to keep the irritation out of his voice. Speak firmly and expect results—being an army captain had taught him that.

  Arthur shifted slightly, as if the question made him uncomfortable.

  Normally, Sebastian was unflappable. Steady and pleasant in any situation. His good cheer had sustained his men through many a long march against Napoleon. They may have cursed his eternal optimism, but they leaned on it nonetheless.

  Unfortunately, dealing with Arthur Knight was slowly eroding all his charm reserves.

  “As I have said, she is still in Liverpool, and we pray Dr. Carson will affect a miraculous cure—”

  “Enough.” Sebastian waived his hand dismissively. “We both know Miss Knight is not in Liverpool. I have made careful inquiries, and I see n
o evidence that she is currently seeking treatment there, despite your assertions. Again, Knight, please. Have faith in my honor and discretion. I want what is best for your sister just as much as you do. Why hide her from me? I will care for her, regardless of her circumstances.”

  Arthur’s face tightened, his eyes widening slightly. Something flickered across his face. Fear? Worry?

  Arthur stood and walked to the window, looking out onto the dripping terrace, hands clasped behind his back, struggling against some emotion. He ran a ragged hand over his face and his shoulders slumped, as if making a decision. Shaking his head, he turned back around.

  “Unfortunately, the situation is not so simple, Stratton. You are correct. My sister is not in Liverpool. To be perfectly honest, I do not know exactly where she is.”

  Sebastian raised a skeptical eyebrow.

  “You have . . . lost your sister?” His tone dripped disbelief and censure.

  “Well—I—uhm . . .” Arthur nodded his head, dejected. “Yes.”

  “You have lost her? Like a misplaced glove?”

  Arthur at least had the decency to blush.

  Sebastian was not done. “Pardon me, but in my experience, knowing the whereabouts of one’s sister seems like the foremost obligation of a brother. I, myself, have five older sisters and have yet to lose one of them.”

  Arthur could only sigh in weary agreement, hand waving helplessly as he sank back into a chair.

  “She was so ill, you see. She had taken a terrible chill and was at death’s door. She hadn’t long to live. So . . . James took her to receive some . . . special treatment that only he knew about. He just whisked her away and then he himself was . . . uh . . . killed. So you see, I have had a devil of a time trying to sort it all out.”

  Arthur Knight was a terrible liar. Of that fact, Sebastian was sure.

  His story was a honeycomb of unanswered questions. Only his concern for Georgiana rang true.

  “My condolences on your brother’s death, by the way. I only met him once or twice, but he seemed a most amiable gentleman. I know he and Miss Knight were close. His death must have been a shock to her.”

  “Yes, it was, I am sure.”

  Arthur shifted, uncomfortably.

  “By everyone’s account, Mr. James Knight was killed last fall, over ten months ago. Your sister has been . . . lost . . . all this time?”

  Arthur nodded, staring sightlessly at the floor.

  “Again, Knight, it seems excessively careless. One might misplace a boot or even a book, but an entire sister? Some might call that downright criminal.”

  Arthur sighed and lifted his gaze to Sebastian’s. “Hopefully, you can see, Stratton, why I have been hesitant to bring it out into the open. It has been difficult.”

  Sebastian blinked. Difficult seemed a decided understatement.

  More like appalling. Horrifying.

  “When did you last hear from her?” Sebastian asked.

  Arthur’s shoulders slumped even more.

  “I haven’t,” he said glumly.

  “Not a word?”

  “Nothing. I haven’t a clue if she still breathes. She was . . . very ill last I saw her.” Arthur swallowed, shaking his head. “I . . . don’t know what to say. I would greatly welcome an alliance between our families. But Georgiana was at death’s door. I cannot lead you to hope that she will suddenly appear, recovered and whole. Very few escape the white death once it has such a hold.”

  Sebastian’s heart snagged, his breathing suddenly unbearably tight.

  He had known she was decidedly ill. All reports had been unanimous on that point. But, as he hadn’t heard anything definitive about her death, he had still held out hope.

  The word cut through him over and over.

  Hope. Hope. Hope.

  How long could he cling to the tiniest scraps of her?

  “Is there any clue, anything at all, in the late Mr. James Knight’s papers to indicate where he might have taken Miss Knight?”

  “No,” Arthur said, curtly. Perhaps too curtly. He was obviously still hiding something. “There is nothing, no help for it. Trust me, I have exhausted every avenue. It seems that our only option is to wait and hope.”

  Sebastian let out a shaky breath at the word again.

  Hope.

  He had nourished that beggar for so long. But with so little to sustain it and time running short, he wondered how long hope could last.

  The estate grounds

  Haldon Manor

  August 27, 1813

  Birthday in minus 43 days

  Four days later and Sebastian needed to make a decision.

  Arthur had provided no further information and seemed decidedly despondent over the situation. As her brother, he wanted to believe Georgiana was alive but had little hope of it.

  Today Sebastian had stolen out alone for an early morning ride across Haldon Manor’s fields. Should he wait here for another day or two, just to see if he could glean any more information?

  With sinking heart, Sebastian recognized there was most likely no more information to be had. The logical course would be to admit defeat and give up Georgiana for good. After so long, why wouldn’t she have contacted her brother if she were still alive?

  He had discussed options endlessly with Phillips the night before. Phillips was of the opinion that they should wait. There was time yet, and did Sebastian want to marry someone who wasn’t Georgiana?

  The answer to that was an emphatic no. She was the only woman he had ever wanted.

  But . . .

  The earldom was in need of those funds. And it was hardly sensible to endanger the livelihood of thousands because his heart ached for a woman who may or may not be alive. There was a greater good to consider here.

  He should probably just return to London and get on with finding himself a suitable bride. It was a dreadful prospect, but better to choose a bride himself than allow meddling women to do it for him.

  It had been a lovely reprieve to be tucked away at Haldon Manor, but any day now Sebastian anticipated women like Lady Michael and Lady Ambrosia to catch up with him. Somehow, despite all his efforts, they always managed to find him. As he rode, Sebastian kept glancing around, half-expecting women to come bursting from the trees at any minute.

  Which really put a damper on everything, as it was one of those rare summer days when all of England broke free of its regular gloom and burst out in glorious sun. Sunlit mist still swirled lightly on the ground, and the golden morning light turned lingering dew drops into a thousand dancing gems.

  Making the world fairy-kissed.

  Normally, Sebastian would have stopped to revel in the sheer unabashed exuberance of it all. Nature at her most unapologetic.

  He imagined Georgiana here as a girl, riding across these fields, gathering wildflowers in this meadow, just as she had in the meadow near Lyndenbrooke. He could almost hear her bright laughter.

  Forget-me-not.

  The ache in his chest burned with each breath. In and out.

  Would he ever be free of this obsession with her?

  Sebastian cut through the woodlands, passing the shuttered-up dower house—Duir Cottage according to the plaque beside the front door—and then continued out over the fields, turning back toward the gabled roof of Haldon Manor.

  Trying somehow to come to grips with saying goodbye to her. To chasing away all the hopes and dreams he had built.

  To reconstruct a world without Georgiana Knight in it.

  The prospect felt . . . overwhelming. Like severing a limb.

  Gah! He was becoming maudlin.

  Shaking his head to clear his increasingly morose meanderings, Sebastian topped a small rise.

  Lifted his head into the rising sun.

  And saw her.

  Standing like an apparition in the dissipating mist. Facing away from him. Golden hair a mass of curls pinned to her head, tendrils escaping and clinging to the back of her elegant neck.

  As if some divine an
gel had reached into the recesses of his heart and conjured his deepest longing.

  Sebastian closed his eyes, forcing his vision to clear. Surely it was just a trick of the light, a cruel heartbreaking impossibility. She would be gone when he opened his eyes.

  No.

  She was still there.

  He blinked.

  No. Still there.

  Tall and slender. Her body a suggestion of womanly curves. Arms wide, turned away from him toward the rising sun, her white muslin dress trailing in the damp grass behind her.

  Sebastian tried to swallow past the searing pain in his chest. Shook his head. But the vision—she—remained.

  He was being mawkish. It was impossible.

  She had been dying. Alone. In some unknown place.

  This was just some terrible coincidence. This blond woman would turn around, and he would realize his mistake.

  He had been thinking about her and so now saw her everywhere.

  That was all.

  But then she lifted her face higher to the sun, drew in a deep breath and laughed in delight.

  That bright cascade of sound. Bell-like and clear.

  The laugh which Sebastian would know anywhere. The sound that carried him through cannon-fire and the cries of men dying. The sound he would hear ringing through his ears as he drew his last breath.

  Impossible. It was just so utterly . . . It was . . .

  His throat tightened.

  Was she real? Was this a dream?

  And, if so, could it please never, ever end?

  Quietly dismounting and dropping his horse’s reins, Sebastian walked toward her, watching the warm sun illuminate the edges of her, tangle through her golden hair, skim the back of her elegant neck. The light filtered through the mist eddying across the surrounding field.

  Had he somehow conjured her? Had she truly died and was now returning as a ghost to haunt him?