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7
Georgina peered through the veil covering her face, wishing she were anywhere but here, sitting in the drawing room listening to the false grief of Harold and his terrible wife, Clarissa. She’d endured their presence nearly every day the last month or so as her husband lay dying. Tolerated the threats Harold had taken great pleasure in hurling toward her at every opportunity. Had she been unconvinced of the state of his mind before, she was no longer.
Even if my uncle had managed to get you with child, which, as we both know, is doubtful at best, I would insist on being made guardian, Georgina. You are unfit to be anyone’s mother. Just look at you.
Harold’s determination to assume the mantel of the earldom now bordered on fanatical obsession. When Masterson became ill, collapsing after a rather strenuous bout of activity with a recently hired groom, Harold and Clarissa had arrived before Georgina could even send for them. Masterson’s heir had appeared with his trunks, hovering about his uncle like some greedy vulture waiting to pick clean the bones. Harold had taken to roaming the halls late at night, examining every knick-knack, vase, painting, or other objects d’art, writing carefully in a small notebook he carried. Once, Georgina had caught Harold below stairs, counting out the silver in front of Anderson, the butler.
I do hope you haven’t taken a lover, Georgina. Do remember, I won’t tolerate a cuckoo in the nest.
She’d had no lovers save one. She hadn’t the heart for another.
Harold wanted her gone from England, and Georgina heartily agreed. There was nothing to keep her in London now that Masterson had died. No reason to linger in a city in which she’d never felt welcome.
A pair of glorious blue eyes held hers. The movement of their hips rocking together. The sheerrightnessof having been with Leo. Looking back on their last discussion, outside in Elysium’s private courtyard beside that obscene fountain, Georgina had realized not only her love for Leo but his inability to return the affection. She was forever doomed to want the attentions of men who couldn’t return them; her father, Winbow, even Masterson to some extent. All of them thought her no more than a chess piece to be moved about to suit their needs.
She missed Leo but didn’t want to.
There were days, as Masterson suffered, Harold threatened, and Clarissa insulted, when Georgina had to run to her rooms to weep, desperately longing for Leo. His importance in her life hadn’t become apparent until she had been faced with his absence. How she had depended on, of all people, the owner of a gambling establishment.
Welles had sent her a note just prior to Masterson’s death offering to take her to the park or accompany her to Elysium, but she had refused. Georgina was never sure if he knew what had transpired between her and Leo. And even though she had been miserable trapped inside this house with a man dying a slow and painful death, Georgina couldn’t bring herself to spend time with Welles. He looked far too much like Leo. No sense in torturing herself further.
Georgina’s stomach pitched and heaved as she watched Clarissa, now Lady Masterson, glide across the drawing room, careful to pose herself against the light coming through the windows. Harold’s wife was a vain, silly creature, full of malice and ridiculous affectations of speech. She was pretty, rosy-cheeked, well-bred, and young. Still, Clarissa had yet to provide Harold with his own heir, a fact which led to heated, whispered arguments between the two of them when they thought Georgina wasn’t listening.
It was Georgina’s only source of amusement.
Nausea swirled in her stomach once more. Perhaps she should have avoided the bit of poached egg at breakfast. Nursing Masterson through his illness, something he hadn’t deserved but Georgina had done nonetheless, had sapped a great deal of her strength. Weeks of watching him cough out his life into bloody handkerchiefs while he hallucinated had taken a toll. She hadn’t felt well in some time.
A twitter came from the ladies surrounding Clarissa as they sipped their tea and gossiped, casting careful glances in Georgina’s direction.
Ugh.Georgina was glad for the veil covering her face.
A steady stream of callers arrived daily at the Masterson home under the guise of offering condolences when what they really wanted to do was to gawk at Georgina. Masterson’s ill-bred bride from America. Lady Martin, a close acquaintance of Clarissa’s, eyed Georgina as if she were some sort of wild animal, asking in a hushed tone if it were true, that Georgina’s grandfather hadactuallysailed a barge.
Yes,Georgina had answered.My grandfather earned his wealth through hard work.
Clarissa had glared. Lady Martin had paled before her lips curled into a sneer.
Harold, snowy white cravat perfectly knotted, coat impeccably tailored, leaned against the fireplace, acting every inch the lord of the manor. Superiority dripped from every pore. He seemed in deep conversation with Lord Sharpton, gracefully sipping from a snifter of brandy. Every so often, his eyes moved to Georgina, frigid with loathing.
Not one moment more could she sit here among these horrid people who wished her nothing but ill. The sun was out. The air crisp. Georgina stood, deciding this intolerable day would be better spent in the gardens, which were free of Harold’s dreadful pomade and Clarissa’s mindless chattering. No one seemed to care that Masterson had died an agonizing death, blood spewing from his eyes and mouth as he expired. A grisly sight and one which still haunted her. True, she hadn’t particularly cared for Masterson, often wishing him gone so she could finally return to New York, but he hadn’t deserved such a horrible end. Even his loyal valet had deserted Masterson. Certainly, none of his young paramours had visited. Harold and Clarissa, both holding handkerchiefs to their noses, had refused to enter Masterson’s bedroom even to bid him farewell.
So, Georgina had nursed her husband, holding his hand, not wishing him to die alone.
She slid quietly from the drawing room, holding the heavy bombazine skirts with her hands lest they rustle loudly and draw attention. Not one head lifted in her direction, though Georgina was certain Harold watched her.
He always watched her.
The garden wasn’t much of one, at least not anymore. Masterson’s gardener had been let go months before, and the once carefully manicured beds were now overgrown. A lone bench, well-hidden, sat amidst a circle of rose bushes in dire need of a trim. She would be safe for a time in the garden. Perhaps any casual observer would mistake Georgina for a large crow.
Passing Anderson, now Harold’s butler, on her way out the terrace door, she noted the anxious look on his face as he hurried in the direction of the drawing room.
Oh dear. Could Cook not find haddock for dinner tonight?Harold would be so disappointed.
Georgina walked out on the terrace, looking down at her skirts in disgust. Wearing nothing but black for the next year wasn’t the least appealing. She tossed back her veil and took a deep breath, feeling the sun on her face. Closing her eyes, Georgina stayed still, blotting out everything but the sound of the birds and the wind whistling through the trees.
“Lady Masterson.”
Georgina slowly lowered her chin and opened her eyes at the familiar baritone. Her first thought was that Welles had snuck into the gardens, then her heart leapt at the hope it might be Leo.
