Chapter Seven
It appeared Mrs. Dove-Lyon had splashed out and commandeered a private parlor for their wedding breakfast. Fitz dismissed their two servants, with a firm wave of his hand, to some unseen back room of the hostelry to eat.
Then the cheery, if a little obsequious, landlord escorted him and Georgiana, her arm still tucked into his, into a pleasant room equipped with a roaring fire and a table freshly laid for two.
Fitz drew out a chair for his unexpected bride and she took her place while he settled opposite her.
As the landlord, having enquired as to their requirements, bustled away to fetch them wine, Fitz regarded Georgiana with open interest, and she did the same to him.
After all, they were to be shackled together, if that was the correct word, for the rest of their lives, and he was going to have to learn, like her, to make the best of this situation, odd as it felt right now.
Having been somewhat shell-shocked earlier, he now felt as though he’d recovered most of his poise.
After all, few men had as much experience as he had with the fairer sex.
He could make this chit of a girl like him, he was sure.
He arched a single dark eyebrow at her. “Do you like what you see?” He was used to women finding him attractive and felt confident she would too.
She appeared to consider this question and the answer she was to give for a moment or two longer than was strictly necessary before replying, her brow furrowing a little and a slight wrinkle appearing on her pert nose.
“Hmm. Of course, I can only answer on what I actually see before me and not on the sort of man you might turn out to be.” She gave him a little smile.
“But on regarding you now at close quarters and face to face, I find your appearance to be adequately pleasing. You are certainly not ugly, which I feared you might be.”
Despite this being remarkably close to how he’d felt when he’d first laid eyes upon her as she walked up the aisle towards him, Fitz found himself feeling a little insulted that she only found him adequately pleasing.
And that she’d thought he might be ugly.
The ridiculousness of their situation, that of two total strangers attempting to make polite conversation, settled over him and his lips twitched as he tried not to laugh.
“It is a relief to me that you are not repulsed by my appearance.”
The arrival of the fawning landlord with the wine he’d ordered disturbed them, and he occupied himself in pouring them both a glass.
She took the merest sip from hers, while he drained his.
Might he be in need of the proverbial Dutch Courage, or, more likely, hair of the dog that had bitten him?
He’d woken this morning with a headache not quite so bad as the one of the previous day, thank goodness.
Perhaps he ought to consider moderation, at least for today.
He set his glass down and refilled it, deciding honesty might be a good thing between them. To a certain extent, at least. “I find it amusing that you feared the same thing as I did. That as partners in an arranged marriage, sight unseen, each of us might turn out to be less than attractive.”
She chuckled, a throaty and attractive sound that went more than a little way to stirring his blood. She was a woman, after all, and he was a man who’d once boasted he could get any woman he met into bed.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You mean that you thought I might be ugly? That you would have to spend the rest of your life with an ugly woman?” She didn’t sound in the least bit shocked by this suggestion and he found he was warming to her.
“I wouldn’t have quite put it like that.”
“I don’t believe in beating about the bush, but in speaking my mind.” She bestowed a little frown on him. “So might I enquire if your fears have been allayed?” By her confident tone, she must surely be aware of her possession of good, if unusual, looks.
He nodded. “You also have a most pleasing countenance.”
She chuckled again. “I am, like you, relieved to hear your opinion is favorable.”
The landlord, drat him, returned again, this time bearing a tray with bowls of soup. It seemed that for a wedding breakfast they were to be served the normal fare of an inn at midday. Not that Fitz had any experience of wedding breakfasts. And he doubted if Georgiana did either.
When he’d departed, Fitz nodded to the soup, which was brown and could have contained anything.
“I find I am not particularly hungry.” What he was thinking about, which was sapping his appetite, was what she might be like underneath her rather dull pale blue gown and what it would be like to take her to bed.
They were, after all, now man and wife. Strangers, but wedded ones.
And he was a man who whenever he looked at a woman, whatever her age or marital status, always considered those questions.
She nodded. “Neither am I.” Her head tilted a little to one side, as a dog’s does when it’s listening.
“I would, however, like to know more about the man to whom I am now married. I feel that is perhaps something of importance if we are to get along together.” She paused.
“And if you have anything you would like to ask me, pray do. I do not want us to be strangers to one another.”
This was promising. The gentle rise of her breasts beneath her gown distracted him as he considered what it would be like to see them naked and caress them. It was thus a moment before he could lift his eyes from that pleasant sight. “What would you like to know?”
“Well…” She paused, brow furrowing as though she were considering a long list. “How old are you, for a start? I can see you’re not in the first flush of youth, which I would say is a good thing.
You look to me like a man who has seen something of life.
” Her tone indicated that this didn’t matter to her.
In fact, her straight talking was both amusing and refreshing, and, he had to admit, a little arousing.
Although he had to admit that had a young lady, any young lady, been clad in old hessian sacks, he would still have found her arousing.
He benefited Georgiana with his most charming smile.
One that had worked with many a lady, and some who could not by any stretch of the imagination be referred to as such.
“I am thirty-four years old, and will be turning thirty-five in a few months’ time.
I’ve been a serving army officer since I left school, which you will be gratified to hear was Eton.
” He’d always been relieved his mother had decided to send him there, where such good connections could be made.
She nodded as though she’d expected something like this. “I take it you’ve served abroad?”
“I have. In Spain and Portugal for the most part.”
“Were you at Waterloo?”
He shook his head. “A few years ago I was dispatched to be in charge of the Cornish Militia in order to carry out preventative measures against the growing threat of smuggling in Cornwall. I’ve been there ever since.”
“I’ve never been to Cornwall. Do you like your job down there?”
He pulled a noncommittal expression. “It’s a difficult job as the locals are all against us, both the peasants and the local gentry.
” He laughed. “I’m certain I’ve drunk contraband brandy many times without knowing it in the houses of the local dignitaries.
Not that they would ever admit it. But I did like it, I suppose.
Although I have no intention of returning there if I can help it. Not as a militia man, at any rate.”
Her eyes lit up. “I, on the other hand, have always wanted to see Cornwall. I gather it’s very beautiful.”
He gave a shrug. “It’s a long, thin county with an infernally long coast line to both north and south that’s almost impossible to police.
A great number of hidden coves where contraband is brought ashore, and secret ways only the smugglers know.
But yes, it’s beautiful indeed. I suppose it’s in my blood as my father was Cornish. ”
She fixed him with those lovely gold-flecked eyes of hers. How long her lashes were. “Perhaps you might take me there one day?”
He couldn’t help but smile. “I would like very much to do that.” Would he? What was he saying?
“And what about your commission? Do you intend to remain in the army now we are married?”
A reasonable question and one that was easy to answer.
He shook his head. “I fully intend to relinquish my commission and take up life out of uniform. I’ve had my fill of the army.
” He sharpened his stare. “I’ve wanted to do so for a while, now, but been unable to afford to.
Thanks to you, I shall be able to do so immediately.
” And spend some time wooing this intriguing young woman.
He might as well, as she was now his wife. The thought warmed his blood.
She digested this information for a full minute, during which she took a tentative spoonful of the soup. “I was right. I don’t fancy this soup one bit.”
Having already raised the subject of her fortune, mentioning her condition seemed a logical thing to do at this point.
He didn’t want it to become an unmentioned barrier between them.
“Perhaps it is your condition that makes you feel like that.” He paused.
“I remember when my sister was expecting my niece, she found most foods not to her taste and even developed a taste for pickled herrings.”
“You have a sister?” She skipped over the mention of the pickled herrings, which he’d intended to amuse her with, her voice holding a hint of anticipation mingled with fear.
“How will she view your somewhat precipitate marriage to someone she’s never met?
I hear sisters can be quite protective of their brothers. And vice versa.”