Chapter 9 #3
But then her grandmother straightened, turned, and fixed her with the kind of look that forbade dissembling. “But given the chance.”
Which left Georgie with the uncomfortable need to squirm. Except no one squirmed in the presence of the Dowager Countess, cottager hat or not. So, she settled for a sigh and the truth. “Given the chance, might I could. But I resent him too much to find the room for it.”
Those wise green eyes softened a bit. “Well, you had better find a way. Otherwise, you will find life tedious at best. Especially when you begin to bear him children.”
Georgie ducked her head. “I told him I want a marriage of convenience.” When she heard the gasp, she looked up. “For now. So I might have the chance to maybe find something of my own in my life, instead of spending the entire thing as nursemaid, nanny, and broodmare.”
Her grandmama considered her a moment more before turning back to her lilacs.
“I’m afraid it is the way of women,” the old woman said. “I had to wait for my old age to be given the chance to do what I loved.”
“And if I don’t live that long?”
Grandmama shrugged. “Your mother has carved out a way for herself.”
“Are you so sure that is what she wanted for herself?” Georgie asked.
“Ask her.”
“I am almost afraid to. What if I find that she is miserable with all of us? And how do I tell her that I refuse to have my life governed by pregnancy? I have spent my life in child-rearing. I am frankly tired of it.”
Snip. Snip. “And those little girls?”
“What about them?”
“Do you intend to abandon them because you have had your fill of children?”
“Of course not. Those little ones need me far more than my own siblings ever have.”
Oddly enough, that was what brought her grandmama upright, her expression fearsome. “Do not ever think such a thing again. Personally, I worry about how they will get on once you’re married.”
Georgie couldn’t help a grin. “I don’t suppose you’d like to move in.”
That earned her a huff of disdain and a return to the flowers. “Not likely. I have earned my peace.”
If peace included a prodigious correspondence and frequent forays into society with the purpose of stirring the pot.
But Georgie admitted that overall, her grandmama had fashioned an exquisite retreat for herself out of a rather plain Queen Anne house near Richmond.
The dowager often said that after the strain of keeping up with Clevedon Castle for forty years, she was quite delighted with only eight bedrooms, a full stable, and a garden that challenged Kew.
And her bees. It did not do to neglect the bees. Whom Georgie still had to tell.
“Mama and Papa are interviewing for another tutor for the boys.”
There was another impatient huff above the lilacs. “Your father should never be involved. For a man in politics, he is woeful at reading people.”
“Which is why Mama is involved. And me.” Georgie rubbed at her temple, which had begun to ache. “Can the little girls not be enough for now?”
“Only you can know that, child. But I wouldn’t expect a man to be very patient with your restrictions.”
“But why?! Why cannot I have something of my own? We women have nothing! Not our money, not our belongings. Even our bodies end up in service to the children we bear. Not to mention our home, which is not our own. We are only allowed to live in it until our son finds another woman to take charge. We are mere visitors in our own lives!”
At that, her grandmama not only straightened, she came over and sat next to Georgie.
Cradling the clippers in one hand, she took Georgie’s hand in the other, and Georgie saw how wrinkled and sinewy her grandmother’s hand had grown, the joints knobby and angular.
Worn, like the graying of her once blonde hair.
“How did he react when you made such a bold statement?”
Georgie sighed. “He was actually quite nice about it. I don’t know if that largesse will last. But I at least have a bit of a window. He is taking a trip right after the marriage.”
Grandmama nodded. “Might be best. With only one household to manage you might just find the time for that direction you claim to want. Do you know what you think you want, or is it just a supposition?”
“I might have some ideas.”
“Do they have to do with that visit you make every Friday?”
This time Georgie shared a conspiratorial smile. “Oh, I think it might.”
Her grandmama patted her hand. “Just remember. The decision is yours on how you go forward. If you respect this man and think you could love him, then fight for your place next to him. Begin as you mean to go on.”
Georgie sighed. “That sentiment terrifies me even more than it reassures me.”
“Well, here is another. There are ways to prevent becoming enceinte.”
Georgie stared at her exceptionally proper grandmama, who was suddenly grinning back at her.
“That is what he said,” Georgie retorted. “Truly? You know them?”
“Child,” the old woman said with a squeeze of the hand, “We women have been taking care of each other for a long time now. It is simply your turn.”
“Can you guarantee it?”
Her grandmama sighed. “No. But it certainly lessens the chance. We’ll retire to the stillroom when we finish here.”
Georgie blinked, feeling a bit stupid. “Er, you don’t still need...”
Her grandmama had a way with a raised eyebrow herself. “Be sensible, child. I am not the only woman in my house, though, am I?” She shrugged. “Or my village, come to think of it. My still room is for everyone, as you know. That doesn’t mean merely poultices and cough remedies.”
Georgie shook her head. “I never guessed.”
“I told you. We women must take care of each other.” She spent a moment considering the old clippers in her hand before turning back to Georgie.
Georgie was surprised to see color on her normally pale white cheeks.
“Something else, which I suspect your young man knows quite well already. Something I suspect your mother will not think to share with you. You can share love in many ways that don’t risk conception.
Quite lovely ways, in fact. When you trust him, ask. ”
Even though Georgie never blushed, she was certain she was fire engine red. “Love? Who said anything about love? Grandmama, I have barely known him a week.”
“But there is attraction.”
“I wouldn’t….”
Grandmama gave her quite a look, her one eyebrow raised in challenge. “Child, please do not try to convince me nothing happened out on that balcony.”
Georgie ducked her head, her body remembering all too well what had happened on that balcony.
“For now,” her grandmother gently informed her, “attraction will suffice. He is a good man. You are the best of my grandchildren—” Chuckling, she leaned closer. “Although try not to let any of them know.”
Even Georgie smiled at that. At one time or another grandmama had named every one of her grandchildren as favorites.
“Trust me on this, Georgianna. This will set the tone for your marriage.”
Georgie sighed. “I’m not quite sure I have the courage.”
Grandmama patted her hand. “Of course, you do. Because you will want too much to know. I will tell you this much, my sweet girl. A good man will see to your pleasure with his hands and mouth and oh, especially his arms, which can hold you up when you feel you have nothing left in you.”
Again, Georgie found herself stunned silent, clear images racing through her brain of Grey doing that very thing. “Grandmama,” she finally said with a sigh and a shake of her head, “you are a never-ending font of wisdom.”
Her grandmama just smiled and patted her hand. “It is what grandmamas are for. One final piece of wisdom. Do not allow him to leave you without assuring his own pleasure.”
Georgie managed to open her mouth but found she could think of nothing to say.
Her grandmother flashed the grin of a much younger woman and tapped Georgie’s cheek. “You may not know what is involved, but I assure you he does.”
“And it doesn’t involve…?”
“Not necessarily.” Another tap, and her grandmother pulled a key from her pocket. “Now. You still have time to tend to your area of the garden before you go. But before that—” Standing, she walked to the hives. “You need to tell the bees your news. Come.”
And Georgie followed her, walking slowly so as not to seem a threat to the hive. The buzzing was such a comforting sound, a hymn of contentment and industry. She loved the bees her Grandmama had introduced her to and cherished the privilege of being in their world.
As the owner of the property, Grandmama tapped the nearest hive with the house key, as she always did to announce herself. “We have news in our house, my friends,” she said, her voice almost as melodious as the bees. “Come listen.”
Georgie waited long enough to believe the bees might have paused in their endeavors to listen.
“I am to be married,” she said just as quietly, the words suddenly portentous. “His name is Peter Greyville, Lord Coleford. But I call him Grey. When the ceremony is done, I will return with him and a piece of the cake. All right?”
With the music of the bees in her ears, her grandmother’s hand holding hers, and the spring morning bursting with life around her, Georgie felt that this moment sealed her fate and future. She had told the bees. It must be real.
Now she just had to find a way not to lose herself to it.