Chapter 8
16th June 1815
In the end, the trip to the jewellers in London had been delayed by almost a week before Lord Bath and Georgiana were able to make the journey. Yet, another succession of rain had made the ground so sodden the poor state of the roads had made travelling impossible. So today, as the weather was the finest it had been in some time, Georgiana sat atop the duke’s grandest curricle while Lord Bath drove them to town.
The bright rays of the sun heated her skin, and she tipped her face up towards the sky so the brim of her bonnet did not impede the warmth of it kissing her cheeks. She gasped when a sea of brilliant red poppies beckoned to her from an upcoming field. She set her hand upon the earl’s arm and pointed as they drew closer.
“I want to see them,” she said when he had stopped the carriage.
She made to stand, but he pressed her back into the seat. “We have hardly been on the road. I believe these are still Hemel Hill lands. We can always return.”
“We are not in any rush, are we?”
“No, I suppose we are not.” He stepped down from the tall vehicle and held his arms up so she could climb down.
With no hesitation, she placed her hands upon his shoulders as he gripped her waist. Once her feet were upon the ground, she rushed around the curricle and came to a halt at the edge of the field before she took her first tentative step into the flowers. She removed her gloves as she trod with care into their midst. The blooms were so plentiful, one could barely make out the green of the stems. As soon as her hands were free, she tucked her gloves between the buttons on her spencer and held out her arms to brush the petals with the tips of her fingers.
The back of her neck broke out in gooseflesh, and she glanced over her shoulder. How had she known he would be there? She pivoted around and walked backward while facing him.
“Are they not beautiful?”
His gaze followed her as she moved through the crimson blooms. “Stunning.”
She bit her lip and turned to continue her wander through the field. The intention of his compliment was not lost on her, but she could not hold his eye. The hitch in her breathing forced her to return her attention to the flowers.
After she took four more steps, she came to a halt and bathed in the beauty of the scene. Footsteps behind her and that familiar prickle on the back of her neck made her inhale deeply in the hopes of calming her from within. She reached back without glancing over her shoulder. After all, she knew well who stood behind her. Then, a hand, his hand, wrapped around hers. A current travelled up her arm and spread throughout her body.
As much as his touch heated her body, the breeze at least managed to cool her cheeks. The gentleman behind her had been different of late—well, maybe not so different. He still had his moments of brooding, which he indulged while in his chambers or during a ride—or so he had confessed the night of his birthday. Otherwise, he spent more time with family and had even joined her on a walk about the gardens near the house during a break in the poor weather.
As she revelled in the beauty before her, Lord Bath’s forehead came to rest upon her shoulder, and she reached up to curl her fingers into his soft hair. At some point while her back was turned, he had removed his hat. Her eyes closed. Was it so horrible that her heart craved this closeness to him since that night they kissed? His body was not pressed against her back, but how she wished it was! Those moments in his embrace in the library were the most emotion she had ever experienced. Who would not want to feel that again? Her heart had been full in a way that had been missing for a long time.
His face buried into her neck, and she made no protest. Although he had family around him every day, he likely had no one for physical comfort. She opened her eyes to the poppies swaying in the breeze. Yes, he could wallow in his own misery and behave in a boorish manner as he did so, yet in particular moments, he showed the man he was despite the pain he had endured.
He nuzzled just under her ear before pressing a soft kiss. The beating of her heart quickened, and her breath stuttered. After one last brush of his lips to where her neck and shoulder met, he was gone.
Her body swayed, and she took a deep breath to steady herself in the wake of his abandonment. His hands had limited themselves to touching hers, but brought to mind how they gripped her sides when they kissed, and she was wanton enough to desire that again. She would need to tread with care! Her heart was in a fair way of being broken if they continued, and though her mind insisted upon caution, her heart yearned to plunge ahead. She wished to experience love at some time in her life, even if her heart was broken in the process.
Everything inside her shoved her concerns into some remote part of her mind. She would worry about those later—if later ever came.
With heavy feet, she returned the curricle. After Lord Bath helped her to her seat, she glanced back at the poppies. Her favourite flower had always been snowdrops, but now she could not imagine a more handsome bloom than a poppy, especially when it was surrounded by its brethren in such a picturesque prospect. If only they could remain for hours on end!
As soon as Charles alighted from the curricle, he handed the reins off to a young lad who stood outside the jewellers and passed him a coin. The boy was one who oft times hoped to earn his next meal along that kerb, holding the carriages and horses of those who shopped along Piccadilly Street. He had no qualms trusting the young man since Charles had given him a coin or two in the past.
The moment he moved to be of aid to Miss Darcy, his palms itched to grasp her waist. Before continuing towards London, he had put his gloves back on, but that did not matter. His body came alive when he touched her in some fashion—even when she touched him. His mind had been consumed with her since the night they kissed, and now he was forced to restrain himself whenever in her company. He succumbed to temptation and lost all regulation in the field of poppies. The picture she presented, smiling and open and surrounded by the deep crimson blooms, had beckoned him to her. He could not resist. How he had not wrapped her in his embrace and claimed her lips, he could not say.
Despite the urge to take her in his arms and press her down into the flowers, he had shown some restraint. He had limited himself to touching those small parts of her so not to be tempted. Lord, but he had longed to caress so much more.
Their gazes held when he lifted her down, then offered his arm to lead her inside. Upon entering, the jeweller grinned when he noticed Miss Darcy. His mouth moved, but Charles recognised nothing.
Miss Darcy smiled and responded as they approached the counter. He, at times, discerned a word here and there on the lips of someone speaking, yet with his view of only one side of her face, he understood naught. She did not sign, but after his concealment of their speaking at Hatchard’s on their last trip into town, she likely knew he had no wish for any undue attention.
She pivoted to face him. “The crest?” appeared to be what she said as she pointed to his waistcoat.
He stiffened and stared at the shop owner while he removed his watch. The man’s eyebrows had drawn down a little in the centre, but he accepted the piece with a nod.
Charles withdrew a seal of the Bath crest and placed it before the man, who picked it up with a bob of his head while his mouth moved once again. It was just the two of them with the shop owner, so he placed his hand on Miss Darcy’s shoulder to get her attention.
“Will I need to leave it with him?” He had not planned to sign, but with it just being the two of them and the shopkeeper, he would not be so cautious for the moment.
“He will make a rubbing, so you need not leave it,” said Miss Darcy, her eyes darted to the shopkeeper and back to him.
With a nod, the man departed, then returned in minutes with a sheet of paper in one hand and a stick of black lead [4] in the other. After transferring the image, he pushed the seal to Charles and spoke more to Miss Darcy before he pulled a card from a stack in a nearby drawer. The name Darcy stood out at the top. Before the man could write on it, Charles placed his hand over it and shook his head.
“I am paying for it,” he signed when Miss Darcy looked at him.
“’Tis part of my gift.”
“No, you bought the watch chain and a book. Your thoughtful gesture will be treasured, but I shall not take advantage of your generosity.”
“Must we argue over a gift?” she asked with a slight curve to her lips. “After all, I believe I would win such a trifling by telling this man that the custom of the Darcy family depends on whether this is charged to my brother’s account.” The man’s eyes widened, and his nostrils gave a hint of a flare.
Blast! He had not counted on her arguing. “Your brother will wonder at the expense.”
She shrugged. “I told him I purchased a gift for your birthday from us all in my last letter. I am certain he will not object.”
“You lied to your brother or to me then?” He could barely hold in his chuckle at the hitch back of her chin and the gaping of her mouth.
“I did not lie!” Her countenance, combined with how her mouth moved, told him she had raised her voice.
“You did not? You told me the gift was from you.” He bit back his grin. “Maybe I should pen my own letter enquiring who the gift is truly from.”
“I told my brother to take the funds from my pin money. The gift is from me, as I am certain he will know.”
“I do not require you to give me the extravagance of the crest as well. Your gift was heartfelt and required nothing to make it complete. I truly thought of today as one we could spend together away from the house.”
Whenever he was not speaking, his palm was placed back on the ledger, but she drew his hand from the card. Damn his weakness! He could deny her nothing.
“And you wished to come to town?”
“A necessary evil in this instance.”
“Yet, a picnic in the poppies would have been preferable.” She spoke to the jeweller for a bit before taking his elbow and leading him towards the door.
When they stood once again on the pavement, he gave the boy with the curricle another coin, but before he handed Miss Darcy to the seat, he tipped her chin with his finger.
“You would wish me to haul a table and chairs to that field of poppies for a picnic?”
“I do not require such formality. A rug spread upon the ground would suffice.”
Her head turned to the side suddenly, and she wrapped her hand around his arm again to turn him. A gentleman stood with an older woman a few feet away. Miss Darcy curtseyed, but beside him was not the lady he had come to know. She was stiff, incredibly stiff, and her hand clutched at his bicep as though she might be ripped away. Even from the side, the smile she wore was forced, and her pulse fluttered at the base of her neck. She was uneasy.
The woman spoke, and eyed him more than once, but since Miss Darcy never ventured to introduce him, he could only assume they were of rank and had not requested to make his acquaintance.
Meanwhile, the man looked Charles up and down before returning his attention to Miss Darcy. He was, no doubt, the son of someone, but who, Charles did not know. He obviously held an interest in Miss Darcy. His gaze darted to her bosom, even if it was covered by her spencer, while the woman spoke, but he would peer from the woman to Miss Darcy so as not to give away his surreptitious glances.
Charles clenched his free hand. If the young buck took one more look at the lady’s breasts, covered or not, he would break the rapscallion’s nose! After all, Charles was taller and broader in the shoulders than the man before him. One forceful swing of his fist would be all that was required.
Before the rake could take advantage of another glimpse, Miss Darcy gestured to Charles and curtseyed. The two strangers went on their way, and Miss Darcy’s grip subsided on his arm.
“Who was that?”
“Lady Grafton and her son Viscount Linley. Forgive me. I would have introduced you, but I thought you would prefer not to be exposed, so to speak.”
“You were not comfortable. You were tense, and you barely spoke.” They signed, but they had returned close to the curricle. One would need to stand with them to see their conversation.
“Conversations with those not known well to me make me uneasy. Her son also stares at places he should not when his mother is not looking. If Lady Grafton were not friends with my aunt, Lady Fitzwilliam, I would avoid speaking to them altogether.”
He aided her in climbing the curricle, then followed her up, lifted the reins, and cued the horses forward. When they reached Bathwick House, a groom took the curricle as he led her up the stairs. Once inside, they shed their coats and hats.
“I thought we could have refreshment here before we return.”
The housekeeper bustled into the hall. “Oh, sir. Cook apologises, but she requires another quarter hour.”
“We are early, so tell her not to fret. We shall await the meal in the library.”
When they were settled on the sofa, he pivoted to face her. “You gestured to me once.”
“Lady Grafton asked where I was staying. I told her with my sister-in-law the Duchess of Albemarle and her family. You are part of that family, so you were included. I hope you do not mind.”
He shook his head. “I was merely curious.” He shifted a little closer. “I did not like the viscount sneaking glances at your chest.”
She covered her face with her hands for a moment before letting them drop to her lap. “He has done so before at one of my aunt’s dinners. Fitzwilliam levelled such a haughty glare on him that the viscount shrank in his seat. He likely saw an opportunity without my brother present to notice.”
“I wanted to do more than glare. I had to stop myself from breaking his nose.”
“Ladies receive such scrutiny often. Are you to break every man’s nose for sneaking a peek at a lady’s front?”
“No, only yours.” He took her hand and rubbed his thumb over the back. The emotion that had overtaken him had been one of possession. Since when did he consider Miss Darcy as his? She was anything but.
“My lord—”
“Pray, no more of that formality. We are friends, are we not? I would wish you to call me by my name.” He proceeded to show her how to say it.
“Then I am Georgiana.” She had needed to spell her name.
He shook his head. “You are…” Then he made a sign that made her cheeks pink.
“If you call me thus, you can call nothing beautiful without making it seem like you are speaking of or to me.”
His knuckles grazed down her cheek, and she gasped in an inhale that made her chest heave, but she jerked away in a moment, making him frown.
“Your housekeeper says the refreshments are ready.”
After a glance over his shoulder, his shoulders sank. His housekeeper stood in the door. She would say naught, but regardless, he should not tempt himself so. With the exception of the servants, they were alone, and no one would be the wiser if they spent their time flaunting propriety, yet they certainly should not. Yet, why did that thought make his heart split in two?