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When Jeremy let himself out, he saw Pellton at the end of the hall, following behind a courtesan, entering a room, the nephew trailing behind. Jeremy got a good look at him and knew what he saw. Pellton’s nephew wore a coat, notable in color—notable in that it was a deep, dark red.
Turning his head, Jeremy saw that the big guard also watched the two men. His stare looked, for lack of a better term, malevolent. Marguerite was correct in her claim that the establishment reviled Pellton and his nephew.
Once their door shut behind them, the guard turned his piercing eyes onto Jeremy. He lifted an eyebrow as if to suggest, “that was fast.”
Jeremy shrugged. “Sometimes it’s just not in the fates.”
The guard gave a nod and a sympathetic grunt. Male to male, they were in perfect understanding.
Jeremy decided he could trust this man. “Say, I was wondering, do you know the name of the younger of the party that just went in?” He jerked his head toward the room Pellton and his nephew had just entered.
“And why would you want to know that?” the guard asked in a gravelly, accented voice.
“He and I have some unfinished business,” Jeremy gritted out.
“What is the nature of your business?” The guard narrowed his eyes.
Jeremy looked levelly, his eyes stabbing the man. He felt rage in the very pit of his guts. Voicing his reasons required considerable effort, his emotions surging, threatening to overpower his acute, calculating judgment.
“He took something. Stole it brutally away and hurt a person very dear to me.” Jeremy nodded at the guard. “I’m going to see that he pays for what he did.”
A slow, malicious grin formed on the guard’s face. “A man must do as his conscience demands of him,” he said. He paused thoughtfully before putting out his hand. “I am Luc, and would be delighted to help you, sir.”
Chapter Eleven
It is the end that crowns us, not the fight.
—Robert Herrick, “The End” (1648)
Summoned to her father’s study, Georgina thought this couldn’t be a good sign, but regardless wasn’t able to muster up much anxiety in any case. The past weeks had worn heavy on her.
Once Jeremy departed Oakfield after his disastrous proposal, Georgina felt the loss of him keenly. Tom had told him everything, so Jeremy knew the “why” of her disgrace. She also felt her will to resist her father’s machinations fading away. Papa was still determined to marry her off, and aching for a man she wouldn’t have was of no comfort. A wonderful man who’d made her feel like a true woman, desired and cherished. For a short time, at least.
She’d held a tiny flicker of hope that Jeremy might still want her after being told the hideous truth, but no, he had not. He’d gone quickly and probably felt like he’d dodged a bullet.
She could still remember the flash of disgust in his eyes when she’d shared her shame. Like dung had been thrown at him.
No, the future Sir Jeremy Greymont, Baronet, of Hallborough Park and Somerset, would have no use for a soiled, ruined bride, and that’s exactly what she would be to him.
For all her heartache, Georgina thought pragmatically and saw a bleak future. There wasn’t much spark left in her anymore to care though. With little to look forward to and nothing to lose, she hoped to leave Oakfield, unseen and quietly. Apart from Tom, nobody really wanted her, so she shouldn’t be missed once she left. As soon as she found the means and the way, she was getting out. Out of Oakfield, out of England, out of life as she had known it.
She knocked on the door, reminded of the audiences to this very study, after it had been done to her.
The humiliation and more so the fear that the monster might have impregnated her had simply paralyzed her father. Mr. Russell could think of little else and had continued to inquire obsessively if she experienced any signs, for or against a pregnancy. And she’d answered him, mortified and shamed anew each time he’d asked the question.
Then finally, one small blessing, a lifeline in a sea of drowning horror, fell her way. Her courses arrived, and she could finally answer her father definitively and stop the dreaded questioning once and for all. What a relief. For the both of them.
“Come.”
She stepped in. “Papa, you wished to see me?”
Nodding solemnly, in his way, Mr. Russell looked her over thoroughly, like he was trying to solve a conundrum. Shaking his head, he finally spoke. “I don’t know how you’ve managed it, girl, especially the way you treated him when he was a guest here, but it seems that luck favors you. He still wants you.”
An icy chill slid up her spine. “What do you speak of, Papa?”
“He is back and willing to overlook what transpired last time. His offer for your hand in marriage has been put forth yet again and on this occasion, you will accept him.”
Oh dear Christ and the angels! Lord Pellton has returned.
