by Mary Balogh
"Right after the harvest, we may begin," the old lady said, "and our dear Master Ralph will pay for it all. He hasn't told you, y'r ladyship? You don't know the half of the goodness of that young man, I'll bet my life on it. You have a treasure there, let me tell you. There's nobody like our earl. His pa always said there was no money even for repairs."
"Oh?" Georgiana said.
"Our Will fair worships him," Mrs. Harris said with a chuckle. "Poaching for rabbits he was when he broke his leg in the woods at Eastertime. His lordship was the one to find him. The poor little mite expected a good thrashing if he was lucky. Instead Master Ralph carried him to the big house, called a physician, had his bones set, sent word to my son, and kept the boy at the house for a whole week. In a feather bed, if you please! 'That's not the way to learn the boy what's right and wrong,' I says to him. And do you know what he said, y'r ladyship? He says, 'P'raps I'm the one what's learned something, Mrs. Harris. I've talked to your son,' he says, 'and I've told him that from now on anyone from the village can hunt in the woods for food, though not just for fun, mind,' he says. 'This land is as much yours as mine.' "
Mrs. Harris nodded sagely, her eyes on Georgiana. "I am certainly glad he has married himself a pretty young wife," she said.
Georgiana smiled. "I can see why Ralph keeps coming back for more of your cider," she said, looking down at her empty mug and plate. "Thank you, Mrs. Harris."
She was relieved to hear the returning noise of the group of children and to find that Ralph was in their midst. He took her away immediately afterward. They had been in the village for no longer than fifteen minutes. To Georgiana it had seemed more like fifteen hours.
CHAPTER 5
"How CAN You be so friendly with those people?" Georgiana asked when they had ridden out of earshot of the villagers. "How do you know what to say to them?"
Ralph looked across at her in some surprise. "But it is so easy," he said. "They are so open and so willing to share their possessions and themselves. I have always been most at ease with people of the lower classes. Don't you find that our own class is so hemmed in by rules and conventions that one is not free to be oneself? It is with my own class that I find myself stiff and tongue-tied."
"Pooh, there is no need," Georgiana said. "If I do not like a rule or a convention, I just do not follow it. There is nothing more simple."
Ralph laughed. "You are so very sweet, Georgiana," he said. "I thought you were very shy. But you are not entirely so, are you? You have the courage sometimes to speak what is on your mind. But I cannot believe you to be as bold as you pretend. And you need not pretend with me, you know. With me you must always be yourself. I like you as you are."
Heaven help the poor boy, Georgiana thought, if she should be herself at that moment. Yes, she would say, and how are we going to get over this nasty and humiliating hurdle of an unconsummated marriage? Let us talk about what happened, or did not happen, last night, Ralph. Let us talk about it and look at each other and try to overcome the embarrassment of the whole thing.
That is what she would have said. That is what Georgiana Burton would have said. Georgiana Middleton did not speak what was on her mind. She turned craven. She said, "Are you really going to rebuild the laborers' village, Ralph?"
The smile faded from his face. He flushed and looked extremely uncomfortable. "Did Mrs. Harris tell you that?" he asked. "I wish she had not. She seems to think there is something heroic about my having agreed to do so."
"And you do not think so?" Georgiana asked.
"Oh, no," he said. "I realize that you will see it as a great weakness in me to have said they may go ahead with the building."
"Why?" she asked. "Can you not afford the expense?"
"I imagine your papa has told you that I am extremely wealthy," Ralph said. "This will not reduce us to poverty, dear. Perhaps it will mean that we cannot do anything very extravagant, like spend a few months in Europe for the next year or so, but I do not wish to expose you to the dangers of Europe at present, anyway. It is just that you must think a really strong man would not allow himself to be affected by the feelings or the comfort of his servants."
"That is what Papa always says," she said, frowning slightly. "Your father too?"
"Oh, yes," he agreed. "But I am afraid I have had to accept the fact that I can never be strong and forceful as most people see those qualities."
"Do you wish to be, Ralph?"
He flashed her a grin. "No," he said, "I am afraid I do not. I would prefer to be myself, even though I will never be respected as my father was. I am sorry, Georgiana. You have married what many people must consider a poor excuse for a man."
"I have been under the impression in the last hour that many people respect and even love you, my lord of Chartleigh," she said.
"Does it count to be loved by the lower classes?" he asked with a smile.
"Well, does it?" she asked, challenge in her eyes.
He looked steadily back at her. "Yes, to me it does," he said. "You see, I love them. I am sorry, Georgiana. You will have a hard time making an acceptable nobleman out of me. You will learn to sympathize with my mother. It makes her very unhappy that she can scold and scold until I seem to agree with her but then go my own way anyway. She may be right. With all the education of my upbringing, I feel she is right. But I have too tender a conscience to live up to my upbringing. Perhaps too unmanly a conscience." He looked at her as if expecting a comment.
Georgiana opened her mouth but found that she did not know what she wished to say. Strength? Weakness? They were opposites, were they not? She had never worried over the differences between them. It had always been perfectly obvious to her who were the strong people and who were the weak. Ralph was crowding her head with new notions, and she was not at all sure that she liked his doing so. She was unaccustomed to thinking, and resentful of anyone who tried to make her do so. She liked a simple life, a life given over entirely to the amusement of self. It was not at all amusing to find herself trying to judge if Ralph were right or wrong in what he was doing, weak or strong.
"You are very quiet," Ralph said. They were riding along a grassy avenue between two lines of poplar trees. It was very peaceful. "Shall we dismount and walk for a while?"
He did not wait for her answer but swung himself from the saddle and came across to lift her down from hers. He did not immediately release his hold on her waist when she touched the ground.
"Do you feel very strange here?" he asked. "Are you homesick, Georgiana? I do sympathize with you. It does not seem entirely fair that after marriage it is the wife who has to leave her home and all its familiar faces. Will you think of me as a friend? Believe me, there is nothing you need be apprehensive about. I will make no demands on you. I will not force you into anything for which you are not ready. You may relax. And I will be very honored if you will talk to me and come to me with your loneliness and your troubles. Will you, dear?"
His face was full of tender concern, his eyes full of kindness when she looked up at him. She had felt the urge to laugh when he began, to tell him what an idiot he was making of himself, believing still that she was a tender, wilting little creature. Why was it, then, that his face suddenly swam before her eyes? Heavens, she was not crying again, was she? She must be sickening for something deadly. Smallpox? Did one become a watering pot when one was contracting smallpox?
His hands were resting very gently along the sides of her face. "Poor Georgiana," he said, "taken away from your family at such a young age. Once you get used to me, you will feel better, I promise. I shall take care of you."
He bent his head and kissed her softly on the lips. He did not draw her body against his. His eyes were twinkling when he lifted his head again. "There," he said. "Was not that a better kiss than the last? You were quite right, you know. I thought it much more effective."
"Oh, Ralph," she said in a voice that sounded despicably unsteady, "what a horrid beast I am!"
He laughed and turned away to
catch his horse's bridle before beginning to walk along the avenue, holding the hand of an unusually subdued Georgiana. She was feeling almost angry with him. His gentle kindness was proving to be a formidable weapon against her scorn. And if that was not a paradox, she did not know what was.
***
When they arrived home for a late luncheon, it was to find that Gloria still had not made her planned visit to the vicarage. The gardener had promised to make up a special bouquet for her of the late blooms in the garden and she had decided to wait. Georgiana eagerly agreed to accompany her. She needed to be away from the uncomfortable thoughts and feelings that Ralph's presence aroused in her.
Ralph too was almost glad at the prospect of an afternoon alone. Although this was his honeymoon and no one would expect him to exert himself about estate business, nevertheless he wished to spend some time learning more about the working of his lands. He had come to Chartleigh at Easter for that express purpose. His father had never made an effort to explain anything to the son who would succeed him and, indeed, it was doubtful that the late earl had known everything there was to know himself. Why pay servants if one had to constantly be overseeing their work? Ralph remembered his saying. Provided the income had not declined, he was satisfied.
But Ralph found that he could not feel the same way. He needed to understand his inheritance. The money he received from the lands, a handsome enough income, was not satisfying in itself. He wanted to know where the money came from, for what his land was used, how his workers were recompensed, what improvements, if any, could be made. He had spent his Easter holiday walking and riding over his land, talking to everyone who lived and worked on it, poring over the estate books.
And he had loved every moment. He was surprised. He had always dreamed of an academic career. He had never realized how close to the land his deepest feelings really were. He knew that he was peculiar. He even felt very self-conscious about admitting his interest to anyone outside Chartleigh. If he were a normal gentleman, he would not be concerned about such matters. He would be in London enjoying the Season, filling his days with card-playing, gossiping and shopping for new clothes, horses, and conveyances.
He did not now want to forget what he had learned in the spring. After his wife and his sister had left to make' their visit, he shut himself into the library and succeeded for a whole hour in concentrating on the books he had had his bailiff bring in for him during the morning.
It was a heroic achievement. He was very tired, having had a sleepless night. And it was very difficult to keep his mind from personal matters that were trying to claim his attention. Finally he pushed the books away with a sigh, got up from his desk, and stood at the window looking out along the poplar grove down which he and Georgiana had led their horses a few hours before.
This was the day after his wedding day. He should be in a state of ecstasy. He should be with his wife, inseparable from her during the days of their honeymoon. He had made such a disaster of the whole business. He loved Georgiana. He wanted to be with her, beginning a friendship with her. They were still virtual strangers. These days at Chartleigh should give them the perfect opportunity. But within a day of their marriage he had given her every reason to despise, even hate him. It said a great deal for the sweetness of her character that she had agreed to ride with him that morning and had behaved with such courtesy toward him.
He had made a dreadful ruin of their wedding night. He felt hot with embarrassment and humiliation at the memory. He had been unable to quieten her fears, unable to control his own desire long enough for her to relax in his arms and be ready for his invasion, and finally incapable of consummating the marriage. And he had left her like a small boy in disgrace, to hide his head in shame, instead of waiting until they were both ready to proceed. He hated to imagine the kind of distress in which he must have left Georgiana.
He was a man, in years anyway. And he had begun recently to feel confident in his own maturity and ability to run his life as he saw fit. Yet in this one area of his life he seemed quite incapable of acting like a man. His main responsibility the night before had been to reassure a shy and frightened bride, to make her his wife while giving her as little pain as possible. And he had failed miserably. There was little point, he supposed, in going over the facts yet again. He had thought of nothing else during the long night, which he had spent out-of-doors wandering around he knew not where. But he had still not come to any conclusions. What was to be done about the situation?
He had never really wanted any woman before, except perhaps that little barmaid for a few mad minutes. But he wanted Georgiana. He was thoroughly enchanted with her. Much of the time she seemed so shy that he wanted to fold her in his arms and protect her from all the threats of the world. But there were surprising little flashes of spirit that made him think that there was a very interesting character behind the shyness. He wanted to get to know that character and help her to develop it. And there was occasionally a directness about her that he found surprising. This morning, for example, she had not said whether she disapproved of his strange theories on estate management. But she had quite skillfully drawn from him an admission that he was satisfied with his own ideas, unconventional though they were. She had made him feel good about himself. She could be a good friend, he suspected.
Perhaps he could still cultivate her friendship. Perhaps it was not too late for that. She had been willing to ride and walk with him and had not avoided talking to him. But he had to admit that his desire for her went beyond the need for friendship. He felt a sexual desire for her. Her small, light figure made him feel protective and excited him. Yet she had a shapely body. Ralph's cheeks grew hot at the memory of her breasts pressing against his chest, her thighs soft against his. He could remember, though with some humiliation, how small and feminine she had felt beneath him on the bed.
He wanted her. He wanted to go to her again that night and make love to her in a manner that would erase her fears and perhaps bring pleasure to her as well as to himself. He wanted to be fully married to Georgiana. He wanted to put his seed inside her.
But he dared not. He had decided that the night before. He could not go to her tonight and risk the same outcome. He would not do that to her. He remembered unwillingly just how very frightened she had been, prattling away to him in bed, yet obviously not knowing what she said. And it was so out of character for Georgiana to prattle. He wondered if she was blaming herself for what had happened. Perhaps she thought she was not desirable enough to attract him. His behavior must have gone a long way to destroy any confidence in herself that she might have. If he repeated the failure tonight, he might destroy entirely her faith in her own femininity.
And he had hurt her. Ralph closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the cool pane of the window. God, he had hurt her. She had cried out to him that he was hurting her. He shuddered. Poor little girl! She deserved so much better. She deserved a husband who could at least make love to her without hurting her.
He had decided the night before that he must try to win her trust and her friendship. Perhaps in time, when they grew accustomed to each other, when they came to like each other, and to be relaxed in each other's presence, their relationship could take on a physical dimension. He would not hesitate to touch her: hold her hand sometimes, touch her cheek, even kiss her-that brief kiss this morning had been achingly sweet. But he would not rush her into deeper intimacies. Those would come when they were both ready for them-he hoped! He dreaded to think of what would happen if he found himself forever incapable of being a man for her.
***
Georgiana came bouncing into the house an hour later looking anything but the shy, homesick girl that Ralph pictured to himself. She threw her bonnet and gloves in the general direction of an oak chest that stood in the hallway, called to the butler to ask where his lordship was, and strode toward the library, calling over her shoulder for Gloria to follow her. She threw open the door to the library before the butler could scurry acr
oss the hallway to perform the honors for her.
"Ralph," she said as soon as she saw that he was indeed in the room. He was seated in a deep leather chair beside the fireplace, reading. "Such an afternoon! We met three of our neighbors: a Mrs. Horsley and her daughter and Lady Quentin. Gloria presented me and they declared their intention of calling on me tomorrow. They would have come today, they said, but they thought that perhaps we needed a day to rest after our journey from London. Was not that foolish? And we went into the milliner's shop, where there was a chip bonnet that looks just perfect on Gloria, but she would not buy it because she said she does not need more bonnets. You must persuade her to purchase it, Ralph. It was just made for her. The vicar's housekeeper made us some tea when we called. And you did not tell me that Gloria and the Reverend Boscome are betrothed. I was never more surprised in my life, especially to know that they have been betrothed for six years." She paused for breath.
Ralph had jumped up in surprise when his wife first entered the room without a knock or a footman to announce her arrival. He watched her and listened with growing enchantment as she spoke. Her face was alight, her eyes sparkling and her cheeks flushed from the walk. He was smiling by the time she paused.
"You seem to have enjoyed your afternoon," he said. "Hello, Gloria. Does that betrothal still exist, by the way? I thought it had been forgotten about a long time ago. I have heard no mention of it."
"It still exists, Ralph," his sister replied gravely. "It is just that with Papa dying last year and Mama being left alone while you were at university, it did not seem appropriate to talk about nuptials."
"But that is absurd now, is it not, Ralph?" Georgiana said, turning to him in appeal. "I have been telling Gloria so all the way home. Why, if we can get married little more than a year after the death of your papa, there is nothing improper about her and the Reverend Boscome doing the same. And it has been six years, Ralph! Why, Gloria will be too old to bear children if she waits any longer."