Chapter Thirteen
Marlow
I’d slept until ten, and still felt like I’d been thrown against a tree. Every limb of my body ached, and I was slow-moving, sore from sleeping half the night in a wing-backed chair, and, still, hours later, every swallow felt full of cheap, scratchy wool.
Gabriel still wasn’t speaking to me.
Toole avoided looking me straight in the eye.
Maggie had gone out with her family.
Mother had gone out on calls with Georgiana.
And I had stayed up until two in the morning reading volume one of The Mysteries of Udolpho that I’d found in Mother’s personal library.
The house felt as it did out of Season. Quiet. Calm.
Lonely.
But at least I was getting work done. I had outlined a request for work to be completed on the estate, as well as a few full-time positions we needed filled for farming.
The estate I’d reclaimed from Mr. Newbury was now workable and needed new tenants. Finding them would be like closing that chapter in my life.
Cleo wandered in and jumped up on my desk.
“Down,” I told her, pointing to the floor. She made a mewing sound and slowly sauntered off.
And then it hit me—a waft of apples.
Georgiana’s perfume.
She’d held my cat last night. I’d no idea how long she’d sat in my chair or when she’d eventually retired for the night. This morning her teacup, the empty plate, and my whiskey glass had been cleaned and taken away as though the two of us had never been there.
And yet, the evening was burned into my memory.
Gabriel and I had gone to White’s. He’d refused polite conversation. Gambled for hours after dinner. And when I’d tried to force him home, he’d thrown off my hand and stalked down the street alone. I’d had to hire a man to trail him and ensure his safe return.
Then the only thing I’d had to look forward to all day—my chair and my fire and my tea things—had been stolen when I’d returned from the water closet.
Georgiana had settled in like she belonged there. Her stockinged feet tucked in, hair in a loose chignon at her neck, her thin robe a temptation a lesser man might not have borne.
She would have left. I should have let her. Perhaps the night would have been easier to bear.
But of all the people in all of London, my family included, hers was the only company I did not feel the need to dismiss. And if she’d needed the same reprieve I did . . . I wanted her to stay.
I’d wanted to hear her opinions. I’d wanted to know her reasons. Then, I’d simply wanted her to keep talking.
All night I’d felt like I was reaching. Like I could not keep the pace. Like the answers I sought were just beyond my grasp. But Georgiana . . . she made me feel capable. She empowered me to reach even higher than I’d imagined for an even better outcome.
She was brave and honest. Bold and determined.
And I . . . I’d said too much.
Then again, so had she.
And I could not keep myself from staring even as we’d finished afternoon tea.
I’d asked, “Did you finish your book, Miss Wood?”
And she’d answered, “No, Your Grace. I was quite distracted.”
I’d reveled in the telling smile that reached her eyes. “Try again this evening. I will tell the servants to see to your comfort.”
She’d grinned. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
So again, that night I dressed for White’s. I followed Gabriel inside the carriage and waited for him to speak as we drove toward Town.
Silence.
I cleared my throat. “About that loan you asked for . . .”
His frown deepened, gaze pointed firmly out the dark window. “You have made your point very clear. There is no need for further conversation.”
If only he knew how I’d rather do just about anything else than this. The carriage swayed from side to side. “On the contrary. I have given your request further thought.”
He lifted a single brow, attention still turned out the window.
“If it’s not too late, I have a proposal for you.”
Arms crossed, he tilted his head slightly toward me. “Is this how you make your little bargains?” He scoffed, but his voice betrayed his interest. “Offering proposals of every kind?”
I had half a mind to rescind it. The man was too emotional. Too easily bruised. “I will give you the money you need,” I started, and his jaw slackened in surprise. “But in return, should you turn a profit, I want five percent for the first five years.”
He was silent. Completely still. “And if I do not turn a profit?”
“Until you turn a profit, you will work for me in management until the loan is repaid.”
He swallowed hard. “Management? You hardly trust me with managing the estate I live on. You would trust me with another?”
“The Newbury land is ready for ownership. I will oversee your work. But you will take charge of its upkeep, hiring the necessary labor and reporting back to me. When your debt is paid, you will find and train a new manager.”
He blinked and stared and waited. “Why this sudden change of heart?”
I immediately thought of Georgiana, sitting in my chair like she belonged there, thoughtful as she’d said the words I now repeated, “Strength of the whole is better than strength of the one.”
Gabriel nodded once, smiling to himself. “Perhaps to your chagrin, I will prove that right, Duke Marlow.”
“I truly hope you do.”
After leaving Gabriel to his vices, I returned home with a renewed bounce in my step.
I gave my hat and overcoat to Toole, then took the stairs two at a time.
I swapped my jacket and waistcoat for a comfortable brown robe to match the hour and the mood—I hadn’t waited all day, hadn’t anticipated this very moment; I’d just come for my normal routine—then hurried to the end of the hall, where warm light flickered from within the open doors of my library.
I slowed my steps on the blue-and-green patterned carpet, lifting a hand to tame my unruly tufts, and wished, for the first time all night, for a mirror to gauge my reflection.
The absurdity.
Rounding the doorframe, I froze. For there she sat in my chair, reading. She wore a light-blue dress of soft muslin with her hair loosely twisted at the nape of her neck, and Cleo purred in her lap.
Half of me hoped to prove I’d been too drunk last night to perceive her clearly. That perhaps I had created a version of this woman in my mind who did not exist. It had taken me exactly five seconds to see that the reality was even better than memory served.
My heart thumped hard and fast against my chest. A refuge that felt like home now also felt as terrifying as being alone in a dark field in the middle of the night. And yet I wanted nothing more.
A quick glance at the clock told me the hour—forty past eleven. How long had she been here? Had I come too late?
She lifted a steaming cup of tea, holding it between her lips and the page her gaze was trained upon. After a sip, she exchanged it for a sweet bun, which she suspended in the air, squeezing with her fingers as her lips parted. She drew the book closer.
I took a forward step, and the floorboards—dash them—gave me away.
She looked up, frightened. Then sighed. “Marlow. Thank heavens. I thought you were a ghost.”
I fought a smile as I strode toward the chair beside her. “What sort of ghost?”
She looked pleased as I took my seat, and I reveled in her attention. “The kind that haunt young ladies behind veils in castles.”
“Udolpho?”
She touched her bottom lip. Embarrassed? Then nodded her head. “Have you never read a book with mystery before?”
I wouldn’t tell her I was currently reading the very same book as she. I thought hard. “Perhaps in my youth.”
She tsked. “What do you read now?”
Other than Udolpho? History, business, agriculture . . . “Books that would put your imagination fast asleep.”
To my surprise, she closed her book. “Where were you this evening? Not at dinner.”
My chest tugged. She’d noticed my absence. “White’s. With Gabriel.”
“And did you speak with him?”
She knew I’d been talking about him last night. She was too clever by half. “I did.”
She waited, watching me. The silence spread out thick, and normally I didn’t mind it, but with Georgiana, I hated it. I wanted to fill every empty space with her voice.
“He agreed to my business terms, and I shall give him the required funds in the morning.”
A full grin lit her face, so contagious, I did not realize how painfully I was trying to keep my own at bay until many moments had passed. “Well done. We should celebrate. Shall I pour you a drink?”
Ah, that. She’d seen me in . . . not my best light last night. I rubbed the back of my neck.
“In truth, I do not drink all that much. I prefer a clear mind. But yesterday was particularly vexing, and the hour was particularly late.” I thought back to the work, to both Toole’s request, which I’d yet to consider, and to Gabriel’s, which I’d granted, to visiting Lady Diana, and .
. . to Georgiana visiting Mrs. Johns. All had led to my needing an evening to myself.
The drink had undoubtedly clouded my judgment.
“Forgive me for overindulging in front of you.”
She nodded, her eyes soft. “Forgiven. I am glad today is a better day.”
It certainly was now. “How were calls with my mother?”
“Long.” She crossed her legs and pursed her lips and tried to look cross. “Many introductions made. Many excuses given for my behavior toward you.”
I thought of her hand on my arm. Her musical laugh in my ear.
The cut of her neckline. My stomach flipped over itself.
I wouldn’t mind a little more of all of her, to be frank.
“What sort of behavior?” I took a teacup from the little cart behind the table and poured myself a cup from the pot. Georgiana handed me the cream.
“How familiar you and I are with one another. How comfortable and easy our friendship. Your mother assures them all we are more sister and brother than friends.”
“And you agreed?” I sipped, looking at her over the rim of my cup. I wondered not for the first time how exactly she felt about me. What she thought.