Pretty Persuasion (25 page)

Leaving the confines of the tall-hedged maze, she slowed to a halt. She drew a deep breath and squared her shoulders, putting a lid on her explosive emotions. Robert reached her side, still silent. As she faced him, she clenched her fists, ready to do battle with him.

"I am sorry that you mistook my intentions," she said, convinced she was succeeding in keeping her voice moderate. "Nevertheless, I am quite resolved in this."

Brows furrowed, he opened his mouth to reply, but she cut him off, saying, "Perhaps it is foolish. But I assure you, I only made the decision after weighing my options, and so I refuse to acknowledge that I am being illogical. And besides, only a dolt would claim that you can apply the rules of logic to matters of the heart and end up with a simple, perfect solution."

Robert's scowl had grown gradually more ferocious throughout her speech, and Georgie wondered where the superior, unaffected man who could laugh away a jibe with a sarcastic remark and falsely indulgent mien had disappeared to.

He leaned forward as if he thought he could cow her with his greater size alone. "Perhaps, as you examined these emotions, which are evidently so far removed from logic as to render a combination of the two impossible, you failed to take the feelings of others into consideration."

She blinked. "Whose?"

"Whose?" he repeated incredulously. "Mine!"

Georgie's breath caught. She'd hurt his feelings? Surely not. How could she have—?

Oh, no. It hadn't even struck her as possible. But she obviously
had
hurt him. She swallowed against the surge of guilt that hit her. She'd been selfish and inconsiderate, but that was not the worst part. She clenched her hand, her heart beating so fast she was sure he could hear it. The worst part was that his feelings went far beyond duty. He had been hurt by her because he cared.

Why
did he have to care? It seemed unfair. A betrayal. It was ridiculous of her to feel that way, of course, but she couldn't help it. And so she found herself unequal to offering an apology. "How could I possibly have known you'd mind?" she said instead. "You have not turned down the opportunity for gratuitous bedsport in the past!"

His head snapped back as if she'd slapped him. "Ah, I see," he said, nodding. "Yes, I see now. It is all bred from that damned day, isn't it? Tell me, Georgie, did observing me with Lady Ferrers really break your heart, or did it merely sting your pride? And was last night your revenge?"

And wasn't that just like a man, to think that even after all these years, she might want something as stupid and childish as revenge? She drew herself up. "Don't be ridiculous. It had nothing to do with Lady Ferrers or that day. I certainly did not intend to wound you in any way."

"No, of course not." His voice rose to a near-shout again. "You only intended to use me as a tool to render yourself unmarriageable. Crawl into my bed, seduce me, then run back to your own room as soon as I fell asleep. Leaving me behind, like some bloody expendable commodity, thinking you'll marry me, when, in point of fact, I was only a means to an end."

Although the situation could certainly not be summarized so plainly, his words rang true, and uneasiness had her shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "No, Robert, it wasn't—"

"Used me," he interrupted, stepping so close she felt as if his fury would wrap and choke her, making her back away instinctively as he continued his tirade. "But your perfidy does not end there—oh, no. You were not content to simply use me like some sort of… machine, made to be of service to you and, I suppose, be grateful for the honor into the bargain. No, you also have the gall to assume I would not feel obligated to marry you. As if I am a scoundrel of the worst sort, in the habit of ruining innocents!"

Georgie opened her mouth to protest when she heard a woman gasp. She jerked her head toward the sound. All words died in her throat and her stomach pitched as she saw Mr. Cameron and Anthony Balfour only a few feet away, observing her and Robert from the garden path.

And between the two men stood her parents.

"I asked Miss Pilkington to-day where babies come from. She gave me a Queer look and appear'd exceedingly flushed as she told a Silly story about storks and chimneys. It was not until I asked how the birds got the child out of its mother's Belly that she marched off in a snit. She is so easily goaded; I think I ought to have a governess who would present more of a Challenge."

— From the diary of Lady Georgiana Montford, aged 14

NO, I WILL not marry Robert. I will not marry at all.
Simple words when they echoed in her head, but they would not be easily spoken in front of her parents. Georgie's legs seemed detached from her as she descended the stairs to the entrance hall, carrying her body downstairs and toward the Green Parlor where her parents waited.

Where Robert waited.

Strange, but after days of dreading this confrontation, it was suddenly the prospect of facing Robert that had her tied into one big snarled knot of apprehension. The influence her parents' anger exerted on her conscience seemed like a gentle wind compared to the tempest of Robert's fury.

His fury that she could not deny was justified, no matter which way she twisted it, and which was nagging at her conscience even now. It baffled that her behavior could have such an effect on him, but it seemed she
had
hurt him, and she carried that knowledge like a leaden pack of remorse on her shoulders.

The events outside the maze no more than an hour before swirled blurry and confused in her mind. She recalled remaining mute in frozen horror until someone, perhaps Mr. Cameron, had suggested they go inside. Exactly what excuse she had used to escape upstairs, she could not remember, but she suspected it had been feeble and transparent. And there she had remained until a maid appeared to say her parents expected her to join them.

Her feet turned right at the foot of the stairs, leading her in the direction of the parlor. They only faltered a brief moment as, heart in throat, she spotted Robert pacing before the door. He noticed her and stopped, his face set in grim lines as he observed her approach. She didn't know where she found the strength, but she held his gaze, not even wavering when she halted a couple of feet away from him.

Say something
, she silently commanded him.
Admit you do not really want to marry me; that it is for the best this way.

"I am sorry," he said, pulling a note out of his pocket. "Your parents apparently wrote to say they had made good time and would arrive earlier than expected. If I had bothered to read the message, that scene in the garden could have been avoided."

"Think nothing of it." He was apologizing; she could afford to be magnanimous.

Robert put the paper back in his pocket. The lines around his mouth tightened as he continued to stare at her in that hard, direct way. "You still have time to change your mind, Georgie."

This was it, she knew. The point of no return. She could yield and avoid the coming storm—or stand firm, as she had resolved to do. Both options tugged at her until she became dizzy with the uncertainty of it.

He heaved a sigh. She saw his resignation and realized he had taken her silence as refusal. So be it, then. It was simpler to let him assume her mind more made up than it was, better than dithering here until she reached a decision she did not want the responsibility of having made. Drawing a deep breath, she pulled the handle and opened the door.

Her father stood by the window, hands folded behind him, and he turned fully toward the door when she entered. If the wrath of God had a face, Georgie knew it had to look like her father's when he was displeased. And at present, he was
very
displeased, his mouth drawn in a thin line, his gray eyes cold and dark.

Georgie's gaze went to the figure perched on the settee, and shock coursed through her when she took in the pale and drawn appearance she had not noticed in the garden. "Mamma!" she gasped and rushed forward. "Are you all right? You look ill."

Her mother shook her head as Georgie knelt and reached for her hand. "It is only fatigue from the journey. I fear we made rather too much haste."

Georgie grew weak with the need to apologize, to say anything that would ease her mother's distress. But before her resolve shattered, she got to her feet and turning toward her father. "How could you let Mamma travel in this condition?" she demanded. "Have you no care for her health?"

Her father's stance became, if possible, even stiffer as he snapped, "You would do well to ask yourself that question, Georgiana. She was too concerned for your wellbeing to care for her own."

Silence fell heavy in the small room, broken only when the longcase clock in the corner struck three with deep, lingering clangs. Georgie let her gaze wander to her mother's distraught countenance, and then to Robert, who stood straight and tall before the empty fireplace. His eyes were fastened on her, sending a silent message that seemed both a plea and a warning.
There is still time.
The idea of giving in tugged at her, tempting her with its sheer simplicity.

"Well?" her father demanded. "How do you explain yourself?"

Georgie turned her attention to her mother, whose opinion she somewhat feebly told herself was the only one that mattered. "I am sorry—for eloping, for deceiving you, and for causing worry," she said, her voice breaking as she swallowed against the knot swelling in her throat. "I never meant any harm. It was a rash, foolish thing to do, inconsiderate of everything but my own purpose. And whether you can forgive me or not, your reproach cannot compare to the shame I myself feel. I was never ill—only too cowardly to face you, knowing your reprehension and how well I deserved it."

She held her breath as she awaited a reaction. After a moment's hesitation, her mother's face dissolved, and she reached for Georgie's hand. "Of course we forgive you, dearest. How could we not, when you are well, and you express such regret for your actions? I prayed your folly would not condemn you to a miserable fate, and here you are, no worse for wear by Lord Rossemore's treatment of you—and wiser, besides."

Her mother's words, combined with that familiar smile of reassurance, lifted some of the weight from Georgie's mind. But she could not be entirely easy. Gaining her mother's forgiveness was defeating only one hurdle out of an unknown number, and most likely not the largest one.

Squeezing her hand, her mother looked past Georgie, still wearing a smile that suddenly seemed glued onto her face. "Charles?" she prodded.

Georgie followed her gaze and found her father's bearing unchanged. "I should be more relieved if I were assured this imprudence would end in marriage," he said gruffly with a sideways glance at Robert, whose jaw consequently tightened.

"Of course they shall marry," her mother said with a sigh of exasperation. "How can there even be a question to the contrary?"

The show of faith pricked Georgie's conscience, and she knew she had to nip that illusion in the bud. She swallowed hard, digging her fingernails into her palms. Inhaling deeply, she summoned strength she was not sure she possessed, needing every last shred of courage to say what had to be said.

"No, Mamma," she pronounced while silently pleading for her mother to understand. "I will not marry him. Nor any other man."

A huff of outrage came from her father's direction. Horror and disbelief crept slowly into her mother's face, and Georgie felt the comforting hand slip away from her own grasp.

"But
why?
" her mother asked.

Should she mention traveling? No, no—there was no sense in giving them another source of outrage, another reason to ask questions. Time enough to introduce the topic later when the shock had faded. So because she could not countenance the thought of baring her soul in a room where everyone was determined to oppose her, and because she doubted the truth would satisfy them, Georgie simply said, "I have realized I am not suited to marriage. That is all."

Shaking her head, obviously no more enlightened by that response, her mother said, "You cannot be in earnest, Georgie. You have not considered the consequences."

"I am, and I have. I am sorry, Mamma, but it is the only decision my heart and mind can consent to accept."

Tears welled in her mother's eyes, and Georgie watched, helpless to do anything lest she betray her own determination, as the woman she knew only as a giver of strength and support crumbled before her eyes.

"What of the conversation we overheard in the garden?" her father asked in a low, menacing tone. "Your mother assured me all could not be as it seemed. Am I right in assuming her wrong?"

Georgie paused only a second before offering a weak, "Yes."

"Speak up!" he barked.

"Yes!" Georgie hissed, her temper flaring. Overcome by a wild urge to shock him into silence, she continued. "Yes, it is true. I seduced Robert so that you could no longer press me to marry. I meant for you to assume it was Lord Rossemore who had ruined me. That you know the truth makes no difference; I refuse to be any man's wife."

Her mother stifled a sob with a kerchief pulled from the sleeve of her moss-green dress. And then, suddenly, her father came to put a hand on his wife's shoulder, and her mother, in response, put her hand over his.

Georgie felt cornered and a tad bewildered in the face of their unified front, aware that even Robert was their ally and that she could expect support from no one but herself. The need to show no sign of doubt or indecision overshadowed her guilt. Instinctively, she retreated behind a chair, the distance lending her the strength to stand firm.

"I must take the blame in this upon myself, your grace," Robert interposed from his position by the fireplace. "I made presumptions about Georgie's intentions. It was an ill-judged decision, and I cannot but own that I was at fault."

Georgie swallowed hard. She found herself torn between gratefulness at his efforts to defend her and irritation with way he had gone about it. As if he could shrink her into a prostrate creature blameless and unaccountable of her own actions.