Page 69 of Counting on Love

Chapter Nineteen

Georgiana made desultory conversation in the ladies’ parlor where they all, even Jeffrey, awaited Reginald before tea was served. When he entered the room, apologizing to Lady Iversley for his tardiness, Georgiana’s spirits lifted. Then they plummeted because her heart should not be beating faster at the mere sight of him.

He looked better. Not better exactly, but rested. His nascent beard was gone. His hair had been tamed. And he wore a neckcloth with a particularly high knot as if to make up for his earlier dishevelment.

She imagined she might distinguish among the lords of Iversley just by their clothes.

Jasper dressed to perfection. He had a bit of the Beau Brummel about him. His attire was of the most recent fashion but without any of its flamboyance. His tailoring was exquisite but not fussy. His collar was bleached and starched, but the points were not so high as to pierce his earlobes. His boots were kept shined to a gloss, but he did not embellish them with tassels or extra buckles. He wore one ring, not more. There was nothing ostentatious about him, yet he would gather all eyes in a ballroom.

Crispin was a military man. Whether in uniform or civilian clothes, his appearance was that of an officer, though she could not say what it was exactly about him. But the man carried bandages and spirits along on a hunting frolic, one safe enough to include ladies, on family property. That was Crispin.

And Reginald? He effaced himself. He dressed carefully, not to stand out but to blend in. Georgiana would wager he didn’t even realize that that was what he did.

Teatime conversation centered on arrangements to attend church the following day. If it rained, they would take the carriage. If the weather was fair, they would walk. How far was the walk? Oh, not so very. Three-quarters of an hour. A little laugh—the boys could do it in half that.

Georgiana could scarcely bear it. She and Reginald avoided looking at one another so assiduously that she was certain everyone must notice their efforts. But no. They droned on.

Then the decision was made to walk in the garden. The rain had ceased. The evening was pleasant. The late-fall blossoms, so ephemeral, must be enjoyed. Lady Iversley shooed the young folks outside. She was going to sit with the Earl. Mama was going to her chamber to write home.

On the way out the door, they collected their wraps. Reginald happened to pick up hers, and he draped it over her shoulders.

“Anything?” he murmured.

“Not yet.” She had discovered quite a bit, but nothing pertaining to the matter, except that it did appear nothing had been amiss in his grandfather’s time. She knew that Reginald’s allowance was one-fifth of Jasper’s. Crispin’s had been too, but ceased temporarily when he went into the army, then, after a few months, he was allotted just fifty pounds per year. That was typical enough for young men whose fathers had means to supplement their soldiers’ pay, though it seemed a miserly sum in this case. Moreover, as far as she could see, no commission had been purchased. Which made no sense. Earls’ sons did not enlist. And enlisted men rarely ever rose to an officer’s rank. But none of this was any of her business. “I need that plot summary.”

His lips twitched. “Olivia?”

“Found me after only two hours.” She’d had to put her hands over her ears and command Olivia not to say anything until she had finished reading the novel. It was too, too engrossing and she didn’t want even one twist of the plot to be spoiled.

Reginald moved away from her. She stepped closer to Olivia and Alice, but Jasper swooped down and claimed her arm.

The garden was remarkable. The fragrance alone would have made the walk worthwhile. The paths swirled and crossed one another. Little fountains appeared in niches. Although there were few blossoms, the pruned bushes were flourishing. But, as the others moved along one of the wider paths, Jasper stalled, then took her down another.

Please, no. Not yet.

He pointed out a supposedly rare flower from Belgium and said there was a cherubic statue with Olivia’s face that she would enjoy seeing. The voices of the others grew more distant.

She would simply tell him no. She didn’t owe him a reason. Not even after she’d agreed to come here. She had not committed to anything. And as for ton talk—surely out of sight was out of mind. For Heaven’s sake. Refusing a man was not difficult. She had done it sixteen times her first Season! All she need do was give him a gentle but brook-no-argument “No.”

“I suppose,” he said, speaking low, “you have been wondering who Mr. Tibury is.”

“Who?” She laughed with nervous relief. “Oh, no. Well, no. It isn’t any of my concern.”

“It’s no scandalous family secret.” He smiled his ingratiating smile. “He is the curate in one of the towns a few miles away. The Earl has the disposal of a few livings and two of them are likely to become available within the next couple of years. Perhaps sooner if Mr. Codworthy wishes to step aside. Anyway, some of Mr. Tibury’s friends wrote to the Earl advocating for him. And the Earl summoned him to offer him the livings and his congratulations.”

“Oh.” That was an anticlimax. “Odd that he seemed so peeved to be here.”

Jasper chuckled. “In the poor fellow’s defense, he was summoned, he came all that distance, and Peters nearly turned him away at the door.” He shook his head. “If Father had only warned us of Mr. Tibury’s coming, he’d have received a better reception, I assure you.”

“Oh, but you can’t fault the Earl.”

“Of course not.” Jasper paused and nudged her arm so that she would face him. “You are looking especially lovely today. But then, you look especially lovely every day.”

“I think that is definitionally impossible.”

He moved closer. She stepped back. But there was a rose bush right behind her. With thorns. She flinched from it. He put his hand on her back as if to rescue her from the roses. And kissed her.

Her response was immediate. She slapped him furiously and shoved him away. It was the most horrible, the most humiliating, the most ruinous thing ever to happen to her. If she were not so angry, she would burst into tears.