“Good morning to you, Miss Duvall. Are you ready for our journey to London?” He stood so confident and stiff, she wondered if he ever relaxed. Did he take off his boots and sit by the hearth with his feet up? Or did he always stay ramrod straight?
“Not quite yet. I need to have some words with my cousin first.” She brushed past him to the drawing room, where Eloise had said he was working this morning.
“We do have an appointment and mustn’t be late.” Grandleigh followed close behind her.
“Don’t worry,” she said, but she imagined he did worry about things like being on time to an appointment. However, it didn’t matter, because if she had her way they wouldn’t be going anywhere together.
Georgia entered the drawing room, where Oliver was hunched over his desk with papers in hand, a grim line running across his brow. She’d interrupted his work. Not the best way to start. “Good morning, Oliver.”
He set down the papers and stood. “Good morning to you. Ah, and I see Grandleigh is here, as well. I understand you’ll be traveling to London this morning?”
“Yes…about that.” Georgia clutched her hands together. “There really is no need.”
Grandleigh cleared his throat, as though he was about to make some grand announcement, then said, “You are very much in need of some quality dresses. The party at Lady Laurel’s is a grand affair, even for a country location. The modiste I’ve arranged for you is able to make a dress for you in two days’ time. However, we do have much work to do between now and when the party begins.”
Georgia swung around to stare at him. “If you’ll allow me to speak with my cousin, I would like him to know that none of this is necessary.”
“By all means, go ahead.” Grandleigh opened his hand as though inviting her to a waltz.
She supposed it was a waltz of types, dancing between these two men, but she’d been in tighter situations than this before. Hadn’t she proven what she could accomplish when she set her mind to something as she rode Perseus in that race?
“Oliver”—she strode to the edge of his mahogany desk—“I don’t believe there’s any need for me to go to London or be tutored by Grandleigh. I already have someone in mind to marry.”
“You do?” Oliver’s shrewd gaze gave her the once-over, as though he knew she was up to something. Granted, she’d only lived with them for six months, but it was enough for him to be suspicious of her. “Well, go ahead. I’m anxious to hear about this gentleman.”
Georgia took a seat in a pinstriped wingback chair opposite the desk and gathered her nerve.
“So am I.” Grandleigh took a nearby seat, crossed his legs, and placed his hands on the top of his knee.
Georgia glowered at him, wanting to kick him off his perch. He was proving to be more of a nuisance than she’d anticipated, and with him here to interject at any time, there was no point in doing anything other than getting right to the point.
“I was out riding a fortnight ago, and I came across Sir Richard Hamilton. We spoke briefly. He seems a kind man, and in fact, he’s a widower. I could marry him.”
Oliver leaned forward, propped his elbows on the desk, and ran his hands through his hair, then said, “Good God, Georgia. The man is twice your age, if not more. I would have expected you to say his son, James, perhaps, but not Sir Richard.”
“James has been spending his time at their London estate, I believe,” Grandleigh interrupted. “But yes, I thought the same when she told me her scheme.”
“She told you about this?” Oliver inquired, locking his fingers together and gently placing his fists on the desk.
“Yes, just yesterday.” Grandleigh repositioned his hands on his knee.
“You don’t need to speak as though I’m not in the room.” Georgia placed her hands on the edge of Oliver’s desk. “I’m right here.” Then she leaned back—she must tread carefully if she was going to convince Oliver. “As I was saying, Sir Richard was riding, and so was I. We spoke of horses, and he seems to have a great interest in them. And his estate is within two miles. I’d be near Autumn Ridge, so I’d be able to be involved in racing as much as I currently am. He seems the perfect match for me.”
“Georgia,” Oliver said with a fatherly, entirely too formal tone. “If you were to mention an interest in his son, James, I might consider it, but his father, Sir Richard Hamilton? No. I couldn’t possibly agree to that. You’d likely not have children, and you’d likely be a widow in no time at all. I’ve heard he’s not well.”
Then the rumor was indeed true. Sir Richard was ill, and this fit perfectly into her plans.
“That’s exactly what I told her,” Grandleigh interjected once again. “I told her you’d say that.”
She couldn’t tamp down her indignation a second longer. She swiveled around to face Grandleigh. “This is none of your concern. It’s between my cousin and myself—my family. Not yours.”
He arched an exasperated eyebrow. “I beg to differ, because this is my family, too. You are speaking to my brother-in-law, after all, but go ahead, I’ll not intervene again.” Blowing out an aggravated breath, he shook his head in dismissal. “You are correct. This is between Marsdale and you.”
Damn his expressive eyebrows for distracting her at the most inopportune moments. If she could strangle him, she certainly would. “Oliver, as you are my only family, I want to be close to you and Arabella, and I want to be involved in racing. And a nearby estate would be perfect for me.”
“I couldn’t agree more. So let’s consider Sir Richard’s son, James, as a possible match for you.”
“That isn’t who I am interested in.” She lifted her chin. “No.”
“But you haven’t even met him.” Oliver straightened some of the papers on his desk, then peered up at her. “You want to marry Sir Richard because you believe he might die soon, don’t you?”
“That’s preposterous.” She gazed up, not wanting to maintain eye contact. “I wouldn’t want my husband to die.”
Oliver raised a brow. “Wouldn’t you?”
“By God, I’d never thought of that,” Grandleigh said in exasperation.
Georgia gripped the layers of her skirts and scowled at him, otherwise she might very well attack the man. “You said you’d not intervene, and there you just did.”
“I didn’t intervene,” Grandleigh said, looking suitably unabashed. “I merely expressed my outrage, or surprise, as it were.”
“I will not give my permission for you to marry Sir Richard,” Oliver said, barely repressed impatience etched across his features. “Even if he were here on bended knee right this very minute.” He stood and tucked his chair back in place behind the desk. “I want more for you, Georgia. Don’t you see that?”
“I see that you aren’t listening to me at all. I’m a stranger in a strange land, and this part of England is all that’s familiar to me. I want to live nearby. Otherwise, send me back to Virginia. That’s where I’d rather be anyway.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s where I belong.”
“You belong here. Your father wanted you to marry an English peer and live in the place of your mother’s birth. He was absolutely convinced of this, and I agree. I’m the only family you have left, and no one can look after you or care for you as much as we will until you’re married and have a husband to see to your needs.”
The brash honesty cut her deeply. She knew she was alone in this world. She didn’t need to be reminded of it. “I’m abiding by my father’s dying wish, I am, but I’m not going to live just anywhere in England. I want to be within a day’s ride of you and Arabella. Preferably much closer. And the Hamiltons border your estate.”
Oliver looked aptly melancholy. “All right then, we’ll arrange for you to meet James Hamilton. That’s the best I can offer you.”
“I don’t care about James Hamilton. I’ve never met him, but I’ve met his father, and he seems—”
“You are only interested in his father because he’s reported to be in ill hea
lth. I’ve seen through your scheme, Georgie.” Oliver’s face reddened. “I will not marry you off to an old man just so you can be a widow within however many years. I don’t want you to be alone.”
“I won’t be alone.” She wanted to stomp her feet—nothing about this was going well. “I’ll have you and Arabella and your child. I’ll have my family nearby, I’ll have horses to ride, and I’ll have the racing stables.”
“You exasperate me, Georgia. Truly, you do.” He stared down at the flowered carpet, his mind seemingly elsewhere. “I don’t have the energy to deal with this right now. That’s why I’ve asked for Will’s help. I should be introducing you to eligible men, but the truth is, the doctor was here yesterday, and Arabella must be on bed rest for the last month of her pregnancy. I have to stay here and attend to her.”
Georgia ran to Oliver’s side. Powerless to help, she wouldn’t have spoken to him about this marriage business if she’d known. “Of course you do. I didn’t know there was a problem. I must see her right away.”
“No, not now. She’s sleeping.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “She’ll be fine, but I’ve entrusted you into Will’s care. He’s arranged for you to see a dressmaker in London. Why not honor his efforts and set out for this appointment he’s made?”
Grandleigh approached them with fear in his eyes. “Are you certain she’s going to be all right?”
“Yes.” Oliver sounded tired. “She’s been doing too much. The doctor said she must rest is all.”
Georgia had a planned agenda, she knew what she wanted, but now wasn’t the time to burden her cousin. He clearly had enough on his mind worrying about his wife. From the looks of things, she was stuck with the Earl of Grandleigh. For now. Splendid. “All right, we’ll go to London today and purchase some new dresses.”
“Yes.” Grandleigh cleared his throat and rubbed a hand across his chin. “My carriage is ready whenever you are. Is your maid prepared to depart as well?”
“Yes. Eloise is ready.” She glanced around the room and knew she had to drop the issue of Sir Richard, but she wasn’t done with this, only done for now. “As am I.”
…
The carriage ride was quiet. Too quiet. The three of them sat together in the close quarters, but Georgia felt completely alone.
Grandleigh stared out the window, the tightening around his eyes noticeable. Clearly, he was troubled or perhaps only contemplative, she wasn’t sure. It’s not as if she’d known him long enough to discern his thoughts by a mere facial expression.
He had a small cut along the edge of his jaw, a barely noticeable scab, but she wanted to ask him what had happened. Perhaps he was unwilling to move his taut jaw to allow his valet better access to his neck. Even when she willed herself not to be, she was interested. Most likely he was concerned about his sister, as she was.
“You’ve a small cut on your face.” Finally, she gave in to her curiosity. “What happened?”
He moved his hand from his lap to his jaw. “A shaving mishap.”
“Does your valet shave you, or do you do it yourself?”
“I do it myself. Although most gentlemen use a valet, I didn’t have one for several years, so I grew accustomed to taking care of my personal needs. I was simply unaware Crixton sharpened my razors earlier this morning.”
“Why didn’t you have a valet for several years?” She heard herself ask the question without remembering that she wasn’t supposed to be interested in the Earl of Grandleigh.
Hesitation besmirched his countenance. “When my father was alive, he accumulated a large amount of debt. After his death, I had tough choices to make in order for Black Pine Hall to become solvent again. One of those choices was eliminating some of the staff positions. This included my valet, unfortunately, but it had to be done. I was sorry to see him leave, but I made sure he had good recommendations and received a comparable position elsewhere.”
“I see.” As far as Georgia knew, it was customary for all gentlemen to have a valet. How else were men of the peerage supposed to look so dapper? It must have been a difficult decision for Lord Grandleigh to go without one. But really, why did it matter? Nothing about him was supposed to matter to her.
Georgia glanced at his hands. He wasn’t wearing gloves, and she became curious again. Wasn’t he supposed to be wearing gloves? Were gloves something else he did without because of the debt his father incurred? “But you have a valet now so your financial troubles must be over, then?”
“When Marsdale married my sister he settled many of my family’s outstanding debts. He did this without my knowledge. I didn’t ask him to do it. I only wanted to make a good match for my sister, but he had other ideas.”
“Sounds like Oliver.” She clasped her gloved hands in her lap, wishing she could toss her gloves aside and not wear them like Grandleigh had done. She’d gotten somewhat used to wearing them—her father never forced them on her, but as convention would have it, she felt compelled to wear them in England. “He can be rather intrusive in one’s life.”
“Yes, he can. He means well. But yes, he’s meddlesome for certain.”
They finally agreed on something, but she had to remind herself that didn’t mean she had an ally in this marriage hunt of hers.
As much as she needed a friend, she couldn’t confess her worries to Arabella, who had enough activity in her life with her pregnancy, marriage, and managing a household. And being forced on bed rest, she didn’t need to listen to Georgia complaining about her unfortunate circumstances. Besides, being invited to a dinner party in the country wasn’t such a horrible fate, and as much as she wanted to hate Grandleigh for being complicit in Oliver’s scheme to marry her off, he was Arabella’s brother. No matter what kind of conspiracy she managed to cook up in her head about him, she was quite certain he wasn’t that bad.
Still, she wasn’t sure how to work herself out of her current predicament. She didn’t wish to marry without Oliver’s blessing. He was her only family member left in the world. Of course, she could elope and have access to her inheritance through her husband, but that was the crux of it. She’d never have access to her own funds, not really, unless she was a widow. And what good would her funds do her if Oliver was angry at her for disobeying him?
A huge reason she wanted access to those funds was to improve Oliver’s racing stable, but more than that, it was knowing she had financial freedom. She had to be near Autumn Ridge, otherwise how could she be involved in racing? Harland had taught her so much about training. He was gentle and yet demanded hard work. It was thrilling to see the young colts and fillies blossom into their potential under his steady guidance. She desperately wanted that life.
A life in England without horses and racing would be an empty life. Her future husband had to allow her these freedoms, otherwise, what would she have? A life indoors with needlepoint and letter writing? Just the thought of it put a physical lump in her throat.
As the carriage bumped along the road, Georgia stared out the window at the busy, cobbled streets of London. What if her future husband forced her to live in town? What could be a fate worse than that? She shivered.
She should have known Oliver would catch on to her plan to marry an older man in poor health. But he couldn’t know how determined she was, or that she would find a way to have access to her inheritance and eventually have the best racing stables in England.
They stopped in front of the dress shop, and Grandleigh reached for her hand as she stepped down from the carriage. With only the thin silk fabric of her gloves separating them, the warmth of his hand shocked her. Time stood still for a fraction of a second while his gaze locked with hers.
“I hope you’ll like Mrs. Marchant,” he said with a confident smile. She looked at his dark, thick hair, then the depths of his eyes, and beyond, the lashes framing them. She studied the crinkles around the outer edges and felt warmth not only on her hand where he held it, but up her neck and face as well.
“I’m sure I will.” She pu
lled her hand free lest she burn up from the heat of the touch. She found it interesting that it mattered to him whether she liked the dressmaker. Perhaps he was just being polite by making casual conversation. Surely that must be all there was to the remark. If he really cared about her, he’d help her convince Oliver that Sir Richard was a good match for her. But her opinion didn’t matter to either of them.
Probably approaching sixty, Mrs. Marchant was a matronly woman with gray hair and spectacles. She seemed thrilled to learn Georgia was cousin to the Earl of Marsdale and reaffirmed how quickly the dresses would be completed. “Come back in the afternoon,” she told Grandleigh. She rubbed her hands together and smiled. “We have much to accomplish, Miss Duvall.”
“I suppose,” Georgia said, resigned to her fate.
“I have a room in the back. Take off your dress so I can take your measurements.” Mrs. Marchant brushed a hand along Georgia’s forehead. “Such nice coloring and beautiful hair. I’m thinking warm colors for you. Yellow or green perhaps.”
Georgia removed her traveling clothes with Eloise’s help.
“You seem unhappy, yes,” Mrs. Marchant said more than asked.
“I suppose I am not as happy as I’d like.” Georgia shrugged out of her petticoats.
“You must stand up straighter. You have terrible posture. You won’t catch yourself a husband if you slouch.” Mrs. Marchant pulled back her shoulders. “Your maid can wait out front. We don’t require her assistance.”
Although gruff, the woman nodded to Eloise in encouragement to leave the oversize dressing room.
Mrs. Marchant guided Georgia to stand on a pedestal not so different from a mounting block. The idea of it made her miss Perseus, and she wanted to be back at the stable working with Harland in an environment she understood, not getting poked and prodded by a pushy seamstress.
“Why are you so unhappy? Most women love being fitted for new gowns. But you are, I sense…you are different.” Mrs. Marchant stood behind her and measured her waist.
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