Read No Greater Love Online

Authors: Katherine Kingsley

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BOOK: No Greater Love
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He suddenly jumped to his feet. “I … I must g-go now. I’m n-not supposed to c-consort with the s-servants. If you’ll excuse m-me, I must r-return to the house. My t-tutor is no doubt in a s-state of extreme agitation.” He left her without another word, and Georgia looked after him, her brow drawn down in perplexity.

After that she often found him near Raven’s Close, a favorite spot of her own, separated as it was from the stifled atmosphere of Ravenswalk. Here was a sad house, a house that had been deserted, left to wither and die like a neglected child. Maybe that was what drew him there. He was a neglected child himself. And then there was his terrible stutter, which no doubt made him acutely uncomfortable around people. But despite her sympathy for his situation, she could not like him. He was an exceedingly difficult boy, inclined to moodiness and sulks, and he had a tendency to be extremely overbearing—not surprising, she supposed, given that he was a viscount. She wondered why he bothered speaking to her at all. And yet he seemed to seek her out, although he delighted in reminding her that she was a servant. Which she was.

Georgia’s fingers were stiff with fatigue, but she bent her head back to her work and carefully pushed the needle through the velvet fabric, concentrating on finishing the fitted bodice. She would have been just as happy to poke the needle through Lady Raven’s eye.

“Cyril, I will not tolerate an interrogation,” Jacqueline said, and impatiently tapped his shoulder with her fan. “I haven’t the time for this nonsense. Now, go and find something else to do with yourself.”

“I w-won’t,” Cyril said stubbornly “I know what you’re p-planning tonight, don’t think you h-have me fooled. It’s D-Dillon, isn’t it? I saw how you were l-looking at him at d-dinner the other night. And he’s … he’s not the f-first, is he?”

“Cyril! You are being absurd! And stop that ridiculous stammering. Anyone would think you were an idiot. Now, stand aside; I must be on my way or I shall be late. Why don’t you apply yourself to your books instead of concocting ridiculous tales? Mr. Fern has not been very positive about your studies, and it displeases me. This is the fourth tutor in two years, and the last, Cyril.” She started out her bedroom door.

“It’s n-no good t-trying to change the subject. You are t-taking D-Dillon as a l-lover.”

Jacqueline stopped in her tracks and turned, giving Cyril a cold look. “Whether I choose to take him as a lover or not, Cyril, is absolutely none of your affair. I will not abide your speaking to me in such a way. I would not like to have to punish you, Cyril, but I shall if needs be.”

Cyril hunched a shoulder and looked down at the floor.

“Now, enough of this. I would thank you never to bring up the subject again, for it is too foolish, my pet. Perhaps you and I need to take a nice long walk, spend the afternoon together. I have been busy of late, with all the guests we have had, and I know that you have felt neglected, but I will make it up to you, I promise, for I don’t like you to feel lonely. So be a good boy and let me go, and sometime this week we’ll find time for that walk.”

She swept out of the room and down the stairs, calling for the carriage.

Cyril went out onto the landing and watched as she left. And then he went back into his stepmother’s room and slumped into the chair at the dressing table, running his finger through a pile of spilt powder. The room smelled of her strong perfume, and he ran his tongue over his dry bottom lip, his eyes flickering over the table. He picked up a pair of nail scissors and very deliberately stabbed them into the heel of his hand, puncturing the flesh. The blood welled up and he watched it for a minute, then took his hand and rubbed it on the glass table-top, smearing the polished surface with a wide red streak.

Pulling his handkerchief out, he wrapped his hand with it, then looked in the mirror. His gray eyes appeared perfectly calm to him. He smoothed down his dark locks, his fingers shaking, but he forced them to be still too. And then he left the room, softly closing the door behind him.

Georgia heard a light tap come at her door, and she put her sewing down and went to answer it, hoping it was the maid with some more candles.

“Cyril!” she said with a mixture of surprise and wariness as she opened the door to find his lanky shape filling the frame. “Whatever are you doing up here? And at this hour—you must know it’s not proper for you to come to my bedroom?”

“I kn-know that. Don’t w-worry. No one s-saw me.”

“That’s a blessing. I’d be dismissed in an instant if anyone had.”

“My step … stepmother is away for the evening and m-most of the s-servants are in b-bed. I didn’t think it would d-do any harm.”

“Cyril, what is it? You look upset about something.”

He moved into her room, looking around him casually, as if it were perfectly natural for him to be paying her a midnight visit. “I’m n-not upset in the l-least. I am p-perfectly well. I was unable to s-sleep, and s-since you’ve been l-locked away for the last f-fortnight, I thought you might l-like some c-company. I know how l-lonely it can b-be here.”

“Oh. Well, that’s very considerate of you, Cyril, but I’m busy with your stepmother’s wardrobe.” Georgia couldn’t think how to remove him from her room without being rude, or worse, hurtful. Cyril’s feelings were exceptionally sensitive, and his face was more pale than usual. That there was something bothering him was unmistakable. “All right, sit down,” she said impulsively, unable to deny him when he was so clearly in need of comfort. “But only for a few minutes. I really must finish this piece.”

Cyril pulled out the chair and threw himself in it.

“Goodness,” she said, noticing the stained bandage on his hand for the first time. “What did you do to yourself?”

“Nothing. A p-piece of glass. T-tell me about your l-life before R-Ravenswalk.”

Georgia tried to think where this demand had come from. He’d never before shown any interest in her life. “Well,” she said cheerfully, “I grew up in a small village in Cumberland. My father died when I was small, and my mother and I lived alone together until she died.”

“D-did she t-take a l-lover?” he said abruptly.

“A lover?” Georgia colored, nonplussed. “What an extraordinary question, Cyril. I don’t think it’s quite appropriate for you to—”

“I only w-wondered. Most m-married women take l-lovers, whether their husbands are alive or d-dead.” He squeezed his injured hand hard and a fresh red stain appeared on the bandage. He looked down at it with apparent fascination.

“I’m afraid I’m only a simple village girl, Cyril,” Georgia said, frowning, her eyes fixed on his hand. “I haven’t the sophistication to know about such things.”

He shifted in his chair. “Oh. I thought y-you would know, as y-you were m-married. I s-suppose it’s just the aristocracy, then. No one m-marries for l-love, only for c-convenience. It is f-fashionable to be unfaithful, d-didn’t you know?”

“I’d like to know to whom you’ve been speaking about such things.” She bent her head over her stitching to hide her embarrassment. “I scarcely think Mr. Fern has been instructing you in such matters.”

Cyril’s mouth tightened slightly. “Mr. F-Fern? No. I have n-no one to s-speak to about such m-matters but you, Georgia.”

“And I’m not likely to speak to you of such things, Cyril,” Georgia said bluntly.

“Oh. What a p-pity. I was hoping you might be a b-bit more forthcoming.” He shrugged. “I am not the c-callow youth you might think, Georgia. I thought we might p-provide each other c-companionship. It would n-not be an unusual arrangement.”

Georgia suddenly understood, and she felt a dark stain spread from her chest to her cheeks. “Cyril, I cannot believe you would even suggest such a thing! If we are to remain friends, then I must ask you to observe the proprieties. Do you understand? This really is not acceptable. I must ask you to leave at once.”

Cyril’s face went deathly white. “As you w-wish. I shall not c-come again. You are only a s-silly s-servant anyway. I will amuse m-myself elsewhere.”

He did not give her a chance to say another word, he left so swiftly. Georgia sank down on her chair as soon as the door had closed behind him, resting her forehead in her hand. She knew that Cyril was young and probably just trying out his fledgling wings, but he had upset her, and she had upset him, she knew, for she was certain that his rudeness covered a deep sense of rejection and humiliation.

She spent the next hour piecing the blasted bodice to the dress and cursing herself for not having handled the situation better. Ravenswalk was nothing but a succession of obstacles to be circumvented as best as possible. One way or another, only disaster lay ahead, and when it struck, her life would be worthless, for Lady Raven would see to it that she never worked again. If only there was a way out. But there wasn’t.

Georgia fell into bed, just barely managing to pull the covers up around her, and her eyes closed in exhaustion.

2

Nicholas opened his eyes and Binkley’s face swam into his view, although he seemed to have acquired a second pair of eyes directly below the first. “What is it, man?” he muttered, foggily wondering why his mouth felt like the inside of a sewer. He tried valiantly to orient. “Where am I? God, who am I?”

“You are Mr. Nicholas Daventry, and you are safely installed at the White Stag in Dover, sir. It is the twenty-first of November in the year 1819. We have journeyed from India, where you have an enterprising business in free trade. You are in transit to your family home in Sussex-”

“I know all of that, you fool. How long have I been in this accursed inn?”

“Only four hours, sir. I took the liberty of arranging for two seamen to transport you from the ship. I must know your wishes for transport tomorrow, sir, or perhaps you will be feeling unwell and will wish to rest for an extra day?”

“How much did it take?” Nicholas said, trying to sit up and instantly deciding it was a poor idea.

“The full bottle of brandy and then a half again, sir.”

“We’ll stay the extra day. Did I disgrace myself?”

“Other than insulting an elderly matron—‘broad-beamed,’ I believe you called her, sir—on disembarkation, and trying to land a fist on the nose of one of your bearers, no, sir. Oh, and I felt it was only in good taste to pay extra for the state of the cabin. I’m afraid your stomach did not take well to the combination of drink and nerves, sir.”

“A small price to pay. It’s a damn shame England had to be an island surrounded by large bodies of water.”

“Yes, sir. Speaking of which, there is a large carafe of water next to your left elbow. I would suggest you partake heavily of it.”

“Thank you, Binkley. I will do so as soon as I regain the ability to put myself upright. Good-bye, Binkley. Good-bye and good night. I don’t want to see you again until twenty-four hours have passed.”

Binkley bowed. “Certainly, sir. I shall see to it that light trays of food are regularly delivered to you tomorrow to aid with the absorption of the spirits.”

Nicholas, who was not accustomed to drinking heavily, but who’d had the occasional foolishness to do so and had suffered the consequences, groaned at the very thought of food and the day to come, and then mercifully passed out again.

The next day and night did not bear thinking about. He was sufficiently recovered to rise the second morning, bathe and be dressed, and shakily climb into the hired carriage.

“Progress, Binkley,” he commanded, then fell asleep again.

Late that afternoon they pulled up near the gates of Ravenswalk, and Nicholas alighted, finally feeling like himself, although he was nervous and distracted. He had no intention of arriving with a fuss; he’d far rather quietly walk in the front door without the benefit of footmen and all the rest of it to herald him. But first he had another matter to attend to. He desperately wanted to see Raven’s Close. It represented all the good things of the old day, before everything had changed so damned irrevocably.

“Stay here, Binkley,” he commanded as he jumped off the step. “You may go to the Cock and Bull if I am not back by midnight, and if I have not appeared at all within twenty-four hours, then you had best come after me. It is possible that I misinterpreted my uncle’s letter and he intends to have me shot at sunrise.”

“Very good, sir.” Binkley settled back against the box, and Nicholas loped off toward the gates. He turned right halfway down the driveway and took the old familiar path through the woods, reconnecting with the Close’s own drive, now closed off. It was like a walk through his childhood. How many times had he taken the shortcut to Ravenswalk, his dog at his heel, or at the heel of his horse? And then in later years it had been the other way around, going from Ravenswalk to look upon his old home. Perhaps at some time in the future his children would be taking the shortcut to visit Cyril, once again linking the two families.

Nicholas hated to admit it to himself, but he was sentimental. He had a burning desire not just to have his house, but also to have a family of his own to fill it. The invitation to return home had meant a great deal more to him than he’d originally cared to acknowledge, but as the months of traveling had worn on, he’d realized how staunchly he had denied the pain of being an outcast, pretending indifference. What he felt now was anything but indifference: his whole being vibrated with a contained excitement.

The sight that met his eyes caused him to come to a dead halt. The leap his heart made was not caused by joy, but rather by shock. Raven’s Close was a ruin.

Weeds grew up all around it. The windows were too filthy for him to be able to see inside, and covered in cobwebs, but there was a hole in one near the front, and with a sick feeling in his stomach he made his way through the weeds and peered inside. It was just as he thought: it was a disaster on the inside as well. There was no furniture to be seen, and it appeared as if there must be at least one hole in the roof, given the stains on the walls and the general rotted state of things.

The door was locked, but it made no difference: at the moment he really didn’t have the heart to go inside. He felt as if a dream had been shattered, a tiny kernel of dream that he’d held in the back of his heart for twenty long years. Nicholas sank to the ground, facing the wreck of his beautiful house, the wreck of his hopes for a family, his hopes for somehow putting the past right.

His uncle couldn’t possibly care about him if he’d allowed this to happen. Nicholas’ inheritance. It was a joke. A big ugly joke. Maybe his uncle had summoned him home so he could slap him one final time. “Things are wrong and must be put right”? To hell with it.

He put his head on his arms and he wept.

Georgia saw him as she came out of the clearing, her basket full of the roots she’d been collecting. His dark head was bent, and it was clear that he was upset. She could feel it almost tangibly across the twenty feet that separated them. It wasn’t the first time that she’d come across Cyril in a fit of despair, but she felt slightly responsible, for she knew she had upset him greatly the night before. The least she could do was to try to make it better. She put the basket down and walked over to him, lightly touching his shoulder. “Cyril? Can we be friends again? It’s not as bad as all that, is it?”

His head jerked up and she saw that his gray eyes were wet. But the terrible thing was that they weren’t Cyril’s eyes. They were near enough, as were the ebony hair and the arched eyebrows. The resemblance to Cyril was startling indeed, but it definitely wasn’t he.

She took a step backward, her hand going to her chest. “I … I beg your pardon. I’m sorry…” She swallowed hard.

In one quick agile movement he was on his feet, and Georgia swallowed again, this time in awe. Standing as he was, it was more than apparent that he wasn’t Cyril. His shoulders were broad and muscular, his waist and hips narrow, his legs powerful. Whereas Cyril was attractive enough in his own way, this man was magnificent. “Oh,” she said in a small voice, realizing she was staring.

“Who in the blazes are you?” he asked, clearly shaken.

“I’m Georgia—Georgia Wells. I’m not … What I mean to say is, I’m Lady Raven’s dressmaker. I truly am sorry, sir. I hadn’t meant to intrude, but you look so like Lord Brabourne, you see, that I thought surely it was he.”

“And do you often find Lord Brabourne sitting in a desolate heap and weeping?”

“Sometimes. That’s another reason I thought he was you.”

The gentlemen frowned. “I find that disturbing, seeing that Lord Brabourne is nearly seventeen years old and should not be given to such unfortunate habits.”

“No, sir. He probably shouldn’t. But he is, and it seems it must run in the family.”

He raised one of those extraordinary eyebrows. “Oh?” he asked in that rich, deep voice.

“Oh.” She colored. “What I meant to say is that you must be related. You do resemble a number of the family members in the portraits I’ve seen. The title is apt.”

“Are you always given to making such personal comments, Miss Wells?”

“Mrs. Wells. I’m sorry.” She was still in shock.

“That you’re married? How unfortunate you should feel so.” His eyes showed a flash of humor.

Georgia looked at him more closely. Humor was not in great supply at Ravenswalk, and she discovered that she’d missed it more than she’d realized. “Who
are
you?” she asked, suddenly relaxing.

“Nicholas Daventry. I’m Raven’s nephew. I’ve been away for some time now, so I doubt you’ve heard me mentioned.”

Georgia looked at him thoughtfully. “I see,” she finally said, then glanced around his shoulder at the house behind him, for his shoulder was too high to look over it. “I think I understand.”

“Just what do you think you understand, Mrs. Wells?”

“It was the condition of the Close, wasn’t it, that was upsetting you? I know. It upsets me too. I love houses, you see, and it hurts to see it unloved and uncared-for. Houses are like people. They need to be loved, lived in. I come here often, just to sit and think. I’ve become very fond of the Close—it’s a bit like an orphan, and as I was an orphan myself, I suppose I feel we have something in common. Someone needs to care.”

He blinked, and then before Georgia knew what was happening, she found herself being pulled into his arms and kissed. It wasn’t at all like the kisses Baggie had forced on her, which had been clammy and wet and suffocating, nor like Lord Herton’s kiss, dry as parchment, the one time he’d caught her by surprise. This was quite a different sort of thing, but nevertheless it deeply alarmed her, and she took a deep breath and pushed him away, hard.

“You presume greatly, sir,” she said, trying to stop the shaking that had come over her, and wondering why the words sounded so silly.

He ran a hand through his hair, agitated, and took a step backward. “My apologies,” he said. “That was unforgivable. I’m afraid I was overcome by a momentary pang of some hopeless emotion. I trust you won’t send your husband after me, crying for pistols at dawn.”

Georgia shook her head. “He’s already dead.”

“Already … Madam, do you have any sensibilities?”

“Oh, yes, many, although sensibilities aren’t allowed at Ravenswalk, so I suppose I’m out of practice.”

Nicholas cocked his head and scrutinized her with a keen eye. “Perhaps,” he said slowly, “you wouldn’t mind telling me a bit of what life is like at Ravenswalk at the moment. I used to live there, you see.”

“Well,” she said, relieved that he seemed unlikely to pursue her any further, “I suppose I could, if just for the conversation. I haven’t really had any conversation with anyone for the last eight months, at least not any that has been gratifying.” She dropped to the ground, thinking that she couldn’t possibly conduct the conversation craning her head up to his height.

“Hmm,” he replied, dropping down next to her and pulling one long leg up. He rested his forearm on his knee and regarded her pensively. “That sounds rather dismal.”

“Lady Raven doesn’t like fraternization among the staff, and we’re all terrified of being discovered talking to each other, I think. Dismissal is like Madame Guillotine—fast, furious, and bloody.”

Nicholas nodded. “I’m not surprised. Tell me, how is my uncle?”

“I don’t know; I’ve never met him. He keeps to his rooms. I have heard he is unwell, although I have never seen the doctor arrive. But again, no one will discuss him, and Cyril will not speak of it. I think perhaps this is why your cousin is often upset. It’s difficult when one’s parent is ill—there is so much uncertainty and fear.”

“Yes, I can imagine. Cyril was always a deeply sensitive child. It was very hard for him when his mother died. He was only six, poor lad. Lady Raven, as you’ve no doubt gathered, is not a particularly warm person. She made a poor substitute for a mother.”

Georgia bit her lip. “I wouldn’t say that she’s made any kind of mother at all. If anything, Cyril seems intimidated by her. But then, most people are. She’s that kind of person, don’t you think?”

Nicholas smiled sourly. “Maybe to most people. She doesn’t intimidate me in the least.” He absently pulled up a handful of overgrown grass and the roots came with it. His eyes fell to his hand and he tossed the grass away. “How do you feel about her?”

“Feel, Mr. Daventry? I’m in her employ. I’m not allowed to have feelings.”

“Not even in the privacy of your bedroom, Mrs. Wells? Most people do have feelings in the privacy of their bedrooms.”

“Very well. In the privacy of my bedroom—my turret I should say—I dislike Lady Raven acutely. There.”

Nicholas laughed. “Was that so bad? If truth be told, I dislike Lady Raven acutely myself. You might as well tell me the rest. I’m not likely to go running to her with your inner thoughts, and it would help me to have a clearer picture, given I’ve been away for ten years.”

“Ten years?” Georgia said, wondering where he’d been and what he’d been doing. It was odd his name hadn’t come up, although who would have brought it up in that strange house was beyond her. “That is a long time, Mr. Daventry. But I must confess, I feel it would be unwise of me to say anything further. I cannot afford to lose my job; Lady Raven would see to it that I never found another.”

Nicholas considered this. “That in itself says everything. Tell me, how did you come to accept a position at Ravenswalk?”

Georgia gave a shrug of her shoulder. “I didn’t exactly. I don’t think I would have if I’d been given a choice. But in one day I found myself dismissed by my previous employer, and informed that I was to go to work for Lady Raven. As I wasn’t consulted, and I really had no other alternative, I found myself here.” Her eyes darkened, and she looked down so that Nicholas wouldn’t see the bitter, bleak expression in them that said everything about his family.

But apparently she hadn’t looked down quickly enough, for he touched her chin lightly with his finger and pulled her face up to meet his eyes. “That bad?” he asked quietly, and she nodded miserably.

“I’m sorry. Now that I’ve returned, perhaps I can do something to help.”

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