by Fanny Finch
“She did.” Mr. Norwich looked as though he wanted to say something, but ultimately decided to keep silent.
Robert wanted to ask if she had said anything about him. He did not think that she had. That would be gossiping. And while she had been upset—he had seen that clearly—Miss Reginald was not one to sob and fuss and spill her feelings out to someone she barely knew.
Her last words to him, delivered in that cold tone, still hurt. It felt like a slap in the face.
He had never heard Miss Reginald dismiss anyone in such a manner. He had honestly not thought her capable of such anger or such coldness.
A part of him was impressed with her but mostly he was angry. Angry that she would be so lacking in understanding. Angry that she thought she could just speak to him once and it would be enough. Angry that she did not appreciate why he was so frustrated.
He hated himself for still wanting her, even now.
But he would not pursue her. He was not going to risk himself like that again. And after the way that she had spoken to him? No. No, he would not do it.
“You seem rather out of sorts,” Mr. Norwich noted.
“I have had an unusually trying evening,” Robert replied. He did not know how to say anything more than that without turning it into a tirade.
Besides, Mr. Norwich would inherit a title himself when his father died. He could not possibly understand Robert’s predicament either. In fact, he might even be offended.
Mr. Norwich said nothing more, evidently deciding that if Robert was not going to talk about it, then he was not going to press the matter. Robert was grateful for it. He did not appreciate it when people were nosy and got into his business.
When they reached Mr. Norwich’s residence, Robert excused himself at once and went to bed.
He could not get to sleep easily, however. He tossed and he turned. He played Miss Reginald’s words over and over in his head.
She had seemed so earnest out on the dance floor. Laying it all bare before him. For anyone to be so bold was admirable. But for a woman to do so to a man when traditionally it was supposed to be the other way around…
It was brave of her. He had to give her points for that.
But how could she think that just telling him that she still cared for him would make him run back into her arms? That it undid all of the damage?
He would simply have to refuse Miss Weston’s dinner invitations for the next few weeks. He couldn’t bear to cause anyone else discomfort while he and Miss Reginald were so clearly at odds.
And, selfishly, he didn’t want to have to make small talk nearly every evening with someone with whom he was upset. He needed some space away from Miss Reginald.
Of course, that was what he had done last time, the traitorous part of his mind whispered. He had fled back to the navy and across the ocean.
He’d had no choice, really, he’d been signed onto the navy long before he met Miss Reginald. He could not abandon that. Even if they had gotten married he still would have gone.
That reminded him of what Mrs. Weston had said.
What if he had died out there? And Miss Reginald had been ostracized by society thanks to her father? She would have had other widows and navy wives, perhaps. But she wouldn’t have had much, not truly.
He could concede that was a fair point. Nobody should ask the person that they loved to condemn themselves to be an outcast from the world that they knew. And then to risk poverty and starvation should their husband not return.
That was fair, and he should have appreciated that more at the time.
But for her to refuse to acknowledge that he had every right to be worried over her brother! That he couldn’t place his faith in the estimation of a man that he had known years ago.
And she had to admit that he was right. Those of the higher class did look down upon the rest of the gentry. Oh, yes, there was much mingling among them. But to mingle and to marry were two very different things in their minds.
He would not apologize for telling her the truth about the snobbery of her class. Snobbery into which her brother might very well have bought over the last few years.
He was being cautious, as he had not once been. He was learning from his mistakes. She could not be angry with him for wanting to pull away.
How could he be asked to risk himself yet again? To put himself in front of yet another duke and ask and be rejected? It was better for both of them that he not even get his hopes up. Or her hopes, for that matter.
Robert would send a message to Miss Weston first thing in the morning to let her know that he would be unfortunately unavailable for future dinner parties. He could claim it was business or something that was running him ragged.
He did have to attend to his new estate, after all.
Miss Weston was a clever woman. She would undoubtedly see right through his excuses. But she could not call him out on them. He would be fine.
And she could find someone else to fill in the empty chair at the table. Of that, Robert had no doubt. Perhaps she could even make it a gentleman who would actually be interested in her.
If you asked Robert, Miss Weston was far too worried about the romances of other people and spent far more time on them than she should. And not nearly enough time or worry was spent on her own romances.
If she was not careful, she could end up in the same predicament that Miss Reginald was currently in.
And he was back to Miss Reginald again.
She had said that it was her own fault that she was still unwed. Could she have really meant that? Had she been loyal to him in her heart all of this time?
But if so why not tell him? Why not ask him to wait until her father died?
It was unpleasant, but he had seen other couples do so. They got engaged in secret and then waited until the objecting relative was dead. Then they had the mourning period, and the moment that was over the banns were put up in the local parish.
Had Miss Reginald proposed such an idea, he would have been all for it. He had to go out to sea in any case. Why not give her the freedom to continue to dance at balls and throw her father off the scent while Robert had to be off fulfilling his navy contract anyhow?
Yet she had led him to believe that she didn’t really care about him. Or, at least, she didn’t care about him as much as she cared about her father’s opinion. She had told him that they could not be together.
There. Simple as that.
“I’m afraid that I must return to you the affections that you have so kindly and freely given to me.”
He could remember it like it was yesterday. He had protested, demanded to know why. He had thought that he had hurt her! That he had somehow offended her. As if any of it was actually his fault.
It was nothing that he had done, she had assured him. Nothing at all.
“You have been my greatest comfort and my dearest friend,” she had told him.
But if so, then why was she breaking it off? He had begged for her to tell him what he might do to keep her by his side. Begged, as though he were a dog and not a man.
He had thought it romantic at the time, of course. Why should he not think that? Books and operas and plays and poems were all full of men throwing themselves at the feet of their lovers to beg for absolution.
Not that he had gone so far as to throw himself at her feet. He had not been quite that far out of his dignity.
“My father does not give his blessing,” Miss Reginald had told him. “And I cannot go against his wishes. And so we must part. Please, do not think that it is anything against your character.
“My father is a particular man, as you know. He cannot stand the thought of my marrying someone who has no fortune and no title to recommend him.
“I hate to say such a callous thing but I must be honest. I know you will appreciate that. Or, at least, you have always said that you appreciate honesty.
“I swear I did not lead you on. All that I said was true and from my heart. I hope that you will be happy
with someone else. But you must understand now that we are to part ways.”
That had been when he had argued with her. His pleas had turned into declarations. Disbelief had turned into anger. They had argued, and most fiercely.
He had told her that she should defy her father. She had said that she couldn’t. He had asked her why not? Was her love for him not enough? Would he not provide for her as a husband should?
She had replied that it was her duty to obey her father and that Robert, as a good man, could not ask her to go against such a cardinal rule of family and society.
It had just gone round in endless circles from there.
At no point did she let on that she cared for him enough to still carry a torch for him. Indeed he had thought that he felt her affection dim for him even as they spoke. She had become calm in manner, no longer impassioned. He was losing her, he had thought.
Yet that whole time she had been missing him and wanting him? To the point where other men could pick up on her longing for someone else and would not court her?
It was ludicrous.
And yet… he had not suggested a solution either. He had not, for example, suggested a secret engagement.
Perhaps she had been waiting for him to present the idea? Perhaps she had felt that she could not outright propose such a thought, given that she was supposed to obey her father?
Perhaps she had simply wanted him to be the man, be her guardian and safe place, and provide her with a solution.
He wanted to get up and go to her house… Miss Weston’s house, rather… and wake her up and demand that she explain exactly what she was thinking all of that time long ago.
If only he could know what her mind had been like, a part of him felt, he would be able to lay it all to rest.
It was all a moot point now of course. He was not going to get any answers. And he was not going to waste any more time on it. He should have laid it all to rest years ago.
Robert turned over and told himself sternly that he was going to go to sleep. No more thinking about Miss Reginald. No more imagining her eyes, wide and simultaneously sad and hopeful. No more seeking her own or holding onto his heart for her.
No matter how tempting it might be.
He was going to move on now, finally. She’d said her piece and he’d said his and what else was there to think about or talk about after that?
It took a while, but eventually he slipped into a fitful slumber.
Chapter 16
Georgiana awoke to find Julia sitting at her bedside.
“I brought you breakfast,” she said. “Well, I brought it up the stairs, anyway. I carried it myself.”
“You ought to have let the maid do that,” Georgiana said, rolling over to look at the neatly piled food on the tray.
“Oh, no, I wanted to be the first person that you saw when you woke up this morning. Besides, I just asked for a tray and then piled on all that was there from breakfast. I didn’t want you to have to come down if you didn’t want to.
“Mother sends her regards, by the way. She wants to know if that stupid captain made a mess of things again and if you need her to put him in his place more thoroughly. As if she has the strength for it.”
Georgiana sat up in bed and let Julia place the tray over her lap. “Your mother continues to be a terror even as she sleeps for half the day.”
“It gives me hope that she’ll get better,” Julia replied honestly. “If her tongue can manage such strong words then surely her body can manage a bit of strength as well.”
“The mind and the body are two very different things, you know, Julia. I’ve known men in great health who suffer from going soft in the head as they get older. And then there are men who have the most painful gout and all manner of ailments but could debate with Socrates.”
“I know.” Julia sighed and sat back against the pillows next to Georgiana. “But one can hope. I certainly haven’t given it up. If I do then what else is there? It’s no fun to sit around waiting for one’s mother to die, is it?”
“I suppose not.”
Georgiana’s own mother had died quickly. It was not so unexpected. She had been in ill health off and on over the years. But it was not the slow, drawn-out, will-she-or-won’t-she business that Mrs. Weston seemed to be suffering through.
It was odd, almost, the difference between the deaths of her mother and father. In a sad way. It had taken years for Georgiana to be able to properly and casually talk about her mother’s death.
Her father, meanwhile, had died only a little over a year ago and already she could speak of it freely.
It made her feel like a callous person. But it was a testament to the sort of person that her mother had been compared to the sort of person that her father had been.
“I know you asked me not to ask about it,” Julia said. “But I want to simply know if you’re all right.”
Georgiana started eating. Not because she wanted to, but because she knew that she must. As with the tea last night, the food stuck in her throat and her stomach twisted.
If she did not eat, however, Julia would notice at once and commence with nursing her. And that was the last thing that Georgiana wanted. She hated to be fussed over.
“I will be all right eventually,” she said after a moment. It was all that she could promise.
But she knew that it would be true. Not that she would be all right in the sense that she would stop being in love with Captain Trentworth and she would be happy again.
But all right in the sense that she would learn how to manage it. Just as she had learned how to manage her sadness over her mother’s death.
Time was all that she needed. It was remarkable, what the passage of time could do to a person. How it could help someone to adjust.
“Will you be accepting Mr. Tomlinson’s courtship then?” Julia asked. “I’ve invited him and Mr. Norwich to dinner. I won’t invite Captain Trentworth, if you don’t want me to.”
“You must invite him. It will raise such awkward questions if you do not.”
“Your comfort, Georgiana, means more to me than any potential awkwardness.”
Georgiana leaned her head on Julia’s shoulder. “You are quite a wonderful friend, did you know that? I hope that you do. I really do not know what I would do without you.”
Julia leaned her head on top of Georgiana’s. Georgiana could feel her smile. “I suspect that you would do just fine, somehow. You are more than you give yourself credit for being.”
Georgiana sat up straight again. “Mr. Norwich said something similar last night. Did you put him up to it?”
“Oh, goodness, no,” Julia replied, laughing. “But I am glad to know that he thinks so highly of you. And that you are finally being told by people other than myself what a lovely lady you are.”
Georgiana shook her head. “Incorrigible, as always. You know, someday, we are going to have to find you a gentleman to put you in your place.”
“The right gentleman for me will know better than to do that,” Julia replied. “In fact, he will delight in my schemes and incorrigibility.”
“Well, goodness help us all in that case.”
Julia laughed again. Georgiana continued to eat in silence for another few minutes. Julia watched her.
“You know,” Georgiana said, suddenly wanting to talk about it, “I’ve been thinking. Was I wrong?”
“Wrong in what?”
“Wrong to turn down Captain Trentworth’s proposal that I marry him despite the lack of a blessing from my father.”
Julia gaped at her. “Georgiana. I know that I make light of many things and could be said to break many rules but that is a large one.”
“I know.”
“Your father was one of the most powerful men in England.”
“I know.”
“He would have barred you from society. Perhaps even from seeing your brother. Your childhood home, certainly. You would have had to live on the salary that the navy provided.”
&nb
sp; “I know.”
Julia looked at her, scrutinizing her. “Yet you are still wondering if you were wrong. To preserve yourself and to save you both.”
“Both?”
“A man who persuades his wife to marry him against her father’s wishes is not the sort of man that other gentlemen trust. Oh, yes, it’s all very nice and romantic. Very Romeo and Juliet of them.
“But it makes other men concerned. If he would try to get a blessing, and then not receive it, and then do the thing anyway… despite the lack of a blessing… what else might he do? Who else might he double-cross?