Chapter Twenty-Three
Bella did not speak to her parents, or indeed any of her family, for the rest of the day.
What she did instead, and very effectively, was stew.
She went between anger at her father, then George for clearly giving in to him with very little fight, and finally herself for allowing her emotions to become so engaged so quickly and with so little consideration.
She paced the room over and over again until Clara commented mildly that she would wear out her slippers if she did not stop keeping up with that nonsense.
Bella glared at her and took up a book, but she could not read.
She could only pick at the trays of food that came up and refused visits from her mother, sisters and her aunt, pleading a headache.
She even attempted a little embroidery, a pastime she had never enjoyed or truly mastered, and ended up with a hazardous tangle of threads that Clara looked at askance before shaking her head sadly.
By the time night fell, Bella had dismissed her maid and was sitting in bed with a single candle lit beside her, wondering if there was some way she could contrive a meeting with George.
Even if he had decided against her, she needed a conversation.
She needed some way to understand how the feelings that had burnt so brightly between them, and which still consumed her heart, had apparently flickered out so quickly for him.
She could not simply disappear again. She was vexed with her father, but she did not wish him to suffer an apoplexy over her continued bad behaviour.
Perhaps she could contrive a shopping trip with Aunt Lydia that just happened to pass the Customs Office or, or...
she did not even know where George lived. It was hopeless.
She continued to trace idly over the pattern of the counterpane when she heard three soft taps.
Bella looked up, unsure where the noise could have come from.
It was not her door. In fact, it seemed to be coming from the window, but that was impossible.
A bird, perhaps, although the sound had been far too purposeful.
She pushed back the bedclothes and took a hesitant step towards the drawn curtains when the noise came again. Three definite, clear, purposeful raps.
Bella pulled back the material tentatively and had to clap both hands over her mouth to stifle a scream.
There was a face at her window. Her window on the third floor.
It took her brain a few seconds to catch up with her eyes and realise that it was George, now tapping rather desperately against the glass with an expression of grim urgency upon his face.
Bella hurried forwards, removed the catches and pulled up the sash.
George tumbled into the room in a damp, dishevelled heap.
"Thank you kindly, Princess. I thought I was going to be out there all night. Your aunt’s drainpipe is not quite as accommodating as it looks and I feared several times that I might lose my grip. But, as you can see, I have not fallen to my death, which is good."
He spoke the words in hushed tones while brushing ineffectually at his damp and crumpled coat, and Bella simply stared at him blankly. How could he be here? In her room? At this time of night?
"How... why..."
George stopped fussing with his coat and looked suddenly more serious.
"I had to talk to you. I realised when I left earlier today that you must have thought me heartless, or worse.
I know you must return home, and after speaking to your father I know that I have no place in your grand life, Princess, but I had to speak to you. I had to see you one last time."
Bella gazed at him, trying to take in the words he had spoken, when she suddenly became aware that she was standing before him in nothing but a thin cotton nightgown.
She hurriedly grabbed her wrapper and pulled it around herself.
George's face flushed as he appeared to realise the same thing and turned his head pointedly away.
"I know this is most improper," he said, staring fixedly at the wall, "and I know your father would skin me alive if he had any idea I was here, but we must speak."
When Bella had arranged the wrapper securely, he turned back and indicated the bed before taking her hand and guiding her gently down beside him.
They sat together for several moments, their joined hands resting between them, and Bella felt a sense of contentment she had not managed to find since they escaped the clutches of Sly Trevethan and his men.
Eventually she found her voice. "George, why are you here? I do not think I understand."
"I wished you to know..." He paused and looked down at their hands.
"You must know that the time we spent together, the connection we shared, meant something to me.
It meant everything to me. If circumstances were different, if you were not the Princess of Pemberley and I was not a lowly naval captain, I would hold you by my side for the rest of my days. "
He lifted one hand and placed a gentle finger beneath her chin, turning her face until she was looking directly at him.
"I know your life is very different from mine, and I have been thinking much upon it.
I know the right thing to do is to let you live this big, glorious, important life.
But I could not let you go without telling you just how deeply you have affected me.
I told you that you had my heart, and I think that will be true forevermore. "
Bella pulled her hand sharply from his and jumped from the bed. She turned on him, working very hard to keep her voice low enough that she would not attract attention. "Why is every man in my life determined to make choices for me? First my father and now you. I thought I could trust you, George."
"You can," he said shakily.
"So you thought you would come here in some grand romantic gesture, tell me how very much you cared for me and then disappear off into the night, never to be seen again, leaving me to do what?
Marry some weak-chinned duke or an earl who cares only for his port and his racing horses?
And you call that noble?" She pressed her lips together furiously.
"Do you know what I call it, George? Stupid. Absolutely bloody stupid."
George winced at the curse and came to his feet. "Your father made me see that I cannot offer you the life you deserve."
"Can you love me?" she demanded, jabbing one finger into his chest.
He only stared at her.
"Can you care for me? Can you think of my needs and the needs of our children above all others?
Can you build a life that suits us both?
I do not need some titled, landed gentleman to tell me what to do.
I need a partner. Someone who can learn the business of Pemberley with me and build something with me.
I thought, perhaps stupidly, that you could be that man.
But no. The great Fitzwilliam Darcy has spoken and you have snapped to heel and obeyed his command. "
"It is not like that, Bella. Truly. This is what is best for you."
"If one more person tells me what is best for me, I shall scream."
George's eyes darted towards the door as her voice rose.
He stepped closer and placed one finger gently over her lips to silence her, and both of them went still.
His finger traced the outline of her mouth, the rough skin of his hand strangely tender against her own.
He stepped nearer, allowing the touch to continue along the line of her jaw and down her neck before his fingertips brushed lightly across the skin above the neckline of her wrapper.
"Bella," he whispered. "I have been so very stupid."
Then he took her into his arms and kissed her.
There was nothing hurried in his exploration.
The kiss began soft and sweet, his hands resting at the base of her spine as he pulled her close, but, degree by degree it grew warmer and more sensual.
Her mouth parted beneath his and his tongue traced the line of her full lower lip, causing Bella to moan softly and press herself more firmly against him.
Her own hands began to wander, threading through his hair, which was surprisingly soft beneath her fingers, then moving over the strong lines of his shoulders and down his back.
She even dared to dip a little lower and feel the firmness of his buttocks beneath his tight breeches.
It was at that moment that George pulled away with a groan.
His breathing was ragged, and for several seconds he simply looked at her before taking both her hands in his.
"You are right. We do not have to live the life prescribed for us.
" His eyes were bright now, his earlier misery replaced with a sudden excitement.
"The Customs Office has offered me a position travelling between ports where smuggling is known to be a risk and assisting with investigations.
Come with me. We can leave tonight. We can pack a bag, slip away and be married in Scotland before I begin.
My darling, headstrong Princess. It could be glorious. And I know you love an adventure."
He grinned at her then, the deep dimple appearing in his cheek, and Bella wanted desperately to say yes.
Every fibre of her heart seemed to reach for him and for the great unknown he offered.
Months earlier, perhaps even days earlier, she would have done it without a thought. But she knew that she could not.
"It is the most wonderful offer," she said softly. "But I cannot run again."
His smile faded.
"I keep running, George. It brought me to you, and that is perhaps the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me, but I cannot put my family through it again.
They were so worried. I hurt them terribly.
I nearly broke my father's heart and my mother's too, and I will not do that again. I am so sorry."