Chapter Eight
An hour later Georgiana and Fitz emerged onto the street in front of the Angel Inn and Fitz raised an arm to hail a passing hackney coach. He turned towards her. “Too dangerous for a lady to walk all the way back to Bedford Square.”
He was coming home with her. The shock of realization that this wedding had been real prevented her from pointing out that she and Havers had walked to the church that morning with no untoward happenings.
Somehow, in all her imaginings about what today would turn out to be like, she’d never got further than the ceremony.
The thought that an ‘after ceremony’ period existed came as something of a shock.
Of course he was coming home with her. They were married now, and everything that had just been hers alone was now his as well.
In fact, as her husband, he would have control over all her money and over precisely how much she was to receive as pin money.
The thought that this could all have been a giant, rushed into on the spur of the moment mistake, surfaced.
There might well be a heavy price to pay for her own and her child’s respectability.
However, she was made of far too sterner stuff to be put off by doubts that had arisen so late in the day.
Her marriage was all done now, and there would be no getting out of it, so she would have to make sure she began as she intended to go on.
He must know his place. No. That was entirely the wrong phrase.
What she meant was that he must know her place and that she was her father’s heir, and not him.
He must never be allowed to treat her as inconsequential.
She had to stand up for herself from the beginning and not allow him to take the upper hand. Surely she could do that.
With all these thoughts tumbling through her mind, she let him hand her into the hackney coach, which was not in too bad a state, and tell the driver her address. Their address. Of course. He wasn’t just escorting her home, he would be living there as well.
With her.
There was no getting around the fact that it was now his home as well as hers.
A sudden longing for Havers’ friendly face washed over her, but it was too late.
Fitz, her new husband, had dispatched both servants off to his lodgings to retrieve his personal possessions.
Havers as well as his manservant, as though he were now in control of her maid.
If only she’d had the presence of mind to stop him sending dear Havers, but she’d been too much in shock from her own thoughts to do so. She must pull herself together.
However, after the revelations of the less than satisfactory wedding breakfast, she now felt somewhat subdued, probably thanks to the sudden realization that they would not be going their own way now.
She sat in silence beside Fitz in the carriage with her hands folded neatly in her lap, not even looking at him, her brain in something of a frenzy, churning over what lay ahead.
It was a quick journey despite the heavy traffic, and very shortly they were alighting outside her house.
Their house from now on. Fitz helped her down onto the pavement, paid the driver and then turned to face her, a questioning expression in his dark eyes.
Perhaps he was not so confident as he seemed.
“I hope you do not mind my accompanying you to your home.”
Goodness. What a surprise to discover he must be feeling as awkward now as she did.
That gladdened her heart and brought a smile to her lips.
His diffidence endeared him to her. That and his startling good looks.
At least she wasn’t married to a fat, pasty-faced bore.
Or an old man. She managed a smile. “It is your home now, husband, and you are more than welcome in it.” There.
That sounded suitably wifely without going over the top.
His lips twitched but the smile didn’t spread. He held out his arm to her and she took it. “Shall we?”
Ellis had the door open before they reached it. “Miss Frampton. Sir.”
Georgiana took a deep breath. “Ellis, I am no longer Miss Frampton but Mrs. Carlyon. This is my husband, Captain Fitzwilliam Carlyon.”
Ellis must have suffered a few shocks he’d had to remain impassive to in his many years as a butler but clearly this was not one he was able to take without a reaction.
He visibly started, his eyes widened, and his mouth fell open only to be snatched shut again with a clacking sound as his teeth met.
But he hadn’t been a butler for all that time without learning how to take things in his stride.
He bowed. “Captain Carlyon, welcome to Bedford Square. Mrs. Carlyon, might I be the first to offer you my congratulations.” But she could see him pondering how on earth she’d had the time to find herself a husband after having escaped her aunt’s vigilance only a few short days ago.
Maybe he was wondering if the captain was the cause of her fallout with her aunt.
Let him wonder.
They went inside.
“The captain’s belongings will be arriving shortly by carrier with Havers and my husband’s valet.
Can you have them taken upstairs to my father’s old room, please?
The captain will be sleeping there.” It would look strange if she’d asked for his things to be taken to a guest room.
However, the thought of the interconnecting door between her room and the one that was to be Fitz’s disturbed her.
Yes, that was best. She decided to lock the door.
They might be married, but she had no intention of affording him the opportunity to do what Alexander had done to her.
Once, along with its unfortunate result, was enough for her.
At least for now. And besides which, she wasn’t even sure one should do that if one was with child.
It might be detrimental to the health of the baby.
Whether it was or not, it would be a useful excuse to keep her new husband at arms’ length as long as possible.
She turned back to Fitz, plastering on her most friendly expression. The sort of friendly expression one would offer a casual visitor. “Would you care for a tour of the house, Fitz, so you will know your way about?”
Half an hour later they found themselves finally in the garden, which stretched away from the house to a wall which separated them from the extensive formality of the gardens at the back of the British Museum.
They had been already laid out by the previous owner when Papa had purchased the house, and he’d kept two full time gardeners in his employ in order to maintain them.
Hence they were what would be considered mature gardens, with verdant growth of shrubs offering some opportunity not to be seen from the house.
And the gardeners must be amongst the skeleton staff her aunt had left here as everywhere was neatly weeded and ordered.
It being the end of March, the camelias were well in bloom and the magnolia buds were just beginning to burst. Narcissus were a burst of bright gold and the green leaves of tulips promised more color to come soon.
The garden looked as beautiful as she remembered it and, as it so often did, offered a balm to her somewhat tortured soul.
Fitz drew in a deep breath, savoring the still chilly air.
Spring had been his favorite season since he’d been a boy at Denby with the estate springing back into life before his curious eyes.
One of the joys of his boyhood had been to take his pony and ride out across the park where the leaves were budding on the trees and primroses, lent lilies and bluebells carpeted the ground.
He’d loved to see the deer lurking like shadows between the trees.
It had only been later that he’d pushed aside his soft-hearted boyhood fantasies and taken to hunting those deer for the table.
Georgiana gave an eloquent wave of her arm, encompassing the colors and greenery.
“This has always been my favorite spot, even in the depths of winter. However, I suppose most people would say it’s best seen in the summer when we have forget-me-nots and cornflowers, Sweet Williams and columbines.
Over there the lilacs will come out and then there’ll be all the roses.
My mother chose them for their scents as well as their colors so this garden is an oasis of beauty and sweet smells in summer.
But for myself, I prefer the new, clean beauty of the spring.
” Her voice held a hint of wistfulness, perhaps for her lost mother.
Fitz looked down at her. So she felt the same way he did about spring.
Not that he’d ever given away what others might have seen as an empty-headed, and slightly girlish, weakness.
And he wasn’t about to give it away now.
He moved in a society that didn’t like its male members to enthuse about flowers. That was for the ladies.
He smiled. “My mother is passionate about the gardens at Denby Castle. Particularly the roses. I was often in them with her as a small child.” There. He wasn’t giving away too much of how he felt. Well, nothing really.
She returned his gaze. “You are fond of your mother?”
Damn. How wrong could he be? Another thing he’d not wanted to share.
He gave a shrug. “I suppose so.” His boyhood at Eton followed by his army career had ironed out of him any desire to admit to or show his love for his mother, or anyone in his family.
But he’d grown up ostensibly without a father, so she was in truth of great importance to him.
The instinct to betray no weakness was strong, and yet…
something about Georgiana invited confidences. He must keep himself under control.