by Laura Martin
Marriage meant a house of her own, a life of her own, children in the near future. All things she wanted. The dreams of adventure, of seeing some of the world or meeting people outside her very limited social circle, were just that, dreams, nothing more.
‘Why don’t you have a little think,’ Lady Westchester said, patting her daughter on the arm, ‘and see if there is anyone suitable we could guide your father towards?’
‘I will.’
Georgina felt the tears well in her eyes unexpectedly. She didn’t want to disappoint her parents, didn’t want to bring scandal or disrepute to the family name. Her parents hadn’t asked much of her over the last few years, just that she conduct herself with poise and decorum. Now she had jeopardised her reputation it was time to accept her father’s wishes and find a husband.
‘Go see Caroline,’ her mother urged. ‘I’m sure she will be a help with your decision.’
It was a good idea and immediately Georgina felt a little more positive. No doubt Caroline would swiftly cut through the list of suitors, dismissing the unsuitable ones in that matter-of-fact way of hers.
* * *
‘I’ve never seen the appeal,’ Caroline said as she huddled in closer to Georgina, bringing a welcome increase in body heat.
They were walking arm in arm along the path that abutted the lake, watching the dozens of people braving the freezing temperatures to ice skate on the frozen surface.
‘It looks rather fun,’ Georgina protested. She’d never ice skated, not even in the seclusion of their Hampshire estate. There were certain things the daughter of an Earl just did not do. It did look to be rather fun, though.
‘Slipping and sliding across a thin layer of ice that could give way at any moment, plunging you into the freezing water. No, thank you.’
Georgina gazed at the couples, arm in arm, gliding across the ice. Some were confident and proficient, while others struggled to move, giggling at one another at their attempts.
‘I need to get married,’ Georgina said as they crossed the blue bridge.
‘We all need to get married.’
‘Now. Well, at least reasonably soon.’
‘What’s happened?’ Caroline asked, pausing and waiting for Georgina to turn to face her.
Caroline’s ignorance on the events of the night before was a good sign at least that the murmurings about her being found in a dubious position with Mr Robertson hadn’t spread too far or too fast.
‘Something happened last night, didn’t it?’ Caroline said, her voice full of excitement. ‘Tell me everything.’
‘There’s nothing to tell, not really. It was all a misunderstanding.’
‘With the delectable Mr Robertson?’
Georgina felt the blood rush to her cheeks and wished there was a way to stop it. She hadn’t been doing anything wrong, not really. Perhaps it had been ill advised to step outside with Mr Robertson and no one else, but she hadn’t engineered the scene on the bench. Or had any inkling of quite how peculiar she would feel when his fingers caressed the bottom of her foot. It was a foot, for heaven’s sake, not anything erotic, but still she’d felt a tingling spread through her whole body.
‘I had a stone in my shoe,’ she said, ‘and Mr Robertson merely led me to a bench so I could sort it out.’ She didn’t tell Caroline that they’d been found with her stockinged foot in his hands. ‘It was Mr Hemmingate who noticed us and he wasn’t about to be discreet.’
‘Probably hoping to shame you into marrying him,’ Caroline said in disgust. She shared Georgina’s view on Mr Hemmingate, who had been persistent in his suit even after Georgina had turned his proposal down a few months ago.
‘Mother is writing to Father,’ Georgina said, trying to keep her voice positive, ‘and she has urged me to consider who I might find acceptable as a husband. Father will then make arrangements.’
‘At least no one forced you to get engaged to Mr Robertson there and then,’ Caroline murmured.
It was true. Had Lady Winston not stepped in, there would have been the expectation that Mr Robertson at least ask for her hand in marriage, not that he’d probably know that with his strange views on etiquette. For a moment Georgina contemplated a marriage to Mr Robertson. Of course it could never happen, their stations in life were too far apart, and Mr Robertson could not be of use to her father in any shape or form, but still it was an interesting idea.
‘Lady Georgina, Miss Yaxley,’ a deep voice interrupted.
Georgina’s eyes widened and she took an involuntary step back.
‘May I introduce my dear friend, Mr George Fitzgerald.’
With her eyes fixed on the man she was meant to be keeping a good distance from, Georgina greeted Mr Fitzgerald.
‘Did you get my note, Mr Robertson?’ she asked. Perhaps he had been out when it was delivered.
‘Indeed. Very sensible proposition.’
She blinked, wondering how to phrase the next question. She couldn’t really come out and ask if he were just ignoring her request that he kept his distance, not with Caroline and Mr Fitzgerald there; it would be too blunt, too rude.
‘Unfortunately it seems London is a small city. Our paths are bound to cross at some point.’
It was true. Although she hadn’t expected it to be quite so soon.
‘Quite a coincidence, seeing you again so soon,’ she murmured, knowing she couldn’t accuse him of following her, but unable to completely ignore her suspicions.
Mr Robertson laid a hand gently on her arm and Georgina frowned as his friend, Mr Fitzgerald, smoothly offered his arm to Caroline and began to stroll away.
‘We can’t be seen together,’ she hissed, glancing around furtively.
‘Of course we can. We’re properly chaperoned.’ He motioned to their friends a few feet ahead of them.
‘It doesn’t matter.’ She swallowed her next words about him already ruining her life. Georgina wasn’t prone to dramatics and she wasn’t going to let Mr Robertson induce them in her now. ‘How did you know where I was going to be?’
‘This meeting is purely coincidence,’ he said calmly. Too calmly.
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘I thought it was rude to accuse a gentleman of lying,’ he said, amusement in his voice.
‘It is,’ she said bluntly, ‘but I find my usual manners have deserted me this afternoon.’
‘I wanted to apologise,’ Mr Robertson said, placing his free hand over hers where it rested on his arm. Even through her thick winter gloves she could feel the heat and strength coming off him.
She made the mistake of glancing up and being caught in the gaze from his penetrating blue eyes and suddenly she forgot why she was quite so angry. It only took her seconds to recover this time and quickly she looked away. She wasn’t some naïve young girl; she could withstand the suggestive gaze of an attractive man.
‘Thank you,’ she said stiffly.
‘I never meant to put you in an awkward situation.’
That much she believed. Out of all the men of her acquaintance, there were certainly a few who would try to lure her away to some secluded spot to compromise her, but Mr Robertson wasn’t one of them, she was sure. It had been a simple misunderstanding, a temporary lack of caution on her part as much as his. She shouldn’t expect him to understand all the rules of their society being so newly arrived from Australia; it had been her fault as much as his.
What she was annoyed about was his appearance here, after her firm request that they not see each other again. Not for one moment did she believe it was coincidence, although how he had been aware of her movements was a complete mystery.
‘My mother has asked my father to come to London,’ she said quietly. ‘To arrange my marriage.’
That news at least rendered the usually unflappable Mr Robertson speechless for a few seconds.
�
�Don’t worry, not to you,’ she said quickly.
‘Who?’
Georgina shrugged. That was the painful part. There was no one she wanted to marry, yet in a few weeks she would be a bride. It was entirely unfair, but it was what she had been brought up to expect, to have others make her decisions for her. All her life she’d had to suppress the independent streak she had running through her, to quietly accept that her life was not her own, but sometimes it was almost too difficult. She wanted the freedom to decide whether or not she married, or whether to take a spontaneous trip to an exotic location, or even just to choose not to socialise for a month or two. In short, she wanted the freedom of a man.
‘I don’t think it matters too much.’
‘And this is all because of last night?’
She nodded. ‘Lady Winston was very kind stepping in, but the rumours will still circulate. I need a husband, a respectable match, and to be married off as quickly as possible.’
‘That’s ridiculous.’
Sighing, she shook her head. ‘Not really. It’s the rules of the society we live in. I knew the rules, I knew the consequences for breaking them.’
‘You had a stone in your shoe.’
‘I should have returned to the music room and sorted it out discreetly there.’
He shook his head in disbelief. ‘All this for a stone.’
‘All this for being caught with a man who has no intention of marrying me, on my own in the dark,’ she corrected.
‘I can see why you were eager to keep me away.’
‘We cannot be seen together,’ she said, then raised her voice slightly. ‘Caroline,’ she called.
Caroline and Mr Fitzgerald paused and allowed them to catch up.
‘At least let me take you for a warm drink, properly chaperoned, of course. These temperatures are icy,’ Mr Robertson offered. ‘Then I promise to leave you alone.’
‘I really should be getting home,’ Georgina said. Some perverse part of her wanted to accept the offer, but enough damage had been done already.
‘There’s no harm in it if I’m there, too,’ Caroline murmured quietly.
‘I can’t,’ Georgina whispered back.
‘That sounds like a lovely idea, Mr Robertson,’ Caroline said cheerfully. ‘I know of a splendid little tea room just outside the park.’
* * *
Not much in the world made him feel guilty, but sitting and watching Lady Georgina’s expression as her friend recited name after name of possible marriage candidates certainly would pull on his conscience for the foreseeable future.
Who would have thought a simple stone in a shoe could cause so much trouble? He hadn’t given it a second thought when he’d led her to the bench in the garden, hadn’t even considered it might be inappropriate to take off her shoe and remove the offending pebble. Of course when his fingers had caressed her foot there had been a primal reaction inside him, but not one he’d ever shown outwardly.
‘Lord Williamson,’ Caroline suggested. ‘Rich, influential, he would certainly meet with your father’s approval. He is a little on the jowly side, but I’m told looks aren’t that important for many.’
Jowly? How old was this man?
‘He’s just become engaged to Miss Prentiss,’ Georgina said.
‘Mr Felixstow,’ Caroline continued without even taking a breath. ‘He is handsome, young and rich enough. I know there are those rumours...’
‘What rumours?’ Sam asked abruptly.
‘Just a little gossip,’ Caroline said, ‘that his future wife might need to be content sharing her clothes with her husband.’
It took all sorts in the world and Sam knew many men had strange proclivities, but he couldn’t imagine Georgina happy with a man who was more interested in her clothes than her. Then again, what did he know? They’d been acquainted for only a short while.
He glanced over at her, sipping her tea calmly as her friend reeled off name after name. To look at her you wouldn’t know the momentous decision she was being forced to make and it was all because of him.
‘Lord Rosenhall,’ Caroline suggested. ‘Now he’s quite a catch. War hero, rather nice to look at.’
‘He has an overbearing mother,’ Georgina murmured, ‘but I suppose that isn’t a good enough reason to rule him out.’
‘This is really how you’re going to choose a husband?’ Sam asked, incredulous.
‘What do you suggest?’ Lady Georgina turned to him. There was no aggression in her voice, just a calm interest.
‘Surely it is better to wait for someone you actually like, someone you feel a connection with.’
‘Is that what they do in Australia?’
Sam hesitated. In truth he didn’t know. The past ten years he’d spent focusing on building a life for himself, but that life hadn’t involved any serious relationships. Australia was a heavily male place. There were women, of course there were, but none he’d been particularly interested in. He knew in the past he had kept his distance from anyone he might feel an attachment for. Crawford had often told him it was the by-product of losing his family at such a young age and Sam supposed his friend was right. You couldn’t get hurt by anyone if you didn’t allow any relationships to form.
‘The best we can hope for in a husband is a man who is not too demanding and benignly uninterested in our everyday lives,’ Caroline said.
Sam had to suppress a smile. He liked Lady Georgina’s friend. She had a sly sense of humour and didn’t hold back from speaking her mind, even though he could imagine that it would often get her into trouble.
‘Lord Rosenhall could be a good option,’ Lady Georgina mused. ‘I’ll add him to the list.’
At that moment Fitzgerald returned to the table, a perplexed look on his face.
‘I need your assistance,’ he said jovially to Miss Yaxley. ‘Apparently there are sixteen different types of tea being served and it is vital I choose one of them. I asked the serving girl just to pick any and she looked horrified.’
Rising, Miss Yaxley followed Fitzgerald to the counter, leaving Sam alone with Lady Georgina for a few moments.
‘I feel terrible,’ he said.
‘Don’t. I had to get married one day. Perhaps it is for the best.’
‘Your father is coming to town to make the arrangements?’ he asked.
‘He’ll probably arrive in a couple of weeks. I’m sure it won’t take him long to organise a suitable husband. I’ll likely be married within two months.’
He should feel elated that the Earl was making the trip to London. It was what he wanted, to engineer a meeting with the old man, but the nagging sense of ruining an innocent young woman’s life was stopping him from celebrating the moment.
Trying to tell himself he hadn’t done anything wrong, he reasoned Lady Georgina was right. It wasn’t as though she would never get married, even without this little push. At the very worst he’d just expedited her nuptials.
With the guilt eating at him inside Sam tried to focus instead on his plans for revenge. Eighteen years he’d had to concoct a plan and now he was allowing himself to get distracted. All those years ago there had been rumours about the Earl getting a little too personal with the maids. On more than one occasion he’d seen his mother comforting a pretty young housemaid after one of these encounters. There had never been any hint of the Earl physically forcing himself on these women, but given his position of power it wasn’t like they could refuse, which was almost as bad.
His initial plan had been to track down some of the women the Earl had wronged over the years and convince them to go public with their stories. With enough gossip about it, the Earl’s reputation would be ruined. However, since returning to London Sam had discovered the Earl had political ambitions—he wanted to be the man who backed the next Prime Minister. Lord Westchester had built up his reputation as a morally upst
anding family man and this was the agenda of much of his political campaign. It raised the stakes—if Sam could show the Earl to be a hypocrite as well as a letch it would ruin his political ambitions alongside his reputation.
For all this to work he needed to get close to the Earl and find a much more recent affair, preferably one still ongoing, so the Earl wouldn’t be able to claim he was a reformed man.
Although ruining the Earl’s reputation would be nothing compared to the life the older man had ripped away from Sam, at least he would see that his actions had consequences, even years later.
Beside him Lady Georgina shifted and with a sideward glance he tried to push away the little voice that was telling him to reach out and touch her again. She was right; they probably shouldn’t even be seen in one another’s company, let alone with him pawing at her, but there was an irresistible pull whenever he looked at her.
Too long without a woman, he reasoned. And too much curiosity about a woman of Lady Georgina’s social class.
Reaching out under the table, he gently laid a hand on top of hers. She’d removed her gloves in the warmth of the tea shop so his fingers brushed against her bare skin. He watched as she stiffened, but noticed she did not pull away immediately.
‘We can’t,’ she whispered, her eyes coming up to meet his. There was hope in there, alongside a hint of defiance, but mostly just regret.
‘I know.’ Still he didn’t move, unable to pull his fingers away from their slow caress across the back of her hand. For the most part he didn’t care about the rules of society. He’d dragged himself from convict boy to wealthy man without the need to conform to the conventions the ton seemed to place so much emphasis on. He was keen, however, not to cause Lady Georgina any more distress than he had already, so he surreptitiously looked around to check no one was watching.
Only when Fitzgerald and Miss Yaxley came bustling back over, laughing over some comment from the serving girl, did he pull away, noting Lady Georgina’s heavy breathing and the beautiful flush to her cheeks.