An Elegant Façade (Hawthorne House Book #2)

by Kristi Ann Hunter

  Colin seemed to think those words were the secret to everything, though. Yesterday he and Ryland had been bent over the thick book, talking intently about some decision. They’d walked away, confident they’d come to the right conclusion.

  If this book could do that, she had to try.

  For the first time in memory, she prayed for a miracle.

  Her toes peeped out from beneath her skirt, glowing blue in the filtered sunlight. She edged her foot forward. The white she thought so bright and special looked bland as it crossed from the light to the shadow.

  Easing the next foot forward into the yellow brought the brilliance back.

  Another five tiny steps brought her to the stand. Yellow light made the book glow. A thick ribbon poked out between sections of pages in the back. A river of black swirled across the page, the letters blurring into a blob even more indiscernible than normal.

  It was proven, then. God considered her damaged. Unworthy. He wouldn’t even allow her to read the book He’d gifted to the others.

  A tear slid down her cheek and splashed onto the edge of stand.

  Tears. She swiped at her eyes, a glimmer of hope sparking once more. The extra blur was caused by tears.

  She looked toward the ceiling and blinked until the wetness left her eyes. Two deep breaths and she was ready to try again.

  A large E caught her eye, but the word was long and she couldn’t tell if it was complicated or she couldn’t see the right letters. Moving on, she picked a place on the facing page. The letters shifted and jumped, blurring together. She squinted and worked one small area at a time. It seemed to take hours but a few words finally managed to come through.

  All is vanity.

  It was certainly turning out that way in her life. Everything she’d done, all the plans she’d made had brought her nothing. Everything had failed. Could this book tell her why?

  A quick tug pulled the ribbon from the back of the book. She turned it sideways, laying the smooth edge along the words. Her breathing deepened as a few more letters slid into a semblance of order.

  Another edge. She needed another edge.

  She reached behind her and yanked at the knot of her sash, tearing at the ribbon until it finally fell free. Smoothing it across the page in front of her, she slid it down until only a single stream of letters marched across the page.

  Memories of her governess’s tired sighs and condescending explanations threatened to bring tears of frustration to the forefront again. But she also remembered Harriette’s gentle encouragement as they tried time and again to find a way to keep the words where they belonged. Her friend had cheered with every word Georgina managed to read, even when it took half an hour and left her with a headache that sent her to bed for the rest of the day.

  Georgina swallowed hard and pushed back her shoulders. She wasn’t five years old anymore. She could do this.

  He that loveth silver shall not be satisfied with silver; nor he that loveth abundance with increase . . .

  Her back ached from the amount of time spent hunched over the bookstand, but she wasn’t about to move. She struggled through the sentence, going back over the words twice until she was able to make the sentence flow in her head. Well, she wasn’t after money. Not directly.

  Aren’t you though?

  A sigh brushed through her lips as she brought one hand up to rub at the dull pain swelling behind her left ear. Yes, she wanted wealth and prestige and everything that came with it. But what she’d read did beg the question of what would be enough. Would she be satisfied if she weren’t the reigning patroness of Almack’s? How much popularity was required for her to feel safe?

  She flipped the page and set her ribbons in another section, curious if everything in the book was like that line. She didn’t remember the words being so admonishing when they were read on Sunday.

  For oftentimes also thine own heart knoweth that thou thyself likewise hast cursed others.

  Georgina swallowed. The dull ache spread across the back of her head and down her neck. It was true. She had belittled and used others for her own gain. But if this book did nothing but point out everything she did wrong, where was the hope? Reading it was agonizingly slow, though somewhat easier than the last book she’d tried. The ticking of the tall clock in the corner marked the long minutes.

  With nowhere else to turn, she pressed on.

  And I find more bitter than death the woman, whose heart is snares and nets . . .

  No. No, there had to be something good in here, something to make the effort worth it. Heart pounding, head aching, she flipped the page back again, wincing at the small rip her panicked, trembling hands created.

  They also that come after shall not rejoice in him. Surely this also is vanity and vexation of spirit.

  A stabbing pain that had nothing to do with the act of reading and everything to do with the words themselves shot through her body. Was that her fate? No matter what she did, would the approval she thought would protect her fade and falter? If this book was right, if they all believed what it said . . .

  “Georgina?”

  She wrapped her fingers around the edge of the stand, twisting to look at Colin over her shoulder. “Is this what you think?”

  He entered the room slowly. “What?”

  “Do you think this is true?” She wanted him to say no, willed him to say it. Because if he told her it wasn’t true, she’d believe him. Colin never lied to her. There was no one else she could say that about, not even her family.

  His throat jerked as he swallowed and he rubbed a hand along the back of his neck, but his eyes remained locked with hers. “Yes.”

  A laugh stumbled and jerked from her chest as she broke the connection and looked back at the book. “You haven’t even read it.”

  “If it’s in that book, I believe it.”

  He finished crossing the room and stood behind her, his heat surrounding her, but it went no deeper than her own skin. She had failed. Somehow this man had come to mean everything to her. His high opinion the one she craved more than any other.

  Perhaps because he saw the truth and found her worth saving.

  But apparently not worthy enough. “This is what you think of me, then.”

  His hand covered her left on the bookstand, and his right arm wrapped around her. The black of his sleeve cut through the yellow light as he shifted her ribbons out of the way. His breath stirred her hair as he read the passage over her shoulder. “I’ve never approved of your ambitions, Georgina. And I’ve never kept that a secret from you, even when I probably should have.”

  Anger sparked in her gut, and she grabbed at it, hanging on for dear life. Anything was better than this helplessness. “Oh, no you don’t.”

  She whirled, her head bumping his chin and sending them both dancing sideways in an attempt to regain their balance. His strong hand wrapped around her arm, anchoring her upright even as he scrambled for his own footing. “What on earth?” he mumbled.

  The tang of salt met her tongue as she licked her lips. When had she started crying again? “You don’t get to claim your precious honesty right now. How can you say you’ve been honest with me?” She pointed to the Bible. “God thinks I’m worthless. That my life is nothing but . . . but . . . dismal futility. Vanity of vanities and vexation of spirit. And you’ve pushed me. You went on and on about truth.”

  “Georgina, I—”

  “And I believed you.” She swiped a hand over her eyes. “But all along you felt the same way He does.” A painful hiccup sliced through her chest. “Do you love God? Griffith says he loves God more than anything. He says things like you say, about honesty and justice and kindness. So I have to know, Colin, do you love God like that?”

  He swallowed. She watched the movement of his throat as if she could see the words before he said them, could brace herself for the implications. “Yes, I do. More than anything. Sometimes I don’t do—”

  A sobbing laugh born of despair cut him off. “I can’t compet
e with that. I thought I could be different, that I could change and you would like me. But I can’t compete with God for your affection.”

  His eyes widened, and his hand relaxed its grip on her arm.

  “You . . .” His voice was dry and croaky. He coughed, clearing his throat. “You want my affections?”

  Years of hiding her frustrations kept Georgina’s groan locked in her throat, and she managed to slow her tears to a trickle. That was what he got from her speech? That she’d developed a tendre for him? “Is that all you heard?”

  He shook his head, still looking as if she’d rammed him in the stomach with her art easel. “I assure you I shall address the rest of it in a moment. But I want this settled first.”

  Her lips pressed together. She considered pushing past him and leaving the room. All the books were starting to close in, mocking her with their very existence. But he’d recovered enough to grip both her arms now.

  His might could keep her in the room, standing inches away and smelling the exciting blend of leather and soap, but he couldn’t make her speak.

  “Georgina, do you want my affection?” He took a deep breath, his chest expanding until the buttons on his waistcoat pulled. “Because I would sincerely like to earn yours.”

  Her gaze flew to his face, searching every nuance for the truth of his statement.

  His breath sighed across her face moments before his lips brushed against hers. She’d never been kissed before, had always been too busy thinking and planning to get caught up in the moment.

  She wasn’t thinking now.

  Warm hands slid up her arms to her neck as his lips returned, pressing a bit firmer this time. She brought her arms up, gripping handfuls of his coat, pressing her fists to his sides, afraid he’d leave before she was ready.

  His lips slid from hers like a shadow, leaving the ghost of their taste and the tingling memory of pleasure. He touched his forehead to hers.

  She looked up to meet his eyes but found them closed. The lashes looked more red than light brown when she was this close. It was a funny thing to fixate on, but she treasured the knowledge that she was one of the very few, if not the only one, who knew that about him.

  His eyes flicked open and caught her staring. “You look good in green.”

  She glanced down at her skirts to see them bathed in a patch of green light. A giggle broke free as she brought her eyes back to his. “You look good,” she whispered, “always.”

  There was no telling how long they stood there, drinking in each other’s souls, sharing the same breath. It felt like forever, but she nearly protested when he started to pull away.

  His hands slid to either side of her face, thumbs curving in to rub away the last of her tears. “Come here,” he whispered.

  Even as she told herself not to, she let him lead her back to the book. His arm lay across the back of her shoulders while his hand rubbed up and down her arm, drifting from sleeve to arm and back again. Each brush of his hand against her skin sent warmth to her toes.

  He slid her ribbons the rest of the way off the book and started to read.

  Chapter 30

  Thoughts of God should be the only thing in his mind. A soul hung in the balance here, after all. Something told him that if Georgina walked away from God this time, she wouldn’t turn back.

  And then where would he be?

  He shouldn’t have kissed her. He’d told himself he wouldn’t, that Lady Georgina Hawthorne wasn’t for him. But the moment he’d seen her fighting, struggling to make out the passage in the Bible, he’d been lost. That kind of determination commanded his respect, his admiration.

  Everything he knew about her went through his mind. She’d been as crafty, resourceful, and diligent as the best businessman he’d ever worked with. He had no defenses left. So it was either help God draw her to himself or walk away, because Colin had seen what happened when a man and wife wanted different things in life. He couldn’t see himself spending that life with anyone who didn’t share his faith, his views, his guiding principles.

  No matter how much he cared for her.

  “‘There is no new thing under the sun,’” he read aloud. Ecclesiastes. Of all the books, why did it have to be Ecclesiastes? Difficult for even the devout to take in.

  Georgina’s shoulders trembled against his arm. He felt her shaking against his side. How long had she been in here? Standing before the Bible, facing her greatest fear?

  He retrieved one of the discarded ribbons to mark his place in the Bible and scooped the book from the stand. With his arm firm around her shoulders, he led them to one of the sofas.

  The book fell open on his lap, the words of John staring up at him. He wished he could read from there, give her something easier to understand, something where the hope was considerably more obvious. But he couldn’t leave her thinking that a part of the Bible said she was ridiculous and worthless. She would always wonder.

  Georgina stayed under his arm, pressed to his side. She pulled her feet up onto the sofa and curled them under her skirt.

  Distracted by the image and the sensations running along his side, Colin fumbled to turn the pages back to where he’d been reading. And he read. He read until his voice started to crack and he prayed for stamina. God provided, though Colin almost choked on the rush of saliva that filled his mouth to wet his tongue.

  “‘Let us hear the conclusion of the whole matter,’” Colin read, thankful they were reaching the end of the book, but wondering if Georgina would be able to find meaning in it, praying she would see the point.

  “Fear God, and keep his commandments: for this is the whole duty of man. For God shall bring every work in judgment, with every secret thing, whether it be good, or whether it be evil.”

  Georgina sat up, putting at least half a foot between their bodies.

  Relief and regret warred in Colin’s heart.

  “That’s it, isn’t it?” Her eyes were wide, her voice touched with awe.

  He lifted his brow in inquiry but didn’t say anything. He was afraid to say anything.

  “That’s why you do things the way you do them. Why Griffith is so determined to do things a certain way, even when it’s family. Even though he’s a duke. Because no matter what we do, be it good or ill, it goes away and only God is left. And fearing God, following God is the whole duty of man. The only thing that remains.”

  A sob choked out of her, dampening the flame of hope that was flickering in his gut at her understanding.

  She took a shaky breath. “Which means everything I’ve done is folly just as He says. Everything.”

  She was seeking God. That could be enough, couldn’t it? It was going to have to be, because Colin didn’t think he could stay away from her any longer. He was drowning in the need to offer comfort, to tell her how wonderful she was without all the masks and machinations.

  “I have to go.” Georgina sprang to her feet. “I have to think.”

  She fled the room, a flurry of white bursting through the colored pattern that stretched along the floor.

  Colin watched the door for a long time. What he was looking for, he didn’t know. Georgina had spent the last thirteen years scheming and planning to achieve a single goal. To have that goal called into question would take time to acclimate to.

  If she ever did.

  He shouldn’t have kissed her. It wasn’t his first kiss. He’d given in to the turmoil of emotions and kissed Erika on that dock in Glasgow five years ago. She’d kissed him back in an effort to convince him to stay, begging him not to board the ship. Kissing Georgina had been different. In truth, the two events shouldn’t even share the same name.

  What would he do if she came downstairs tomorrow, still determined to make the best social match in order to protect herself and her reputation? Because there was no way he’d ever be that man. He clung to the edge of society by his fingernails. Marrying him would be a step down from spinsterhood.

  The solid weight of the Bible in his lap drew his atten
tion.

  He flipped the pages to Romans and settled in for the evening.

  Georgina wasn’t at breakfast the next morning. Not that she’d shown up for the morning meal any other day since coming to the country, but part of Colin had hoped to see her as a sign that things had changed overnight.

  He lingered in the breakfast room knowing he was being foolish. Eventually he pushed away from the table and went in search of Ryland. Whether for advice or distraction Colin didn’t know, but he couldn’t bear to be alone with his thoughts anymore, and if he didn’t do something soon, he’d track Georgina down wherever she was hiding.

  The duke was stacking boards near a half-finished paddock fence behind the stable. Worn boots, patched wool trousers, and white lawn shirt open at the throat made the man look as far from the aristocracy as possible.

  Colin raised his eyebrows as Ryland dropped three more white-painted boards on the pile. “Feeling nostalgic?”

  Ryland had worked more than one menial job in his years as a spy. It was probably hard to accept an idle life after living on the edge of danger for so long.

  “Physical labor can help clear the mind.” Ryland tapped his head with one finger.

  “Have something serious you need to think through?” Colin leaned against one of the completed sections of fence.

  “Not me.” Ryland scooped a hammer from the ground beside the pile of wood. A gentle toss sent it arcing in Colin’s direction. He scrambled to grab it before it connected with his midsection. “You.”

  There was no denying that Colin’s brain was working hard and going nowhere, like trying to row up a fast-moving stream. If swinging a hammer would help straighten things out, he was more than willing to pound a few nails.

  He draped his coat over the fence rail and jerked the knot out of his cravat. Hefting a board from the pile, he walked to the end of the completed sections. “I’ve never built a fence before.”

  “I’ve seen the ship you helped build. I think I can trust you with my paddock.” Ryland hauled another board and a bucket of nails.