Chapter Eight #2
“You might be surprised.” Mrs. Ellsworth resumed brushing her hair. “Especially if the right gentleman sees past a fortune to the woman herself. Perhaps a certain newly restored lord.”
Heat bloomed low in her stomach, swift and alarming. Was it possible James could love her? “What kind of boy was James?” She knew it was dangerous to ask, but her curiosity outweighed caution.
Mrs. Ellsworth chuckled under her breath.
“There was never a more precious little boy. All golden haired and those big blue eyes. He was a mischief maker, always up to something. His brother Sebastian was the steady, serious one, whereas James was fun and spirited. That was taken from him the day they hanged his father. I was there. I saw the light go out of my dear boy’s eyes.
Replaced by rage, I’m afraid. I hated to send them off, but I’d hoped the cousin would look after them. ”
“From what Lord Ashford’s told me, the rest of their childhood was violent and chaotic.”
“I fear you’re correct.” Mrs. Ellsworth separated Georgiana’s hair into three sections. “But I believe the light’s returning to his eyes. Especially when you’re in the room.”
Her pulse quickened with a longing she had no right to feel. “Really?”
“You make a good team. I hope you’ll not shy away from whatever is brewing between you.”
Her heart gave a treacherous leap. Whatever was brewing between them? Could Mrs. Ellsworth see the desire Georgiana had been trying so desperately to hide?
“He doesn’t want to marry,” she said quickly, as if speaking the words aloud could protect her from her own feelings. “He told me so himself. He thinks he’s not capable of love. He sees himself as broken. Too broken to love or be loved.”
“If we were to search back in time, we’d find a lot of happily married men who claimed they never wanted to wed.”
She felt herself teetering on the edge of a precipice she’d sworn never to approach.
Georgiana’s breath caught as she imagined James changing his mind, imagined him looking at her with real desire, real want.
The kind of passion she’d only read about in books, the kind Robert had never been able to give her.
The kitchen door creaked open.
“Forgive me, I forgot my—” James’s voice cut off abruptly.
Georgiana’s mouth went dry as dust. There he stood in the doorway, his shirt partially unbuttoned, his hair mussed as if he’d been running his hands through it.
His gaze found hers immediately, and she saw his eyes widen as he took in her appearance—hair loose and damp around her shoulders, wearing only her thin nightgown, the firelight playing across her face.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. The moment stretched taut as a bowstring between them. The very air seemed to hum with awareness. His gaze dropped to her lips, then lower, and she felt her body respond to that look in ways it never had during her marriage.
“I… my book,” he said, his voice raspy. “I left it on the table.”
“Yes, it’s there, my lord,” Mrs. Ellsworth said.
He blinked, almost as if he’d forgotten his loyal housekeeper stood just behind Georgiana.
“Thank you. Sorry to interrupt. I didn’t realize…what was happening down here.”
“It is of no consequence,” Georgiana said. She couldn’t seem to look away from the triangle of skin visible at his throat, couldn’t stop imagining what it would feel like to press her lips there.
James grabbed a leather-bound volume from the far end of the table, his movements quick and almost clumsy. “Good night, ladies.” His eyes lingered on Georgiana for just a moment too long before he retreated.
The door closed behind him with a soft click, leaving the kitchen in charged silence.
Mrs. Ellsworth cleared her throat delicately. “Well then.”
Georgiana’s face burned. Her hands were shaking now, and she gripped them together in her lap to still them. Understanding crashed into her with startling clarity—she wasn’t just falling for James. She was already gone, completely and utterly lost to feelings sure to break her heart in the end.
For the first time in her life, she understood what it meant to truly want someone. Not just companionship or security, but real, consuming desire. The kind that made her breath catch and her skin burn.
“I had not anticipated him coming down here,” Georgiana said. “Or I would not be in my nightgown.”
“I shouldn’t worry too much,” Mrs. Ellsworth said. “He seemed as flustered as you.”
“I seemed flustered?”
“Dear one, surely you cannot imagine otherwise? Even I could feel the heat between you.”
“Mrs. Ellsworth!” But Georgiana couldn’t help but laugh at her perceptive new friend.
“These old eyes have witnessed much in their time, child. It takes a lot to fool me.”
As Mrs. Ellsworth finished braiding her hair, Georgiana couldn’t shake the image of the way James had looked at her, or the way her own body had responded to that look. She was frightened by the intensity of her own feelings, by how much she wanted something she could never have.
And she was even more terrified that she was already in too deep to save herself.
*
That night, feeling good from their baths, the sisters slipped into freshly made beds. Mrs. Ellsworth had been busy. The sheets and blankets were clean and smelled of soap.
“This is a wonderful bed,” Cecily said, sleepily. “Mrs. Ellsworth has been too good to us today.”
Georgiana snuffed out the lamp on the table between the twin beds and pulled the covers up to her chin.
She always slept on her back, whereas her little sister curled into a ball like a cat.
Georgiana could remember many times during their childhood when Cecily had climbed into bed with her big sister, claiming she was cold, but Georgiana suspected she was lonely or frightened.
Their childhood had been fraught with their parents’ cold and silent arguments, their mother’s volatile behavior and their father’s drinking and gambling.
They’d clung to each other and still did.
“She has indeed.” Georgiana closed her eyes, hoping sleep would come quickly.
Instead, an image of James from earlier in the day played before her eyes.
He’d been at his desk in the study, poring over her suggestions for the library.
His golden curls fell over his forehead and his jaw was set with determination.
His eyes, however, had glittered with pleasure at her proposal for saving the books from mold and the suggestions for furnishings now that the roof had been repaired.
She must have sighed because Cecily asked if she was all right. “Are you worried over something?”
Her sister knew her too well.
“A little, yes.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” Cecily asked in her sweet, patient voice.
“I’m afraid to. Saying the words out loud might make them seem even truer.”
“Is it about Lord Ashford? Your feelings for him?”
Her sister’s keen insight might have made her laugh if her stomach hadn’t been clenched with worry. She should have known Cecily would guess her secret.
“Why must I feel this way? Again?” Georgiana asked. “Setting myself up to be rejected is horrifying.”
“It’s not the same. Not really. Robert didn’t reject you.
He simply didn’t feel that way about women.
There’s nothing you could have done. Seeing as how things have turned out, his willingness to train you in interior design and architecture have been a great gift.
It brought us here. Where you might actually find true love. ”
“No, it’s impossible. James told me himself he won’t marry. He’s too broken.”
“Aren’t we all broken, in one way or the other?” Cecily asked.
“Regardless, if he were to marry, it would not be to someone like me. He’ll choose someone without scandal attached to her name. Someone with a dowry and family that will be helpful to his reputation instead of the opposite. He has enough of a battle waiting for him without another burden.”
“What do you mean?”
“He will have to fight to gain the respect of his peers. They might continue to see him as a ruffian who ran a tavern instead of a lord.”
“Yes, but there is the way he looks at you,” Cecily said. “We mustn’t discount that.”
Was it true? Was there a reason to hope? In her experience, hope was dangerous. It led to eventual heartbreak. Whatever Georgiana had ever wanted had been denied her other than Robert’s gift of apprenticeship. As Cecily had said, without that, they would not be here.
*
The dream came without warning.
She was back in their London apartment. The one she’d shared with Robert. The sitting room was too quiet, the light wrong—yellow and thick like oil. And Julian was there.
He stepped into the room like a shadow that had always belonged, smiling as if nothing had ever happened. The scent of his cologne filled the air, that cloying bergamot she’d once thought sophisticated.
“You’re even prettier now that he’s gone,” he said, running his eyes over her like he owned her. “Grief suits you.”
“No,” she whispered. “Leave.”
He closed the distance in three strides, his breathing heavy and deliberate. “You didn’t say no last time. Not really. Not at first.”
“That’s not true.”
But her voice was soft. Weak. Her arms wouldn’t move.
Then his hands were on her—rough, urgent—fisting the front of her dress, yanking at the fabric until it gave with a sickening tear. She felt the sharp drag of stitching snapping across her skin. His breath was on her neck, hot and sickly sweet.
She screamed—but no sound came. She shoved him—nothing moved. She was frozen, trapped in her own memory.
“Georgie! Wake up.”
A hand touched her shoulder, gentle but firm. Her eyes flew open, breath heaving. She sat bolt upright, tangled in the quilt, gasping for air. Her heart hammered so violently she was certain it would wake the entire house.
In the darkness, she could barely make out Cecily’s silhouette kneeling beside the bed. Her sister’s voice came soft and steady. “It’s all right. I’m here. You’re safe. It was a dream.”