Regency Debutantes (31 page)

‘You’re right as ever, Mrs Howard,’ said Georgiana. She chewed on the food thoughtfully, pondering the situation with cool composure for the first time.

Neither woman spoke, each reassured and comfortable in the other’s presence. After some time, when Georgiana had scraped her plate clean and was sipping on her second cup of
coffee, she asked, ‘What’s your opinion, ma’am? What should we do?’

Mrs Howard folded her long manicured fingers before answering. ‘It’s not my place to comment.’

Georgiana looked up at her, disappointment on her face.

‘Georgiana,’ the older woman sighed, ‘I shouldn’t, but …’ One slow blink of the silver eyes and she continued, ‘You must do whatever it takes to ensure that the disagreement is resolved. And now, please excuse me, my dear. I’ve already said too much.’ So saying, Evelina removed herself swiftly and gracefully from the breakfast room.

Georgiana sat alone, bathed in a ray of pale winter sunshine. Mrs Howard had not told her anything other than she already knew herself. Yes, her heart was raw from Nathaniel’s rejection. But a family was at stake here. Wallowing in self-pity would not prevent Nathaniel’s self-imposed isolation. Whatever the outcome, the Hawkes would be destroyed, and Georgiana knew quite calmly, quite clearly, that the fault would lie with her own self. If only she had not run away, if only she had not ended up aboard the
Pallas
, if only she had not married Nathaniel…There were so many
if onlys.
On board the frigate, before they had ever come to this place, she would have staked her very life that Nathaniel could never have behaved in this way. To risk all that was dear to him, and over her. She could not stop him, just as Mirabelle could not stop Henry. The more that Georgiana thought, the more she came to realise that there was only one person who had the power to do such a thing. One man who could prevent the downward spiral of events. She squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and determined that this was one occasion that would never merit an
if only.

The Earl of Porchester looked up from his desk at the woman standing so doggedly before him. With her clear pale skin and short dark hair, she could hardly be described as beautiful, but there was something magnetic about her, the arrangement of her features, and those eyes. Porchester felt it, just as clearly as his sons had before him. It was, no doubt, an attribute she used to good effect—to catch a husband beyond her class, beyond her means. If she thought to manipulate him so easily, she was in for a surprise. He knew that he had been inordinately rude in refusing to meet her, and that nothing excused his appalling breach of manners. A wave of disquiet swept over him at the thought. He brushed it carelessly away. ‘I did not request your presence, madam.’

‘No.’ Her voice was quiet but steady.

He watched her from beneath his dark hooded eyes, waited for her discomfort to grow before gesturing in the direction of the worn leather chairs by the fireplace. ‘Sit down.’ It was not an invitation. He moved around from behind the barrier of the desk.

‘Thank you, my lord.’ Georgiana settled herself into the chair and watched while the earl took the other. She noted that he was almost as tall as Nathaniel and, even if the years had not left him unmarked, he still had an impressive stature. Although his hair had turned to a distinguished silver, he did not appear old—it merely lent him an air of sophistication. For a man busy about work within his study he was dressed immaculately in a black superfine coat, under which a silver-grey waistcoat and pristine white shirt could be seen. With his black breeches and silver buckled shoes he presented a formidable image. A lavender neckcloth completed the elegant attire. She felt more than a little intimidated by the Earl of Porchester. Her gaze flickered nervously to his face, and she
almost gasped aloud at what it found there. For Lord Porchester was possessed of the same expressive eyes as each of his sons and he was watching her with a cold disdain. Even the knowledge of his hostility to her husband, and therefore, by association, to herself, had not prepared her for the severity of the earl’s presence. The power of speech appeared to have deserted Georgiana as she stared overawed at the man seated opposite. A vision of Nathaniel came to her aid and she forced herself onwards, and upwards.

‘Please forgive my interruption, sir. I’m sorry to disturb you when you’re clearly busy, but I wondered if you might spare me a few minutes of your time.’ The sides of her throat were in danger of sticking together such was their aridity, and her stomach was starting to rebel against the devilled kidneys. It growled loudly in the pause after her words. A hint of colour suffused her pale cheeks and she muttered, ‘Oh, please do excuse me, my lord.’

The harshness in Lord Porchester’s dark eyes did not even waver, just remained trained on the woman seated before him. ‘What do you want?’ he asked with uncivil bluntness. ‘Other than what you’ve already acquired for yourself.’

She felt the colour deepen in her cheeks at the insult. ‘I ask only that you’ll listen to my request.’

‘Asking for more already?’

The muscle in her jaw twitched before she schooled it to remain impassive. ‘I’m not here for myself. You will think what you want of me. I cannot change that, nor am I about to try.’

A dark eyebrow raised in response. ‘Then I ask you again, what do you want?’

She swallowed hard. ‘Nathaniel and Lord Farleigh have argued.’

He waited.

She swallowed again and tried to make him understand. ‘It’s serious. They won’t speak to one another and neither is prepared to back down.’

‘Over what have they disagreed?’ The expression on his face was closed, but the tone of his voice suggested that he already knew.

‘Over myself.’ Her hands clasped firmly together. ‘Nathaniel has taken exception to Lord Farleigh’s opinion.’

‘And what exactly is Henry’s opinion?’ Just how much was she prepared to reveal?

Georgiana steeled herself to say what must be said. There could be no evasion, no hiding from the truth. ‘He doesn’t approve of me, sir. He believes that I married Nathaniel to further my own ends.’

The earl smiled, and the slow ironic curve of his mouth was more chilling than his frown. And still those dark eyes looked coldly on. ‘It’s nothing less than the truth.’

The silence stretched between them.

‘Nothing I say will persuade you otherwise. I’m not here to plead my case. In fact, I deserve your condemnation more than you can know. But I won’t stand by and see brother against brother, or watch the destruction of my husband’s family. Whatever you think of him, Nathaniel deserves better than that.’ Her fingers strayed surreptitiously to worry at her ear.

The dark eyes widened, and watched as Georgiana unwittingly mirrored the habit of the earl’s late wife. It was an action that had ever betrayed concentration or anxiety in his beloved countess. And in that single motion, time stripped away so that he could see Mary, bright, alive, smiling, before the pain, before the dark finality, before the bitter years of misery. When he looked again, there was only the frightened girl
wearing her defiant courage like a badge. ‘Nathaniel has exactly what he deserves,’ he said, but there was a huskiness to his voice that had not been there before.

‘No.’

Their gazes locked.

‘You’re wrong about him. Your son, my lord, is an honourable man. Whatever else he is, never doubt that.’

A mirthless laugh escaped the old man. ‘You plead his case well. He will be pleased.’

‘He doesn’t know that I’m here.’

The clock ticked loudly upon the mantel.

She tried again. ‘Nathaniel is a good man. He’s sacrificed much in the name of honour and duty.’

Another pause.

‘I’m listening,’ he said, and Georgiana knew it to be the best chance she would get. To reveal the extent of her husband’s sacrifices would be to declare the scandalous truth about herself. If Lord Farleigh disapproved of her because she was an innkeeper’s daughter, she could only imagine the family’s reaction when they learned the rest. She would have to leave, of course. For that, Lord Por-chester would know that for all these years he had been wrong about his son. The price was high, but she knew she could do nothing other than pay it, and willingly so. So she raised her chin and straightened her back. ‘There’s much to tell,’ she said quietly, ‘and I’d have you know it all, my lord.’ With a calm determination she proceeded to do just that, neither omitting details nor embellishing facts. And all the while the Earl of Porchester listened in studied silence.

‘So now you know, my lord, how honourable a man Nathaniel Hawke is.’ She sat caught in her memories, knowing,
whatever the future held, she would never stop loving Nathaniel. Slowly she forced herself back to the present. ‘Will you speak to him, make him see that this quarrel is utter folly?’

Those hooded dark eyes were regarding her intensely, and still he had neither moved nor spoken. ‘It was ever my intent,’ he said slowly.

‘But you…I thought—’ Georgiana broke off.

‘Then you thought wrong.’

The grey-blue gaze shuttered and she bit down hard on her bottom lip to stop the tremor.

‘Why have you told me this?’

She blinked in confusion. ‘So that Nathaniel won’t lose his family.’

‘And for that you are prepared to give him up yourself?’

The question hung in the air between them.

‘Yes.’ The blood drained from her face. She knew what he was asking, what she’d known he would demand even before she’d told her story.

He leaned forward in his chair. ‘Why?’

‘Because I love him,’ she whispered.

‘Thank you, Georgiana,’ was all he said as he released her to go. But the earl did not move from the chair in which she left him, and his thoughts lingered still on the man who had married to save a woman from utter ruin.

Walter Praxton blew misty winter breath upon his chilled fingers in an attempt to warm them. He did not dare to light a fire within the small woodsman’s hut he had stumbled upon for fear that his presence would be noticed. Each night was spent comfortably ensconced in the snug warmth of the Fox and Hounds Inn within the village of Collingborne, each day
in the tireless surveillance of the woman who haunted him incessantly. Whether in waking or sleeping he could think of little else, watching her as he did, hour by hour, with the aid of his spyglass.

The fact that Captain Hawke did not appear to spend any time in Georgiana’s company heartened him. Obviously he had married her from some misplaced sense of honour. Walter did not allow his mind to wander to those activities that occurred during the long dark evenings when he was safely stowed within the inn. Those thoughts were liable to induce in him a fury that surpassed any he had previously known. Besides, he had already laid his plan, and tomorrow would see the start of it.

He knew the route across the fields and woodland that Captain Hawke had taken these past four mornings. The sight of the man upon the grey gelding instilled in him nothing but a jealous loathing. That he could call himself Georgiana’s husband, that he was the one who had no doubt had full possession of her body. There was really nothing else that Walter could do, or so he had told himself just half an hour earlier as he tied the thin rope across the path. His selection of location was superb, the rope being positioned just after a sharp bend in the woodland track. The trap would not be seen until it was too late. Walter’s pale eyes glittered at the very thought, before raising the spyglass once more to resume his vigil. The sight that met his eye brought a sneer to his face and set him off at a gallop down the hill towards Collingborne House.

The winter sun had sunk low in a pink-kissed sky but still sheathed the garden in its dazzling beauty. Frost-stiffened grass crunched beneath Georgiana’s feet as she made her way down to the holly bushes, and her breath clouded as smoke in the crisp cold air. Following her discourse with the earl that morning, she worried precisely as to when she should leave
and what Nathaniel would have to say when he realised just what she had done. Unable to reveal her fears to either Mrs Howard or Lady Farleigh, Georgiana had left the two ladies contentedly playing cards within the stuffy heat of the blue drawing room. She revelled in the sharp nip in the air, felt it clear her head a little. A short walk in the gardens to gather her senses together was all that was required. She had already packed the few items of her wardrobe. Before her she heard the startled warning call of a blackbird, then saw its small dark shape flutter up inside a large and seemingly dense holly bush. She rubbed her fingers to the dark spiky gloss of its leaves. Such a fountain of colour amidst the drab bare browns of Yuletide. A soft tread on grass, warm breath against the back of her neck, and a presence so close as to all but touch her.

‘Georgiana.’ The whisper sounded at her ear, so unmistakable that it caused a cold prickle across her skin and sent a shiver down her spine.

She spun round and looked up into the cruel handsome face she had never thought to see again. ‘Mr Praxton!’ she gasped, feeling a horrible tightening sensation within her chest. Her fingers crushed the enclosed holly leaf, puncturing her skin so that it bled, but she was aware of nothing save the pale blue eyes trained on hers.

‘Did you think that I had abandoned you, my sweet?’

Spiny leaves needled her back as she tried to increase the distance between them.

‘Never think that I would not fulfil my duty to my betrothed.’ He stepped closer so that their bodies were touching.

Georgiana felt the stirring of panic in her breast. ‘Sir, my circumstances have since changed. I’m now another man’s wife. Please leave before my husband arrives.’ She struggled to step aside.

Walter Praxton’s hands grabbed her upper arms in a vicelike grip. ‘Your precious husband is drinking himself into a stupor in the library and doubtless plans to stay there for the remainder of the day. No, Georgiana—’ and his voice was cold and hard ‘—Captain Hawke is merely a temporary aberration in your life. You had no right to wed him when you belong to me, even if you were a ship’s boy on the
Pallas.’