Page 98 of Counting on Love

“Georgiana, I have to leave now. I have to go see your father. If I stay longer, if we do anything more, we risk an eight-month babe. We are giving the ton too much fodder already.”

He did not sound seductive now. He sounded embarrassed. And Georgiana was embarrassed as well. She didn’t like to be ignorant. And he obviously was not. Part of her was glad that he was better informed, but part of her…

“How do you know what to do?”

He flushed deep red. “It isn’t calculus.”

“I think you know what I’m asking. I’m sorry, Reginald, but I feel—vulnerable, I suppose. I don’t want to be naive. Just tell me.”

He didn’t answer right away, but finally said, “If you are asking if I have a mistress, the answer is no. Did I ever have one? Yes. She dropped me over a month ago. She had a better offer. I was not unhappy about it. In fact, I had been inattentive for many months. Georgiana,” he chewed his lip, then went on. “I am not…needy in that way. At least, I wasn’t. I find myself quite desperately needy for you. It’s nice, actually.” He seemed to be musing to himself. “Reassuring.”

“Reassuring? I don’t understand.”

He smiled, a little ruefully. “Good. You may forget I said that.”

“Although maybe I do. Mother called it a spark. I hadn’t ever felt it before I met you.”

“No? Good. And that’s exactly what I mean. No spark. But this—” He gestured to that invisible cord between them. “Is a conflagration.”

“How soon can we be married?”

“Assuming your father says yes? That will depend upon you. If you’d like a big London wedding, we should wait at least three months. A year if we’d like my mother there, which I would, but I will not wait a year.”

She shivered. “The last thing I want is a big ton wedding.”

“Then the sooner the better. I’ll get a special license. Crispin suggests we sneak over to Ipswich and ask the curate there to marry us. Quickly before Tibury leaves for his new post. But Jasper says that’s asking too much of Mother and the church in Iversley will do very well.”

Jasper says. Another wave of happiness swept over her. She asked the question she had been afraid to ask. “Jasper does not—he’s not upset?”

Reginald smiled. “He was ‘miffed.’ For about thirty seconds. But he is exceedingly happy for us. Truly.”

“Oh, thank goodness.” She had not caused a rift. She couldn’t imagine things being more perfect. “Then let’s get married in Iversley. As soon as you can get a license. Do you think a week?”

“You’re delightfully impatient.”

“I don’t want to wait.” Then she could imagine it being more perfect. She swirled her finger over the back of his hand. “We’re going to have a very interesting honeymoon.”

“Are we?” he asked huskily.

She nodded, laughing. “Remember? You promised to read Woodhouse with me.”

*

Ten days later, Reginald and Georgiana were married in a private ceremony officiated by Mr. Brindle. Only family was invited so that the bereaved Countess could attend. Their impatience to be wed surprised everyone, which Reginald found a little embarrassing, but at this point, having waded through the awkwardness of asking for her hand when the Duke was clearly expecting Jasper, Reginald was past caring. He wanted Georgiana now—in his life and in his bed. They had not seen each other since Marbury, and although they wrote to one another daily, it wasn’t enough.

Jasper stood as best man, which was funny in a way that Crispin would not have hesitated to point out had he been there. Reginald wished he could have been. His absence was the only thing about the day that felt wrong. The future might be a little iffy, but the day was otherwise perfect. They even had sunshine.

When Georgiana appeared in the doorway of the church, in a simple dark blue dress with flowers woven into her hair, Reginald was overcome with what had to be joy. The smile on her face showed him she felt the same.

Mr. Brindle had been warned by Jasper to keep the service short, so as not to tax Lady Iversley. They said their vows, exchanged their rings, kissed one another chastely before God and man, and then hurried out the door and into the waiting carriage. The carriage was for form’s sake. Everyone else would walk the short distance home.

Reginald laid his hand on Georgiana’s knee. “I thought today would never get here.”

“Me, too. Everything has been taking so long! I don’t remember Mr. Brindle speaking so slowly before.”

Reginald laughed. As the carriage lurched to a start, he picked up her hand and kissed it. The closer their wedding night, the more impatient he had become.

“Just the wedding breakfast to go, then we can leave for Binnings.”