No Greater Love (4 page)

“I climbed. I thought it more discreet than using the stairs.”

Georgia glanced down at her nightdress with dismay. “This won’t do at all, Mr. Daventry. You really must leave at once. I cannot think why people always seem to feel they can make themselves free of my bedroom just because I’m a servant. I work very hard you know, and I need my sleep.”

Nicholas had the absurd desire to laugh. She looked sweet and owlish and, oh yes, every bit as attractive as he remembered. He could see that her hair was the color of dark gold, now that it wasn’t covered by that ghastly cap. Her face was rosy with sleep, her blue eyes heavy with what might almost be misconstrued as promise. He took a long, deep breath, consciously banishing such thoughts for the moment. He didn’t need his brain to be clouded by lust while he was conducting a business arrangement.

“Mrs. Wells, will you marry me?”

“Why would I ever do a foolish thing like that?” She sat down on her bed and yawned, and he was slightly hurt that she didn’t even seem flattered, much less interested.

“Well, because I discovered tonight that I desperately need a wife. As I told you earlier, Raven’s Close should be mine, but if I’m to inherit it before my thirtieth birthday, which falls in roughly three weeks from now, I must be married.”

“I quite understand your need for a wife, given those circumstances, Mr. Daventry. But there must be handfuls of other available women who would be delighted to be your wife.”

“I know of no other available women in England, having only just arrived on these shores. You’ll do beautifully.”

“No I won’t. You can’t possibly marry a seamstress, Mr. Daventry. Surely there must be someone else more suitable?”

“I don’t see anything wrong with you in the least. Are you thinking that you are a threat to my respectability? I assure you, I have very little of that, and in any case, I’m probably more of a threat to yours.”

“Oh, no. I’m not worried about any of that in the least. How could I be? I simply don’t see the advantages for you.”

The conversation was not going at all as Nicholas had anticipated. If anything, he’d expected her to see the advantages for herself first. “They seem obvious,” he said, slightly off-balance. “I honestly can’t think of anyone else on the spur of the moment. You have fond feelings for my house, if not for me, and you told me earlier today that you’re miserable here. It’s a way out, is it not? If you marry me, Lady Raven will have no more influence over your life. I really haven’t the time to find a wife in the usual sort of way, Mrs. Wells, not if I’m to keep what is rightfully mine. You’d be doing both of us a favor. Do you think you might at least
consider
marrying me?”

Georgia pulled her feet up inside her nightdress and regarded Nicholas pensively. “You know nothing about me,” she said.

“You know nothing about me,” he countered. “But I imagine we can learn the basic facts in a relatively short amount of time.”

“Basic facts are hardly a basis for marriage.”

“All right, then,” he said, desperately snatching at straws. “Think of the Close. There is the fact that it needs a great deal of work, and you say you care about it. If it’s not given to me, then Lady Raven keeps it, and allows it to crumble even further. My uncle seems to be totally incompetent. Actually, to be blunt, he’s not functioning at all, poor soul. His wife has taken over all of his affairs, and that’s a dangerous thing in itself. But if I can at least get the Close out of her hands, I can try to restore it. But I need your help.”

“My help?” Georgia said doubtfully, but with a thread of hope in her voice. “You think I can help?”

Nicholas saw he had struck some sort of chord in her. It appeared that Georgia Wells had a deep desire to help people. “You can certainly help me,” he said, working on this theorem, “and that’s a beginning. Look at it this way: if I’m not married, I can’t help a blessed soul, myself included. If, on the other hand, you are willing to help me out of this mess, then perhaps I can help my uncle, and possibly Cyril as well, who sounds as if he needs it, from what you told me. I’m afraid all I have to offer in return is a broken-down house and a parcel of difficult relatives. What do you think?”

Georgia thought this over. “It is an awkward situation, isn’t it? I can see that you are in a very difficult spot.”

“Yes, and so are you. Marriages have been made for far less reason than that.”

Georgia nodded. “That is certainly true.”

“I realize this is sudden, and that we only met today, but I’m afraid there just isn’t the time to go about it in another way.”

“No, I quite understand.”

“Do you? That’s good. So will you please marry me, Mrs. Wells?”

“Well…”

“Well?” he repeated anxiously.

“Well, I suppose I have nowhere else to go and nothing more important to do,” Georgia said uncertainly. “I do hate my position here, and it’s true that I have no way out of it other than your offer.”

“Yes, and you will give me the satisfaction of being able to rescue you, as well as the satisfaction of infuriating Lady Raven. She will no doubt be beside herself.”

Georgia laughed. “The situation does smack of Rapunzel, doesn’t it? Lady Raven certainly makes a fine witch. Infuriating her is almost reason enough in itself. I don’t know … I suppose it’s not such a bad offer.” She tapped the corner or her mouth. “There’s the problem with the house, and having Lady Raven as a relative is not tempting. If only you had a decent fortune.”

“If only I had a decent fortune?” Nicholas said, choking on the words.

“Yes. It’s a pity, but there you are. On the other hand,” she continued with a mischievous smile, “your teeth appear strong, your physique is fine enough, and you do have all your hair. It could have been worse—you might have been a corpulent, bald prince coming to the rescue.”

“Thank you very much, madam,” Nicholas said, amused. “And I also have no objection to your physique, your teeth, nor your breath, for that matter. May we come to terms?”

Georgia rested her cheek on her knee for a moment, then looked up and met his eyes, and he saw that the laughter had gone out of them. “It’s madness, you do realize?”

“It’s an arrangement,” he replied reasonably. “Most marriages are arrangements. You and I might suit, who knows? We’ll certainly suit far better together than apart, given our individual circumstances at the moment.”

“So you said. May I think about it?”

“I’d rather you didn’t. It’s not the sort of thing that bears thinking about.”

A little smile crept back on her face. “I suppose I should be grateful to be consulted at all.” She took a deep breath. “All right, then, Mr. Daventry. I’ll marry you, although I confess that I feel rather peculiar about it. But if I can help you claim and restore Raven’s Close, then it only makes sense.”

“Bless you, Mrs. Wells. I can’t help but feel you’re heaven-sent.”

“I shouldn’t think anything nearly so dangerous, Mr. Daventry. Will you please leave the same eccentric way you came?”

“Never fear, I shall descend the wall in the best of style. Do let’s try to keep our agreement from Lady Raven, at least until Sunday, when the first banns will be cried. All hell is bound to break loose. She is determined to see the Close go to wrack and ruin.”

“Do you know, Mr. Daventry, I think it might be much wiser for you to obtain a special license, if at all possible. If Lady Raven is going to be as miffed as you think, she might try to find a way to stop you, and I wouldn’t put much past her, including murdering me. I wouldn’t be much good to you dead.”

Nicholas laughed. “Now, that’s thinking, my girl. I hadn’t thought of a special license, but it strikes me as being extremely sensible. The sooner the better, then. Here’s what I’ll do. I’ll leave first thing in the morning and make the arrangements. Then, once I’ve chased down the archbishop and acquired a license, I’ll come back and send for you from the village. I don’t think I ought to set foot back here until the deed is done. Lady Raven can learn about the marriage after the fact.”

“Very well. I’ll await word.” Georgia gracefully showed him to the window as if they were concluding a formal meeting in the drawing room, but the nightdress fluttering about her ankles played havoc with the image. “Good night, Mr. Daventry.” She held out her hand.

Nicholas graciously bowed over it, then climbed back over the sill and carefully made his way down the side of the building, all the while wondering what he had gone and done. But when he went to find Binkley and the carriage, he found that he was smiling.

Georgia read Nicholas’ message one last time, then folded it and put it in the pocket of her cloak. She looked down at her trembling hands, then twisted off Baggie’s wedding ring and put it in her pocket along with the note. She’d dispose of the ring in a bush somewhere. In about an hour, another ring would be sitting on her finger, put there by a man she knew not at all. And then she would belong to him.

She stared out the window. She couldn’t help but wonder if she was completely insane. After he’d left, and the full implications had sunk in, she had run to the window, intending to call him back and tell him she’d changed her mind.

And then her hand had fallen away from the latch.

It was either marriage to Nicholas Daventry or continued, unending enslavement to Lady Raven. What was a little pain in comparison to that? And at least for once in her life someone had actually asked her what she wanted.

She looked around the turret room one last time, and then she straightened her shoulders, picked up her small valise, and crept down the stairs and out the back way to marry her desperate prince with his ruin of a castle.

The carriage was waiting outside the locked gates of the Close, exactly where Nicholas had said it would be, and both he and a stout older gentleman were standing next to it. The older gentleman wore no expression at all, but Nicholas looked anxious, she thought as she approached. She doubted he could possibly be as anxious as she was, but she tried very hard to school her face into an expression of calm. Apparently she was unsuccessful, for as he turned, hearing the crunch of her footsteps on the light blanket of snow, his eyebrows rose.

“Good day, Mr. Daventry,” she said, cursing the shake in her voice.

“Good day, Georgia,” Nicholas said with what she imagined was supposed to be a reassuring smile. “I am delighted you decided to come after all, but please, do try not to look at me like that, or the vicar might think I’m forcing you to a fate worse than death. I shall not murder you, you know, only marry you. You haven’t had a change of heart, have you?”

“No,” she said firmly, pulling herself up very straight. “I haven’t. I gave you my word, and I do not go back on such things. I thought you might change your mind, if anything.”

“After scaling Ravenswalk to claim your hand? Not a chance. Please, allow me to introduce you to my superior man, Binkley. I should be lost without him. Binkley, Mrs. Wells.”

Binkley bowed. “Mrs. Wells. May I profess myself overjoyed to make your acquaintance. You are most obliging to take on my master in wedlock.”

Georgia couldn’t help smiling. There was something very solid and respectable about Binkley, and she liked him immediately. “Thank you, Binkley,” she said. “I am sure your master is most obliging to take me on as well. Given that we know each other not at all, the experience is bound to be invigorating.”

“Indeed, ma’am. But then, it has been my experience that life with Mr. Daventry is always invigorating. May I help you into the carriage?”

Georgia gathered her skirts and accepted his arm, glancing over at Nicholas as he moved in next to her. “You didn’t tell me there was a Binkley included in the marriage.”

“Consider him my wedding gift to you. Believe me, you will be grateful for Binkley soon enough. He can solve any number of domestic and nondomestic crises. On top of that, he has a mind like a razor and a much more highly developed sense of propriety than I, so he keeps me firmly in my place.”

Georgia fell silent, suddenly feeling horribly shy. It struck her for the first time that they would be setting up house together, that failing death or complete estrangement, they would be part of one another’s lives from here on out. She shifted on the seat.

“Nervous?” Nicholas asked.

“Yes. I’m sorry, Mr. Daventry, but I cannot help myself; this morning I was Lady Raven’s modiste. This afternoon I am about to become the wife of a man I’ve only ever met twice before, and then under fairly odd circumstances. I am not normally given to a nervous condition, I assure you, but you must admit the situation lends itself to such a reaction.”

“I do understand,” he said gently. “I’m a bit nervous myself, if truth be told. Marriage is a big undertaking. That is why I wanted to be married here, in the village church, where I used to go to services. We might not be well-acquainted, but this is our wedding, and I’d like it to feel right.”

She nodded, and twisted her hands together in her lap.

“Good. And, ah … Georgia?”

“Yes?” she said, glancing over at him.

“Do you think you could call me Nicholas? It would make the situation more comfortable.”

“Certainly,” she said, clearing her throat and trying to sound sensible. “You must tell me what you would like and what you wouldn’t like, and I shall do my best to accommodate you, Nicholas.”

He leaned a little away from her and looked at her hard. “Accommodate me? Georgia, let me make it very clear that I do not wish to be accommodated. We are entering into a partnership together. It would be nice if you would approach your position from that angle. I would be happy if you would help me, occasionally gratify me, at times even humor me, but you are not to be a servant to me.” His brow drew down. “You have been married before. Surely you understand?”

Georgia nodded again, feeling more miserable than ever. She understood perfectly. Nicholas just had a pretty way of putting it.

“Forgive me,” he said quietly. “I’ve been insensitive. Perhaps it will help if we look at this as a fresh start for us both, an adventure we are undertaking together.”

She looked over at him and managed a slight smile. “You must forgive me as well. You are being uncommonly kind, and I am behaving in a most foolish fashion. You are quite correct. We are both embarking on an adventure, and I shall try to keep that in mind.”

“Good. And here we are, Georgia.” He alighted and helped her down from the carriage, and then he tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and took her into the church to be married.

It was dark and cool inside and Georgia noticed that there was a comfortable smell of old wood and beeswax. The vicar was perfectly pleasant, delighted to see Nicholas again, whom apparently he’d christened, and he professed himself delighted to marry them.

“It’s no trouble at all, Nicholas, my boy. What a lovely woman you have chose as your bride. I am so pleased you decided to come back to your old parish to be married. Now, if you’ll just stand here, Mrs. Wells and you here, Nicholas, and your man behind you—and Mrs. Petersby, over there, thank you. Now, shall we begin?”

Georgia thought she was going to be sick. She remembered this far too clearly from the last time, only then the vicar’s face had been cold and disapproving, and the other faces had held barely disguised sniggers. But she had been innocent then, had not understood what the sniggers meant.

“Wilt thou, Georgina Eugenie, have this man to thy wedded husband?”

Georgia glanced over and up at Nicholas as the words droned on. He couldn’t have been more different from Baggie. The diffused light of the sun fell through the stained glass onto his cheek and the shoulder nearest her. She could only see the straight bridge of his nose, the definition of his cheekbone, the side of his mouth, and the smooth angle of his jawline, ending in a well-shaped ear, behind which his black hair curled.

Nicholas suddenly turned his head and met her eyes, and he smiled. She dropped her eyes abruptly, coloring.

No, there was no external resemblance to Baggie, none whatsoever. Baggie had stood at the altar in his best clothes, eye level to her, and he had never once taken those eyes off her. But he hadn’t smiled. He hadn’t smiled once. Now she knew what he had been thinking about.

“With this ring I thee wed. With my body I thee worship…” Nicholas said, slipping the gold ring onto her finger. She looked down at it. It was heavier than Baggie’s had been, and the gold was deep and rich. Worship? It was a peculiar way to put it.

She stiffened as Nicholas lifted her chin and bent down and lightly kissed her. He kissed her in a far more circumspect fashion than he had in the weeds outside Raven’s Close, his warm lips just brushing hers, and it really wasn’t so bad after all. After receiving the congratulations of the vicar, the vicar’s cleaning lady, and Binkley, he took her back to the Cock and Bull and told her to wait for him.

“I’ll be back, Georgia. I’m going to Ravenswalk to claim the Close, and I think this is something I’d best do alone.”

Georgia merely nodded, wishing him out the door as fast as possible. As soon as he’d gone, she went straight back outside and walked as quickly as possible down the village lane toward the open country. She needed a good quantity of fresh air and exercise to blow the troubles out of her brain, proprieties be damned.

She was not aware that Binkley had taken note of her flight and kept a discreet distance behind.

Jacqueline stood in the middle of the library, quivering with fury. “What do you mean, you are married?” She spat each word out separately. “I do not believe it. It is a sham! It is not legal! Show me proof!”

Nicholas tossed the marriage lines onto the desk. “Read. It’s quite fresh, Jacqueline.”

She snatched it up, her eyes running rapidly over the page, and then it dropped from her hand, and she looked up, looking as if she’d just been slapped. The color had gone from her face, leaving it white, with two violent spots of red flaming on her cheeks. “No. It is not possible. Not Georgia Wells. No. No!”

“Yes. Georgia.” Nicholas crossed his arms over his chest. “Georgia Wells, now Georgia Daventry. Say goodbye to your modiste, Jacqueline, and say good-bye to Raven’s Close. I’d like the deed and the keys, not that keys are really necessary. The door would most likely fall in if I leaned on it.” He scooped his marriage certificate up off the floor. “If you please? There’s no point delaying. Accept it. All of your scheming has failed.”

Jacqueline, who looked as ill as he’d ever seen her, pulled herself up. “I don’t know how you managed this, Nicholas, although I wouldn’t put anything past the scheming little baggage, nor you, for that matter. But I promise, you will regret this. I swear that I will make you regret this.”

“Swear what you will, Jacqueline. It makes no difference to me. You make no difference to me—not any longer. You can’t touch me now, can you, and I would lay money that that fact is tearing you up inside. So why don’t you scurry along and get me my things?”

Jacqueline drew in a long, hissing breath. “Don’t push me, Nicholas. You have no idea what I am capable of doing. You have no idea at all.”

“You’re probably right, Jacqueline. I’d hate to contemplate the true depths to which you’re willing to sink. And since today is my wedding day, and I’d like to get back to my wife, I’m not going waste any more time in your highly questionable presence. My key, please.”

She swept past him, and he laughed softly to see the speed at which she went. He had gotten to her. He had definitely gotten to her, and it pleased him. It was about time that something pleased him when it came to Jacqueline de Give.

He was just about to untie his horse from the mounting post when a young man came around the corner, and reflexively he glanced up. The young man stopped abruptly, and Nicholas stared, his mouth curving into a wild smile. Talk about spitting images—here was one, indeed. He might have been looking at himself fifteen years ago. “Good God. Cyril?” He quickly moved toward him, his hand outstretched. “What a pleasure it is to see you again! It is Nicholas—your cousin Nicholas? Surely you haven’t forgotten me?”

“Wh-what are you d-doing here?” Cyril not only didn’t take his hand, he took a wary step away, and Nicholas dropped his hand to his side, surprised.

“I’ve come home, Cyril. Did your stepmother not tell you? Ah—yes, I can see she did not. I’m going to be moving into the Close.”

“The Close? B-but … but you c-can’t!” Cyril looked shocked as much as anything else.

“Can’t I? Why not?”

“B-because-b-because you c-can’t. My father t-tossed you out on your ear. You c-cannot come home.”

“But here I am,” Nicholas said gently. “Here I am, and here is the key,” he said, holding it up to Cyril’s view. “My wife and I move in tonight. I’m sorry if the news doesn’t please you, but I have waited a very long time for this. I’ve also waited a long time to see you again. I had hoped you would be happy that I’d returned. I confess to surprise at your dismay.’’

Cyril reddened. “I am s-surprised at your cheek. You d-don’t belong here.”

“Well. You’re entitled to your feelings. I don’t know what you’ve been told about the falling-out your father and I had, but it’s clear to me that a black picture was painted. Look here, Cyril, you’re the only cousin I have. I would hope we could be friends as we once were. I know you were very young when I left, but surely you cannot have forgotten everything we did together?”

Cyril poked at the ground with the toe of his boot, and Nicholas frowned. “Very well, Cyril. Why don’t you take some time to think about it? You know where you can find me. Please feel welcome at any time. Good day.”

He untied his horse and swung up into the saddle. “I’m sorry about your father, by the by, It’s a terrible shame. I hope he’ll recover.”

Cyril went even redder, then ducked his head and turned his back, disappearing inside the house. Nicholas looked after him, trying not to be hurt by Cyril’s reaction. Cyril had been only a young lad, he reasoned, when Nicholas had been forced to leave, and God knew what stories he’d been told. Maybe it would take a little time to win him over but he had plenty of that, not that he had any intention of begging. Let his actions speak for themselves. But the stutter the boy had developed surprised him, for he had always believed that speech was firmly established at an early age, and Cyril had never had any difficulty in that direction. He would ask Georgia. Maybe she would have some insight into the situation.

He urged his horse toward the Close. He had a feeling he was going to need privacy on his first full exposure to the ruin it had become.