Historical Romance June 2017 Books 1 - 4. Annie Burrows
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The man who came up to the house with the letters always handed them to Dr Scholes. ‘You ordered Dr Scholes not to permit me any communication from her. What did you tell him, that she was an undesirable connection? A corrupting influence?’
She sat as though turned to stone. But he did not need her to say a word. Dr Scholes had done his work well. He’d known the truth, yet had no scruples about tarnishing Georgiana’s image by spouting all that nonsense about women being fickle and forgetting what they’d promised, or changing their minds at the drop of a hat.
‘But why, that is what I cannot understand.’
And why had he trusted Dr Scholes, a man he barely knew, a man employed by his mother, rather than in Georgie? When she’d been the only person to have cared about him without having some ulterior motive? Why hadn’t he searched for another reason to explain why he hadn’t heard from her?
And why, when he’d finally returned to Bartlesham, hadn’t he simply gone to see her and demanded an explanation? He steadied himself by resting the tips of his fingers on the desk before speaking again.
‘How could you have...destroyed the one friendship I had? What, pray, do you have against her? Why did you feel it was necessary to take such...steps?’
‘Mrs Bulstrode found the pair of you in bed together. Isn’t that enough?’
‘No. I have already explained it was perfectly innocent. So, apart from a mistaken belief she was some kind of...sexual adventuress as a child—’ his voice dripped with disdain ‘—what other reason do you have for finding her so unpalatable as a daughter-in-law?’
Her eyes widened in horror. ‘You cannot mean you actually do propose to marry that...that...’
He couldn’t help himself. She’d put him through so much misery. Set events in motion that had warped his view of all females. Made him believe that Georgie had betrayed him. And probably made her hate him in return. Though he’d had no thoughts of marrying at all, he couldn’t help taunting his mother with the prospect that the only daughter-in-law she was likely to get was the very one she’d worked so hard to exclude.
‘Miss Georgiana Wickford,’ he therefore said, ‘is from a perfectly respectable family. She is a sensible woman with whom I can converse, without feeling one moment’s tedium. And, moreover, she is as healthy as a horse. Since you profess to be so anxious for me to ensure the succession, I should have thought you would be glad I am looking at a woman who is bound to produce healthy offspring.’
‘You cannot mean that,’ she said faintly, reaching into her reticule for her vinaigrette. ‘Not...after all I have done...the sacrifices I have made...I won’t have it,’ she whimpered. ‘I won’t be supplanted by that...great...ungainly...’
‘Be careful what you say about Georgiana, madam,’ he said coldly. ‘To anyone. Because if I discover,’ he said, leaning towards her across the desk, ‘that you have done anything, or said anything, to tarnish her reputation, I will make you regret it.’
‘Oh, but you are just like your father,’ she said, as though it was the deepest insult she could fling at him.
‘No, madam, you will find that I am not,’ he said coldly. Not in any respect. ‘I take duty to my tenants very seriously, for one thing. And as for marriage,’ he continued, warming to the subject, ‘when I do decide to tie the knot, I will not settle for a dynastic union which has been arranged for me, which I subsequently make no effort to sustain. I will choose my own bride, because she is a woman I can regard as a partner and a friend. A woman I can respect and admire. A woman who will complement and complete me.’
His mother reeled back as though he’d struck her. Though he could not tell whether it was because he’d described the very antithesis of her union with his father, or because she believed he’d been listing reasons for marrying Georgiana in particular.
Because she didn’t give him the benefit of her opinion for once, before turning and flouncing out of the room.
For the whole of the next week, Georgiana made sure she stayed out of secluded corners, smiled at every man who asked her to dance and tried not to object whenever her cleavage got more attention than she did.
After all, it wasn’t as if her eyes were behaving much better. Instead of giving every partner her wholehearted attention, the way Sukey did, Georgiana’s gaze roamed freely over the other guests attending whatever ball, or rout, or breakfast she happened to be at. Especially if it was the slightest bit tonnish. Even though she knew Edmund didn’t make a habit of going to such things, he had turned up at Miss Twining’s debut and he had danced with her.
But evidently he had no intention of giving anyone a chance to gossip about them again. Which was a good thing, she decided gloomily one afternoon as she sat in the drawing room, listening to the rain lashing the windowpanes. She hadn’t liked the way Lady Tarbrook, for example, had looked at her the next evening, at the Fairweathers’ musicale. Or the way she’d nudged the fat woman sitting next to her and started whispering behind her fan. She knew they’d been speculating about her relationship with Edmund, because that kind of whispering had started the moment he’d left the Twinings’ ball.
And because Stepmama had confirmed it on their way home.
‘It isn’t that you have done anything wrong,’ she’d hastened to assure Georgiana, when she’d been on the verge of defending herself. ‘It is just that Lord Ashenden’s behaviour was so very unusual for him. It was bound to cause speculation. Now that I’ve explained our long-standing connection, all you need do is continue to behave properly and the talk will die down. As long as he doesn’t make a habit of monopolising you and ignoring every other eligible female in the room,’ she’d said irritably, ‘you should be able to brush through without a hint of blame attaching to you.’
Which implied that people might blame her for Edmund’s behaviour if she did put a foot wrong anywhere else.
Which conclusion absolutely infuriated her. Why did people always blame the woman when there was any sort of scandal? She would wager that nine times out of ten it was the man’s fault.
Her mood today wasn’t improved by the fact that Stepmama was making them all sit here pretending to do needlework just in case somebody called. Which wasn’t likely. What kind of idiot would venture out in such foul weather?
Just then, as if to mock her assumptions about the intelligence of Town dwellers, there came a knock on the door. And a murmur of male voices in the hallway. And the sound of a light tread upon the stairs.
Then in walked Edmund.
‘Mrs Wickford,’ he said, ‘Miss Wickford, Miss Mead.’ He bowed to each in turn. ‘I was just passing on my way to Bullock’s Museum and it occurred to me that you might care to accompany me.’
‘Oh! Lord Ashenden,’ said Stepmama, mangling the needlework in her lap. ‘You have taken us all by surprise. Indeed, I am sure I don’t know why you have even come up here and walked in upon us this way when Wiggins is supposed to announce visitors.’
Edmund frowned. ‘Your butler is not here to announce me because I did not care to kick my heels in the hall while he disposed of my coat and hat. I have an intense dislike of loitering about, wasting my time.’
And didn’t she know it. Georgiana couldn’t help recalling the way he’d pulled his watch out and practically tapped his foot while waiting for her to explain her situation to him, that day down by the trout stream. It wouldn’t surprise her to see him do something similar now.
‘Oh, I see,’ said Stepmama, with something of the air of a landed trout. ‘I meant no disrespect to you, my lord. Indeed it was on that account that I...I mean...we would not wish you to feel...that is, of course you are most welcome, whenever you wish to pay us a visit. And if you prefer informality over—’
‘Kicking