THE HONORABLE VERA BURTON was walking in the park with her sister. It was a chill day. They were both wrapped in warm pelisses, their hands thrust into fur-lined muffs. One would hardly know that it was only September, Georgiana complained, except that the park was so empty. She sighed with regret. At this time of the afternoon during the Season Rotten Row would be so crowded with carriages, horses, and pedestrians that one would be scarcely able to move. And there would be so many acquaintances and admirers that one would not really wish to move. But at this time of the year there was positively no one in London.
Georgiana was finding her sister a great comfort. The return to town two weeks before had proved every bit as dreadful as she had expected. There was very little entertainment; none of her special cronies was in town, even Dennis Vaughan, who had told her he would be back by the end of August; Ralph spent a great deal of time away from home, having taken his seat in the House of Lords; Gloria lived in her mother's shadow; Lord Stanley, who was her age and who might have brightened her home life, merely tried to flirt with her; and the dowager countess was the crowning horror.
Georgiana could quite see why everyone within her sphere of influence lived in awe of the dowager. She did not order people around. There was no obvious domineering against which one could set one's will. All was complaints, whines, hints, and sly suggestions. She would give up her room at Middleton House to Georgiana, she had said on their return, of course she would. It was only right that the Countess of Chartleigh should occupy the best set of rooms in the house. She, after all, was relegated now to the position of dowager countess. She merely hoped that Georgiana would be as happy in the rooms as she had been. The dear departed Chartleigh would be sorely grieved if he could see her now having to carry all her belongings to another suite. He had taken her to those rooms on their marriage and told her that that was where she would reside forever after when they were in town. She had pulled out a lace handkerchief at that point in her recital.
"Heavens!" Georgiana had declared. "I have no wish to turn you out of your room, Mother. You can put me anywhere. I shan't mind."
"We will share the rose apartments, Georgiana," Ralph had said with a smile. "They are smaller than Mama's, but I have always thought them far more lovely."
That had happened only an hour after their return from the country. It was seemingly a very minor incident. But it set a pattern, Georgiana had discovered. Her mother-in-law got her way in everything. She totally ruled the house and everyone in it. Everyone gave in to her because that course led to the easiest existence. Had Georgiana realized these facts on that first evening, she was convinced, she would merely have offered to help the dowager carry her belongings to her new room-as if the woman would have been called upon to carry one pin for herself anyway. Not that Georgiana had any interest in occupying the largest apartments in the house. But she should have shown right from the start that she intended to be the mistress of her new home.
It was quite ludicrous really to think that she was mistress of Middleton House. She felt more like a nuisance of a little girl intruding on a well-established routine. It was his mother who suggested that Ralph eat larger breakfasts to ward off chills and that he spend less time in the library reading in order to preserve his eyesight, and, and, and… She was constantly nagging a t him about something. Georgiana fumed. He never argued with his mother or told her to hold her tongue. He always favored her with that annoying, affectionate smile. She noticed that he still ate only one slice of toast for breakfast and spent as much time reading as before. But even so! Could he not openly assert himself? Georgiana did not think she would be able to keep her mouth shut much longer.
The dowager had received the news of Gloria's approaching nuptials with ominous sweetness. She had kissed her daughter and commended Ralph for his kindness in granting his permission for the banns to be read-Georgiana's part in granting that permission had not been mentioned. But somehow in the two weeks that had passed since their return, she had made them all feel that the marriage would be a disaster to the two principals and especially to her in the rawness of her grief and her present low state of health. Georgiana was terribly afraid that, after all, the wedding would be postponed yet again.
She had turned to Vera for companionship. The two sisters had always been surprisingly close. There was a five-year difference in their ages, and a larger difference in their temperaments. Vera was the very antithesis of Georgiana. She was serious and thoughtful. She took little pleasure in the social round and had only a few close friends, all of them female. She was not a beauty, at least not to anyone who knew her less intimately than Georgiana. The latter was always loud to proclaim, in fact, that she had a sweetness and a depth of character that gave her beauty to those who knew her well. That beauty showed particularly in her eyes, which were large and almost always calm. But it showed too in her face on the rare occasions when it was animated.
Vera was offering comfort during this walk in the park.
"I can understand just how difficult it must be to find suddenly that your home is with near-strangers," she said. "And it is doubly difficult when Lady Chartleigh has been mistress of the house for so long and must now step down in your favor. But I am sure, Georgie, that if you have patience you will find that it will become easier as time passes. Both you and your mother-in-law will adjust to the new situation. And she cannot but love you once she gets to know you."
Georgiana looked doubtful. "Patience is something I have very little of," she said.
They both paused to nod in the direction of a passing carriage, from which one of their acquaintances waved to them.
"I am sure his lordship will help you," Vera said. "He seems a very kindly man, Georgiana. You have been very fortunate in your choice, I believe."
"Oh yes," Georgiana agreed, "very fortunate. I rarely even see him."
Vera looked sharply at her sister, alerted by her tone. "Is something wrong between you?" she asked.
Georgiana did not immediately reply. "Oh, everything!" she blurted at last. "And it is all my fault, Vera, as usual. I think I must have said something when we were at Chartleigh that hurt Ralph in some way. And since then it has been as if there were a huge barrier between us. We cannot communicate at all."
"Oh," Vera said. "I did not know. I am so sorry, Georgie. Can you not go to him and say you are sorry?"
"No," Georgiana said, coloring slightly. "It is not as simple as that. Ralph is very quiet and sensitive, you see. I believe I did more than hurt him. I think I destroyed his confidence in himself. And just saying something to him will not restore that. I have been trying to think of some way of making him believe in himself again."
Vera stared at her for a few silent moments. "I cannot think that you could have said or done anything so dreadful, Georgie," she said. "You were ever mischievous and impulsive, but you have always had a good heart. His lordship is fond of you, I am sure. I don't believe the situation can be as bad as you think."
Georgiana had been watching her shoes with a frown. Else she would certainly have noticed the rider approaching them, especially as he was a particularly handsome young man mounted on a quite magnificent stallion. But she did not see him until he was drawing rein before them and sweeping his beaver hat from his head.
"Well, if it is not my newest cousin, the Countess of Chartleigh," he said as she looked up startled.
Georgiana recognized him immediately and dimpled. "Lord Beauchamp," she said. "How glad I am to see a familiar face."
"What?" he said. "Never tell me you are admitting to boredom, ma'am, and you a four weeks' bride?"
"Well, I am nonetheless, sir," she said candidly. "There is positively nothing to do in London at this season of the year."
"My cousin Ralph must be a poor-spirited creature if he is not finding amusement for his bride," Roger Beauchamp said. "I must take the matter in hand myself. You will be hearing from me, ma'am."
"Oh," Georgiana said, delighted, "you mean there are entertainments to which we may procure invitations? Then I do wish you will exert yourself on my behalf, sir."
He grinned. "At your service, my dear Lady Chartleigh," he said. "May I have the honor of being presented to your charming companion?"
When Georgiana made the introductions, Lord Beauchamp leaned down from his horse's back and extended a hand to Vera. "Charmed, Miss Burton," he said. "We were not introduced at the wedding, though I recall seeing you there."
He held on to Vera's hand rather longer than she seemed to think necessary. She colored. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, my lord," she said, looking up at him.
"I shall look forward to hearing from you," Georgiana said as he replaced his beaver hat on his head and made to ride away. He touched his hat with his riding whip, grinned at her, and rode on.
"Well, what do you think of that?" Georgiana said, looking after him thoughtfully. "Do you think he will keep his promise, Vera?"
"Probably not," her sister replied. "Lord Beauchamp is a notorious women's man, Georgie. Even I know that. Ella Carver calls him a rake, and I would not be at all surprised if she is right. He has a way of looking at one and holding one's hand that is meant to make one think that he finds one more interesting than any woman he has ever met."
"You do not like him?" Georgiana asked in some surprise.
"No, I do not," Vera said firmly. "When a man tries those tactics on me, I know that he is insincere. Do have a care of him, Georgie."
"Why?" her sister asked. "Do you think Ralph will become jealous?"
A close observer would have noticed that she was paying no attention to her sister's reply. There was a deeply thoughtful look on her face.
Ralph was sitting in the reading room at White's Club, perusing the newspapers halfheartedly. He had eaten dinner there after spending the morning in the Upper House, and was feeling guilty about not having gone home. This was the third day since his return home from the country two weeks before that he had stayed away from morning until almost dinnertime. He really had been busy. There was much to learn about his new position as a member of the Lords, and many new and important men with whom to become acquainted. And he had several matters to settle with Parker, his man of business. But he had to admit to himself that perhaps he had been welcoming reasons to stay away from home.
The truth was that the state of his marriage had gone from bad to worse since their return from the country. They seemed always to be surrounded by other people. They were almost never alone. And he still could not bring himself to go to Georgiana at night. He had been unable to carry through his resolve to build a friendship with her. On the two afternoons when he had suggested a drive with her, they had ended up having company, His mother had decided the first time that an airing would do her no harm. Georgiana's sister had arrived at the moment of their departure on the other occasion and had been persuaded to go with them. He had not tried again.
He should be at home now, he knew, with Georgiana. She was living in a new and strange home, and he knew that life with his mother would not be easy for her.
Through the years he had learned that the best way to handle his mother was to humor her, to let her have her way over unimportant matters and to let her think she was having her way over more important ones. He was not in the habit of confronting her. But he had the uncomfortable feeling that he was going to have to do so soon. He could not expect Georgiana to be as docile as he. She did not have the deep-seated affection for his mother that made all her annoying traits bearable to him.
Georgiana was now the Countess of Chartleigh. Middleton House and Chartleigh were her domains. By rights his mother should retire quietly into the background. Most women in her situation would move to their own establishments. There was a dower house at Chartleigh. It would be a simple matter to lease or rent a suitable house in London. But she had made no mention of any such plans and in the meantime succeeded in imposing her will on the running of their lives.
Georgiana was taking the whole matter very well. She had refused to turn his mother out of her apartments, though Ralph had never planned any such upheaval anyway. And she had not said or done anything that suggested to him that she was finding the situation intolerable. Perhaps he had not been home enough to discover her real feelings. But he found the state of affairs impossible. He remembered with some wistfulness the enthusiasm with which his wife had made preparations for the dinner party at Chartleigh. He had begun to feel like a married man with a home and family of his own. He wanted her as the mistress of his home here in London too.
And what was he doing about it? he asked himself glumly. He was staying away from home, busying himself over matters that were really not as important at the moment as was the solving of his personal problems. It would not do. He was not being fair to his wife-or to himself, for that matter. He wanted to spend more time with her. He must do something. And that something was going to have to be confronting his mother. He grimaced at the thought.
"Ah, if it is not the happy groom himself," a voice said from the doorway. "Ralph, my lad, you look the picture of marital bliss. I was talking to your wife just half an hour ago."
Ralph put down his newspaper and rose to his feet to shake hands with his cousin.
"How are you, Roger?" he asked. "I didn't know you were in town."
"I cannot imagine why I am," his cousin said. "There really is not much doing here these days. The trouble is, dear boy, that I cannot think of anywhere else where life may be more exciting. Your wife seems to be suffering from the same ennui."
"Georgiana?" Ralph said with a frown. "She said she was bored? Where did you see her?"
"Strolling in the park," Roger Beauchamp said. "She brightened my day, I tell you, Ralph, my boy. The only pretty female I have seen today."
"She was alone?" asked Ralph.
"Oh no," his cousin said. "She had her sister with her. The little countess certainly was blessed with all the beauty in that family, eh?"
"Vera has character," Ralph said.
Roger laughed. "Trust you, my boy, to find some redeeming feature in a poor dab of a female. She has fine eyes, though."
"Yes," Ralph agreed absently.
"Now, why would a bridegroom of a month be sitting reading newspapers at his club when he might be with his bride… er, amusing himself?" Roger asked, seating himself on a wing chair and hooking one booted leg carelessly over one of the arms. There were no other occupants of the room.
It was not the sort of question Ralph was adept at answering. He colored and stared uncomfortably at his companion.
"Of course," Lord Beauchamp continued, swinging the suspended leg and viewing the tassel of his boot swaying back and forth, "I've never been married, though Mama is beginning to make ominous noises on the topic now that my thirtieth birthday is looming on the horizon. Perhaps such afternoon amusements lose some of their charm when the female is one's wife. Do they, Ralph, my lad?"
Ralph grinned despite some feeling of discomfort. "I wouldn't know, Rog," he said. "I am your very much younger cousin, if you will remember. You plagued me with the fact throughout my growing years."
"Did I?” Roger asked. "But you were such a sweet innocent, little cousin. Are you still? Are you a very proper husband, Ralph, enjoying the little countess's favors just once a day, at a respectable hour of the night, with all the candles doused? How very dull! No wonder the poor lady is suffering from ennui."
"You are getting a little personal, Rog," Ralph said quietly. "I do not like to hear Georgians spoken of in such a way."
"Oh, quite," his cousin agreed. "I meant no offense, you know. What I suspect, Ralph, my lad, is that you do not know how to enjoy yourself. I'll wager you have never kept a high flier. Am I right?"
"I think you know you are," Ralph said. "And I make no apology for the fact."
"Yes, yes," Roger said, waving energetically in the direction of a passing waiter and directing him to bring some claret to the reading room. "You always were high-principled. I remember your throwing yourself at me once, both fists flying, when you were the merest stripling, because I wouldn't release one of those village maidens of yours without first claiming a kiss. If you had had an ounce of wisdom, my lad, you would have known that the wench was panting for her kiss even more than I was."
"Well, I seem to remember getting much the worse of that encounter anyway," Ralph said with a grin. "A bloody nose, if I remember correctly. And Ginny Moore had her kiss."
"The point is, my young innocent," Roger said, "that one learns from such females. When I do marry, you see, I shall be able to enslave my bride with the pleasure I know how to give her. Women are fools when they frown on their men indulging in amorous adventures. We would be the clumsiest dolts if we did not, and quite incapable of offering them any compensation for the services they must render. And we must be the ones to offer the experience, my lad. The type of female we must marry knows precisely nothing."
"You are undoubtedly right, Rog," Ralph agreed amiably. "But it is a trifle late to try to convert me to your philosophy now, is it not?"
Roger swung his leg to the floor and leaned forward in his chair as the waiter entered with a tray and glasses. "Ah, the end to a long drought," he commented, drinking from his glass until he and Ralph were alone again. "I'm not so sure of that, my boy," he said. "You look blue-deviled, and the little countess looked positively out of sorts. She needs parties and theaters. You need a mistress."
Ralph laughed. "Would you not think it a little out of character, Rog?” he said. “Can you imagine me with a mistress?"
"Let me find you someone," Roger offered magnanimously. "It won't be difficult. There are always dozens of women in search of rich, titled protectors. And they would fall over themselves if he were also young and handsome. And you are turning out to be quite well-endowed in that last department, Ralph. Surprising, really. You used to be quite a puny lad. In a few years' time, you will probably be putting us all in the shadow. What say you?"
"I say good day to you, I must be getting home," Ralph said with a laugh. He got to his feet and held out a hand to his cousin again.
"I have promised the little countess to try to sniff out some entertainments for her," Roger said. "I shall see that some invitations are sent your way, my lad. Even at this godforsaken time of year there are some similarly desperate people organizing parties. And you think of what I have said. It is time you started enjoying the life to which you were born, my serious young scholar. And what better way to begin than with a hot little affair, eh?"
He took the proffered hand, and Ralph left the room. Roger yawned, picked up his drink, and went in search of companionship.
Ralph took his wife to the theater that night. The outing had not been planned. His thoughts of the afternoon and his meeting with his cousin had combined to make him feel actively guilty about his neglect of her. And she reacted with almost pathetic eagerness when he suggested taking her out. He did not extend the invitation to anyone else, though he knew that his private box at the theater would comfortably hold a sizable party. He shut his mind to the possible disappointment his mother or Gloria might be feeling at being excluded.
They did not speak a great deal either during the carriage ride or at the theater. He watched her covertly. Was she unhappy? Roger's words suggested that she might be. She was quiet. Before his marriage and during the first few days afterward, he would have thought this quite characteristic of her. But during the days at Chartleigh he had become aware of a vitality in her and even a tendency to become talkative at times. Her face could be alight with animation and doubly beautiful. All of these facets of her character were absent now.
If she were not actively unhappy at the moment, there was a strong possibility that she would be soon. She could not be happy with the state of their marriage. He knew that women did not crave sexual activity as men, did, but even so, she must wish for a normal marriage. She would wish for a child eventually.
Yet he was terribly afraid to make theirs a normal marriage. He mentally cursed himself now that he had not gone to her on the second night of their marriage and asserted his rights. Even if he had caused her pain, it would have passed. He knew that a woman felt real pain only when she was still virgin. The same held true now, of course. He could go to her tonight, and by tomorrow the pain would be gone forever.
But it becomes so much more difficult to do something positive when one has once procrastinated. He could not just go to Georgiana's bed. If only he did not love her so much! He watched her as her attention was on the stage. She was so small and slender. And so very dear. He wanted to protect her from all the pain and unhappiness that life might throw her way. How could he be the one to hurt her?
Unbidden, his conversation with Roger came back to his mind. If he were to take his cousin at his word and take a mistress, he could learn not only how to give pleasure to a woman but also how to make love without the clumsiness that his present inexperience made inevitable. It was a mad thought, of course. How could he deliberately be unfaithful to the wife he loved and to the principles by which he had always lived? He blanked the memories from his mind.
Georgiana, for her part, was also covertly observing her husband. Why had he suddenly decided to bring her out? It had liven a pleasant surprise. And she despised herself for feeling so. It said little for the state of her life that she could be grateful to a poor-spirited boy like Ralph for an outing. Yet the truth was that she was feeling annoyingly pleased to be seen with him. He really did look almost splendid in his dark blue satin evening clothes. His valet had done fascinating things with his neckcloth.
He was not happy, though. He was always quiet, of course. That was nothing to signify. But his laughter-filled eyes and upward-curving mouth seemed to have been left behind at Chartleigh. Oh dear, it was all her fault. She had wrought this change in such a little time. And the plan that had struck her like a lightning bolt that afternoon recurred to her mind. It might work. Something had to work. And yet for some stupid reason she could not do the obvious thing and just talk the matter out with Ralph.
Roger Beauchamp was handsome enough. In fact, he was quite devastatingly handsome: tall, slim, dark, self-possessed. He was older, too, undoubtedly a real man. She could even remember that for one moment on the occasion when she and Ben on their way out of the bushes had met him and a young lady on their way in, she had wished that they might all change partners. He would undoubtedly know all there was to know about kissing, she had felt sure then.
He was a man framed by heaven for the express purpose of making other men tear their hair in jealousy. That much was perfectly obvious. What woman could look at Lord Beauchamp without even the smallest thrill of admiration? She was going to flirt with him, that's what she was going to do. Just a little, of course. She was not going to arouse any major scandal. But she was going to drive poor Ralph wild with jealousy. She was going to make him angry, furious at her. So angry that he would… Georgians felt a lurch of excitement somewhere low down in her anatomy.
She chattered in quite animated fashion about the play during the carriage ride home and was somewhat cheered to find her hand in her husband's for the second half of the journey. She had certainly not put it there. She even noticed with some gratification when they entered Middleton House that the smile was back in his eyes.
But miracles do not happen in a flash, she discovered a few minutes later, as she entered her lonely bedchamber, the imprint of a gentle kiss on the back of the hand that she held against her cheek.