Pretty Persuasion (9 page)

Pain lodged in Elizabeth's chest. There was some measure of truth in that sentiment. If Sheffield managed to stop the wedding and Georgie's escapade became public knowledge, the scandal would be massive. But scandals were forgotten, eventually. Marriage was for life.

Her husband had not changed much during the past four-and-twenty years, but she had thought that with the appearance of silver in his jet-black hair, his priorities might have shifted. Apparently, he still put his good name above the well-being of his family. It was like an old wound ripped open all over again.

"Then you will be less than pleased to know that she may yet come away no more a wife than when she left," Elizabeth snapped, latching onto anger as she fought the tears burning behind her eyes. "The morning after they eloped, I called on Sheffield and asked him to go after them. He left immediately, and with luck, he has managed to catch up with them."

Disbelief flickered in her husband's pale gray eyes, followed by sparks of fury. Her own temper tossed caution to the wind, and she forged on. "I have faith in the boy, Charles. Though he's most certainly a man now and appears to be a competent one at that. So you see, Georgie might escape her miserable fate, after all. If she does, I should be vastly relieved."

"How could you do something so rattlebrained?" Charles roared. A vein at his temple ticked dangerously, and the muscles in his neck strained against the confines of his skin. "Why could you not leave well enough alone? Was it not enough that she's disgracing this family, without throwing Sheffield into the bargain?"

"Because I care about her happiness! I did not force Sheffield to go after them. He has been expected to marry her. I dare say the matter concerns him."

"Well, naturally, he did not turn you down! I can picture you only too well, Elizabeth, distraught and teary-eyed, pleading for his assistance. Not giving a second's thought to the dilemma you imposed upon him."

She advanced on him. "What was I supposed to have done, then? Asking you to take action would have been fruitless. Would you rather I'd chased after them myself? Pray tell, what other possible option did I have?"

"You ought to have left well enough alone!"

Elizabeth released an exasperated breath. "If you think I could sit back and do nothing while she tied herself to a man who was bound to treat her ill, then you know me not at all."

"She will not return to this house unwed!" Balling his fist, he punched doorframe.

She jumped, shrinking away from him. Her heart pounded against her ribcage, and for a few seconds, she was utterly robbed of speech. Charles never lost control, never resorted to violence not of a verbal nature.

"I will not have it," he raved. "The incident will come out one way or another, and if she does not marry that wastrel, she will be ruined beyond the reach of amendment."

Putting a hand to her chest to calm her heartbeat, Elizabeth shook her head. "I sent Arabella to visit the sickbed of our great-aunt Davenport, and I have told anyone who wanted to know that Georgie accompanied her. I see no reason why anyone should question it."

The anger disappeared from his eyes like a candle going out. He cleared his throat. "I see."

And that was the extent of his capitulation—no apology, no reassurances. Elizabeth sighed. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."

"Do not trouble yourself." His tone was curt, his expression indifferent. "I was quite happy not knowing. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

"Charles," she begged, but he left anyway. Her vision blurred with tears as she stared at the closed door. "Curse you," she whispered.

Returning to the table, she attacked the suddenly irresistible strawberries. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she devoured one after the other and prayed that her daughter was all right, that her son was not off somewhere stirring up trouble, and that they all ranked higher in her husband's priorities than his behavior would suggest.

"Why must I have freckles? Only redheads like Mamma and Aunt Arabella have freckles, and theirs are not nearly as hideous as mine. It is fortunate that I am already promised to Robert, for my freckles should surely prevent me from making an Advantageous Match."

— From the diary of Lady Georgiana Montford, aged 12

"STAND ASIDE, WOMAN!"

"I'll not!"

"Stand aside, or I will remove you by force!"

"You would not dare!"

Georgie squeezed her eyes shut, but it had no effect. The raised voices outside her bedchamber—one male and cultured, the other female and colored by a Yorkshire accent—continued to grate on her nerves.

"I would. Make no mistake of it!"

"Well, we'll just see about that, won't we? I'm not the least bit intimidated by you, Master Robert. You might be a grown man now, and your bearing may be a sight more impressive, but that does not give you leave to order me around."

"You are my housekeeper! You are presently in my employ, though for how much longer, I cannot predict."

They shouldn't shout so. Did they not know she could hear them? Upon being informed that she was bedridden and unable to go on to London, Robert had summoned a physician, who had declared her to be suffering from weak nerves. And whether correct or not, that diagnosis should ensure her some delicacy of treatment.

"And does being in thy employ justify my abandoning my moral obligation to protect a poor girl's virtue? I should think not!"

"You are sorely trying my patience, Mrs. Pease!"

Peace—that's what the good doctor had prescribed. Georgie sighed. There was nothing wrong with her nerves. Pity she could not say the same for her spirit or her ability to do much beyond stare at the pattern of her bed hangings and contemplate what an absolute mess she had made of things. Even her drawing things, tucked securely along with her diary into her valise, did not call to her.

The housekeeper huffed. "Keep bellowing, lad! I remain unmoved."

"She has been wallowing in there for three days," Robert countered, "and I shall allow it to go on no longer. As you've not managed to stir her back to life, I am forced to take charge."

"Take charge, indeed! The lass is not well—not well at all. She needs rest, not harassment. If I allow you to pester her, she may never recover. Besides, you cannot enter her bedchamber. 'Tis unseemly."

"Oh, for God's sake. I assure you, I harbor no intentions of ravishing her in her bed."

Of course he didn't. He considered her his charge, not an object of amorous attentions.

Where had
that
thought come from? Was she actually miffed that he'd made no attempts to seduce her? Surely not. She did not mind that he had behaved like a perfect gentleman on the daylong trip to his home in Yorkshire. In fact, she had slept, or pretended to sleep, most of the way to avoid his conversation. They had planned to press on immediately, London being several days' journey away, but her "illness" had kept them stationary, and she had not seen him since the evening they arrived.

Mrs. Pease did not back down. "I should be much obliged if you would refrain from taking the Lord's name in vain in my presence, lad. I dare say you have enough sins upon thy conscience that you need not add another."

Silence followed the housekeeper's accusation. Why did he suddenly have no response? It was odd, especially considering how valiantly he'd argued so far.

"Cameron!" he finally shouted.

Now, what? Oh, botheration! Georgie turned onto her side and buried her head under a pillow, shutting out the sunshine that poured in through the windows and mocked her misery with its brilliance. The sheets smelled clean and dry, like a summer's day. And they would remain dry, for it appeared she would not shed a single tear despite her wretchedness. Perhaps if she could cry, she'd finally muster the energy to return to the land of the living. But she only wanted to hide.

She knew they all thought she was lovesick. If only her affliction were as simple as that. For what she felt in the aftermath of Phillip's betrayal was worse than heartbreak. Aside from the blow of discovering that he'd been lying to her all along, she now had to face the acknowledgment of her own foolishness. Was she really so gullible, so utterly devoid of suspicion as all that?

Apparently so. And not only did she have to accept how stupidly she had behaved, but she also had to ask herself the crucial question: What now? After several days of contemplation, she still had no answer. She only knew she must find it before she returned to her parents' house. The thought of facing their condemnation with only apologies and untenable explanations was dismal beyond endurance. She needed a plan first, a firm list of actions that would still leave her in control of her own future, would still leave her independent of her family's whims and able to live her life as she wished.

An unearthly shriek reverberated through the house. "Don't come near me, you boorish creature—oh! Oh, my!" Mrs. Pease screamed again. "Unhand me at once! At once, I say!" Her shrill voice grew sharper as the door opened.

"Keep her out of my way." The door slammed, and the lock clicked into place.

Georgie tensed. Being trapped in a room with Robert Balfour, abed and wearing only her nightdress, put her at a great disadvantage.

"Damned servants. Insolent, every last one of them."

Poor Robert, she mocked silently. How he suffered.

"I know you're awake, Georgie. You'd have to be dead to sleep through that racket."

So he did realize they'd disturbed her peace. And wasn't that above all things wonderful? Perhaps he'd go away if she ignored him.

"I sent word to your mother three days ago." His voice drew nearer. "The news ought to please her."

Oh, yes. Her mother would be simply ecstatic, and her father would scarce be able to contain his glee.

Robert seemed to be waiting for her to respond. She remained silent. It was dreadfully childish of her, of course. Selfish, even. But she couldn't help it. She just wanted to be left in peace. That wasn't too much to ask, was it?

"I'm not going away, Georgie. You might as well speak to me now and save us both some time."

She had all the time in the world. He was wasting his.

The mattress shifted as he settled onto it. What did he think he was doing? She had not given him leave to sit on the bed. But then, he hadn't even asked, so it was a moot point.

It was rather unsettling, though, having him mere inches away. On her bed. Blankets covered her from chin to toe and the pillow still hid her face, yet she felt terribly exposed. What if he touched her? A prickling sensation skipped down her spine, spreading down her body until she was covered in goose pimples. Suddenly breathless, she imagined his hand on her calf, slipping up ever so slowly, up under her nightdress, and—

What was
wrong
with her? She must be ill after all. A delirious fever, perhaps.

"Very well," he said. "I've tried the amicable approach. You leave me no alternative."

She stiffened in apprehension. The pillow started to slide away, and she barely managed to grab it as he tried to pull it off her head. Aside from her need for solitude, she couldn't bear for him to see her like this. She knew her hair was a disaster, and her complexion must be as white as the sheets.

"You do realize that no matter how fiercely you hang onto that pillow, I could still remove it with relative ease, do you not?"

Yes, she did realize that, but did he have to sound so smug about it?

"I offer you a compromise, Georgie. The pillow may stay if you will talk to me. What say you?"

"Go away."

He chuckled softly. "That's not exactly what I had in mind, but I suppose it will do. You'll have to say more than that to keep your end of the bargain, though."

"Go away and stay away."

"I came to ask a favor of you," he went on, as if she had not spoken at all. "There's a filly in the stables that needs exercise. She's rather prickly and not overly fond of too much weight on her back, so I can hardly do it myself."

She pressed her lips together with irritation. Did he think to bribe her, as if she were a child?

And why not? Aren't you behaving like one?

"I am not well," she said.

"Yes, I heard. But I dare say a bit of fresh air would strengthen your nerves." She could tell from his tone that he did not put much stock in the physician's diagnosis. "Perhaps a ride will be too wearying for you. Would a stroll in the gardens be more agreeable?"

"No, it would not."

"You prefer to exercise Juno, then?"

If she hadn't needed it as cover, she would have thrown the pillow at him. She didn't believe for a moment that he'd misunderstood her. "I cannot."

"Why not?"

The mattress dipped as he moved, and she had to roll over onto her stomach to keep from sliding toward him. "I am occupied."

His response resembled a mix of a snort and a chuckle. "Pardon me if I'm being obtuse, but you don't seem especially occupied."

"Well, I am."

"Enlighten me."

Georgie suppressed a sigh, cursing his persistence. She drew a deep breath and forced herself to say, "I'm feeling sorry for myself."

"Ah." A moment of silence. "I'll admit that can be rather taxing, but surely you could manage that and take a stroll in the gardens at the same time."

"I am also exceedingly incensed."

"In that case, you must tarry no longer. I have it on good authority that suffering self-pity and anger while in the horizontal position can be extremely hazardous to your health. I fear you will do yourself permanent damage."

His pretense of concern coupled with such a silly statement almost made her smile. Almost.

"Are you going to accede," he continued, "or must I extract you from the bed and dress you by force?"

Although her face had grown almost unbearably hot beneath its oppressive cover, she tightened her hold on the pillow. He wouldn't. Or would he? He'd physically removed Mrs. Pease, so why should he hesitate to do the same to her?