Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
George could not stop thinking about what had happened.
The house had resumed its careful rhythm after the incident at the lake, but he heard none of it. Every attempt at conversation with him failed, and each time he saw his grandmother, she was glaring at him.
The girl had been reckless, she had said, and he could not argue with her. Cassandra could have drowned, and that realization struck him again and again, sharp as the cold water must have been. She had fallen because she did not think, because she never seemed to think when defiance was involved.
His jaw tightened. Ruining her reputation was one thing, but that lake…
He could still feel the weight of her in his arms, the momentary terror before he reached her, and the way she had clung to him without hesitation. It was too much, and he could not leave it all unanswered.
George turned abruptly and left the room.
“George,” his grandmother said firmly to him in the hallway, causing him to turn around. “I do hope that you are not going where I think you are going.”
“To ensure that Lady Cassandra is well? That is the proper thing to do.”
“It is anything but, and I shall thank you not to indulge her in her antics.”
“Yes, I know, you think it reckless.”
“Think? George, what else could it be described as? If you ask me, I would say that she is doing this deliberately, so that she does not need to marry you. If not for your position, I would have been certain of it, but no lady of sound mind would refuse you.”
“At least you think that she is of sound mind,” he muttered. “Now, if you do not mind–”
“I mean it, George. It is not too late to reconsider. Your time with Lady Sylvia today was ruined, and I am beginning to wonder if that girl is jealous of the fact that Lady Sylvia is so undeniably better for you.”
“Grandmother, I do not have time for this. I understand that you are not pleased, but I must think first and foremost about my guests, and regardless of what you think of Lady Cassandra, that is what she is.”
He left her standing there, and went to Lady Cassandra’s room. He did not bother announcing himself when he reached her door. He knocked once, sharply, then opened it before the sound had fully settled.
“Lady Cassandra–”
He stopped. Cassandra stood near the dressing table, her hair loose and still damp, her gown half-fastened. She wore only her shift and stays, a shawl pulled hastily around her shoulders, clearly interrupted mid-change.
It was nothing improper, nor scandalous, and yet George lost his train of thought entirely.
She looked up, startled, color rising instantly to her cheeks.
“Your Grace,” she said. “You cannot simply–”
He closed the door behind him, more firmly than necessary.
“I apologize,” he said automatically, though his eyes betrayed him.
He forced himself to look away, to focus on the wall, the chair, anything but the way the lamplight caught her hair. Silence fell as she put a final layer of her gown on.
“You wished to speak,” she said, more cautiously now.
“Yes,” he said, remembering why he was there, “What were you thinking?”
“About what?”
“The lake,” he said. “Or is that simply part of today’s entertainment? Nearly drowning yourself in front of the entire party?”
Her eyes widened.
“I did not intend-”
“You did not intend,” he repeated. “You never intend, you simply do as you wish.”
She crossed her arms, eyes narrowing at him as if he had been the one to do something wrong.
“I fell. It is not as though I intended to do it.”
“You tipped the balance of the boat,” he shot back.
“That was not deliberate.”
“Do you expect me to believe that?” he demanded. “After that other stunt of yours? What is next, releasing the dogs? Setting the house on fire with everyone inside?”
“Have you lost your mind?”
“I am beginning to wonder if you have,” he said coldly.
Her expression hardened, and he remembered what his grandmother had said.
“You cannot think I did that on purpose.”
“I think you are reckless enough not to care what happens to yourself,” he replied. “And apparently unconcerned with the consequences for anyone else.”
“That is unfair.”
“Is it?” he said. “You place yourself in danger repeatedly. You provoke, you defy, and then you look surprised.”
She stepped closer, her eyes searching his, and in spite of himself he could not find a trace of duplicity in her eyes. It was a terrible accusation for him to have made, especially knowing that there was a young child in the boat that could easily have been risked, but he knew how it seemed.
“You think this is about ruining your party, yes?”
“I think it is about you trying to escape responsibility.”
“You also think I enjoy being paraded around,” she shot back. “You think I enjoy being watched, judged. Placed wherever your grandmother finds most convenient.”
He hesitated. She saw it, and she said the word grandmother like it burned her throat. He had not intended for her to take his grandmother’s opinions to heart, but it was clear that she had.
But her actions had only proven such accusations, and George was certain that Cassandra could see that. If she wanted to be perceived differently, she certainly was not acting as though she did.
“Do you think I wish to humiliate myself?” she continued, quieter now. “Do you think I would choose this?”
“I think,” he said slowly, “that you do not understand how close you came to serious harm.”
“I understand that perfectly.”
They stood facing one another, the air between them thick. She took a breath.
“You assume that I act without thought, and yet you never ask why.”
“And you never consider,” he replied, “that your actions have consequences regardless of your intentions.”
She looked away. She always seemed so proud of herself, but at that moment she seemed positively mortified.
“I am tired of being controlled,” she confessed.
“And I am tired,” he said, “of pulling you back from the edge.”
The words surprised them both. Her gaze returned to his, something unguarded flickering there. For a moment, neither spoke. George became suddenly, acutely aware of how close they were, and the fact that he should not have been there. He needed to leave.
He did not.
“You frighten me,” he said, more softly than intended.
Her expression shifted, almost smiling.
“I frighten you?”
“Yes,” he admitted. “Because you do not seem to care what becomes of you.”
She swallowed.
“That is not true.”
“Then prove it,” he said. “Stop treating yourself as expendable.”
The silence deepened. He realized, too late, how badly he wanted to close the space between them. How easy it would be, how utterly disastrous.
He stepped back at once.
“This conversation is over,” he said abruptly.
“What?”
“I cannot remain here,” he said, already turning away. “Not like this.”
“George—”
He stopped at the door, hand braced against the wood.
“Do not,” he said quietly. “Do not make me regret my restraint.”
Then he opened the door and left, heart pounding, pulse unsteady, the unmistakable awareness burning through him that if he stayed one moment longer, he would have kissed her.
And that would have changed everything.
That evening, George sat in his study with the fire lit high, boots discarded, coat draped over the back of a chair he had not bothered to straighten. The flames crackled steadily, welcome but insufficient, as though his body still remembered the lake too well to be convinced it was no longer cold.
He stood when his solicitor was shown in, more from habit than courtesy.
“Your Grace,” the man said, removing his gloves. “I will not take much of your time.”
“I hope not,” George replied, gesturing for him to sit. “You have news, I assume?”
“I do,” the solicitor said, opening his ledger. “And it is good.”
George folded his arms, forcing himself to remain still. The fact that it was good news made him feel brighter, but he knew better than to trust it based on so few words.
“Your investments in the shipping venture have exceeded expectations,” the man continued. “The returns from the last quarter alone are sufficient to cover a significant portion of the debt.”
George’s breath slowed. He had expected something like this, but not as promising.
“In addition,” the solicitor went on, “the bonds you purchased last year have matured earlier than anticipated. Combined, you will be able to repay Buxton in full before the end of the month.”
George closed his eyes briefly. For the first time in weeks, perhaps months, the pressure in his chest eased.
“Are you certain of this?” he asked.
“Entirely,” the solicitor said. “There will be no need to liquidate additional assets. Nor to seek… alternative means.”
George knew precisely what he meant.
“There will be no use of the dowry,” the solicitor added, carefully.
“No,” George said at once. “There never was.”
“Of course.”
They spoke briefly of logistics; dates, transfers, signatures required, and George absorbed it all with practiced efficiency, but his attention kept drifting to the singular fact that mattered.
The debt would be gone, and Buxton would be satisfied.
One weight, immense and suffocating, had been lifted cleanly from his shoulders, but there was another in its place. When the solicitor finally took his leave, George remained standing by the fire, hands clasped behind his back, staring into the flames.
Relief came first. After months of threats and taunts, he was in control of his estate once more.
He had solved the mess that his father had left behind, and with that he hoped that a time could come where he could grieve his death.
He had always been so angry that he never allowed himself to think of anything good about him.
His father had almost ruined everything, and had George not been as careful as he had been, they would have been ruined entirely.
But the debt, for all its severity, had been a problem he understood.
It had demanded sacrifice, discipline, and he knew how to possess that.
He had been doing so since the moment the title had passed to him.
The other burden, however, was less obedient.
His betrothed.
Cassandra Burrow, who challenged him at every turn, who resented the arrangement openly, who had nearly drowned herself rather than submit quietly to the role assigned to her. She threatened his family as much as the debt had, but he could not seem to blame her for it.
He simply saw her again as she had stood in her room; hair loose, cheeks flushed, beautiful.
The thought irritated him. He had not chosen her.
He had not wanted a wife at all, and certainly not one who unsettled him so completely, and who forced him to confront instincts he had spent years pushing away.
She still wished to break the engagement, that much was clear, and yet she looked at him now with something different than she had at the beginning. There was less hostility, but more confusion as though she, too, felt the many conflicting feelings that he did.
George exhaled slowly.
He had freed himself from financial ruin, but he remained entangled in something far more dangerous– an attachment he did not understand with a woman he was not supposed to want.
And the growing, unwelcome realization that duty alone might no longer be enough to keep him away.