Chapter 10
They were only at Bishopthorpe Palace overnight, but Georgie spent the entire time in terror she would knock over a vase or trip down the medieval stairs to her death.
His grace the Archbishop and Lady Anne presided over a formal dinner that evening where Georgie felt underdressed and gauche with her country manners and country conversation.
Other denizens of the palace joined them in a swirl of names and faces in which Georgie quickly became hopelessly lost.
It did not help that Mrs. Clarke seemed intimidated as well and did not keep up her usual run of cheerful conversation.
Only Peter seemed comfortable in their glittering surroundings, and perhaps that frightened Georgie most of all.
It seemed she was receiving constant reminders of how far below him she was.
He was on close speaking terms with an archbishop!
He had successfully persuaded someone Georgie could never have imagined encountering that he should bend the rules so they could marry.
She tossed and turned all night whilst Mrs. Clarke snored beside her.
Tomorrow was her wedding day, and she could not help but be fearful of what the future held.
She must do her best to be the wife and helpmeet Peter would need at the parish, and to also fit into his intimidating world of archbishops and dukes.
It was to be her world now, too, and she must adapt to it.
It was only the sight of Peter standing at the altar, lit by the morning sun that streamed through the small chapel’s windows, that calmed her.
When he turned to smile at her, she could not help but smile back, nervous as she was, and the leaping of her stomach settled down.
When he took her hand in his, it was a little chilly, and she realized that, despite his facade of control, he was as nervous as she.
As the archbishop intoned the words of the service, Georgie added her own little prayer to be worthy of Peter. He was so good and kind, she almost felt as though she was taking advantage of him and his sense of duty.
She set her jaw. She would be worthy of him, and she would make him happy, whatever came. She would be the partner he deserved to repay him for being willing to marry her rather than throw her to the wolves.
And perhaps—just perhaps—he might come to love her someday the way she loved him.
She prayed for that most fervently of all.
The sun was low in the sky and Peter was exhausted by the time their carriage pulled up outside the rectory.
At the urging of the archbishop’s wife, they had stayed for an impromptu wedding breakfast after the ceremony, then taken an hour or two at a dressmaker’s in York to fit Georgie for a few mostly-finished day dresses and make plans for a larger order.
Peter supposed he could write to her cousin to gather the things she had left behind, but she seemed so reluctant to contact him that he disliked going against her wishes.
With Mrs. Clarke safely returned to her brother’s cottage, Peter had been unable to think of any new topics of conversation, so the short ride to the rectory had been silent. A peculiarly tense silence, as his mind strayed to the evening ahead and then retreated.
As he handed Georgie down from the carriage, the front door opened and Mrs. Barwick emerged, with Annie peering at them from behind, a broad grin on her face.
“Welcome back, Lord Peter. Lady Peter.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Barwick.” Peter offered his arm to Georgie and she accepted it, picking her way up the walkway. The dress they had chosen was a little too long, and likely ought to be hemmed once more.
“We wasn’t sure when tha would return, so there’s only a cold collation for supper.”
“That’s quite alright. We are not especially hungry.” He turned to look at Georgie. “Are we?”
“No,” she said a little breathlessly. He paused for a moment to admire her, marveling once again he could ever have thought her to be a man. The curve of her soft, full lips should have told the tale, if nothing else did.
He wanted to kiss her right there, but instead turned back to Mrs. Barwick.
“It has been a long journey, so we will likely want to eat and then retire. Some hot water to wash off the dust of the road would not come amiss.”
As he made to step over the threshold, Mrs. Barwick’s foot blocked his. She slanted a significant look first at him, then at Georgie.
Of course! He must not forget tradition.
He bowed to his wife with a flourish. “Shall we?”
Her puzzled frown turned into a shriek of laughter as he picked her up.
Her arms clung to his neck as he maneuvered her, her breath soft against his cheek as she giggled.
Her form was as deliciously curved against him as he had hoped, and his heart pounded as he stepped across the threshold under Mrs. Barwick’s indulgent eye.
He had certainly known lust before, even if he had never indulged it. Knowing he would be able to indulge it tonight with Georgie—his wife!—made his head swim.
Once inside, he set her back on her feet, reluctant to let her go. He slipped an arm around her waist to lead her into the breakfast room where the promised cold meats and cheeses awaited them, and she leaned a little into him as they walked, his body tingling everywhere they touched.
If he was in a daze, Georgie seemed to be there with him.
Every time she looked at him, she flushed and ducked her head back to her plate, concentrating on her meal for a few moments before she stole another look at him.
But she seemed to welcome the brush of his hand as he passed her a wineglass and their closeness as they sat side-by-side to share the simple meal.
Afterward, they climbed the stairs and went to separate rooms to prepare themselves for bed, Annie trailing Georgie to help her with her gown.
As he undressed and washed and put his banyan on over his naked body, Peter found himself strangely afraid of the consummation to come. If he frightened or hurt Georgie in his ignorance, he would never forgive himself.
He walked the few steps down the hall to the bedroom they would share and paused with his hand outstretched.
He was about to turn the doorknob to Georgie’s—his wife’s—room.
The very hallway of the rectory was strange to him now as he stood on the threshold of irrevocably changing both of their lives.
All would be well. There was nothing to worry about. They had become friends in their time together, and that friendship could remain. There was no reason for him to be so anxious about being alone with her when they had already spent weeks alone together.
No reason, except that everything was about to change between them.
At last, he turned the knob and stepped into the room. At the sound of the door, she sprang from her chair next to the fireplace and turned to face him, her hand clutched to her throat.
“Peter!”
“Er… good evening, Georgie.” He half-bowed, not knowing what else to do or where to look. Her form was silhouetted through her thin lawn nightdress as she stood before the fireplace. She seemed to have no notion that it was happening.
“I… I did not expect you.”
“I can go.”
“No. No, it’s all right.” She folded her hands at her waist and took a deep breath of her own before gesturing to the other chair. “Please, sit down.”
Awkwardly, he lowered himself into the armchair, discreetly readjusting his banyan to conceal the instant response of his body upon seeing her form caressed by the firelight.
He had of course seen pictures and statues of nude women, both artistic and crude, but never in real life.
And they had never been his wife. Georgie.
How could he have been so blind as to not see the gentle curve of her breasts, the swell of her hips, the softness of her skin, even though she had been in disguise? Perhaps he had not been ready to see her as she truly was.
She settled into the opposite chair, drawing her legs up and wrapping her arms around them as she gazed into the fire. A comfortable silence settled between them, but Peter was aware of an undercurrent of sensual awareness.
It was like their nights together in his drawing room, except they were both in their nightclothes, and he was all too aware she was a woman.
Clearly, he must take the lead despite his lack of experience. He extended his hand to her. “Would you like to come sit with me?”
She froze for a long moment and he feared he had offended her.
Then she rose from her chair, her steps halting, and took his hand.
He helped her lower herself into his lap, his arm curving around her waist as her head came to rest in the hollow of his shoulder.
He felt a curious mix of emotions, somehow protective and lustful all at the same time, wanting to ravish her while keeping her safe.
“Have you ever… ?”
Her voice trailed off, but he knew what she was asking. He picked her hand up and toyed with her fingers as he decided how to frame his reply.
“No,” he said. “I knew from the time I was a young boy that I was destined for the Church, and I wanted to honor that. I knew other young men who decided to fill their time before taking holy orders with debauchery, but for myself, I needed to go in with a whole heart and truly dedicate myself. I… waited, so I could come to my future wife as I wished her to come to me.”
“Oh.”
Now he was at the difficult part. Peter cleared his throat.
“But I did have, er, lessons.”
“Lessons?” She pulled back to look him in the eye, and he knew he blushed.
“Yes. I went to a famous courtesan before I was ordained and paid her to, er, explain things to me so I would know how to please my future wife. With pictures and descriptions,” he said hastily. “She remained clothed the whole time, as did I.”
Georgie was still staring at him, and for a dreadful moment he worried he had shocked her too badly for them to proceed.