Chapter Sixteen
The next morning, George removed a piece of grass from her hair, laying it carefully on the bedside table lined up with others she had found. What would Polly think when she found the sheets damp and littered with leaves?
Probably the same thing Frederick’s valet thought, as his master tried to whistle during his morning shave. The house had gone mad. But quite happily so, George thought, rolling out of the bed and reaching for her nightgown.
Then she laughed. It was quite possible that it was still draped over a bush by the side of the pond. When they had returned to the house, she had been wearing Frederick’s shirt, which had come practically to her knees. He had been bare chested, holding up his breeches with one hand and carrying his boots in the other.
But he had been grinning like a fool, as if it was not the least bit out of character to forget all propriety and make love in the garden.
He stood in her doorway, now, staring at her as her maid dressed her hair. ‘Good morning, Wife.’ He looked very satisfied with himself, as if it was their activity last night that had made her such and not a proper church ceremony.
‘You must call me by my name, if you want to get my attention,’ she said, unable to resist scolding him, if only in play.
‘Georgiana,’ he said, as if the one word was every wonderful thing he could think of in the world.
‘Thank you,’ she said. Then added, ‘Frederick.’ It did not seem to have the right tone, to fully convey how she felt, after last night. She tried again. ‘Frederick.’
I love you.
They had not actually said the words to each other as yet. Not even in the heat of passion had that occurred. But by the way he grinned at the sound of it, she was sure he understood.
He blew a kiss to her reflection in the mirror.
Had she really called him a prig last night? Because she could not imagine anything more foolish and fond than the gesture he had just made.
* * *
When they met in the breakfast room, he was still smiling. He rose as she entered, not out of standard courtesy, but for the opportunity to kiss her on the cheek before she sat. Then he returned to his seat, looking both smug and happy. ‘Did you rest well, my dear?’
‘You know I did not,’ she said, trying not to laugh.
‘I suppose this means that we must adjust the terms of our truce,’ he said.
After the previous night, she had forgotten that their arrangement was supposed to be temporary. ‘If you wish to,’ she said, cautiously.
‘It seems foolish for us to only pretend to be happy with each other for the sake of propriety, when we have found at least one thing we both enjoy,’ he said.
What they’d shared had been wonderful. But she wondered if it was enough. ‘There is still much we do not agree on,’ she reminded him.
‘Your capricious nature,’ he said.
‘And your inflexibility,’ she countered.
He sighed and gave a half-hearted nod. ‘I will admit that my rigidity can be a fault. But I believe a higher level of self-control is necessary to prevent myself from giving in to the excesses of which my family is guilty.’
‘You fear you will become like your father or brother?’ She looked at him in surprise. For despite the things she had heard about his past, she saw nothing that led her to believe he was a rake. ‘Do you drink to excess?’
‘Occasionally,’ he admitted. ‘But then, what man does not?’
‘True,’ she agreed. ‘But when you are at your worst, do you feel you are a slave to the bottle?’
‘Not at all.’
‘And have you ever duelled?’
He shook his head.
‘Not even in your youth?’
‘When I give offence, I apologise. And if I am offended? I have seen far too much killing to desire to do harm to someone over a petty slight.’
‘Do you lack moderation in your spending? Are you a dandy? Are you in debt? An intemperate gambler?’
‘No, no, and no,’ he said, and seemed surprised at the ease in the denials.
‘And despite what you fear of me, I am not unchaste or immoderate in dress or diet,’ she said.
‘I never thought you unchaste,’ he said hurriedly.
No. He’d merely thought her foolish. But that might change with time. And for now, she must do her best to prove him wrong.
‘Then what, precisely, are you convinced you need to guard against?’
He paused, as if trying to find the words. ‘Before I joined the army, there was a night where I came close to committing a sin more grave than any done by the rest of my family.’ He paused again. He looked like a man on the verge of confession.
She held up a hand. ‘You do not have to tell me, you know. Whatever it was, it is in the past.’
‘That is true,’ he agreed, though he did not seem to believe it.
‘And very nearly doing something is not the same as doing it,’ she reminded him. ‘Did you join the army to prevent further temptation?’
His silence to this was answer enough.
‘If you have not succumbed to temptation since returning to London, then your character has improved,’ she said. ‘But you have become overly cautious about small infractions because you have been living in fear.’
‘I fear nothing,’ he said without hesitation.
‘No man,’ she agreed. ‘I suspect there is no physical threat you could not face without blinking. But you are afraid of becoming as careless as the rest of your family. If you have not done so by now, despite the opportunities presented at Vitium et Virtus, I think you are probably safe from precipitous changes in character.’
He was staring at her in surprise, as if the idea had never occurred to him that he was not wicked to the core.
She used his silence to press her advantage. ‘While I doubt I will ever be as conventional as you wish for me to be, I promise that I will not intentionally behave in a way that would damage your reputation.’
‘Excellent.’ He agreed almost too quickly. ‘Now that we are in agreement we will live together as ordinary husbands and wives do. Let us have no more talk of separate lives or houses. From now on, we will be happy together.’ He stood up and walked to her side of the table to kiss her on the top of her head, just as she did to Sargent, when he as being particularly good.
* * *
Perhaps living in London had been the problem all along. They should have come to the country right after the wedding. It seemed to Fred that his wife’s behaviour had changed for the better the moment he had suggested the trip.
He had assumed she would be like all other women of his experience, in constant need of social stimulation. But it seemed she would rather be in the garden or galloping in the woods, than parading on Rotten Row, or bundling herbs in the still room instead of shopping for ribbons.
But if he was honest, he felt the same. He thanked God often that he had not been saddled with a seat in Parliament, talking about doing things rather than picking up a sword and wading into battle. Nor was he eager to take on the minutiae of bookkeeping at Vitium et Virtus as Jake had done.
She had pleased him in other ways as well. He had assumed there would be difficulties because of her youth and inexperience, but she ran the house as efficiently as an army quartermaster. She had no trouble understanding what was expected of her and was quick to learn any skills that she lacked.
And in one aspect of marriage, they suited perfectly. Since the night by the pond, she had risen from his bed each morning, hair tousled by the vigour of their lovemaking, throat reddened by the force of his kisses. This morning, she’d cast a look at him over her shoulder as if daring him to take her again.
And he had. He had scrambled from the bed, grabbed her by the waist, and dragged her back to the mattress, entering her and spending like a green boy on his first time. Rather than being shocked at the briefness of the encounter, she had laughed at him, trailing a finger down his chest and teasing herself to orgasm. Then she had taken him in hand and brought him back to life so they might begin again, but slower.
Perhaps his friends were right and he had more in common with Georgiana than he’d first thought. He had not felt so alive in years.
But pleasant though it might be, he could not devote the whole of his waking life to her. He had promised his friends he would not walk away from his role at the club. If the masquerade planned for the following evening was to run smoothly, it would be necessary for him to attend. And though he had no intention of allowing his wife to set his comings and goings, he could not just disappear without notice.
Since she made a habit of long walks, he had to search half the property to find her. Eventually he was drawn to the lower meadow by the sound of another of her one-sided conversations with Sargent.
‘We could have more fun together if you had a ball, or a rag to pull on, or any other plaything. You poor dog.’
Of course, the dog had no idea what she was saying. But he was wagging his tail as if he had never met a more wonderful person in his life and would gladly learn English if it would make her happy.
‘How about a stick?’ she suggested. She searched around for a possibility. But as usual, the gardeners had done such a good job of clearing the brush and there was none to be had.
Then, as he watched, she spied a nearby apple tree. Despite her skirts, she managed to clamber high enough up the trunk to grab a fruit off one of the lower branches. She held it out to show him. ‘You mustn’t eat this, for it is far too green. It will give you a bellyache. But you are trained as a hunter, are you not? I am sure your mouth is so gentle that you will not even leave a mark.’
The dog sat at her feet, staring at her face intently as if trying to comprehend this torrent of unfamiliar words.
She tossed the apple to him. ‘Catch.’
It bounced off his nose, earning her an indignant look that asked why, if she claimed to love him, she had suddenly taken to throwing fruit.
‘You are supposed to catch it,’ she said patiently. ‘Then give it to me and I will toss it again.’
‘You need to give him a better reason than that.’ Fred could not help interrupting, if only to save the dignity of his dog.
‘He needs a reason to play?’ she said, shaking her head in amazement. Perhaps it was amazing to her. It sometimes seemed that his new wife was not so much an ordinary woman, but an elemental spirit of joy. Now, she was staring not at the dog, but at him. ‘What a sad life he must have led, before I arrived.’
‘He did well enough,’ Fred replied, suddenly unsure.
‘Did he really?’ That steady gaze was like the touch of a surgeon, probing gently at an old wound.
‘He was satisfied with order, and quiet, and following the commands that were given to him,’ Fred said, wondering why that sounded like such cold comfort.
‘But was he happy?’ she insisted.
He had been as happy as a dog could expect to be. They had both been. Comfort came with predictability and reliability. The distance between unfettered joy and profound regret was too close to risk.
But Georgiana had been the very opposite of such staid emotions. She was like a Russian doll, a nested series of surprises, each more pleasant than the last. A month ago, he’d had no reason to be dissatisfied with his life. But it paled in comparison to what he felt today, when he looked at the woman beside him. ‘He was content,’ he admitted at last, looking away from her to the dog at their feet. ‘But he was not happy. He did not know that there could be another way.’
‘Then it is good that I came here,’ she said. ‘For I would wish him to be as happy as I am, now that I am with you.’
For some reason, her happiness seemed to increase his own. His heart ached in his chest like an unused muscle forced to stretch after years without use. To hide his confusion, he scooped the apple from the ground and sent it bouncing into the field. Then he looked at the dog and said, ‘Fetch.’
Just as he had been trained to do, the dog gave one quick wag of his tail and was off into the grass, searching for his prize. In only a few moments, he was back, the apple held carefully in his mouth. He dropped it at the feet of his master and sat, patiently, waiting for a response.
‘Good boy.’ Georgiana smiled at the dog, patting him. Then she cast a sidelong look up at Fred that hinted there might be rewards for him as well.
He looked back to Sargent, blushing. ‘Again?’
There was another wag of the tail.
He handed the apple to Georgiana, prepared to teach her how to throw.
She wound up and let loose with a pitch worthy of a world-class bowler. ‘Fetch, Sargent.’
He laughed, amazed by her once more. ‘You have played cricket.’
‘I suppose it is too late to deny it,’ she said, straightening her skirts.
‘I don’t know why I am surprised,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Who taught you?’
‘The stable boys on my father’s land,’ she said, as unrepentant as ever.
‘And I suppose they also taught you to climb trees,’ he said.
‘And play drumhead,’ she agreed. ‘My father was the one that taught me to handle a carriage. Because it was more ladylike than riding astride.’
‘There were no little girls in the household?’ he asked.
‘Not a one. Until Marietta arrived, I was free of feminine influence and happy to be so.’
‘And after?’ he asked.
‘Not content,’ she said simply. ‘I do not do as well with order as you and Sargent.’
‘I noticed,’ he said, smiling.
Sargent returned with the apple, looking from one to the other of them before dropping it at Georgiana’s feet. She picked it up and prepared to throw again. Then she paused. ‘Are you about to tell me that it is improper for a lady to play games meant for boys?’
‘I suppose I might, if you mean to hoist up your skirts and play a game by the Serpentine,’ he said. ‘But I see no reason you cannot throw a ball for the dog.’
She nodded. ‘Then I will show you what it looks like when I am not holding back to protect your delicate male sensibilities.’ She threw it again, even farther than before.
Fred whistled in amazement. ‘It is a shame we did not have you at Eton.’
‘You would not have known what to do with a girl there.’
He slipped a hand around her waist and dragged her to the ground. ‘But I know what to do with one now.’
‘We are in a field in broad daylight,’ she reminded him with a wicked grin. ‘Anyone might walk by.’
They were a half mile from the nearest path and lying in grass so deep the foxtails were waving over their heads. By the sound of his distant baying, even Sargent had found something more interesting to do than bother them. All the same, Fred returned her smile as he tossed up her skirts. ‘Then I’d best be quick about it.’
‘About what?’ she said, gasping as his lips touched the inside of her thigh.
‘Another lesson in your education,’ he said, continuing to kiss his way upward. ‘If you happened to look at the ceiling while you played cards, what I am about to do to you what was happening to the Roman girl painted directly over your head.’