GEORGIANA MEANWHILE had been suffering agonies since supper. She had noticed Ralph slip away to the library and consequently decided to play the hostess more conscientiously than she had done all evening. She moved from card salon to drawing room, making sure that everyone was occupied and happy. She did not dance. And now, when she no longer wanted the leisure in which to think, she found that she had plenty of it. And the thoughts came thick and fast.
And not one of them pleasant!
What, in heaven's name, had she done now? It had seemed such a famous idea when she had had it at the dinner table, to force everyone's hand by making a public announcement. It was only as she was making it that she had realized just how irrevocable it was. What if Gloria did not truly wish for the match? What if the six-year delay had really been of her own making? What if the Reverend Boscome did not really wish it? What if he was secretly quite comfortable with his bachelor existence? She had really left them little choice now but to marry. She might have just doomed them to eternal unhappiness.
That was nonsense, of course, she told herself briskly. Of course they wished to be wed. One had only to look at them to see how devoted they were. They were not by any means a handsome pair. Gloria's features were somewhat harsh; she certainly did not share her brother's beauty. And Mr. Boscome was a very ordinary man, his sandy hair already thinning on top. But they loved each other. She must not begin doubting that.
But would they be very angry at what she had done? Would they feel humiliated at having the organizing of their affairs taken from their hands?
And what must all these people around her be thinking? They had all seemed genuinely delighted by her announcement. In fact, even Gloria and the vicar had not looked outwardly displeased or discomposed. They had come together after her words and received the congratulations of the guests with composure. But would not those guests already be wondering why she, a new and young bride, should have been entrusted with so momentous an announcement? Would they not be considering how improper it was that it had not been Ralph who had spoken?
And how, in the name of heaven, had she had the nerve to get up in front of all those strangers, who were to be her neighbors for the rest of her life, and tell such an out-and-out lie? Oh, she was a hopeless case. Papa was perfectly right about her. All those horrid names he had ever called her were true. She could at least have waited for another occasion, given herself time to think out the implications of what she was going to do. Papa would surely beat her in earnest if he were here now and had witnessed the very improper and embarrassing spectacle she had made of herself.
What would the countess have to say when they returned to London next week? The dowager countess, that was. Georgiana herself was now the countess. Everyone seemed to stand in such awe of her mother-in-law. Georgiana had had an impression of an overweight, self-indulgent complainer before the wedding, but both Ralph and Gloria seemed to find it difficult to stand up to her. And Georgiana was to be part of her household when she returned to London. She would have to account for this night's work. No, Georgiana thought defiantly, smiling at Miss Dobb and nodding that yes, indeed, there was time for just one more set, she would not be a part of her mother-in-law's household. The dowager would be part of hers. She had not cringed before anyone in her life. She was not about to start now.
Her eyes alighted on Ralph as this thought was passing through her mind. Fortunately, the whole width of the drawing room was between them, and he walked on past toward the salon. It was of Ralph she should be thinking most. Now what had she done to him? She had set herself more than a week before to try to restore his sense of manhood. And what had she done? She had gone right over his head and done something that only he had a right to do. She had made a public announcement, a family announcement, in the name of Lord Chartleigh. And she had probably made him look quite foolish in the eyes of his neighbors, who might think that he did not have the courage to speak for himself but must engage his wife to do so. She had done it again!
He must be very furious with her! What would he do when everyone had left? He was far too well-bred to reprimand her publicly, of course. But afterward. Would he yell at her as Papa always did? Threaten to beat her? Actually beat her? She could not imagine Ralph angry. She certainly could not picture him being violent. But the provocation had been great. At the very least, he would doubtless tell her that he had been deceived in her and was sorry that he had married her. She did not want him to be sorry.
Well, she thought, if he was so mean-spirited as to say that, she would stick her chin in the air and tell him quite coolly that she was disappointed in him and was sorry she had married him. After all, if he were a real man, he would have insisted long ago that his sister be allowed to marry the man of her choice. And he would have told his mother where she might take her whinings and complainings. She was indeed sorry to be married to such a meek and mild man. What would all these people think if they knew the true state of her marriage: unconsummated because the Earl of Chartleigh had taken fright in her bedchamber on their wedding night?
By the time the dancing came to an end a few minutes later, Georgiana had worked herself into a comforting indignation against the whole of the Middleton family, Ralph in particular. Even so, she slipped away guiltily to bed after bidding the last of her guests good night. Ralph was still busy instructing the butler and the footmen to leave the tidying up of the drawing room and salon until the morning. She was relieved to note that Gloria had not lingered to be confronted that night. Perhaps it would be easier to face them both after a half-night's sleep.
Georgiana was standing before the mirror in her room, humming tunelessly to herself as she brushed her hair, when Ralph came into her room. He did knock but did not wait for an answer. She had no time to compose herself. She faced him with jaw hanging and brush dangling from one limp hand.
"Am I disturbing you, Georgiana?" he asked cautiously.
Georgiana snapped her jaws together. She peered suspiciously at her husband. Papa sometimes began on her that way too, with deceptive mildness. Well, she certainly was not about to play cat and mouse with Ralph. He was not nearly such a formidable adversary as Papa.
"I was about ready for bed," she replied, "but you may as well say your piece now, Ralph. About the announcement I made regarding Gloria and the Reverend Boscome, I believe?" Her chin went up. There was a martial gleam in her eye.
Ralph came across the room and took both her hands in his. He smiled down at her. "Dear Georgiana," he said. "Putting the welfare of others before your own comfort.'
"Eh?" Georgiana was surprised into extreme inelegance.
"What a brave wife I have," he continued. "You quite put me to shame, Georgiana. It must have taken you days to gather the courage to do what you did this evening.”
"You are not angry?" she asked, frowning suspiciously.
"I am very proud of you," he said, squeezing her hands tightly. "You have seen in the last week and a half how unsatisfactory is the situation between Gloria and David Boscome. And you saw that the only remedy was to force the issue. It must have been very dreadful for you to get up as you did before all our neighbors, dear, and say what you did. I am deeply touched at the love you have shown for my sister."
"Oh," Georgiana said. What he said was all true. But he made her sound so heroic. Had her deed really been so splendidly selfless? Perhaps it had. Yes, it really had taken some courage to do what she had done. She smiled tentatively at Ralph, who had had the intelligence to recognize the truth.
"Come and sit down for a while," he said very gently, releasing one hand and leading her to the daybed. He sat down beside her, retaining his hold on her other hand. "I do wish you had come to me before the party, Georgiana, and taken me into your confidence."
"You would have stopped me," she said. "It was because no one seemed to want to do anything that I acted as I did."
"We could have talked to Gloria and Boscome and asked if they wished for such an announcement," he said. "They might well have said yes. And they would have been better prepared for the flood of congratulations."
"Oh, Ralph, you know that Gloria would have felt it necessary to consult your mother first, and the Reverend Boscome would have bowed to her wishes, and you would have been afraid to offend the countess -the dowager," Georgiana said.
Ralph frowned briefly. "Perhaps you are right," he said, "and I certainly meant it when I said that I am proud of you. But you are very young, Georgiana. So am I. Is it right of us, do you suppose, to presume that we know what is right for others and to try to organize their lives so that they have little choice about the course they take?"
"Oh!" Georgiana shook off his hand and rose indignantly to her feet. "I see what you are about, Ralph Middleton. You are just like Papa, only worse. At least Papa yells and shows his disapproval in no uncertain terms. I know where I stand with him. You think to lull me like a child with your soft words of approval. But you are scolding me just the same. You are telling me that what I did was wrong and thoughtless. Why do you not at least be honest about it? Shout at me. Threaten to beat me."
"Georgians!" Ralph was on his feet too, his face pale and clearly distressed. "Please. I did not mean to hurt you. I do not feel at all angry with you. And how could I threaten you even if I did? You are a person, and my wife. I would never offer violence to any person, especially not to a woman, and to the very woman I have undertaken to protect and cherish for the rest of my life."
"You see!" she accused. To her annoyance she felt hot tears blurring her eyes. "You are doing it again. You think that because you use gentle words you will not hurt. But it is just through your gentleness that you wound the most. One feels a fiend in opposing you. You make me feel wretched. Here I am, quite overwrought and speaking far too loudly, and all you do is stand there and look Her hand circled the air. "Dismayed."
She turned away sharply, breathing deeply in an attempt to bring herself under control and to prevent the tears from spilling over. She felt foolish. How could one argue satisfactorily with a man who refused to get angry and yell back? She felt two warm hands take her by the shoulders and draw her back against a lean body.
"Georgiana," he said very quietly into her ear. "I am sorry, my dear. Indeed I am. I did not intend to make
you feel guilty about what you did tonight. You were so wonderfully brave and unselfish. I merely wished to point out that you are young and eager and impulsive. I love those qualities in you. But sometimes they can get one into trouble. I am very unfeeling and clumsy with words. I did not mean at all to accuse. Please believe me.”
Georgiana sniffed. "I know I should not have made that stupid announcement," she said. "It was just that… Oh, I know I was wrong, Ralph. I didn't need you to point that out to me." Her voice sounded appallingly high and thin to her own ears.
He turned her in his arms. Concern made his face look even more gentle than usual, Georgiana noticed as she scrubbed impatiently at her eyes with a handkerchief.
"Oh, my dear," he said, looking deep into her eyes, "I have not made you cry, have I? I am very angry with myself. I have been so very proud all this evening to know that you are my wife. I wanted to tell you that. I truly do not deserve you, Georgiana."
"Who could be proud of me?" Georgiana sniffed against her handkerchief. She was suffering from a very satisfying attack of self-pity. "I can never do the right thing. I always get into the horridest scrapes. But I think this one is worse than usual."
"Georgiana!" he said softly. "Oh, my sweetest love. Don't do this to yourself. Hush now." He cupped her face in his hands and gazed searchingly into her eyes. "Come. Smile at me. Don't punish me with these tears."
Georgiana laughed a little shakily. "I never cry!" she announced. "You have such an effect on me, Ralph." "Do I?" he asked.
And he kissed her softly on the lips. He still held her face in his hands. Georgiana grasped the lapels of his evening coat and kissed him back. She was so wretched with remorse she needed the comfort of his mouth on hers, of his arms that soon encircled her and held her protectively against his body. And slender as he was, he was certainly not frail, she thought, relaxing her weight and the burden of her guilt against him. She slipped her arms up around his neck so that she could feel him with her breasts.
Ralph held her slim figure wrapped within his arms. He moved his head and parted his lips over hers so that he was suddenly aware of the taste of her. He felt her breasts press against him as her arms twined around his neck. He wanted to touch those breasts with his hands. He wanted to have his hands beneath her nightgown so that he could feel their warm softness. He wanted her. He could feel the blood pounding through his head. He could feel the excitement and near-pain of arousal. He lifted his head to look down at his wife.
She looked troubled as soon as the contact of their mouths was broken. "It is so easy to hurt people when really we intend just the opposite," she said.
He froze. She might as well have thrown a pitcher of cold water in his face. He completely forgot about Gloria and Georgiana's perhaps indiscreet attempt to help her. He could think only of his wife and of the way he had hurt her almost two weeks before. When he had been trying to love her.
She was afraid of him.
She was afraid he would hurt her again.
Could he be sure that he would not?
He loved her. He wanted to make love to her. He wanted to love her and love her until she cried out with pleasure.
Would he hurt her instead?
He smiled down at her and kissed her gently on the lips again. "I am keeping you from your sleep," he said. "Thank you, Georgiana, for this evening. You are a good wife, and you have shown me tonight an example of courage that I will try to emulate. Good night, dear."
Georgiana's jaw had dropped when he came into her room. It dropped as he left. A full minute passed before she recovered herself sufficiently to pick up her evening slippers one at a time and hurl them furiously at the dressing-room door through which he had disappeared. A few choice epithets, learned from some of her male London friends, followed the slippers.
How dared he? How dared he… play with her like that! She hated him. Unfeeling, cowardly, self-righteous, spineless… boy! She hated him. Just let him try to climb into her bed at any time in the future. She would tell him a thing or two. She wanted a man in her bed, not a stupid boy who had probably not even realized what a fool she had just made of herself, surrendering her body to him, almost begging him to pick her up and carry her to the bed and ravish her. Good night, indeed! She hated him.
Georgiana strode over to her dressing table, picked up her ivory-backed hairbrush, and hurled that too at the dressing-room door.
She burst into tears.
Five days later the Chartleigh traveling carriage was on its way back to London. For much of the journey very little sound came from inside, though there were three occupants. Each seemed more content to be left with private thoughts than to indulge in conversation.
Gloria had said a final farewell to her betrothed when the carriage passed the vicarage. She did not find this parting as painful as she had the last, because it was likely that it would not last so long. Even so, it is a dreary business to be leaving a loved one behind. And the future was not as full of certainties as the previous few days had lulled her into believing. There was still her mother to face.
Ralph was finding it difficult to shake off the mood of depression that had oppressed him since the night of the dinner party. He had made an effort to be cheerful and to carry on with his daily living as before, but he seemed to be permanently blue-deviled. His opinion of himself was at a very low ebb. His marriage was in a mess. And he did not know how to turn things around.
He had been so happy just two weeks before when he married Georgiana, and so full of hope. He had offered for her to please his mother and to fulfill a sense of duty. But he had discovered that he loved his bride. She had seemed to be the perfect wife for him. She shared his extreme youth, his quietness. And she had added to those qualities a sweetness and an air of innocence that had made him feel older than his years, that had given him a determination to protect her. And he had looked forward to two weeks with her at Chartleigh, alone except for the unthreatening presence of Gloria. It had seemed like a fairy-tale beginning to a happy marriage.
Yet somehow nothing had worked out as he had imagined. And none of it was Georgiana's fault. She was everything he could wish for, and more. She was different from what he had expected, it was true. She had a liveliness of manner and a forthrightness of address that denoted a strong character. And he would never have suspected that she would be capable of showing so much courage. But he had not been mistaken about her basic sweetness of character. She had shown an affection for his family that could not have been expected after less than two weeks of marriage. He still marveled at the way in which she had laid herself open to all kinds of censure on the night of the dinner party in her determination to help his sister.
No, it was entirely his fault that the marriage had gone wrong. He had married a sweet and loving young girl and he had made her afraid of him. He loved her, and he could not come near her. He had resolved after their wedding night to be patient, to win her trust and her affection before trying again to consummate the marriage. Yet his own selfishness and uncontrolled desires had prevailed. He had not been able to resist his need for her when he had been foolish enough to visit her in her bedchamber. He had tried to make love to her long before she was ready for such intimacy, and he had frightened her again. She had told him so as delicately as she could.
He knew that he had to begin all over again to become her friend, to win her confidence. He had to renew his hope that eventually she would trust him sufficiently to allow him to touch her and to make her his wife. But it would be a long process. He did not think he had the patience, not, that is, unless he could feel confident that all would turn out well in the end. But he was not convinced. Perhaps the time would never come. Perhaps the rift between them would only widen with time. Perhaps she already felt a distaste for him that would turn to revulsion.
Ralph turned his head to look at his wife. She was sitting quietly beside him, her hands folded in her lap, her face turned toward the window. So small and so fragile-looking. So lovely. And so courageous. Except about that one thing. She was afraid of his touch. And he could do nothing about it. He wanted to take her hand in his and smile reassuringly at her when she turned. But how could he be sure that she would not cringe at even that much contact? He had not touched her since that night. He had been afraid to do so.
And now they were on their way back to London, where they would be joining Mama at Middleton House. Her family would wish to spend time with her. Her friends and his would take some of their time. They would have less chance now to get to know each other. They would surely drift apart until only a name held them together. Ralph turned back to his window as he felt panic catch at his breathing.
Georgiana was feeling very tense. She was conscious of Ralph beside her with every nerve ending in her body. She was aware that he turned and looked at her for perhaps two minutes. The urge to look back at him turned her neck muscles so rigid that finally she did not think she could have moved if she had tried. She could not look him in the eye. She could not speak to him. She would have to do both if she turned her head. She was just too close to him. It would be too intimate a moment. Gloria, on the seat opposite, was asleep.
The last few days had been dreadful. They had hardly spoken. They had hardly looked at each other. At least, had not looked at him. She could not speak for him because she had not been looking to observe if he looked at her. They had not touched. Even this morning, it was a footman who had handed her into the carriage. If the lack of contact had been caused by absence of interest, it would have been bearable. But the air between them positively bristled with tension and unspoken words.
If this state of affairs lasted much longer she would positively scream and start throwing things again. She hated him. She despised him. The words had been repeated to herself so many times that they had become like a sort of catechism, words without meaning droning away somewhere in the back of her mind. The truth was that she did care. Ralph was rather a sweet boy. She had had much evidence in the last two weeks that he was kind and considerate.
And he was unhappy. Of that there could not be any doubt. And there could be only one reason. It could not be that she had treated him badly or made him feel unwanted. Heaven knew, she had made her availability mortifyingly obvious to him a few nights before. No, it must be that he just could not consummate their marriage. Georgiana knew that such things happened to men. Someone must have told her so, though she could not remember who it was or how that person had come to confide such a shocking fact to a girl of such tender age. Anyway, the fact remained that Ralph must be incapable of making love to her. It had not been so on their wedding night. Clumsy as he had been, he could have done so if she had only kept her infernal mouth shut.
And so the whole thing came back to her again. It was her fault. She had destroyed his confidence to such a degree on that night that she had made him impotent. Yes, that was the word. And what a shocking burden it was to have on one's conscience. Poor Ralph. She wished he would touch her. She would like to curl up against him and try to make him feel protective and manly again. And her motives were not entirely selfless, she admitted. She was finding Ralph increasingly attractive and really quite handsome. It must be that eternal human tendency to want what we know we cannot have, she decided. Georgiana was starting to feel annoying physical frustrations at being close to her husband, married to him, yet unable to enjoy his embraces.
She should, of course, just turn to him, take his hand and draw it around her shoulders, lay her head against him, and tell him right out that she was disappointed that he did not come to her bed. The old Georgiana would have done that. Why on earth was she suddenly a new Georgiana just at the time when she needed all her courage and brazenness? Somehow she found that she could not take the initiative.
But she would have to do so if she were not going to go mad, she decided. As it was, she was not looking forward at all to returning to London. She dreaded meeting Ralph's mother again. She would be living in the same house as the woman. And her mother-in-law did not yet know about her terrible interference in Gloria's betrothal. She had really been very fortunate so far, but the worst was yet to come. As it happened, Gloria had been almost pathetically grateful to Ralph for taking such a firm and public stand in favor of her marriage. And the. Reverend Boscome had been delighted that finally the head of the family had put a stop to the endless delays. Ralph had taken full responsibility for what had happened, of course. It was just like him to show such quiet courage. If there was to be any accusation of interference or impropriety, he would bear the blame and protect the name of his wife.
Something would have to be done. The closer they got to London, the more determined Georgiana became not to tolerate the present state of her marriage with quiet resignation. Ralph had to regain his confidence. He had to have his sense of manhood restored. She had destroyed it. She must see that it was rebuilt.
But how?
How could an eighteen-year-old girl, and a rather pitifully ignorant virgin at that, go about restoring to a man his ability to make love? It was a daunting.task even for her. Perhaps Dennis Vaughan or Ben Greeley or Warren Haines could help her? She suddenly had an appalling vision of herself seated at the edge of a ballroom with one of them, or waltzing around a room confiding with a bright smile the fascinating news that her husband was impotent and she still unbedded, and what was she to do about it, please? The vision was too horrifying even to be amusing.
She would have to devise some plan, some way of getting satisfactory answers without divulging to a living soul the mortifying truth of her husband's disability and her own unsatisfied yearnings.
She would think of something. She always did. Suddenly Georgiana felt almost cheerful. A good challenge was always the best remedy for the dismals, she reflected.