8: Consequences
For a few days after the Night of the Brandy, as she thought of it, Georgie avoided Jamie, feeling herself unequal to the task of appearing normal after such a spectacular breach of her usual good sense. What on earth had happened to her? Surely even a large quantity of brandy should not cause her to abandon the realms of good behaviour.
But once she calmed down a little, only one thought filled her mind — that there might be a child growing within her. No matter how many times she told herself that the chance was vanishingly small, yet the tiniest flame of hope had been lit and nothing she did could extinguish it. She could not be sure if anything had happened at all that night, or whether she and Jamie had been so drunk that they simply climbed into bed and fell asleep. Yet if it had happened… and if there were consequences… Jamie would make everything right by marrying her and then — oh, glory of glories! — she would have a child of her own at last. Perhaps then her grief for Henry would fade alittle, and she could begin to live her life again, and not feel as if her heart had been cut out of her.
With such tumultuous thoughts, she moved in a dream through the days. But there was no refuge to bring her peace of mind. Whatever room she chose to hide away with her embroidery, Rowena was liable to appear with the baby in her arms, or else it would be a gaggle of the Merrington sisters gathered excitedly around Sophia, talking aboutherforthcoming baby. So eventually, Georgie returned to the quiet calm of the study, the duke’s diaries and Jamie.
He was unfailingly formal with her, even when they were alone, and she could almost believe, as they worked silently on their various tasks, that nothing had ever occurred to disturb the even tenor of their lives. But sometimes she would look up and find him watching her, and sometimes she found herself watching him, too, and wondering what sort of husband he would make. A reliable one, she thought. Not exciting, like Henry, but more predictable. He was a good man, so he would be a good husband.
And sometimes, if her mind wandered, or the passage she was transcribing was particularly dull, she would start counting the days and wondering when she might know for sure whether she was to be a wife and mother, or whether she would stay on her present level course for the rest of her life.
One day when they were alone, Jamie removed his spectacles and coughed gently. “Mrs Hastings… Georgie… may I—?” He cleared his throat. “Forgive me, but… there is a matter which troubles me, and perhaps you can set my mind at ease.”
“About the Night of the Brandy?”
His mouth quirked. “Yes… that. I… hmm, I do not quite know how to put this.”
“The simplest way, Jamie,” she said gently. “That is always the best.”
“Well…” He went slightly pink and began to polish his spectacles. “I wondered… since I cannot remember how it happened… whether… well, if Ipressuredyou, or… orforcedyou, because I could not live with myself if—”
“No!” she cried, reaching across the table to take his hand. “No, no, no. I should have known… there would be… marks or bruises… and there was nothing.”
“Nothing,” he said, exhaling long and slow. “Nothing at all?”
“Nothing at all. To be honest, I should think it far more likely that I seduced you than the other way round.”
He gave a little laugh, as much sob as anything else. “Surely not!”
“It is true. I always enjoyed that aspect of marriage, so— Oh, Jamie, forgive me, I am embarrassing you.”
“No, no, it is quite all right.” But he could not meet her eye, as he furiously polished spectacles that must already be pristine. “I am just glad to know… that I did not…”
“You did not,” she said firmly. “Whatever happened, I was certainly willing, so you need not worry about that.” And then, because he was still blushing, she said, “I have just time to finish this section before the dressing bell, I think.”
She bent her head to her work, her pen scratching away industriously, to allow him to return to his usual equanimity.
***
Jamie was reassured by this conversation, and his worst fears receded. What he had done was still very bad, and his prayers were unusually fervent for a while, but Mrs Hastings seemed unaffected by the incident, regarding it with amusement rather than horror, and so gradually he began to accept that perhaps it was a forgivable sin.
Yet he could not quite put it behind him, for there was still the possibility that he might be called upon to pay the price for his foolishness. He had overheard the ladies talking of the signs that a woman wasenceinte, and although he had no idea what they might be, he could not help watching Mrs Hastings rather closely, in case she exhibited some unexpected behaviour that might be suggestive of the situation.
There was another matter lurking at the back of his mind, too, for if he were called upon to marry Mrs Hastings, he would also be called upon to support her and the child, and he was unsure if that would be possible. The duke had certainly permitted Jamie’s father to marry and live at Staineybank, and had even provided the family with a cottage when his mother could no longer manage the stairs. But then, Jamie’s grandfather was of an age with the duke, and they had played together as boys. The duke had paid for the education of his friend’s son, after which he had given a quarter century of service to the family before he had thought of taking a wife. A man of above forty, marrying a woman of similar age was not at all the same as Jamie, at twenty-seven, marrying Mrs Hastings who was… how old was she? Younger than he was, almost certainly.
Would the duke permit it, or would Jamie find himself with a wife and child, but no employment? It was a serious worry, so one day, when he found himself alone with the duke in the study, he ventured to broach the subject.
“I wonder, your grace,” he began, taking his spectacles off and then resolutely replacing them. “Um… I have wondered…”
“What is it, Hammond?” the duke said in his gruff manner. “Spit it out, boy.”
“I wondered if… well, if I were… in the future, that is… were to think of… of getting married.” The spectacles came off to be polished. “If you would have any objection, your grace.”
“Ah, thinking of matrimony, eh?” the duke said, eyebrows lifting. “Got a little lady in your eye, have you? One of the Merrington girls, I dare say. Pleasant girls, all of them. Any one of them would make you a good wife. Excellent news, my boy.”
“No, no! Nothing… nothing so definite. Just wondering, you see…”
The duke’s eyes twinkled. “Very well, keep your secrets, my boy. But no, I would have no objection at all. In fact, you could have the rooms you shared with your parents above the chapel… unless you want a cottage? That can be arranged. And you will need a higher salary — two hundred a year, shall we say?”
