Despite how fun their deception had been, Georgiana couldn’t contain a wince, her fingers dropping from the necklace. Poor Mrs. Younge. The day of their escape, Georgiana had dosed her tea with a draught supplied by George. Then she’d helped a suddenly groggy Mrs. Younge to her room while George went to the kitchen to inform the staff that, as her guardian, he was taking Georgiana somewhere safe from whatever ailed Mrs. Younge.
George promised that Mrs. Younge would not be made too ill. That the potion Georgiana added to her chaperone’s tea would simply make Mrs. Younge sleep for a time, like Juliet. His allusion to Shakespeare struck Georgiana as dreadfully romantic at the time. Now, looking back, it seemed a rather awful thing to have done to her chaperone.
When she woke, Mrs. Younge must have been horrified to find that Georgiana’s ‘cousin’ had taken her off somewhere. Mrs. Younge would have panicked, searched, and likely written to Georgiana’s older brother, who would not be forgiving no matter how long they’d made Mrs. Younge sleep. After all, she hadbut one function, to keep Georgiana out of the clutches of an unworthy man.
Not that George was unworthy, of course. He was the most handsome, charming, adorable man of Georgiana’s acquaintance. Just thinking about him made her feel so…so… Oh, like she wanted to fling her arms wide and her head back and cry out her joy to the sun.
Which she could not because she was sequestered in this tiny cabin, supposedly unwell. At least, that was the story George told the crew. That he was taking his sister to Scotland for a special treatment. A last resort. He’d pleaded with them to permit her onboard as women, apparently, brought bad fortune at sea.
Being a woman at sea certainly seemed unfortunate to Georgiana, stuck in her little cabin.
She heaved a sigh and plunked down on the narrow bed, which had no give, being nothing more than boards firmly attached to the walls and covered in musty straw and blankets. Having only ever slept on mattresses stuffed with goose down, Georgiana did not find straw at all comfortable. It poked, it itched, and it made rustling noises when she moved, interrupting her rest.
Heaving out another sigh, she consulted her mother’s pendant watch. George would arrive with her dinner in perhaps an hour. Hopefully he would not be late again. She felt no hunger at all amidst the churning waves, but meals were the only time she saw him, or anyone. Except for one morning when she put out her chamber pot and came face-to-face with one of the deck hands, but that was so mortifying that she’d immediately ducked back into her room. Her cheeks aflame and the door firmly closed, she’d wished fervently that George had permitted her to bring at least one maid. Then, too, she would not be so interminably bored, for a maid would have given her someone with whom to play cards or talk.
Georgiana would press her face to the little, salt-clouded window and attempt to guess their progress up the coast, but her seaward-side view did not offer even that comfort. Instead, she plucked up one of the two, now dog-eared, novels she had brought with her. She sank into the heart-pounding romance of Isabella and Theodore, the latter, in Georgiana’s imaginings, wearing George’s face. Not that she supposed George to be a secret prince, but he would soon be a gentleman, had she any say in the matter.
Finally, a knock sounded. Georgiana sat up, tucking the book away. She smoothed her skirt, then pinched her cheeks. Schooling her expression into demure sweetness, she called, “Enter.”
The door opened to reveal George with a steaming bowl from which a hunk of bread protruded, and a tankard of what she knew would be watery ale. All she could expect under the circumstances, she’d found. He smiled at her and she came to her feet, love welling through her at the sight of his strong jaw and even white teeth. His bright blue eyes and tawny curls. Her perfect, oh-so-handsome soon-to-be-husband.
He stepped in and pushed the door closed. “Georgie, dearest, I have brought your meal.”
“Thank you.” She took the bowl and tankard, quickly setting them on the little shelf that acted as a table, then reached to catch his hand as he made to depart. “You will not eat with me, my love?”
One of his eyes twitched, but his smile didn’t falter. “You know the men believe you to be quite ill. It would be odd for me to remain here overlong.”
“I know, but you only now arrived.” She tugged his hand. “And we have been at sea for almost a week, so I know we near our destination. We will be married soon enough and I thought…that is…” Heat raced into her face, but she pressed on,determined. They were nearly husband and wife, after all. She fixed her attention on the wooden planks of the floor, unable to meet his gaze as she continued, “I thought we could practice for our wedding night.”
The hand she held jerked. She darted a look up to take in his blank face. Catching her watching, he quickly smiled, but his eyes didn’t light up as they usually did.
Georgiana dropped his hand, stepping back. She was too bold. She’d scandalized him. What must he think of her? She plastered both hands to her face. “T-that is, I mean…” she floundered.
George caught her hand back. “My dearest, I want our union more than anything. You know that. You know the risk I am taking, running off with you. If your brother were to catch us, you would be taken home with a reprimand, but I would be hanged for abducting an heiress, no matter what you tell Darcy. You know how he hates me. How he has never forgiven me for how much your father preferred me over him. How he was so petty, even, as to deny me the living your father promised me. A living that would have kept me near you.” George heaved a sigh. “As if it is my doing that Darcy is so lacking in charm that even a father could not truly love him.”
“It is not your fault,” Georgiana assured him, squeezing his hand. “But you must know that if we are caught, and we have, ah, well, we have reason to suspect I may be with child, that my brother will insist we marry. He would not see the father of his nephew or niece hang, surely.” Even Fitzwilliam was not that rigid.
“I cannot say for certain, which is one of the reasons we cannot risk such an outcome.” George’s eyes shone with love and compassion, making her heart ache for how good he was. “I would not doom you to widowhood, to bringing up a fatherless child. I love you too much.”
“But that will not happen.” She leaned forward, willing him to believe her. “Could we not simply, well, kiss?” Like in her novels. She longed to feel George’s lips pressed to hers. To experience firsthand the welling up of true love the characters in her books felt. “We have not even done that.”
He shook his head, tugging his hand from hers. “I said one of the reasons. The other is that I respect you too much, care for you too much, to treat you thusly. Once we are wed, then such intimacies may take place.”
“Once we are married, then you will kiss me?” He had to then, did he not? “You promise?”
Again, that blank look, which he seemed unable to help, overtook his features. It was almost as if he found her unappealing. “I promise, my love.”
Despite his words, worry wriggled through her again. “You do, well, want to kiss me?” She knew she was too tall, and that her curls could be brighter, but she was certainly prettier than some of the girls at school from whom she’d heard whispered tales of forbidden behavior. If men would kiss them, they must want to kiss her. And George told her how much he loved her quite often. If you loved someone, you wanted to kiss them.
“I want to be with you more than anything, my love,” he assured her, his smile wide and locked in place. “It is my fear that I will be overwhelmed with passion that causes me to be so very careful not to begin what we must not yet finish.”
That made sense. In the stories she read or heard, people were always becoming overwhelmed with passion. Relief filled her. “Very well, then. We will wait. I am fortunate that I will have a husband who respects me so.”
“And I am fortunate that I will have the loveliest bride in all of England.” He backed up a step, all that was required to reach the door. “Now, I must go. We do not want to behave withany suspicion. We are nearly to our destination.” With that, he slipped from the room.
Georgiana sighed again, plopped back down on her bed, and returned to reading. Isabella and Theodore were nearly to their happily ever after, much as she and George would soon be.
Fitzwilliam Darcy strode along the busy street, seeking the offices of Watson, Hastings, and Vane. He was pleased he’d reached London early enough to answer their summons this afternoon. He was on his way south to surprise his younger sister by an earlier than expected visit to Ramsgate, and when he’d reached London just after midday, had found an urgent summons from his attorney. No information had been provided except for a request for his presence at his earliest convenience. As Darcy wanted to depart come morning, he found visiting the firm convenient now.
