Page 27 of Counting on Love

Chapter Eight

The Duchess’ small party set forth from London early in the morning in hopes of reaching Iversley before dark. The Duke had provided them with his finest carriage. It was strongly sprung, roomy with deep padded seats, and was embossed with the ducal crest. A separate carriage followed closely, filled to the hilt with their trunks and their maids. Twelve liveried outriders, armed, of course, accompanied them. Highwaymen existed, but Georgiana did not fear them.

She did not enjoy traveling. She considered it an evil necessary to conduct people where they wanted to go. It was even more unpleasant having to endure a daylong carriage ride when one dreaded arriving at the destination. She felt chilled, damp, and miserable.

This is a mistake. This is a mistake. This is a mistake.

Her thoughts rolled in a monotonous rhythm, matching the creak of the carriage wheels.

Mama and Alice spent the first hour chatting, with Mama drawing out her niece’s thoughts on the various men who had paid her their attentions. Georgiana made appropriate comments but could muster no real interest in what was being said. It took several minutes, perhaps longer, before she even realized the carriage had fallen silent. Mama had dropped into a doze and Alice peered at the dead-of-winter scenery through the window where the curtains parted. She looked pensive—eyes hooded and dark curls drooping. Georgiana felt bad that she was not more supportive of her cousin. Her own discontent was already turning her selfish and ill-humored. That did not bode well for the rest of her life.

Georgiana’s mind drifted back to the day she’d overheard her parents arguing. In retrospect, it seemed even more momentous than it had at the time. It was not the end of her childhood; she had already been outgrowing that. Yet it seemed the first step on the path that had led to here. Of course, those steps would have been taken regardless. There were no other paths for feet such as hers.

Father had been displaying her. It was something he did from time to time. Not often. But out of an overabundance of delight in her odd mathematical talents. When he did, she would grow a little silly with pride. What child would not bask in adults’ attention? She couldn’t remember who had been there that day. Perhaps Lord Billings. Or Lord Darby. It didn’t matter who had been gaping and applauding. What mattered was that Mama had been looking for her. And found her. Georgiana could still see her mother’s face going white. The widening of her eyes and flaring of her nostrils. The laughter in the room died. Mama bundled Georgiana off to the music room.

The little girl that she had been had not recognized her error. She took at face value her mother’s scold that she was supposed to be practicing her piano, but the extremeness of Mama’s reaction had frightened her. Naturally, she hastened to please. She plinked those piano keys for well over an hour. Yet she had done this knowing that whatever she tried would never be enough to make her mother happy. Not happy the way she had once been.

Oh, those days. She was feeling her mother’s presence again after what had seemed a long absence, and she was desperate, desperate, for a return of the mother-daughter bond she only vaguely remembered, but whose absence she nevertheless felt deep in her heart.

When Randolph died, it was as though all the light and laughter in their family had died with him. Georgiana had been just nine years old, and time passed differently then. Slowly, slowly, she and her younger brother Charles returned to their pastimes, encouraged by Father. But there was a hole in Georgiana’s life, a hole where her mother once had been. Then Mama rarely emerged from her bedchamber, which Georgiana recalled as being always dark, curtains drawn shut. When she did appear, she was so pale and hollow-eyed and listless, that it was as if a ghost had taken her place. She never took meals with them. She never spoke above a hoarse whisper.

Mama did not put off her mourning black for two years. To a girl as young as Georgiana had been, two years was an eternity. She had been left feeling, knowing somehow, that a mere daughter was not enough, could never be enough to compensate for the loss of a son. Yet rather than give up, poor little Georgiana tried harder.

At nineteen, Georgiana now understood what she hadn’t at eleven. That Mama grieved Randolph’s death differently than Father. He clutched Georgiana and Charles closer, while Mama withdrew. It had taken Mama a long, long time to return to herself—albeit a quieter, less openly affectionate version of herself.

Georgiana understood this, yet sometimes she saw herself still trying to win her mother’s approval. To make up for her loss. No, not sometimes. Always. She was always still trying.

Perhaps it was because on that day, that long ago day, she was made to understand that the very part of herself that brought her the most joy, was the part that most distressed Mama.

When Georgiana had heard carriages pulling away outside, knowing Father’s guests had left, she’d tiptoed back toward the library. While passing her mother’s sitting room, she overheard them together. Her father sounded abashed. Georgiana crept closer. Mama’s voice was raised.

“What could you have been thinking?”

“It was a mere amusement. Surely there is no harm—”

“She is your daughter! A young lady. She’s not a substitute for—” For Randolph. Mama would rather have Randolph.

“Mary, stop. Georgiana is my child. I’m permitted to dote. I’m not making her a replacement. There is no replacement. But if she wants to learn—”

“She has to learn the right things! Not what you are filling her head with. The right things!”

“The right things?” Her father laughed. It was not his true laughter, more like he was trying to tease Mama from her mood. But it worried Georgiana to hear him laugh falsely. Did that mean he might sometimes speak falsely too? “Well, I think she is bright enough to learn the right things and a few of the wrong ones.”

“You will make her ridiculous!”

Ridiculous.

She hadn’t understood what that meant. Not then. But Mama’s vehement disapproval of her daughter’s—gift, Father had called it—seared the word into her memory, and she certainly understood what it meant now. There was scarcely any worse social sin than to make oneself ridiculous in the eyes of the ton.

Georgiana knew that as a duke’s daughter, there was a proper way to conduct herself. So she did. Mostly. Then and now.

They stopped to change horses. Then they stopped to change them again, rest, and have a small luncheon. The innkeeper’s wife was solicitous, but served them a tough bit of poultry, swimming in grease, apologizing for having nothing fancier while beaming at them as if she had presented a feast. Georgiana didn’t want to appear ungracious, but she couldn’t eat. Mama took pity and made excuses to the innkeepers, begging a bit of plain bread for the ride as her daughter was ill from traveling. It was almost amusing how giddy it made the wife—this privilege of serving such a delicate guest.

Back on the road, they made good time. Too good for Georgiana’s liking. Mama said they should arrive by dinner, which heightened her dread.

Georgiana rejoiced silently when that prediction proved premature. They reached a sodden stretch and, after creeping along at a tortoise’s pace for an interminable time, they bogged altogether in the mud. While the outriders set to work trying to dig them out, Mama sent a messenger on ahead to warn their arrival would be delayed. For a short while, the carriage was jostled so roughly that Georgiana feared they would have to disembark and wait standing outside, causing her to arrive at Chaumbers with a dirty nose and messy hair. Finally, however, the coachman directed the others to lay as many branches and stones as could be gathered on the wayside beneath the wheels until the coach could be shimmied onto firmer ground.

When the same misadventure struck a second time, Mama sent another messenger. Lady Iversley absolutely must not hold dinner for them. They would not arrive until very late. She added delicately that although they were eager to spend time with the Taverstons, it might be best if they slipped in without fanfare and greeted their hosts in the morning.