Georgiana didn’t want to achieve greatness, and while she had grown accustomed to her title and privileges, she didn’t view marrying William as any great misfortune. Even if her parents had disowned her, she would still be titled, thanks to William’s viscounty, and his estate, while far less grand than her family one, would mean that Georgiana would never have anything to want for. Despite all the eligible men that arrived at Georgiana’s debutant ball her parents hosted – they’d received marriage offers for Georgiana’s hand from the moment she turned fifteen, though her parents had fiercely forbade such a match when she was so young – but William was different.
He didn’t seek to impress her with his prestige, or his status, or his money. He didn’t dismiss her as if she were a silly woman, with nothing to fill her brain but endless shopping trips, combined with countless meals where matters of triviality were frequently discussed as if they were a matter of the utmost importance.
He was the only man in the room who had really seemed interested in getting to know her. Instead of telling Georgiana why she would be happy with him, or why Georgiana would look great on his arm, or how their arrangement could vastly benefit Georgiana’s future, he asked her what her interests and hobbies were.
William asked her what she liked to do for fun, what she did when she was bored, how many languages she’d learnt, if she had seen a silent film, if she enjoyed riding horses and shooting pheasants.
Georgiana had opened up to him completely; she told him of her favourite authors – Austen, and the Bronte sisters, of course, as well as Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, though her mother found the idea scandalous and her father saw it as amusing; she discussed her favourite books (Persuasion, instead of everyone’s predictable favourite), and how she loved reading by the fireplace in the common library of Gresham manor. She talked about her horse, Amira, a beautiful chocolate-coloured Hanoverian, and how she loved riding her; and how her favourite companion was her gorgeous beagle, Daisy, who was currently being cared for back at William’s estate in Hereford. While Georgiana missed Daisy, she knew that Daisy would be doted on by the servants who were charged with her, and the other animals of the estate, with great care. Both her cook, Mrs Heijboer, and her Butler, Yates, doted on Daisy almost as much as she did. Daisy was likely sneaking chicken from Mrs Heijboer’s kitchen, though Mrs Heijboer would not mind. She sometimes even left a saucer of milk for Daisy, though William had begged that she did not.
Georgiana told him that, embarrassingly, she’d never seen a silent film. Her father didn’t quite approve, believing that there was something gaudy about actresses, who he frequently likened to painted ladies when sober, and succubus whores when he was not.
Then William had asked her about the things that made Georgiana Georgiana; he wondered about more than her superficial likes and dislikes.
He asked about her dreams, her hopes, her ambitions – as if she were equal to him, as if he believed her to be his equal.
Georgiana had never expected to meet a man that valued her independence or would even care to hear her thoughts without making disparaging remarks, as so many of her father’s friends did to their wives. Even Georgiana’s father, Albert, a decent man with a loving heart, had made the occasional disrespectful remark when he felt that Eleonora had spoken her mind too freely, a trait that she couldn’t help finding herself resenting. She understood that her father was a man of the times, but she found him often unyielding, even to his own detriment.
What was more important than William’s questions were the fact that he listened to her. It didn’t matter what she was talking about – whether it was as trivial as telling him why she loved Persuasion, or, in more pressing matters, how she relied on her lady’s maid, Jessop, or her younger sister, Celia, for support. She told him that she frequently felt empty, as if she were a vessel to provide passage for her parents, instead of a person who wanted to live her own life – a feeling that was confirmed when she announced her growing affections for William.
As the months wore on, she began writing him intimately, her letters becoming more and more personal: She cried about the fights she’d had with her parents, and she’d written her wrath in dark ink, furiously underlining that she couldn’t believe her parents believed her to be so wanton that she would surrender her identity, and her love, solely to follow their wishes. Georgiana wrote and told him that she felt like she was some pretty, exotic bird, trapped in a gilded cage, destined to sing songs on request for a splinter of a cracker. She lamented the curse of her supposed beauty, as it appeared to irrevocably damage her relationship with her elder sister, Eliana, who hadn’t forgiven her for shunning her “duties and responsibilities” in favour for “fleeting, romantic love of the trivial kind”. Georgiana didn’t believe she was as beautiful as half of England claimed; the only difference was that she looked different. She had fuller features; ones better suited for foreign, exotic women; the type of women gentlemen weren’t meant to like but were inevitably drawn to.
Whilst Eliana and Cecilia’s beauty was far more conventional; it was Georgiana’s differences that caused her to gain so much attention; she truly believed if she’d been born with more refined features, more like her sisters, she would not have received half the praise she’d been so freely granted.
With each letter, William had listened carefully, and had taken the time to reply, seemingly able to know when Georgiana needed advice, and when Georgiana needed someone to listen. He told her that, regardless of whether it included him, Georgiana’s future should be about what made her happy. William told her he loved her enough that it was irrelevant to him whether he was included; however, he could not bear to see her weep, especially if he were the cause.
Sometimes, he’d write to tell her of his dogs – of which he had three, all retrievers for hunting – and some of the amusing adventures they’d get into. His oldest dog, Oliver, was the most disobedient, and sometimes would refuse to leave the nearby pond bordering on William’s estate. His stories had painted comical images inside Georgiana’s head, as she pondered what a muddy Oliver might look like, while William stood on, yelling at his stubborn dog for refusing to leave the murky lake, whining at his owner in defiance.
William told her how he’d lost his father when he was young, to the sugar disease that seemed to target the rich more than the poor. He told her how he’d been inconsolable for weeks, and that his mother had a plate sent to his room every night for weeks, before he could bear to emerge.
It had been so long since his father’s untimely demise that William had confessed to her that he was ashamed of how he remembered so little of his father; how he could barely picture his face, let alone remember how his voice sounded. His mother had never re-married; as William was the sole inheritor of the Viscount Estate and title, his mother’s future was secured, and she seemed comfortable living the life of a rich widow. Elisabeta, who had married for convenience, money and position, had been saddened to lose her companion, but her heart remained unbroken. She lived with William, and he made sure she had suitable quarters, overlooking the pond that Oliver clearly adored, refusing any matches made to her name, even though she was beautiful enough to secure a new husband effortlessly, should she so desire. Georgiana felt herself quite drawn to her mother-in-law and did not mind at all that she had been given quarters to the West Wing of Hereford. She found she understood Elisabeta well; she’d come from Austria-Hungary, her parents supplying William’s grandfather with a healthy dowry. While Elisabeta and William’s father, Jameson, had had a comfortable relationship, they had led relatively separate lives after they had secured an heir for the estate.
Before her parents’ ball, no one had ever really wanted to know who Georgiana was before William.
They had all wanted her, of course, but they wanted her for all the wrong reasons, many of which suited their own agendas. They liked the idea of bagging London’s most beautiful suitable bride, who not only had riches but a title to her name. She was infamous for
her beauty, even among those that hadn’t seen her. Occasionally, she would meet people who would say, “You’re just as beautiful as the rumours said you were”, which made Georgiana uncomfortable. What was she supposed to say to that? And did they not think that there was more to her than her supposed beauty?
For some, it seemed to Georgiana, it was less about her, and more about being the winner, the man who could lay claim to everyone that he had won Georgiana’s hand.
William wanted her because he knew her, to her very core. He knew her, perhaps, better than she knew herself. He saw her as a person, not a prize worth winning or a possession worth happening.
It hadn’t been difficult falling in love with William; in fact, Georgiana had remembered falling for his cute smile, his brown eyes, his gruff, but warm, voice. She’d dropped her dance card – accidentally, she insisted, though there’d been no accident at all – and she’d opted, instead, to primarily dance the night with William. It had been terrible manners on Georgiana’s part – and both her parent had chastised her so, for showing such blatant favouritism, but Georgiana found she didn’t care, no matter how many men came up to interrupt them, claiming that they had signed Georgiana’s dance card. Georgiana would smile and shrug and say, “I’m sorry, but I must have dropped it. Perhaps we can share the next tune?” though she never kept her word, nor had she ever intended to do so. Had the men in question not been so desperate vying for Georgiana’s hand in marriage, they likely would have caused a scene about not receiving Georgiana’s attentions and affections. However, not a single man had raised his voice or caused a fuss; some had sulked, like children whose favourite toy had been hidden from them, but no one dared to criticise.
Georgiana did not care. She cared about the man that knew her; the one that saw her. The man who wasn’t sulking because he didn’t feel Georgiana was giving him the attention he “deserved”, but a man that was interested in learning about Georgiana, if she had the desire to share it with him. He was never forceful, never pushing himself into places he wasn’t wanted. William wasn’t aggressive, the way her father could sometimes be with her mother. He was patient, born without a temper; which was lucky, as Georgiana’s flared often.
Georgiana hopelessly, desperately, ardently, loved William, the only person (save her sister and lady’s maid) who was willing to listen to her, who knew every inch of her body, physically, mentally, intimately. Who loved her faults and flaws as much as her virtues and aspirations.
There wasn’t any amount of money that could purchase the happiness, the unconditional love she felt for William – and felt in return. He was always there, holding her, saving her, loving her.
He was everything she didn’t know she needed, and more.
“The honeymoon was better than I think either of us imagined,” Georgiana replied, playfully rubbing his inner leg underneath the table.
Cecilia smiled, though Albert and Eliana didn’t. George and Eleonora looked as if they were sitting back, biding their time until bickering once again emerged.
After a long pause, William decided to chance his luck: “I rather enjoyed seeing the pyramids, myself, though dear Georgiana found the hot rather exhausting, and much preferred being serenaded over the rivers of Venice.”
Albert looked at William and Georgiana wondered what he was currently thinking; would he make a disparaging remark, or would he accept that this, for better or worse, was now his son-in-law, however unhappy that made him?
Could he not accept his daughter’s happiness?
As the waiters passed around Beluga caviar, and Georgiana requested champagne to accompany it; something that seemed to excite the group, the silence following William’s statement lingered.
“It was a wonderful honeymoon, Papa,” Georgiana said, delicately sipping Heidsieck from the crystal glass. “I couldn’t have wished for a more magical few months. I’m certain I’m more deeply in love with him than my wedding day. With chance, you may even have another grandson on the way.”
William, his face filled with adoration, leaned down and quickly kissed her, despite Albert’s open disgust; Georgiana had hoped the words ‘grandson’ would mollify her father, but it appeared irrelevant after they’d dared display public affection.
“We’re in public,” he hissed. Georgiana wondered why people often stated the obvious, as if it were new information. As if Georgiana had missed all the other passengers sitting down in the half-full restaurant, or assumed the String Quartet was simply a melody playing from her suite.
“I’m sorry –”
“Papa, please. There’s plenty of honeymoon couples in here doing far worse.” She gestured to the numerous honeymoon couples, some of which were seated in intimate tables of two, tucked into small, candlelit corners. “If you disapprove so much, William and I will simply ask the maître d’, and he can organise us a different table. Otherwise, I’d very much like to enjoy dinner with everyone, without hearing your unsolicited and unwelcome opinions. It’s been three months since we were wed, Papa, and I think it’s time you reconciled with that fact. I’m tired of hearing how displeased you are; not only is it vexing, it’s cumbersome.”
A hushed silence fell over the group; while Georgiana was the only one in the family brave enough to go head-to-toe with their father, that didn’t mean that she skirted his wrath.
As Georgiana waited for her father’s blowback – perhaps he would taunt them, insisting that she and William retired to the suite that he had paid for, or worse, threatening renouncement again – her mother stepped in, resting her ungloved hand on her husband’s.
“Your daughter is right, Bertie. It’s time you made some peace with our daughter’s decision to marry for love, not for money or prestige. She is not for wanting, and neither are we. We are blessed with Eliana and George’s marriage, who already have an heir. And Georgiana’s right – she’s quite likely with child, and if she is not yet, she will be soon. You know how quickly I first conceived Eliana; the first always comes so easily. It’s time we supported our daughter’s happiness.”
“It’s funny how you didn’t make that same concession for me, Mama.” Eliana’s tone was sullen, bitter, though Georgiana believed that was Eliana’s nature. She had seldom heard a word out of her sister’s mouth for years now that wasn’t sullen, dripped in her bitter misery. Still, Georgiana yearned for her sister of old, when she had vowed to run away with that stable boy, though Georgiana could no longer remember his name. He was Spanish, or Italian, perhaps. His name was likely Juan or Marco; something Spanish or Italian. It didn’t matter; the boy had moved on soon after Eliana’s betrothal had been arranged.
“That was a different situation, Eliana, as you were well aware. And you had a choice in the matter; you informed us you were pleased with your match. You’ve told us many times of the happiness you’ve achieved with George. And you have little Primrose and Master Albert to fill your home with.”
“Stop putting words in my mouth, Georgie. I’m not half as pleased as I’d have been if I’d been given an actual choice. Something you always seem to forget. Why is it that you can’t remember that I wasn’t fond of George in the beginning? That love, for us, grew with time and work?”
“I’d like to remind my wife that I’m sitting across from her,” George broke in, causing Eliana to flush. George didn’t always understand what was happening, but his voice seemed broken from his wife’s insult.
“That’s not what I meant, George.”
“No; you’re just insisting how you wished you hadn’t married me.”
“That isn’t what I said, George,” snapped Eliana, her temper flaring. Georgiana noted that their marital woes – or rather, Eliana’s dramatic mood changes – had remained unchanged. “You’re just as bad as her. You’re putting words into my mouth!”
“A husband doesn’t want to hear that his wife had to grow and work to fall in love with him!”
“It was the same for you!”
“No, it wasn’t. You’ve jus
t been content with your story, you never stopped to consider that I –”
“Both of you, desist,” hissed Eleonora. “Your behaviour is deplorable, especially for two grown adults who are inheriting Gresham Estate and supporting two young babies. Eliana, if you cannot keep your moods in check, I will have to ask you to refrain from speaking; either that, or please, return to your room. We don’t wish to all have our dinner ruined because some of us –” she glared at both Albert and Eliana pointedly – “have lost all sense of civility. Now, as I am hoping you have decided you have finished with your delight of humiliating this family and me, everyone will enjoy their surroundings and remember, we aren’t common, nor are we Americans. We are dignified, and above all, we are reserved. We are British.”
“Yes, Mama,” Eliana replied, sulkily. Albert didn’t meet his wife’s eyes, appearing ashamed, and Georgiana was pleased to see that he looked abashed by his unchivalrous and ungenteel behaviour.
“I am sorry, Lady Eleonora,” George said mournfully; while the others looked abashed, Georgiana was certain only George felt remorseful. Eliana and Albert would likely repeat their behaviour before the night’s end, despite their vows. “You are quite right. That was unbecoming of me, and I apologise profusely.”
“Apology accepted, George,” Eleonora smiled adoringly at her son-in-law. At times, Georgiana felt that her mother loved George in a way she didn’t her own daughters; perhaps it was because she had always wanted a son and had not managed to bring one into the world.
Georgiana squeezed fresh lemon juice on her oysters, before swallowing them whole, delighting in the freshness of the seafood. Ravished – she hadn’t eaten much during the day, in preparation for the ten-to-fifteen course dinner she knew she was expected to attend – and, as a result, ordered the cream of barley, though she asked for the third course to be fillets of brill, something that she had noticed on the luncheon section of the menu, instead of the salmon mousseline, of which she was not a fan. The waiter was happy to oblige her – all requests, made within reason, could be asked of the head chef, Luigi Gatti, who Georgiana had a familiar relationship with, having dined in many of his restaurants before. In fact, part of her father’s reason for booking the restaurant for the entire journey wasn’t just his belief in being segregated from the “new money” generation he seemed to detest so (“They just don’t understand the way things are run! There’s too much ambition, without any real understanding that this is, quite simply, the way the genteel do things”), but because he enjoyed Gatti’s food so much that he requested Gatti cater for his twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.
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