Pretty Persuasion (36 page)

She received more lashes than most men could survive, and she was already weak from the loss of blood during her miscarriage. She died within hours.

It scarcely matters that the number of days did not quite add up, and that the odds of the child being mine were rather poor. The knowledge that it could have been mine was enough to smother me with shame and regret. I also suspect that if it were not for her connexion to me, Chadwick would not have punish'd her so severely.

Although I considered revealing all of this to you and use it as an argument against your plans of traveling, I could not bring myself to tell you. It was enough that I despised myself; I could not bear the thought of how you must certainly react to it, of how meanly it must make you think of me. I was afraid I would lose you forever if you knew; however, this is no longer a concern.

I trust your discretion, perhaps with more faith than evidence warrants, and hope that this confidence assures you of what I ought to have faced long ago: you declared that we are not suited for each other, and I now acknowledge that you were right.

If I have caused you distress during the past weeks by pressing my suit, then I sincerely apologize. Rest assured, it shall not happen again. I have retired to Holcroft Park—for how long, I have yet to decide. Since I doubt our paths will cross again in the near future, I wish you all health and happiness, and remain, yours faithfully,

Robert Sheffield

Georgie swallowed hard. Her heart was in her throat, beating so loudly and quickly it echoed in her ears and dizzied her. She ached for Robert, for all that this honorable and high-principled man had borne and continued to bear. Indeed, his conduct had been ignoble, but to be sure, he blamed himself for far more than any reasonable person would hold him accountable. His offense was forgivable. So wholly and easily forgivable, especially by someone like her, who had a great deal of her own for which to ask forgiveness.

Frowning, she read the last few sentences of his letter again. And then again and again, and still it seemed they were written in a language similar to English but different enough where she couldn't quite grasp their meaning.

Then the significance of his words punched her in the chest, leaving her numb and bewildered. He was
gone?
Just like that, he up and left?

He had survived the boxing match. But she had lost him anyhow.

"Georgie?" A soft, warm, and familiar hand stroked her cheek. "You look ill, my dear. Was it so terrible as all that?"

Unable to form a response, Georgie simply shook her head. It was too late. He'd left.
Too late, too late…

The hand left her cheek to gingerly touch her shoulder. Her mother had sat down on the stone seat, her brows furrowed as she said, "Please, tell me what's the matter. What did he say?"

"He—" Georgie's voice cracked and only a small whimper emerged. She pressed her palm to her mouth to muffle a gut-wrenching moan of anguish. When she finally caught her breath, she cried, "Oh, Mamma! I've made such a terrible mistake, and now it's too late!"

"Oh, Georgie. Oh, please, calm down! What mistake?"

"He's gone!" she exclaimed, then shot up from the bench. She needed to go somewhere, do something, anything. But her legs wouldn't move.

Her mother's eyes widened. "Who's gone? Sheffield?"

"Yes!"

"But… where has he gone? And why does it upset you so?"

As her mother stood up as well, Georgie was looking around frantically, senselessly. The garden became smaller with each passing second, and for a panicky moment, she thought she'd be trapped there forever. Without Robert.

"Georgie!" Two hands clamped down hard on her arms, and as she gave Georgie a quick shake, her mother's voice was firm and commanding. "What on earth is the matter with you?"

Blinking, Georgie tried to focus on her mother's mouth and the words coming from it. She struggled, she fought, and at last, a bit of the fog lifted. "I didn't know what I really wanted," she blurted. "I know now, and I don't have to go to the other end of the world to get it. But Robert… He…"

As her train of thought crashed again, her mother prompted, "Yes? He what?"

"He's gone!" she wailed, knowing she was starting to sound like a parrot but unable to express herself any other way. "Gone before I could explain everything and tell him how I really feel!"

"Gone
where?
"

"To Essex! To Holcroft Park!"

"Essex?" her mother echoed incredulously. She opened her mouth, then shut it again. For the longest time, she simply stared at Georgie, her expression unfathomable. Letting go of Georgie's arms, she finally said, "Dearest, Holcroft Park is but a few hours away. Why can you not go after him?"

It seemed at first as though she had a really good reason why she couldn't do so; she simply couldn't remember what it was. Then, when she realized there was no reason at all, she let out a deflated, "Oh."

Giving a tiny smile, her eyes still slightly narrowed in concern, her mother said, "Go change. I'll see to the carriage."

"I have concluded that the act of apologizing is a skill that can, indeed, be improved with Practice. So if I live long enough to be called an Old Lady, it is quite likely that I shall be an unrivaled Authority on the subject."

— From the diary of Lady Georgiana Montford, aged 20

ROBERT'S MIND BLESSEDLY suffered no disturbing thoughts as he climbed the last stretch of the hill that swelled majestically at the top end of Holcroft Park. The Temple of Athena crowned the hill—a roofless Corinthian pavilion that was only one of the many follies his forbears had erected on the estate. This temple was his favorite; it had been built by his grandfather, and its location provided the grandest view of the entire estate.

He halted before the tall marble building and turned to gaze at the sweeping grounds of the park. A heavy sigh rose in his chest. This was what he had wanted. This was peace. The trees and grass in countless shades of green; the duck pond where he and Anthony had driven their mother to distraction by diving on chilly days as well as hot ones; the slope down to the old stables that had housed his first pony.

And at the heart of it all lounged the house: an unconventional and ostentatious manor of mottled limestone with lantern towers and enough chimneys and windows to bankrupt a king. But it was his. It was home—and there were no dazzling and impossibly stubborn young females around it to bedevil him.

No sooner had that thought cropped up than he saw her. She wore a sand-pink dress that no doubt matched the color of her cheeks as she trudged up the hill toward him. She had raven hair, and she carried her bonnet in her gloved hand. His feet remained plastered to the ground as she advanced on him. For the first time in weeks, she walked toward instead of away from him, and he didn't know what to do about it. The sight of her crippled him, like a bone-breaking bash to the knees, and for a moment, he felt himself about to crumble and sink to the ground.

She spied him and waved frantically, then seemed to pick up speed. He forced himself to turn and stride around the temple's corner, then up the short stone steps that took him inside the open structure. He crossed the foundation and stopped at the edge to lean against one of the pillars, his back toward the spot where she would scale the hill.

God help him. Why had she come?
Why?

"Robert?" came her strong, smooth voice a scant minute later. The grass rustled beneath her leather half-boots as she rounded the corner and appeared within his line of vision. Damn, she was a sight for his literally sore eyes. His breath caught, and he wanted to squeeze his lids shut so that he didn't have to look at her and realize she could still affect him so.

But then, what had he expected? That he could forget her with a mere snap of his fingers?

She had to crane her neck to look up at him. Her violet eyes were big, luminous, full of misery as she said, "I received your letter."

Bloody hell. The letter. He'd be damned if he'd let it show that her reaction to it mattered one way or the other, so he cocked his head. "Is that what you journeyed all the way here to tell me?"

She frowned. "No. I came to tell you that… that…"

He raised an eyebrow. "Indeed?"

"Oh!" She growled a sound of frustration, then hiked up her skirts and climbed up onto the foundation. Standing beside him at last, only a few inches apart, she said in a softened tone, "Please, listen to me, Robert. I beg you: don't be contrary."

Contrary?
Him?
Oh, that was rich. Averting his gaze, he released a snort of laughter.

"I made a mistake!" she choked out, ignoring his mockery. "I've been so stupid! But I want to… Won't you let me explain? Please?"

He clenched his jaw and shut his eyes. The devil take her. Very well. It was to be a test for his mental fortitude, and by Jove, he'd let her take her shot at him. For she couldn't possibly bring him any lower than she already had, could she?

He crossed his arms and gave a curt nod.

Her breath whooshed out. "It began with Lady Ferrers. I've known for a long, long time that it was foolish of me, Robert, but it hurt me so. I went all but mad with jealousy. And then I decided that I would pick a husband upon my own terms, and I thought Phillip was the perfect choice. But then it turned out he had deceived me, and it was such a terrible blow…"

She put her hand on his arm, and he stiffened, still refusing to look at her as she continued. "Thank you, Robert. For putting a stop to the wedding in Gretna. I would have thanked you sooner—I mean,
really
thanked you—but I was selfish and stupid and thought you enjoyed arguing with me."

He almost laughed again. Bickering with her was decidedly not on his list of pleasurable pastimes.

Her hand fell away, and she heaved a sigh. "Then I decided never to marry at all. I decided to wait until I came into my inheritance and then simply hire a companion for my travels."

Ah. That damnably ridiculous plan. He gave a short nod because he didn't know what else to do.

"It's been my dream for—I don't know how long—
years
, certainly," she went on. "And Phillip seemed the ideal husband, because he didn't mind. I don't know now how much of what he said or felt was genuine, but at the time, I thought we were perfectly matched. You see, I wanted a husband I'd feel a suitable amount of—"

She made a choked noise and turned from him, stepping backward until she bumped into the pillar. He waited for her to continue. Her throat worked, and her lips squeezed tight.

"Of what?" he prodded when he could wait no longer. He ought to continue being "contrary," but he needed to hear what she had to say too badly to hang onto his hostility.

"Of affection for," she ground out, giving a tremulous, self-mocking smile. "I didn't want to be in love with my husband, you see, so that ruled you out, because I've loved you for as long as I can remember. I never stopped loving you, no matter how much I tried and no matter how many times I told myself I had. And then during the boxing match, when you were knocked down, I thought you were dead, and I could deny my feelings for you no longer. And so here I am. To tell you that I love you."

She fixed her gaze on him, her eyes brimming with tears, and Robert felt as if she had slapped him.

Georgie loved him?

She did. She loved him. And she had traveled all the way from London to tell him that she loved him. And now she had told him, and so it must be true. Mustn't it?

No. No. The devil it was.

The fury was blinding. It tore into him, ripped him apart. This was either the cruelest jest to which he had ever been subjected, or she was wholly and truly a madwoman.

He jerked around and walked away from her, just barely restraining himself from taking off at a run. He intended to keep going, but once he reached the temple steps, he swung back toward her and shouted, "Why are you doing this, Georgie?
Why?
"

"W…what?"

"Haven't you had your pound of flesh already?" he sneered. "Aye, that and a pint of blood as well! What else do you want? What? Answer me, damn you!"

"Robert!" she wailed, reducing the distance between them one hesitating step at a time. "What are you talking about?"

"Or maybe… Yes, that's it, isn't it?" He pointed a trembling, accusing finger at her. "It stung, didn't it, that I gave up? You'd rather I chase you around like a drooling, love-struck puppy for the rest of my life!"

"No! Oh, stop it! Please!" She reached him, and her hand went out to touch him, but then her eyes widened, and she jerked her arm back as if frightened by what she saw. "Oh God, Robert, I'm so sorry! I've treated you abominably. And I'm more sorry than you can ever imagine. I'm not excusing what I've done; I only wanted to explain."

She twisted her bonnet in her hands while she watched him, waiting for a response. He gave her none but a hard stare, and she finally said weakly, "I was frightened. I was jealous and hurt, and because my father had chosen you for my husband, I rebelled—ignoring the fact that I
would
have a choice and that I wanted to choose you. And then I didn't realize that part of why we were always bickering was because I was so afraid of letting you back into my heart again—ignoring the fact that you were already there. And then I decided we were not suited because I wanted to travel and you didn't—"

With a short, hard laugh, she said, "Mamma said that whatever choice I made, I had to be sure it was what I really wanted. I thought traveling was it, but I was wrong. I only dreamt of it because the prospect of doing something so out of the ordinary felt liberating. I do want a husband and a family, but I dread the prospect of 'wife and mother' being the total sum of who I am."

He closed his eyes and wished he could do the same with his ears. The devil take her. He didn't want to hear any of this. Her words wrenched through him, twisted and pulled at him until he was sure he'd come apart.