Chapter 11
“Aletter for you, Your Grace,” a maid said as Georgia entered the house.
She was dusting the pictures hanging in the hall, curtsied and pointed to the table beside the door, upon which was a silver tray. Georgia smiled her thanks. Picking up the letter, she recognized her cousin's handwriting.
“It is from my cousin Amelia. Oh, how lovely, I shall look forward to reading that,” Georgia smiled to herself.
The maid beamed brighter and nodded politely. The door was still open behind Georgia, and she heard Keaton conversing with his uncle.
I should go out and become acquainted with Lord Swinthorpe, but I do not have the heart for it. I shall pretend I did not know he was there.
But their words reached her on a trick of the shifting breeze.
“I fear as a married couple, we may have suffered a mortal blow.”
Georgia froze. She stood just inside the door and could not be seen from the outside.
“That might be for the best. To end this farce and send the girl back to her Aunt and Uncle before extricating yourself becomes more… difficult.”
“How could it become more difficult?”
“Once the marriage is consummated, divorce is the only escape.”
They were coming closer, and she didn’t dare remain where she was. The conversation had the sound of a good-natured agreement. Keaton was not shouting his uncle down or arguing. Georgia's stomach clenched.
Am I to be returned in shame to my Aunt and Uncle? They will be unbearable! And perhaps still determined to marry me off to Lord Emsworth…
Despair gripped her. She thought of life returning to the normality that she had known before coming into the Duke's orbit. It was desperate, but the notion of never seeing him again or even discovering that he had married another sent her into fits of utter despair.
Why do I care? He is handsome and exciting, but he is also difficult, arrogant, and prickly. I cannot speak without causing offense and cannot move without putting a foot wrong. He needs a meek wife who will be obedient and speak when spoken to. That is not me!
“That is not me!” she whispered fiercely.
“Begging your pardon, Your Grace?” the maid said, startled.
“Just talking to myself. It's Molly, isn't it?” Georgia asked.
“Yes, Your Grace. You haven't seen me before, I've only just been employed here the other day.”
“Well, I have only just been married the other day, so we are both new to this place,” Georgia replied, smiling to reassure the young girl. “I am Georgia Rose—Deverall,” she corrected. “What's your name?”
“Molly, Your Grace. Molly Jones.”
“Well, Miss Jones, I am rather parched and somewhat peckish. Do you think something could be rustled up for me from the kitchen?”
“Of course, Your Grace, and you can call me Molly.”
“I shall be in my rooms then, Molly.”
She heard Keaton and his Uncle approaching the door, so she hurried across the hall and up the stairs. There had been little time to eat at the tea room, but she found that she was hungry a good deal of the time since moving to Westvale. The fact that food was readily available was such a novelty.
I must consider what my next steps will be. I do not want to wait around on Keaton's pleasure, waiting for the axe to fall.
She went to her rooms, putting the letter on her bureau for a time when she could enjoy reading what Amelia had been up to in Georgia's absence.
Her food arrived a while later, and she ate while sitting in the window seat of her bedroom, gazing out over the Westvale lands.
Leaving now would mean no help in finding her brother.
I am trapped. I cannot stay because Keaton wants me gone. I cannot go without betraying my brother. Must I make a sacrifice? Stay and even humiliate myself by begging at least until Elias has been found?
A knock came at the door, and Georgia found herself hoping it was Keaton. Not just so that she could try and salvage the situation, but because she found herself looking forward to his presence.
Infuriating though it is, he is also exciting in a way I have never known.
But it was Lord Swinthorpe who was at the door.
“Hullo, Lord Swinthorpe, I did not know you were here,” Georgia announced, rising quickly from her window seat, “please, do come in.”
Swinthorpe frowned. “I think perhaps it is better if you come out here, Your Grace. It would not be proper for me to be alone in your chambers with you.”
“Oh, quite right,” Georgia said, stepping out and closing the door.
Swinthorpe began to walk along the hallway, hands clasped behind his back. Georgia hastened to follow.
“I hope you will excuse my prying, but it strikes me that your marriage does not seem to be going smoothly.”
Georgia paused beside a tall window looking out over a pleasant quadrangle, a tall birch tree with leaves of a purple-red hue stood in its center.
“That certainly is a personal question, and an odd one for a newlywed,” she murmured. “For what newlyweds find that their marriages go absolutely smoothly at first?”
“For an ordinary newlywed, perhaps this would be true,” Swinthorpe continued while slowing his pace, “but you and Keaton are hardly that, are you?”
He turned and looked at her. Georgia realized that of course he knew about the nature of their marriage. He was a close relative of Keaton's, it was natural that he would be confided in.
“No,” she admitted, “but not the first to enter a marriage of convenience.”
“Not the first, nor will you be the last. But, do you hope to hold any records for longevity?”
Georgia did not care for his tone. It suggested personal knowledge of her married life and made her wonder precisely how much he was being told. Then there was the sly smile and the gleam in the man's eye. There was something more than paternal concern at work here, she was sure of it.
“Keaton made it clear our aim was to be married for a period of time long enough to dispel the scandal and repair reputations.”
“His reputation was untarnished...”
There was an unspoken, ‘until you came along’, which Georgia bridled at. She smiled forcibly, walking down the hall so Swinthorpe had to follow to continue the conversation.
“I find this house something of a maze. Difficult to navigate,” she commented distractedly. “I simply cannot fathom how Keaton manages without sight.”
“Because it has not changed since before he lost his sight. He has preserved it in amber. Every room and corridor exactly as he remembers it. That is how Keaton survives. Nothing changes.”
There was an edge to Swinthorpe's voice now, a message being sharply delivered.
“I… am change,” she took the words from his lips.
“Yes, you are…”
Again, unspoken words. This time, they were ‘an unwelcome change’. Georgia rounded on him, fighting a sudden anxiety that had her throat tightening. This man wanted her gone. But she could not go until her brother was found. She hid nerves behind a smile.
If this man is so desperate for me to leave, then perhaps I can recruit him. Promise to leave his nephew as soon as I have the help my brother needs.
“Lord Swinthorpe, I find your nephew difficult and quick to take offense. I feel like I'm walking on eggshells. It is not a comfortable way to live.”
The older man shrugged. “I can see how it would not be.”
“But I am here because my previous life, at Silverton, was even more intolerable. Perhaps we can help each other?”
Swinthorpe tilted his head and pursed his lips. He feigned sudden interest in a dusty portrait on the wall.
“I had expected to have to persuade you to depart. If I understand you, no persuasion will be necessary.”
“…Possibly not,” Georgia admitted.
Those words had to be cranked from her, like a loose tooth.
It felt wrong to utter them. Unbidden, the memory of Keaton's body beneath hers came back to her.
The feel of his rigid muscles, his strong arms, which felt as though they would be inescapable if he chose not to release her. His lips upon hers, the taste of him.
It set a tremor in her knees. She lifted her chin, forced her mind to the matter at hand.
That is nothing but wanton, physical desire. Primal and primitive. It does not rule me.
“What help would you ask of me?” Swinthorpe uttered absently.
Georgia straightened. “My brother has been missing for a number of years and will soon either be found or declared dead. I wish to find him.”
“And what if he is dead?”
“Then I wish to know how he came to be so. He vanished, without a trace and with no warning, one evening, five years ago.”
The man shrugged. “Tragic, but how can I be of help?”
“I have tried to recruit the services of a private investigator. Keaton has said that he will write to his own man on my behalf. If you can facilitate the finding of my brother...”
Georgia trailed off as she saw understanding dawn on Swinthorpe's face. He beamed.
“Then you will leave Keaton and make no further claim on him.”
“Correct.”
“So, you were using him all along…” Swinthorpe reasoned, his voice falling in a tone of disapproval.
Georgia hesitated before replying. She shook her head emphatically, then stopped herself.
I suppose I did that. I saw an opportunity and took it for my brother's sake. It was not the prime motivation, but... yes, I did use him.
She did not like admitting it to herself, but she was fundamentally honest and would not lie, even in the privacy of her own mind. She had kissed Keaton to escape Emsworth., had seized on his offer of a marriage of convenience to experience freedom and to find her brother.
“Your silence is eloquent. Very well. I shall help. In the meantime, I have extended an invitation to both of you to Swinthorpe this evening for dinner. A small soiree and a place that Keaton knows almost as well as this house. A far more fitting place to be seen for him.”
Georgia smiled around gritted teeth, hearing the criticism of her choices for outings with Keaton.
He is a grown man. He could have objected or simply told me why it was not suitable. He is so damnably close-mouthed when he wants to be, I feel I am beating my head against a wall!
Swinthorpe took his leave. For a long moment, Georgia remained fixated on the quadrangle and the lone maple tree. Both she and it were reaching for the light and air of the sky, reaching to escape the dark walls all around.
“But we are both firmly rooted in our worlds,” she whispered to it, “which prevents us from escaping completely.”
She felt in need of cheering up, so she returned to her rooms to read the letter from her cousin.
Keaton leaned against a stone pillar, shaded by the branches of the maple that had been planted in the quad by his grandfather. Its canopy was a mass of interlaced leaves that cast a deep shadow over the ground. And screened him from the view of anyone above perfectly.
“You heard?” Edric said, descending a flight of steps that led from the floor above.
“I heard,” Keaton replied, “you remembered my little childhood trick.”
Edric came to stand beside him, and Keaton imagined him craning his neck to look up. Above the pillar was a gap in the stone plinth that the pillar supported. It ran up to the floor above, covered by a skirting board, but was an excellent conductor of sound.
“I remembered. You see now that I was right.”
Keaton turned away lest his chagrin show on his face. He did not like giving away too much of his emotions, even to his most trusted relative.
“That was a statement rather than a question. I have spoken before about you putting words into my mouth, Uncle,” Keaton said, icily.
“And once again, I apologize,” Edric replied diffidently. “Everything I do is for your own good.”
Keaton arched an eyebrow, the thought occurring that while he had heard, ‘for your own good’, his Uncle had actually used the words, ‘for Westvale’. That could change the meaning, though Keaton dismissed the idea immediately.
If I begin to suspect Edric, then I am lost and should make myself a hermit, for no one will be trustworthy then.
“I will write to my man and ask him to come at his earliest convenience,” Keaton murmured.
“I can go to his office today,” Edric offered.
“No, Uncle. Leave this… to me.”
“It is no trouble, and—”
“No.” Keaton snapped, turning his head to the sound of Edric's voice.
He heard silence in reply and considered his order accepted.
If Edric takes on the task, it will be completed quickly and efficiently, and Georgia's departure will be expedited. Which is what I want now. Is it not?