by Nina Mason
“Yes, when he called upon me several days ago.”
“Oh, Mama,” Georgie cried, distressed. “Why did you not tell me?”
“Because I promised I would not.”
“And now you have withdrawn your blessing?” Georgie asked, trembling.
“Yes.”
“May I know the reason?”
“His disinheritance, which I only learned of over breakfast.”
“But Mama,” Georgie said with tears in her eyes. “You must know I do not care about such things. His father has offered to buy him a Captain’s commission, which will provide us with sufficient income to live comfortably. And I will be allowed to travel with him … and see the world, as I’ve always wanted to do.”
“The money is not what troubles me, Georgie.” Her mother’s face was grave. “What troubles me is that he kept it from me when he asked for your hand … and also what provoked his father’s disownment. For I am acquainted enough with Lord Wingfield to know he would not have taken such a drastic step without good cause.”
“He did it because of me, Mama. So that Christian and I might marry.”
Her mother turned to her with a furrowed brow. “I’m afraid I do not follow your logic.”
The more Georgie said, the deeper she seemed to sink, as if trapped in quicksand. “Christian was entrapped by a fortune hunter. By Miss Stubbs, in fact, the one who tried to kill us both. To get rid of her, his father repealed his legacy.”
Mama, to Georgie’s dismay, looked unconvinced. “Is that the only reason?”
“If there were others, I am ignorant of them.”
Her mother turned back to the window and said nothing for several anguishing minutes. Then, looking Georgie’s way once more, she said, “I will speak to his father then, when we attend your play, and see what he has to say about all this.”
Georgie’s aching heart was beating hard. “And if you receive a satisfactory report, will you allow us to marry?”
“I will reconsider my decision,” her mother said dispassionately, “but for more than that, I make no promises.”
Biting her trembling lower lip, Georgie returned to her bedchamber. For a while, she worried about what Lord Wingfield might tell her mother. Had Christian, in fact, done something more terrible than attaching himself to Jinny Stubbs? And, if so, what could it be?
Unable to conjecture, she went to her reading chair and picked up the first volume of Glenarvon, which she’d brought with her from Greystone.
After several heart-wrenching pages, she decided it was not the book to read when her thoughts were so disturbed, she set the novel aside and took up her current needlework project: a embroidered border for a muslin day dress she’d grown too tall to wear. She adapted the pattern from the July 1815 edition of Ackerman’s Repository, a periodical that included everything from articles and agricultural reports to fashion plates and poetry.
She might not be as skilled with a needle as her mother and Louisa, but she could, nevertheless, execute a pattern well enough to wear or display without embarrassment. She worked on the piece—a complicated assemblage of feathers, flowers, and swirls—until she grew too restless and preoccupied to continue. With a heavy sigh, she set her hoop aside. Alas, nothing she tried could distract her thoughts from her troubles.
There had to be a way to induce her mother to consent to their marriage. But how? And if she could not be persuaded, what might they do? Run away together to Scotland the way Louisa and the Captain did? Although Georgie would rather not marry over an anvil—or against her mother’s wishes—she would do either before consenting to giving up Christian for good. For desperate grief would surely wring her heart if they were forced to separate.
She now deeply regretted her impulsive departure from Greystone. Had she not run away, her mother would not have learned of Christian’s disinheritance ... nor would he have come hither only to have Mama withdraw the consent she’d already given.
Why had he kept it a secret? The only explanation that made sense was that he had something planned. A romantic surprise of some sort that would have made the moment one she would remember forever. And now she had ruined it, and destroyed her own happiness in the process. Because she allowed her doubts and fears to get the better of her.
Oh, but there must be a way to remedy the situation short of eloping. If she could only speak to Lord Wingfield before her mother did, and beg him to give Christian a good report, Mama would have to reinstate her consent. Yes! That was the thing to do. Go back to Greystone, speak to Lord Wingfield, and try to see Christian while she was there.
In better spirits now that she had a plan, Georgie dressed herself for the trip in a white woolen walking dress, an eggplant-colored velvet pelisse, and a bonnet adorned with a spray of feathers and leaves. To this ensemble, she added a long scarf that could double as a wrap to ward off the ever-present drafts at Greystone Hall.
Hurrying downstairs, she told her mother she was expected at a rehearsal of the play before making her way toward the stable. This time, she decided to ride and, when her horse was saddled, she set off. Trotting part of the way, she made the frosty five-mile ride in just under an hour.
She knocked on the door and, when the butler answered, she asked if Lord Wingfield and Lt. Churchill were within.
“They are, Miss Bennet,” he said, regarding her strangely. Evidently, he was unaware she’d returned home earlier that morning.
“Good,” she said with a nervous smile. “Because I have come to see them both, although not at the same time.”
He opened the door wider, allowing her to enter. “To which of the gentleman shall I announce you first?”
“Lord Wingfield.”
“Very well, Miss Bennet. The parlor is free at present. I shall send him to you there.”
Georgie dispensed with her bonnet, pelisse, and gloves before making her way to the parlor. There was a fire going and she warmed her hands while she waited. When Christian’s father came in, his face lit up at the sight of her.
“Miss Bennet. How lovely to see you. I was under the impression you had departed our company before breakfast.”
“I did indeed, your lordship,” she admitted with a flush of shame. “But have just now returned … to speak to you about a matter which distresses me exceedingly.”
“In that case, my dear, I give you leave to unburden yourself.” Gesturing toward the grouping of furniture, he added, “Shall we not sit?”
They sat and Georgie took out her handkerchief, which she played with idly whilst considering how to phrase her entreaty. At length, she said, “Your lordship, your son and I became engaged several days ago. We have told no one because he wanted to keep it secret until he was ready to announce the good news.” Georgie swallowed and licked her lips. “In my foolishness, I convinced myself that he wanted to keep it quiet because he did not actually intend to marry me. That is why I left here today.” She paused for a breath. “Upon returning home, I let it slip that you disowned Christian and, thereafter, my mother took it into her head that he had done something terrible to earn your disfavor.” She sniffed and dabbed at her eyes. “Later, when he came to call, for reasons that remain unclear, Mama withdrew her consent, which, unbeknownst to me, she’d already given.”
When Georgie stopped talking, Lord Wingfield looked very grave indeed. Taking her hand, he said, “Dear Miss Bennet, I am to blame for your troubles. For I only pretended to disinherit Christian to be rid of that grasping harpy … as well as to teach him a lesson.”
Georgie, reeling with disbelief, asked in a trembling voice, “So, he is still your heir?”
“He is, my dear.”
There was a prolonged silence before she asked, “May I know what lesson you hoped to teach him?”
“Only to take stock of his life, face the consequences of his actions, and endeavor to change his ways.” Lord Wingfield gave her a fatherly smile. “He assured me only this morning that he has at last seen the light, owing largely to your
influence and that she-devil’s attempt to do harm to you both. From now on, he avowed, he will conduct himself in a manner worthy of you, as well as his legacy.”
Georgie was so elated she could scarcely draw breath. “Oh, Lord Wingfield. You have made me so happy. So very, very happy. But there is still the matter of my mother’s consent to be resolved. Will you write to her? How can I persuade you? For I am convinced your news would be better received coming from you than from me.”
“Of course, my dear.” He patted the hand he still held. “I will do anything necessary to ensure that you and Christian can marry as soon as may be.”
* * * *
When Mr. Murphy told Christian he was wanted in the parlor, he hoped he would find Georgie there; for he longed to tell her what he was prevented from saying by her mother’s rebuke.
Not that he faulted Lady Bennet for wanting to prevent her daughter from making a bad match. No, indeed. Were he in her slippers, he would have acted in a similar manner, to be sure.
Theirs, however, was not a bad match. It was, in fact, an excellent pairing. For not only were they deeply in love, he and Georgie understood one another. Neither of them was angelic. Far from it, in fact (and thank the Lord for small mercies). He, for one, had no wish to marry a saint. For life with such a one, he’d daresay, would grow dull very quickly.
Fortunately, Georgie’s good points far outweighed her flaws. She was loyal and devoted, for one thing—qualities he highly prized in a wife. For another, she was passionate and open-minded, which, if nothing else, would at least help keep their conjugal relations from growing stale too quickly.
If, of course, cruel fate ever allowed them to marry. For his vow to behave thereafter in a gentlemanly fashion precluded him from taking Georgie to bed ever again until she was his lawfully wedded wife.
The thought that she might never be such a one was a plague to his heart. Perhaps if he prayed very hard, God would show him mercy. Not that a black-hearted rogue like himself deserved the Lord’s compassion. Or Lady Bennet’s, for that matter. No, indeed. Much as it grieved him to own the truth, she was right to withdraw her consent.
Georgie deserved much better in a husband than the likes of him. Seen in that light, perhaps her mother’s interference could be perceived as a blessing. For her daughter, at least.
Having reached the parlor, Christian drew a deep breath to steady his conflicted emotions before entering. Inside, he did find Georgie, but not alone, as he hoped she would be. His father was with her, looking rather more pleased with himself than circumstances warranted. Georgie, too, Christian then noticed with perplexity, also looked exceedingly contented.
Was she unaware of what had passed of late between himself and her mother? She must be, he decided. Otherwise, she would surely be as aggrieved as was he.
Endeavoring to conceal his inward despair, he greeted them both as cordially as he was able. Father. Miss Bennet. Pray, which of you was it who summoned me here?”
“We both did,” his father answered.
Georgie came forward and offered him a hesitant smile along with her hand. “Your father has something to tell you, which I suspect you will be as happy to hear as was I.”
With a faltering smile of his own, Christian took her hand and allowed her to lead him to the sofa, sure his father intended only to repeat his earlier promise to pay his debts and purchase him a captain’s commission. So, imagine his astonishment when, upon being seated, Lord Wingfield revealed the whole of his plan concerning his legacy.
“You shall still inherit the Earldom and all that goes with it,” his father said with a suspicious twinkle in his eye, “provided you agree to meet two conditions.”
Caught in a vortex of mixed emotions, Christian could only manage to say, “And pray, what might those be?”
“Only that you keep your promise to conduct yourself in future in a manner befitting the Earl of Wingfield.”
“I shall, father.” Christian shot a glance toward Georgie, who was eying his father with curiosity mirroring his own. “You have my word as a gentleman.” Clearing his thickening throat, he quickly added, “And what, pray, is your second condition? For did you not say there were two?”
“I did indeed. And I do so hope you will not find my request too overbearing. It is just that … well, since your mother’s death, and your brother being away at school, I have been all alone at Wingfield Hall … and feeling the solitude acutely, I daresay. So, I only request … that is to say, I ask with all my heart, that you and Miss Bennet might consider coming to stay with me after you are wed.”
“You poor soul,” Georgie cried in a fit of compassion. “Of course we will come and live with you in Derbyshire.” Throwing a backward glance at Christian, she added, “Is that not so, darling?”
Clearing his throat once more, Christian gained his feet. “It would appear that you are both operating under the misapprehension that we are at liberty to wed at once. But, unhappily, such is not the case. For only this morning, Lady Bennet withdrew the consent she had formerly given and—”
“And if she reinstated her consent?” his father asked, cutting him off. “Would you then agree to make Wingfield Hall your home once more?”
“Yes, father,” Christian replied in earnest. “If she restores her consent, I will happily return to Wingfield Hall with my bride.” Turning to Georgie with a lump in his throat, he tacked on, “If Miss Bennet will have me, that is to say.”
Georgie beamed at him. “Of course I will have you, you silly man—if ever you should deign to propose to me properly.”
“I had every intention of doing just that,” he told her, “when I called earlier today at Craven Castle. And have every intention of finishing the job just as soon as your mother can be p-persuaded to restore her consent.”
“Have no fear on that score, dear boy,” his father jovially interjected. “For I am confident I can persuade her to see reason. That you will still inherit my title and fortune, I’ll wager, will be no small inducement.”
Claiming the seat beside Georgie, Christian took both her hands in his and, meeting her gaze, said with a full heart, “Dearest … I-I would ask you now, truly I would, had I not vowed to conduct myself as a gentleman from this day forward. But despite my father’s confidence in his powers of persuasion, I cannot in good conscience propose to you until I have attained your mother’s consent. I hope you understand, and will forgive me this, and all my past transgressions …”
“I do understand,” Georgie said, blushing as she bashfully lowered her gaze. “And forgive you everything, of course. But can you not leave me with some assurance of your regard for me?”
Christian gave her hands a gentle squeeze. “My heart is yours, Georgianna Bennet, and always shall be. And, with my father as my witness, I promise to make you my wife as soon as I am at liberty to do so.” Lifting her left hand to his lips, he pressed a kiss to the fan of delicate bones on the back before adding, “Will those assurances do for now, my darling?”
“Yes, Christian,” she said, coloring more deeply as she met his gaze. “More than amply, I daresay.”
Epilogue
That evening, Christian played the part of Anhalt without deviating from the original script, much as it grieved him to do so. But since Lady Bennet’s consent had not yet been secured, getting down on one knee would have been extremely bad form, especially whilst she was looking on from the audience.
Following the performance, Lord Wingfield took the widow aside and made the best case for his son he knew how. After a proper resistance on the part of Georgie’s mother, she issued her decree of consent to the marriage.
With no obstacles now standing in his way, Christian made a plan to formally propose to Georgianna the following evening prior to the much-anticipated masquerade ball. According to the general invitation, each person was to dress as a character chosen from popular books and plays. Couples, either married or betrothed, were encouraged to wear corresponding costumes. To embolden origi
nality, prizes were to be awarded for cleverness and creativity.
Being of rather a competitive nature, Christian was determined to come up with something imaginative. To his growing frustration, however, Georgie shot down every inspired idea he proposed. He, likewise, vetoed her suggestion to go as characters from the novel she’d lately finished. Some romantic drivel set in their own time period. Bah. What sort of costumes would that require? Certainly none worthy of fetching a prize—or even compliments for their ingenuity.
They could agree, it seemed, on nothing apart from this: come hell or high water, they would not go as Romeo and Juliet. In the end, they finally agreed to dress as Oberon and Titania, the fairy king and queen from Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Fortunately, the Captain had a long, green silk robe and velvet cloak Christian could adapt for his purposes. That Georgie would be equally resourceful he could only have faith.
She would dress, unseen by him, at Craven Castle, where the large party at Greystone Hall trooped in a convoy of carriages to enjoy the customary indulgences of wassail and mince-meat pies prior to the ball. To everyone’s delight, Lady Bennet had laid out quite a spread, the star of which was a tiered white confection elaborately decorated with sugar icing, gilded paper cut-outs, and delicate plaster of Paris figures.
Baked inside, in keeping with tradition, were the tokens to determine which man and woman would be crowned king and queen for the remainder of the evening. Naturally, since he and Georgie were already dressed as king and queen of the fairies, Christian hoped they might be the lucky ones to find the bean and pea in their slices of cake.
All such aspirations were forgotten when Georgie entered the room. Likewise, he forgot how to breathe. She was a vision. An ethereal nymph from another realm. The dress she donned was from an earlier age. The bejeweled and beaded velvet bodice hugged her hourglass figure all the way to the waistline before terminating in points like a star. Layers of gossamer fabrics made up the full, filmy skirt. Her dark hair fell loosely to her waist in soft waves. The only adornment was the wreath of holly and ivy she wore as a crown.