She had stood outside his room for a good five minutes, stunned. Partly trying to make sense of the words her husband had just blubbered and partly not believing he had just shut a door in her face.
She turned the letter she was holding over in her hands and unfolded it. A lovely note from Lady Rutledge, whose supper party was tomorrow evening.
Dear Mrs. Fitzwilliam Jennings,
First, please allow me to offer my warmest congratulations on your recent nuptials! Your husband and his family are cherished guests and have graced our table many times. We are truly delighted to have the opportunity to meet the newest addition to the Jennings family. I am sure we are going to get along fabulously!
Yours sincerely,
Lady Rutledge
A supper party sounded like an excellent distraction from the toils of her marriage. And she wanted to speak with Lady Rutledge about the foundling home. She’d like to help in some way. Perhaps there was some way she could convince her father to donate textiles to the home. More than anything, she’d like to visit with the children. She’d been so lonely as a child. All she’d ever longed for was company. Her heart vibrated happily in her chest at the thought of going to see the children.
At least she could have something that gave her purpose, brought her joy. She might desperately need that based on the current state of her marriage. No. She wouldn’t think such things. Her marriage was new, two strangers forced together. The fact that they had hadanypositive moments together must be a good sign. She just had to avoid pushing their relationship in the wrong direction. Like scaring her husband off by asking him to spank her.
She groaned.
Perhaps she should let Fitz know she had no qualms if he didn’t want to spank her. And she would be careful not to request anything else. Definitely not restraints. She blew out a breath, a tendril of hair in front of her face fluffing upwards. She could only imagine her husband would have run all the way back to Kent if she’d asked him to tie her up. But he had fulfilled her in so many ways thus far, and he did get rough with her—though she wouldn’t complain withrougher—so overall she was quite satisfied. Extremely so.
She didn’t want him to do anything he wasn’t comfortable with. Her desires were just that—desires. They weren’t needs. She thought all she really needed…was him. Her heart clenched.
Terrifying.
Georgiana fiddled with the letter. She craved the closeness, the conversation, the comfortable quiet moments that she had gotten small hints of with her husband…more than the carnal moments.
Terrifying.
She didn’t think that was normal to want in a marriage. Or at least not normal to expect from one. For as long as she could remember, she was paraded around as a womb for sale to the destitute lords of London. That was the way of things. Women were for breeding. Her parents certainly hadn’t displayed any signs of affection. They reminded her more of how her father acted with his business associates.Amicable. Blech.
And she was also fairly certain her father had a mistress. Georgiana knewthatwasn’t a good sign. If one’s husband was sleeping with someone else, she highly doubted there was any closeness happening. Thank goodness her husband had dismissed his. She would hold on to that. A sign, a glimmer of hope, for a marriage in truth.
It was just…things were different since they arrived in London. Even before he’d abandoned her in his study. He couldn’t even speak to her anymore. How did she get back to the man who had held her in his arms on Christmas Eve?
This marriage felt impossible to navigate. What did one do when a relationship appeared to be stumbling? She knew what her parents did. They put on fake smiles and filled dinner with empty conversation until they could curl up in separate bedrooms and forget the other existed. She had thought sex might be the answer, but she had clearly made it worse with that.
Georgiana stood and headed for her door. She would start with conversation. She didn’t even care what about, she just wanted to speak with him. And for him to speak back. When they had been in Kent, he had said how badly he wanted to converse with her. She lifted her chin. Well, bugger and damn, she would make it happen!
With resolve flowing through her veins, she nearly bounded all the way to her husband’s study. She stumbled to a stop just before his door and took a calming breath. Best not to fly into Fitz’s study and frighten the poor man. He was as quick to startle as a skittish hare.
She casually stepped into his study. And froze. Fitz lounged in one of the armchairs in front of the low-burning hearth, one leg slung over the arm, a whisky dangling loosely in one hand. He had a book in his lap, spectacles perched on his nose, brow puckered softly in concentration. He looked so relaxed, so at ease. She glanced at his stockinged foot, toes wiggling as he read. Her lungs grew tight, and air was suddenly very hard to come by, scarce.
Her eyes burned. Dear God, were those tears forming? She hastily took a step back and pressed up against the wall. It was just…it was almost painful to see him that way—because it was how she so desperately wanted him to bewith her. Curled up together while they both got lost in a book. Just each other’s comforting presence enough. The longing—ithurt.She focused on drawing breath in and out until the burning behind her eyes receded. They would never get there if they didn’t speak.
She shook out her arms, stepped back into the doorway, and knocked softly on the open door. He glanced up from his reading, and scrambled to standing, slamming the book shut. He tucked his hands, book and all, behind him and rocked on his heels.
“Georgiana.” He managed it without stuttering, but a blush was growing on his cheeks.
She smiled at him, hopefully in a way that was encouraging and not startling. His gaze locked on her lips, and he ceased all movement. She thought that might be a good sign.
“May I come in?”
“Of-of course.” He strode over to his desk, tucked his book and spectacles away, and then gestured back to his armchairs.
They settled into the leather chairs. She pushed off her slippers and folded her calves beneath her. The rapid tapping of Fitz’s fingers against the arm of his chair filled the room. Perhaps speaking of a topic he enjoyed would be a good start.
“What are you reading?”
“Nurrghle.” He glanced away and pulled at his cravat. “Urm, apologies. Nothing. I mean something. Maybe t-translations.”
