Page 20 of One Night with a Rake

She nodded and stared down at her fingers which were hopelessly knotted together on her lap.

“So you’re concerned about the wedding night,” he said, shifting uncomfortably on the seat beside her. A red haze descended on his vision when he thought about another man taking Georgette’s maidenhead, and it had nothing to do with Mr. Alcock’s directive. “Perhaps that’s something you ought to discuss with your mother.”

She laughed mirthlessly. “I can’t imagine why. I rather suspect she’s still waiting for someone to talk with her about her wedding night. She and Father had an arranged marriage, you know. They quite literally met at the altar.”

“There you are. You have a perfect example of how a made match can work.”

Her brows drew together in a frown. “That’s just the trouble. I don’t know that it did. Maybe before Anne died things were different.” Her voice trailed away to a whisper. “I scarcely remember, but now, they both seem to live their own lives and only meet across the supper table.”

Nate squeezed his eyes shut. Before Anne died, everything was different. He was different. Why should Lord and Lady Yorkingham not be changed forever by their loss as well?

Suddenly he felt Georgette’s hand on his, soft and slender and warm.

“I’m sorry for mentioning Anne, Nate,” she said. “I didn’t mean to make you sad.”

He covered her hand with his and gave it a squeeze. “It’s not your fault. It simply is. Actually, it’s a relief to hear someone speak her name.”

Georgette made no move to extract her hand from his. “I know what you mean. It’s as if no one wants to even acknowledge she lived. As if we can pretend she didn’t leave a hole in all our hearts.”

“She wouldn’t want us to feel that way.” He was echoing his mother’s counsel. She insisted it was best to shove away the sadness. An act of the will, that was all it took. If Nathaniel were only made of sterner moral fiber, he could will away his grief.

“No, that’s not true,” Georgette said. “Anne would want us to feel the way we feel. She was very straightforward like that.”

He made a soft “hmph-ing” sound. “So she was. I’d forgotten.”

Georgette sighed. “I’m always afraid of that. Forgetting, I mean. Even now, sometimes I can’t see her face clearly in my mind.”

Nate’s chest constricted. So many things had happened since he lost Anne—his life of soldiering and subsequent disgrace along with his attempt to live down to his bad reputation. There’d been too many meaningless wagers, too many empty couplings with women who meant nothing to him or he to them, too many endless nights of drunken revelry that he couldn’t recall properly the next morning.

Some days Anne was a shadowy figure in his memory and he blamed himself for losing her afresh.

“I know what you mean,” he admitted, tapping his temple. “She’s a bit hazy around the edges.”

“Perhaps that’s the way things are meant to be,” Georgette whispered. “I think it’s time’s way of softening memories that are too hard to bear if they stay so crisply edged. That doesn’t mean we don’t still love her. It only means our hearts are protecting themselves.”

He studied her profile and wondered why he’d never noticed the sweet indentation beneath her lower lip that gave her chin its determined set. Winsome and willful, hers was a face full of contradictions.

What else had he missed about Georgette?

“When did you become so wise?” he asked.

She laughed again, but it was different this time. Not the wry laugh of the cynic, or the annoying twitter of most debutants, but a low musical sound that bespoke true amusement. “When one has been a wallflower as often as I, one has plenty of opportunity to think.”

“I can’t imagine why you’ve been on the sidelines.”

“Really? Do you think strong opinions endear a young lady to prospective suitors?”

“At least you have opinions. Most debutants don’t. Unless it’s about something to do with the latest French lace.” Of course, he’d avoided debutants as if they might give him hives. Underappreciated wives or jaded widows had been his bed partners of choice in recent years.

She sighed. “In truth, I’m hopeless in social settings.”

“Never say so.”

“It’s true. I dance like an angel for my dance master, but put me in a quadrille square with a real partner and I’m terrified of turning the wrong direction and ruining the set for everyone.”

“Perhaps we should practice together, then.” It would give him a chance to touch her and hold her close without arousing her suspicion. Though to his pleasant surprise, she was still allowing him to hold her hand. “I’m not your dancing master so it’ll be more like an actual ball.”

“That might help.” She tilted her chin, considering his offer. Then a smile broke over her face, luminous as a thousand candles. “Thank you, Nathaniel.”