Chapter 18 #2
“You are correct, of course. Work itself is important.” It was true. Work was important to him, but he was no longer sure he needed Georgiana’s work. He found it challenging and, until today, delightful, but it would never win him the place his father intended for him.
A message from Geoffrey Dunning lay in Andrew’s coat pocket.
Geoff had finally been able to arrange the long-sought face-to-face meeting with Wallace Selby.
Andrew’s father had respected Selby. Selby could offer work—more prestigious work than the crumbs he had sent so far.
He could bring Andrew into the highest circles of scholarship.
She appeared to be mollified. She equated “work” with her work. He let her think it. He wasn’t going to lay his needs bare to her, not now. He could see her throat working as she gathered thoughts.
“I hoped...I wanted...” she stammered, “to suggest that we finish the work before we try to change, that is, try to discuss or decide—to make something out of—” He let her stumble. I’ll be damned if I’m going to make it easy for her. “Out of, out of what is between us. When we finish the work.”
“The work,” he repeated.
“Yes. The work. It brings us together.”
“That it does, Love.” Mistake that. She lit up like a candle. He couldn’t go back to “my lady,” but he vowed he wouldn’t call her “Love” again. “That it does, Georgiana. It brings us together.”
He thought she might be right that they could resolve the rest of it if they finished the work. He wondered if work would give her peace, time to come to terms with his proposal. Perhaps it will.
He stared at her. She worried her lower lip with her teeth and stared back with anxiety in her eyes. His own eyes, he thought, must be infinitely sad because sorrow made him mute.
Andrew looked away at last. He limped to the table and picked up the manuscript without enthusiasm. He would think about his other options tomorrow. “We were finishing Nossis, I believe.”
“We are finished. ‘She whom Aphrodite has not loved...’ I understand her better now.”
The she-devil! “You still have much to learn.” She responded with a hungry look. “Greek,” he explained. “You have much Greek to learn. Eros is one thing.”
“The longing of one for union with the other?”
“Yes. Union. Physical and spiritual. There is also porneia: the taking of pleasure for oneself, the illicit, the vile.” She looked as if he had slapped her.
He didn’t let her speak. “And rhaidios: behavior that is easy and reckless. Perhaps you wish to explore those also.” If it isn’t mutual giving, Georgiana, what is it?
“I see.” She sobered now. Joy had fled, but he couldn’t regret his words. He watched her take a shuddering breath and say, “What shall we work on next.”
Change the subject, Georgiana. For now. She wouldn’t look at him.
“Who is left?” he asked while he searched over the worktable for their index.
“Andrew.” An odd note in her voice drew him to look up. “There is one more thing. I am going away for a while.”
Away? Where could she go?
“Indeed she is.” A familiar voice came from the door. He wondered how long Richard had been standing there. Damn Glenaire’s eyes. Can’t he knock like mortal men?
“Chadbourn is to be wed. My sister is summoned to attend.”
Summoned. Normal people were invited.
“Hello, Richard,” Andrew said. They were many years past titles and formalities, and not a few years past true warmth. “You look well.” Couldn’t you allow me one day to adjust to my lover?
“I could say the same for you. You found Peabody satisfactory, I presume?”
“More than satisfactory. The healing isn’t perfect, but I’ll do.” He stood erect as if to demonstrate.
“Excellent. I wouldn’t want my sister’s… Tutor is it? To be incapacitated.”
Andrew had no response for that.
“Will is to marry? I wonder why I received no invitation.”
Glenaire lifted his well-bred chin. “Perhaps Chadbourn believed you too ill to travel.”
And you didn’t enlighten him.
Georgiana looked back and forth between her brother and Andrew.
She looked as confused and uncomfortable as he felt.
Glenaire never looked uncomfortable. He went on smoothly, “If the two of you have things to arrange for your little project, I won’t keep you from it. Georgiana and I depart in the morning.”
* * *
“Commentary on Praxilla.” Georgiana underlined ‘Praxilla,’ the last item on the list. Organizing the work gave her a sense of being in control, or it did up until now. Today she needed to feel safe. It felt safe to arrange the work and their partnership.
Once Richard left the room, it took them an hour to sort the notes. Andrew responded to her suggestions and assisted her in packing up their notes with distant care.
He agreed to take two boxes home and work on the commentaries from her notes. She planned to take another box with her. It held assorted research on the two to three authors for whom translations were not yet finished.
“How long will you be gone?” His voice sounded hoarse. She realized it was his first comment on anything other than work in the past hour.
“I don’t know. The wedding is in two weeks—just after Twelfth Night. Her Grace may well expect my presence at Mountview for a time. It has been three years.” He looked skeptical. “They are my parents, Andrew. I will send you my notes as I finish them.”
“That should work. I’ll continue to polish the commentaries, make them more consistent in format.” She nodded. They had agreed to it; he submitted to her direction meekly. In her estimation he acted much too meekly. She wished he would lash out. She was glad he didn’t.
“Do you think Will really believes you are too ill to travel?” she asked at last.
“Perhaps. Who knows what Richard told him. Your brother doesn’t want me there if you are to attend.”
She felt sick at the bitterness in his voice.
“Some distance to think will do us good, Andrew,” she said, side-stepping the issue.
“We can finish the work and then we’ll talk.
” She sounded like a pedantic schoolmaster even to herself, but she meant it.
She needed distance. She needed to finish her translations.
She needed to still the panic in her heart.
Andrew’s eyes shot darts at her, but he didn’t argue when footmen carried out his share of the boxes. Georgiana felt the darts and the suffocating heat that seemed to radiate from his body. She sighed when he started to follow the footman.
When she thought he meant to pass, he turned so suddenly that he knocked the breath from her body. Warm, strong arms imprisoned her, and he kissed her fiercely. Just as suddenly, he was gone before she could respond.
She believed she ought to be pleased with her perfect control of the situation—up until that kiss, that is. She clung to that thought while misery pooled around her and began to close in. He was gone; empty darkness remained.