Chapter 17
Nash knocked on the door of Lyttlefield Park, still pondering his invitation to tea with Lady Georgina. Except for church services, he’d not seen her since the evening they’d spent at the Stokes dinner party, talking about banalities while he plucked up the nerve to ask if Charlotte had been to London.
He’d been busy with matters having to do with the estate. The harvest was in full swing at last, although it would be a dismal one this year. The poor stand of wheat barely needed gathering, but it had to be done. According to Alfred Smith, this year would hold the distinction of latest harvest on record.
Neither had he solved the problem of the robbers, whose attacks had become less frequent but more daring. Throughout all these calls on his time, he still thought daily about Lady Cavendish.
Fisk answered the door and showed him into the drawing room, just as on the first day he had met Charlotte here. He’d thought of her as Charlotte ever since her slip on the steps of the tower had given him the excuse to call her by her first name. He hoped soon he would be allowed the privilege in truth instead of in secret.
The woman who awaited him there today, however, could not have been more different from his lady. Lady Georgina Kirkpatrick stood perhaps five feet tall, no bigger than a child really. Her tiny figure and effervescent attitude toward life enhanced this youthful aura. The bright auburn hair and green eyes—so like Charlotte’s, his mind insisted—and the sprinkle of bran across her nose completed the fresh face. Dressed in a lovely pink-and-white-striped day gown that accented her luscious figure, Lady Georgina appeared a marvelous mixture of youth and maturity.
“Lord Wrotham. How kind of you to come. Let me ring for tea.” Georgina pulled the bell and Fisk entered the room as though he’d been standing guard.
“Yes, my lady?”
“Bring the tea, Fisk, please.” Composed as any London hostess, Georgina smiled at Nash and indicated a seat on the sofa. “Won’t you sit down, my lord?”
Nash returned her smile and sat. “Thank you, my lady.” Nash paused, then plowed ahead. “How have you been, Lady Georgina? It has been too long since we met.”
Georgina laughed. “We saw one another at church on Sunday, my lord. Scarcely three days ago.”
He shook his head and glanced away. “I meant more than just a nod at church. We haven’t spoken since the Stokes dinner party in August.”
“A lack I am seeking to remedy today.” The butler entered with the tea tray. After he deposited it on the table, Georgina poured.
“Milk or sugar?”
“Sugar only, please.”
She smiled, added the required items, and handed Nash a cup. “You have been well also, I trust?”
“In excellent health, thank you.” Time to leap past this banal conversation and get to the reason he’d accepted the invitation. “I noticed Lady Cavendish did not attend church this Sunday past. I hope that does not indicate she is unwell.” Perhaps the reply to that innocent question would answer his more burning one.
“No, Charlotte was in fine fettle when she left on Saturday. She’s gone to London to meet Jane and enjoy some of the Little Season.” She looked brightly at him, unaware of the dagger she’d thrust into his heart.
He dropped his gaze to stare dully at the teacup cradled in her hands. Damn. He’d known it was inevitable she’d go to London. The possibility she was meeting Kersey there turned his stomach. If so, there was nothing he could do about it, despite the letters he would surely receive from Lord Grafton or his own fears for Charlotte’s reputation. He could not leave with the harvest nigh upon them and the robber gang still unchecked.
If only he’d been able to woo her properly before she left, he might have managed a better proposal than that slipshod affair in the library. The problem had been persuading her to talk to him. If he called at Lyttlefield, she was out or indisposed. At the Stokes party she had acted afraid to speak to him, practically barricading herself with old Lady Penelope in the corner of the drawing room after dinner.
“Lady John, that is.” Georgina broke in on his thoughts. She pouted her lips and frowned comically. “I do wish we could all be just Jane and Charlotte and Georgina.”
“You may call me Nash, my lady.” The words came automatically to his lips, his mind still churning at the information of Charlotte’s departure. Had she gone to Lord Kersey’s bed rather than marry him? The earl’s vengeance seemed mild in comparison to the devastation of having lost his chance with his daughter.
“And you must call me Georgina, or Georgie, as the others do.” She beamed at Nash. “I feel ever so much more at ease when I can address someone by a name rather than a title. More tea, Nash?” Her eyes twinkled when she said it.
He nodded, distracted for a moment by her charm and lively demeanor. She should enjoy all the entertainments in London during the next Season. He’d be surprised if she wasn’t quite the rage in the spring. A question tugged at his mind. “Why did you not accompany Charlotte, Georgina? Did you not wish to enjoy the Little Season as well?”
She poured more tea into his cup and moved the sugar dish closer to him, all the time avoiding his eyes. “I actually enjoy it here more. There is peace and quiet and a chance to rest without . . . feeling guilty.” Georgie finally lifted her gaze to his. “The truth is, I pretended to be ill the morning we were to leave. I pled a megrim, which I have suffered from on occasion.”
“So you wished to remain in the country? I’m sure Charlotte would have understood that.” Nash dropped two lumps of sugar into his cup and stirred. He raised the tea to his lips, savoring the fragrant aroma of the blend before putting the cup to his lips.
“I wished to meet with you, Nash, without Charlotte’s knowledge.”
Nash had to fight to keep from spewing tea all over his hostess. His mouth on fire, he took a deep breath and swallowed. The burn traced a path into his belly, where it seemed willing to stay.
When he could speak, he asked, “You wished to talk to me?” What on earth might Georgina need to say that she didn’t want Charlotte to know about? Was this invitation some sort of ploy to compromise him into marriage? He’d noticed Georgie’s partiality at the house party, and she’d seemed very attentive toward him the other times they’d met as well. They might indeed suit. If not for Charlotte . . .
“Yes, and I’m going to be rather forward, Nash. Are you in love with Charlotte?” Georgina tilted her head expectantly.
His breath stopped. So fortunate he had not drunk more tea. This woman, in her own way, was as unconventional as her friend. Not his experience with ladies at all. Did all widows behave this way? He put the cup back in its saucer and rose. Pacing to the window, he stalled for time to figure out the reason behind such an outrageous question and how to answer it.
After discarding several scurrilous replies, he decided to simply tell the truth and shame the devil.
“Yes, Georgina, I am in love with her.” To say it so baldly made it sound like a confession. “I haven’t always wanted that, but then, love does not always come from the head.” He tried to keep some of the bitterness from his voice. A losing battle at best. “She refused me, did you know that?” A glance at her showed a slow nod. “And she would not let me even talk to her before she left. I suspect I know what that means.”
Georgina sipped her tea and shot him a peculiar look through narrowed eyes. “I wonder if you do indeed, Nash. But continue.”
He sighed and seized a cut-glass tumbler from the sideboard. Something stronger than tea was necessary for this conversation. A quick survey of the sideboard revealed no spirits. Damn. He set the glass down again. “You said she is in London. I suspect I know who she plans to see while there.”
“I would be surprised if you did not.”
With a mumbled curse, Nash threw himself back down into the chair. “Then I suppose it does not matter at all whether I love her or not. She has made her choice. I cannot take a complete wanton to wife.” It was on the tip of his tongue to add, “No matter what her father wants.”
“I’m sure Charlotte is not as shameless as you believe.” Georgie sipped her tea, looking thoughtful. “Until just before her trip to London she was completely disinterested in Lord Kersey.”
“I suppose she received the name the ‘Wicked Widow’ for completely innocent reasons?”
“Actually, she did.”
His mouth must have fallen open in astonishment because Georgina laughed and pushed it closed.
“Lord Kersey took advantage of Charlotte’s inexperience at a public entertainment. That is how he managed to take her away from you in the first place. She’d only attended one or two balls before her wedding and none afterward. He led her astray and she followed. Fortunately, nothing came of it, save that silly nickname.” She met his eyes steadily. “I believe she has a deep regard for you too, Nash.”
Their heated encounter in the library surfaced effortlessly. That kiss had all but undone him. A minute more and passion would have overtaken them, for she had protested not a jot. Passion, therefore, didn’t seem to be the problem.
“It is not her regard for me that creates the difficulty, Georgina. Her desire to be a free woman trumps anything she may feel for me.” The agonizing truth became clear to him. Charlotte did not fear he would be unkind or an unskilled lover or a bad provider. His attributes mattered not at all. “The institution of marriage itself is her enemy. One to which, I fear, she will not surrender.” He smiled kindly at Georgina, a melancholy stealing over him. “So, you see, I am left with a dilemma. I need to marry and produce an heir to inherit my title. As Charlotte refuses, I must take another woman to wife.” He stared into green eyes that widened as he took her hand. “Have you thought about that, Georgina?”
Her hand trembled in his and he rubbed his thumb over the white knuckles.
“Yes, I have.” She dropped her gaze to her lap, silent for so long Nash began to shift in his seat. Had she gone into shock? He chaffed her hands, trying to bring warmth back into the cold little fingers.
A profound sadness settled over his heart, but he disregarded it. If Charlotte would not be his countess, did it truly matter who would? He liked Georgina. She would make a good companion, an excellent wife. Just not the one he wanted.
Finally, he slipped two fingers under her chin and tipped her head back until he could see her beautiful face, so pale the bran that dusted her nose and cheeks stood out like dark stars.
He gathered his courage, looked deep into her eyes, and asked, “Then will you marry me, Georgina?”