The pencil scratching stopped. “I beg your pardon?”
“Does he actually speak like me?” Colin eased onto the bench next to her, curiosity blooming out of his shock. He’d never been the voice of someone’s conscience before. At least not someone else’s conscience.
“Let’s test it, shall we?” She angled her body toward his until their knees were touching on the bench. “I’ve realized that in the past few years I’ve grown distant from my family.”
She lifted her eyebrows at him. Was he supposed to respond? Just tell her what he thought she should do?
“Well . . . I think you have a great opportunity to renew that relationship here. You’re safe at the Abbey with no one but family. You wouldn’t have to try to protect yourself. You know I think you should tell them.”
He braced himself for the ire that usually came his way when he mentioned revealing her struggle.
Instead, she smiled at him and leaned forward to pluck a flower from the bush. “Very good.”
The bud twirled in her fingers as she spun the stem and ran her thumb along the edges of the petals. “I’ll be ruined, tossed aside like Lavinia, if my secret comes out.”
Colin shook his head. “By some, perhaps, but Lavinia possesses neither your rank nor your position. You’ve enough poise and family support to weather the repercussions well enough.”
That was true to an extent. She would be relegated to the edges of society, and every poetry reading or impromptu play would renew the cutting remarks of those who wished her harm or found pleasure in the dismay of others.
“Hmmm. Until someone had a poetry reading or wanted to put on a play and the cutting remarks started again.”
Her words were so very close to his own thoughts it was scary.
She fiddled with the petals, easing the flower open. “What do you think of Harriette?”
“She must be brilliant.” Truly she had to be to aid Georgina as much as she did. “You should make the woman your housekeeper or something. Her talents must go further than a mere lady’s maid.”
“The merits of the newspaper?”
That was something she’d pretended to talk to him about? “A good source of information on a large variety of things, but nothing beats discovering the information yourself. Especially about society.”
“The war.”
“I hope we win it.”
“My morning mug of chocolate?”
What went on in that head of hers? “I don’t quite understand it. Coffee is more invigorating, and tea is more soothing.”
“The fact that I dread going in to church every Sunday because I fear God will strike me down for daring to show my face after He clearly marked me as someone who is less than worthy.”
Air hissed through Colin’s teeth. She didn’t think that. She couldn’t think that. “You can’t be serious.”
She handed him the flower. Colin took it without thinking. “Yes. I believe the little man in my head is fairly accurate at guessing what you will say. Though I did expect a bit more scoffing at my morning chocolate.”
The polite smile, the shell he hated so very much, slid over her face. “Did you have a nice ride?”
Did he have a nice ride? The fool woman kicked him like an irate horse with the fact that she thought God hated her and she wanted to talk about his ride? He forced the words out from his muddled brain. “It was quite pleasant.”
“Excellent. I was thinking earlier about your suggestion of Eversly. If I’m going to consider a viscount, I think Cottingsworth might be a better choice. I had begun to wonder with Ashcombe if his popularity would last once he was no longer one of the most eligible bachelors of the ton. I fear the same of Eversly.”
Colin’s brain hurt from the sudden shift in demeanor, the altered conversation from unpardonably personal to the absurd bordering on inappropriate. She was returning to her practiced persona. What happened to the girl who mere moments ago was lamenting that she had grown away from her family? That she wanted to take her time here at the Abbey to let her guard down? The girl who’d revealed such a stunning misconception of God?
Even considering the fact that the topic of conversation was very personal, there was little of her in it beyond the superficial. Colin knew he could mention anything about one of the men in question and she would reply with facts about their worth as a suitor. Nothing would scratch below the surface appearance of a young girl obsessed with achieving a good marriage.
Never mind the fact that a marriage based on such a thing would crush what little of her soul remained unscathed by her own efforts to pound it into submission.
Nothing was worth this turmoil. When he saw Georgina, the real Georgina, he was very much afraid that he liked her. Possibly more than he should. To see her gain the light of day only to be shoved back into her perfect cage was killing him.
He looked from the flower in his hand to the drawing on her pad. They were the same flower, but only one was real. The fake one looked real. So real that he would probably imagine the softness of the petals if he were to reach out and stroke the paper. But it was colorless. A mere image of the real thing. It wouldn’t spin in his hand, taking on new life with every angle. It wouldn’t have the aroma or texture of the real thing.
But it also wouldn’t break. Considering the bloom in his hand, he took one bright petal between his fingers and broke it. A sharp, stinging waft of sour, hot odor hit his nose from the crushed petal. If he did the same to the drawing, it would do nothing but mar the paper.
The drawing was beautiful, requiring a skill that few possessed. But he much preferred the bloom in his hand, even with the damaged petal.
He reached over and tucked the bloom into Georgina’s hair. “I believe your sister is in the upstairs parlor. Perhaps now would be a good time to try your new habits.”
She pressed the sketchbook to her chest. “Yes. I suppose so.”
Her body remained on the bench for several moments until he couldn’t stand it anymore. He couldn’t deal with the colorless, flat Georgina, not when he knew the vibrant and real one existed.
He pushed up from the bench and began walking along the path toward the house. “I’ll see you at dinner.”
Ryland wouldn’t let him get by with skipping another meal now that there was company in the house. So, yes, he would see her at dinner, but he’d avoid her as much as possible the rest of the time. And as soon as he figured out somewhere to go, he’d leave.
He cast one more look at her before he went into the house, her slumped shoulders urging him to retrace his steps back to her side.
Who was he fooling? He wasn’t leaving this house until she did. She was quickly becoming his weakness. The thing he’d rashly sacrifice for in order to save. He still didn’t know, might never know, what his father had been trying to save when he put his company up as a bid that long ago night. But if his motivation was anything like what Colin felt when he looked at Georgina, it was a wonder Colin didn’t own the entire company.
“I would like to stay.”
Five heads swiveled in her direction, each portraying varying degrees of surprise. They’d been here four days. A ridiculously short trip by most standards, but long enough to provide a bit of a respite from the busyness of London. Griffith and Trent were making plans to return to Town in the morning. They had assumed Georgina would be going with them.
But she didn’t want to.
“Stay?” Griffith leaned forward, looking her up and down as if to ensure himself of her good health.
“Yes. I would like to stay.” She turned to Miranda. “With your approval, of course.”
Miranda’s mouth gaped a bit. Her teeth snapped together as she exchanged looks with Marshington. “Of course. We were planning a trip to Town in a couple of weeks. It would be no trouble to take you back then.” She fiddled with her skirt. “Assuming you wish to stay that long.”
Two more weeks away from London, away from parties and balls.
Away from potenti
al husbands.
Away from failure.
“Two weeks sounds perfect.”
Air suddenly seemed like a very precious commodity. Her heart tripped over itself in its rush to beat faster. She clasped her fingers together in an effort to hide their sudden shaking.
She was taking two weeks away from the goal that had driven everything she’d done for the past three years.
Because the voice in her head had told her she needed to.
Obviously, she was going insane.
Her siblings looked from her to each other, their heads snapping back and forth fast enough to do themselves damage. Georgina shifted in her seat to glance toward her right, where Colin and Marshington were sitting in a matched set of tufted club chairs. Marshington was watching Colin with raised eyebrows. But Colin was staring directly at her.
What was he thinking?
Even the little man in her head shrugged.
“That’s decided, then.” Griffith rubbed his hands together. “Trent and I will depart first thing in the morning.”
Conversation moved on, but Georgina sat quietly in her seat, happy to let the words float past her. The past four days had been difficult. She’d tried on more than one occasion to speak to Colin, but he’d immersed himself in Marshington’s reconstruction plans and, other than mealtime, was nowhere to be found.
She was rather surprised he hadn’t made excuses to miss this evening gathering in the drawing room. Perhaps he’d only attended because he thought she would be leaving.
Things hadn’t been going much better with her siblings. After years of perfecting the art of keeping her distance, attempts to be less guarded were falling victim to instinct. Before she could stop herself, she’d cut down every friendly overture they’d made. Frustration had birthed more than one set of tears in the past few days. Harriette had taken to visiting the laundry every day just to keep Georgina in clean handkerchiefs.
Perhaps, if she initiated the conversation, she wouldn’t reject her family out of habit.
“Have you plans for this next week, Miranda?” Georgina winced as she blurted out the question. She hadn’t the slightest idea what the rest of the group had been talking about, but she knew she’d interrupted them. “When you’re finished, of course.”
No one in London would believe her in possession of masterful social skills at the moment.
Miranda’s smile was tentative, her expression guarded. “I had plans to visit with all the tenants before we went back to Town.”
That sounded like a supremely dull way to spend a day, but Georgina would need to do that herself one day. Besides, she’d always done well with initial introductions. It was the relationships that followed she didn’t do as well with. “Excellent. May I join you?”
Once more, five stunned faces turned her direction.
“I should learn how to do things such as that. Whomever I marry will surely have estates and tenants.”
Unless you marry me.
Georgina nearly fell out of her chair. Her imaginary Colin hadn’t said much since she’d talked to the real Colin in the garden—and then he decided to speak up and say something like that? Marry Colin? What was she thinking? Sometimes she didn’t even like the man.
Yes, you do. That rush in your blood when you match wits isn’t anger—it’s excitement.
If she didn’t know better, she’d think the little man in her head was truly a different person. She couldn’t be coming up with those thoughts on her own.
“Of course.” Miranda’s voice reminded Georgina she had a real conversation going on. “I usually gather a selection of foodstuffs or other necessities to take with me.”
“Do we shop for them? I’m excellent at shopping.” Though unless the tenants wanted their hams trimmed in lace and wearing a spruced-up bonnet, none of her shopping skills were going to be particularly helpful.
“We’ll shop tomorrow, then.” The look on Miranda’s face was one Georgina couldn’t remember seeing before. A bit befuddled, a touch of happiness, and perhaps a little relief? Whatever made up the emotions and thoughts swirling across her sister’s face, one thing was clear—Miranda was looking at Georgina as if she’d never met her.
And maybe she hadn’t.
Because Georgina was beginning to wonder if she’d played a part for so long that she’d forgotten who she really was. Or if she’d ever even known.
Chapter 29
One week later Georgina didn’t feel any closer to her goal. She’d visited tenants and embarrassed Miranda thoroughly because she’d had no idea how to interact with them. She’d spent her life studying aristocrats and gentry. She could observe a dinner party for five minutes and then move through the room with utter grace and to her complete advantage.
Not so in an encounter with a farmer’s wife. After the third cottage, Miranda asked if Georgina wouldn’t be more comfortable waiting in the wagon.
It wasn’t much better back at the house. Harriette hadn’t packed all of Georgina’s art supplies, thinking a sketchbook and pencils would be sufficient for the trip. And it would have been if she had gone home when planned. But without her supplies, Georgina found herself more than a little bored at the country house. Particularly since Miranda enjoyed spending the late afternoon in the library.
After-dinner entertainment frequently involved reading to the group, which Georgina actually enjoyed, until they offered her a turn with the book. She turned down the offer in a way that effectively ended the evening each time. And each time she saw a sad look cross Colin’s face. Did he expect her to blurt it out in a public setting? Confessions were for intimate gatherings in bedchambers or private parlors. Not drawing rooms.
Only there wasn’t anyone in this drawing room except her sister, her brother-in-law, and a bothersome man who she wasn’t sure what to call but who already knew her secret anyway. It didn’t get much more intimate than that.
And yet, she couldn’t. Last night she’d turned her nose up at the book and stomped from the room, even though she desperately wanted to know what happened next in the story. She’d have to see if Harriette could sneak it up to the room later.
Her time at the Abbey was supposed to be healing, but instead she was nothing but exasperated. She never saw Colin except at meals and the occasional evening gathering. The entire city of London and she couldn’t stop stumbling across him, but now that they were in the same house, she couldn’t bump into him even when she tried.
And she had tried. She didn’t realize how much she missed his voice until she heard him read during the evenings.
She supposed things with Miranda weren’t all bad. They had spent a great deal of time poring over upholstery samples. Bonding time to be sure, but nothing more than a superficial discussion on the merits of brocade or wool.
Georgina was an utter failure.
No, you’re not.
Yes, I am. And she didn’t know what to do next. She was desperately afraid that she was on the verge of finding herself alone in the world, her only friend a maid she paid exorbitant sums of money to in order to ensure she stayed by Georgina’s side.
Who wanted to live like that?
Not her. And it scared her. Because if she didn’t want the life she was living, what was the alternative? Not to live it?
She began avoiding balconies. And her family. And even Harriette. She started walking in the woods instead of by the lake because the thoughts in her head terrified her.
For the first time in three years she considered what would come after the wedding. What would happen once she found the perfect man and married him in spite of her problem? How would she live? How would they live? There wasn’t a man alive who wouldn’t come to resent the fact that she could do nothing useful or helpful and that she hadn’t let him know before the wedding.
She couldn’t save herself by doing what she’d always done. It was going to take something new, something so out of character she couldn’t even come up with it on her own.
So she as
ked the man in her head.
And somehow she found herself in the library. A room she’d been in more in the past week than the rest of her life combined, but never by herself.
The room must have been a small chapel in the building’s previous life as an abbey. She understood now why Miranda had decorated the room in such light, subdued colors.
It was transformed by the afternoon sun.
Soaring stained-glass windows splashed jewels of colored light on every surface. Green, red, and purple streaked across the bookcases, while blue and orange swirled over a plump sofa.
In the middle of the room a Bible sat open on an ornate stand, bathed in a circle of golden yellow. Behind it rose another window, the shards of colored glass blending into a fractured picture of a beautiful sunrise.
She crossed the floor in slow steps, watching the brilliant colors creep across her white skirt. Deep green flowed into purple and then red. It felt as foreign as the walls of books surrounding her.
This was an unbelievably cork-brained idea. It was a book, like every other book in this room, and all it was going to do was make her feel alone and despondent. Who cared if the rest of her family believed it held the secret to incredible power and peace? It was written in a book, so it wasn’t meant for her.
God wasn’t meant for her.
But she was just desperate enough to beg Him to give her a chance.
She stopped at the edge of the yellow circle. The shadowed line created by the leading in the window formed a wall she couldn’t break through. What would she do if this didn’t work?
Miranda put a great deal of stock in the Bible. She refused to start her day without reading it. Griffith had spent his entire life claiming to never make a decision without looking at it. All Georgina knew, though, was what the bishop read each week before he droned on about how horrible people were. Georgina was well aware that God found her wanting. She didn’t need a church to tell her that.
She could see the book now, the pages open, far enough away that the sea of black ink would be indistinct to anyone. It made her a bit bolder, knowing that from where she was right then, no one had access to the words in that book.
An Elegant Façade (Hawthorne House Book #2) Page 30