Dangerous 01 - Dangerous Works (20 page)

Two days. If she had a carriage. If her father would permit it. If she had the courage to leave. Two days.

Mountview’s grizzled gatekeeper informed Andrew with exaggerated generosity that, while his chaise wasn’t permitted inside the gate, Andrew might walk to the manor if he chose to try his luck at the servants’ door.

Andrew looked at the man’s hulking bulk, barrel-shaped legs, and massive arms. He reined in the urge to drive on, dismounted, and began to walk. The manuscript, secure in its leather folio, lay under his arm while wind whipped his coat about. Pain in his back and hip, aggravated by the long ride and the cold, reminded him of how he had felt months ago. The vigor of recent months deserted him, but he soldiered on.

Michaelmas was long gone, and the year had passed into November. The wind already attacked with
a bite, and dusk came early. Wind threatened the portfolio with its precious manuscript. He pulled it more tightly to himself with one arm and grasped the silver lion’s head on his ebony cane with the other. He leaned his head into the wind that roiled his hair and brought tears to his eyes.

Mountview’s massive shape blotted out the sky. Light glowed in every window as if to call out to him, while at the same time the gray stone walls, dark in the moonlight, stood ready to keep him out. It had always been so.

As a boy, he had come here with the heir, permitted in but not welcomed. This time he came as an outright intruder. The impulse to seek the tradesman’s entrance flooded him for a fierce moment, but he shook it off. He would enter by the formal entrance.

Night brought no poetic softening to life inside the Hayden household. Georgiana sat stiff-backed in the corner of the family stateroom. Her impeccably correct gown, high-necked and edged in lace, fell in straight lines of navy blue silk, heavy and rich, to the floor. She felt as if her hair, drawn back in a tight knot and covered with an exquisite lace cap, must emphasize the misery lodged deep in the bones of her face. She faded more every week that passed without meaningful work, Peabody’s health regime, or word from Andrew. Her will to defy the family weakened daily, and she knew it.

The Duchess of Sudbury held court on a gold brocade sofa before the fire. The Countess of Ardmore, draped her gown artfully around her, tilted her head to catch chandelier light, and gracefully occupied a matching chair. Her husband faded into the shadows of the room, a pale wraith outshone by Hayden splendor. The Duke himself stood in silent dignity to the right of the fireplace. Lady Marianna Hayden sat straight-backed on a small chair just below her mother’s.

The room’s final occupant, her brother Richard, every inch the Marquess of Glenaire, stood removed from the rest. His posture, while no less dignified, didn’t condescend to being part of the carefully arranged tableau before the fire. He sat at a splendid mahogany secretaire and observed his eldest sister.

Georgiana returned Glenaire’s gaze without blinking and with little warmth. Neither Glenaire nor His Grace found it convenient to arrange her return to Cambridge after Michaelmas or on any day since. She knew Richard couldn’t or wouldn’t understand her need to return.

They waited in silence for the summons to dinner. The finely carved double doors between the atrium and the family sitting room swung open with a well-oiled swoosh just as the clock in the entrance chimed the hour. All eyes turned in anticipation. The Duchess raised a languid hand for assistance and made an impatient sound. “The announcement, Peters!” she demanded.

The butler’s tones were funereal. “Your Grace, I must beg your pardon. A caller has arrived who will not be repelled. He asks for the Lady Georgiana.”

Georgiana felt as if air had rushed from the room. Her heart lurched in her breast, beating so strongly she believed the others must see it pounding in her chest. She forced her features to show indifference and her eyes to focus on her father.

“Show the impertinent intruder to the tradesman’s parlor.” The Duke spoke in bored tones.

The butler looked pained, as if he couldn’t bring himself to admit he had tried and failed. The Duke of Sudbury made a gesture of impatience. “Very well. Don’t delay dinner. I won’t be long.”

“Yes, Your Grace. Dinner is served.”

Hope warred with confusion. She knew it had to be Andrew, but she wondered what would cause him to come. He hated Mountview.

“Glenaire, escort your eldest sister to the dining room.” The Duke skewered Georgiana with a look of command and left the room.

The Duchess chose to overlook the breach of protocol. She sailed through the door alone, with the Earl and Countess of Ardmore following in strict precedence. She assumed her son and his sister would follow in her wake.

The hand Georgiana placed on her brother’s arm shook. If he noticed, he didn’t comment. He covered her hand with a warm and reassuring one of his own.

Numb feet carried her into the massive atrium. She stopped abruptly. Andrew stood starkly black and vividly alive against the massive white wood and glass entrance. It towered over him, and yet he presented a picture of raw Gothic power. His strong body covered in rich black fabric, his arm extended, one hand on the ever-present ebony and silver walking stick, and his scarred face set in lines of steel radiated strength and will. Only his tousled hair gave any hint of the humanity beneath the surface.

When he saw her, a look of longing broke free from his iron self-control. It transformed his features, only to be masked with equal determination at the sight of the Duke who walked toward him.

Georgiana lurched forward, but her brother’s arm drew her to the dining room. She could follow Richard or make a scene that might make things worse. She chose to follow, at least for a moment. Her heart sang. He was there.

“We’re not accustomed to uninvited guests at the dinner hour. I’ll allow you two minutes. You will explain yourself, Mallet, and then you will be on your way.”

It wasn’t a promising beginning for a marriage proposal, but it was no less than Andrew expected.

“My business, Your Grace, is with your daughter.”

“The Lady Georgiana is at dinner. You may convey your business through me.”

The Duke, ramrod straight at 70, had the Hayden height and long years of skill in using it to intimidate. Andrew looked up at the Duke and remembered a time when that ploy had succeeded with him. “I’ll see your daughter, Sir.”

“You will not. She doesn’t wish it. She doesn’t wish dealings with a schoolmaster’s son.”

A flicker of doubt burned like acid at Andrew’s heart; it eroded his confidence. He knew that he could lay this man flat and let the devil take the consequences. He would have if he had been sure she wanted him, but he wasn’t.

He knew the Duke could be telling the truth. She had refused his hand; she hadn’t written in three weeks, and she had walked past him in the entrance. In Cambridge she had wanted him badly enough to invade his house.
He had no way to know whether or not she still wanted him or on what terms?

He opened his mouth to deny her refusal, but before he could reply, another voice spoke behind him.

“She doesn’t wish it.” Softer but equally aristocratic, Glenaire’s voice cut in. Andrew turned awkwardly, leaning on his cane. He made no pretense of disbelief. The look he turned on his one-time friend held anguished questions and agonized longing. He found no mercy. Richard Hayden stood with calm dignity in the doorway.

“Andrew, whatever affection she may feel or have felt, she understands that it will not
do. Go. Don’t make this worse for her.” His eyes urged compliance.

“Go now, or I’ll have you thrashed and removed!” the Duke of Sudbury said in a voice constructed of ice shards. “Immediately.”

Andrew’s hand itched to lash out in one great sweep of his ebony walking stick. His common sense told him it would do no good. A dozen footmen were at their command. Lashing out would bring only his injury and her humiliation.

“I have something for her,” he said.

“I’ll see that she gets it.” Richard reached for the parcel. Long years of experience told Andrew it wouldn’t be wise to let go of the manuscript. The Haydens knew little of Georgiana’s skills and her work, and what they did know they despised. He wouldn’t entrust this to them.

Georgiana may not
want him, but she wanted the manuscript. He hugged the portfolio closer.

“No. I don’t think so. I have no wish to complicate her life, Richard. If she is content to stay here, so be it, but I’ll keep this.”

Andrew couldn’t read Glenaire’s face. Both men knew they had decided this once before.

“It’s for the best,” Richard said. Andrew nodded. He would leave it for now, but this time he would keep the work they did together.

Andrew turned to go. A vision of wrath confronted him. Georgiana stood just inside the door—her face a mask of rage.

“Have you gentlemen finished arranging my existence, then?”

“It’s for the best,” Georgiana heard when she slipped into the room
.
Just as they had before, her brother and Andrew planned to make decisions for her. Rage flooded her veins.

Andrew opened his mouth to speak; she stopped him with her eyes.

“How dare you come here without my consent?”
Never mind that I longed for you every day. Fairness be damned!
“‘It is for the best?’” she mocked. “You always know what is best for me, don’t you, Andrew? Richard? Did you know that, Your Grace? You needn’t stir yourself or worry about my behavior. These two gentlemen have my life well in hand. They always did.”

“Georgiana, I–” Richard spoke soothingly. Andrew, she noted, was mute.

“Mr. Mallet was just leaving.” His Grace’s cold eyes never left Andrew.

“I’m sure he was. Mr. Mallet always does what is best for me, doesn’t he?” Her eyes dared him to deny it.

“Georgiana, this isn’t the place,” Andrew said.

“If it isn’t the place, Andrew, why did you come here? You asked for me. You spend five minutes with His Grace, and you change your mind. Why? Because it is for the best? Whose best, Andrew?”

He looked about to speak, but her anger urged her on. “In Cambridge you thought marriage was for the best.” She saw her father’s face darken dangerously. “In London you thought the army was for the best—and look what it got you. Now what? I stay at Mountview, and you slink back to Cambridge? Then what?”

She wheeled on Richard. “And you brother? Are you satisfied with your investigations? Have my servants reported my every move? Why did you bring me here? To remember who I am? Lady Georgiana Hayden, child of peerage and power, ornament of aristocracy, ivory icon of superior breeding?”

She faced her father at long last. She didn’t—couldn’t—care about the Duke’s stony face. Not this time. “I am sorry, Father, for this scene you so detest. You and Richard believe you can control my very life–with Mr. Mallet’s collusion, of course. I won’t have it.”

The old man’s brows rose; his eyes blazed, but she sped on before he could speak. “I will have my life the way I wish it. I won’t stay at Mountview one day longer. You can arrange transportation back to my house—the house Aunt Sephronia left me—or I will take the first post in the morning.”

Words rushed from her, driven by rage and the remnants of fear. “Yes, I know you pay the bills. You needn’t worry. I will burden you no longer, and neither will I dance to your tune. All I want from you is to be returned to my life. My. Life.”

“As to you, Sir.” She looked fire and sulfur at Andrew. “We agreed that when we completed the work we would talk. Very well, we are talking. Here is what I have to say: I find your services are no longer needed. When I return to Cambridge, I expect to find my notes, my translations, and any contributions you made to my work back at my house. Our partnership is at an end. There is, of course, no question of a relationship of any other kind.”

She turned on her heels, too angry to say more, and swept past him. She didn’t want to see his face, didn’t want to know the pain there. She wanted to pack and be quit of Mountview.

Georgiana’s heels clattered across the marble floor of the atrium to the broad sweeping stairway that led to the upper stories and the family quarters.

“Georgiana, I insist you return to your dinner. This is insupportable.” From the third step, Georgiana saw her mother come out of the dining salon, outrage on every fiber of her being. The Duchess glared fire across the atrium. “Is that schoolmaster’s son still here? Has no one thrown him out on his ear? Are there insufficient footmen to remove him?”

Over her shoulder, Georgiana saw Andrew, Richard, and the Duke at the door to her father’s office. “You may rest easy, Your Grace. Mr. Mallet is leaving and will trouble us no longer.” She looked directly at her mother. “And you will be relieved of my presence also. I won’t spend one more day in this house. I am returning to Cambridge. Alone. To live my own life the way I choose. You can finally forget your troublesome daughter entirely.”

The Duchess shook with indignation; her mouth moved as if seeking a retort that would not come. Behind the Duchess, Eloise’s eyes blazed with hatred.

“You needn’t fear, my loving
sister.” Georgiana said, her words dripping acid. “The life I live may not be to your liking, but it won’t disturb your serenity. After tonight, you need never see me again.”

“Georgiana!” Her mother’s voice echoed in the vast atrium. She ignored it. She ignored them all; she climbed the steps purposefully, one by one. Behind her, Mountview’s massive front door opened and closed. He was gone. It was over.