The lovely early autumn day was at odds with Georgiana's melancholy mood. It should be raining. Heavily. But it was not. The air was crisp and the sun shone high overhead as the Duke of Helston, showing great condescension to a man far beneath him, personally drove the ducal carriage to the front of Little Roses and handed the reins to the groom as he sprang from the seat.
He bowed to her slightly. "Are you ready, Georgiana? Shall I assist Mr. Wilde?"
"There's a footman to help. We're ready. Father is very excited. He's been up since dawn. My mother, too."
Luc tilted his head and looked at her oddly. "And you, Georgiana? You are excited, happy, too?"
She glanced at the carriage. "Oh, very much." The lie came so easily to her tongue. "I'm so grateful—"
"No," he interrupted. "No more thanks. Didn't Rosamunde warn what I might do if I have to suffer one more inch of gratitude? Can't abide it. Besides, I think I made out very well in the bargain. Ata and the other ladies will be delighted to stay with you this coming year."
Georgiana smiled. "It is I who am grateful to them." She moved aside as a footman exited the cottage, carrying several bandboxes. With a nod, Luc went past her and disappeared into the cottage, leaving her momentarily alone for the first time this morning.
She knew she should follow the duke back inside. There were a few last things to attend to and she wanted to make sure her father was settled into the carriage properly, but she had to see Loe Pool one last time.
She quickly made her way up the small hill and stared down past the stand of trees to Loe Pool. She hadn't been able to bring herself to remove everything from the glass lake house. She'd left the cot made up and all the blankets. One day, perhaps, Fairleigh would convince her father to swim there and it would be ready for them.
Last night she had stared at the tiny locked chest in the glass house for a long time before opening it. This was where she kept Anthony's few letters to her as well as a small, half-completed painting of Loe Pool that Quinn had painted. She had asked for it when he was about to discard it all those years ago in their youth.
Then she'd taken off the Lover's Eye brooch that everyone—except Rosamunde—assumed was of Anthony's eye. She'd worked open the tiny secret catch behind it and touched the dark strands of hair inside one last time before shutting her eyes against the tears and placing the brooch on top of the painting. She'd locked the chest and put it inside the cabinet under the bench, all the way in the back corner beneath yet another pile of blankets. She doubted anyone even remembered that the bench opened.
It was a good place to secret away dreams unfulfilled.
Now Georgiana stood looking down at the lake house for many long minutes, the breeze playing with locks of her hair that had come undone.
Good-bye, Penrose.
Good-bye, Quinn.
She would not come back. She had consciously made the decision to never return, not even for future harvest festivals or any other entertainment. She would see all her acquaintances in the neighboring countryside, but she would never set foot on Penrose property again. It was for her sanity.
And so she'd said all her formal good-byes last night to Mrs. Killen and all the servants who worked in the great house. And she had tucked Fairleigh into her huge bed in the chamber adjacent to her father's. That had been the very worst of all. She'd braided Fairleigh's angel-like hair and kissed her cheek before the child had tugged her to lie on top of the bed with her. Fairleigh's head had fit perfectly in the crook of her arm and her little form had snuggled against her. Georgiana had told her stories about Penrose until she fell asleep.
And then Georgiana had said good-night to Ata and the other widows in the formal drawing room after dinner. It had been ridiculous, really. They all agreed it was not really good-bye. After all, they would remove to join her at Trehallow next week. Quinn had said not a word as he sat beside Grace.
When she took her leave, he had merely escorted her to the terrace along with the rest of the ladies and brushed his lips against the back of her hand in good-bye. "I wish you much happiness, Georgiana," he had said gently.
"I
must thank you again for your generosity in providing for my parents and me," she had said, and bobbed a curtsy.
"You know it's Helston whom you should thank. He's the one who found the properties and secured everything for your family," he had said. "Well, then. I wish you safe journey."
She had nodded and all the ladies reached forward to embrace her, some of them giggling and murmuring good night.
She hadn't dared to look at Quinn again. She hadn't been sure she could keep her careful facade in place. This was it. She would not see him again. She had reached behind her for the railing and once finding it, steadied herself and turned to dash down the steps into the evening, calling out a good night one last time.
When she got past the arc of lantern light from the torches on the terrace garden, she had leaned against a hickory tree to catch her breath.
Emotion had burned the back of her eyes as she looked back toward the terrace, only to find that all but two of the figures had returned indoors. Quinn and Grace were silhouetted against the bright candlelight past the glass-paneled French doors.
Grace had reached up and stroked Quinn's head, her fingers lingering on the back of his neck. Georgiana had a vivid memory of how soft his hair was near his collar. A moment later, the two figures had merged into one in the shadows. Georgiana had swallowed a sob and run blindly back to Little Roses, her leg aching.
A tear threatened to cross the edge of her lower lashes as she remembered. She brushed at it with annoyance. It wasn't as if she didn't know what was going to happen. She was so very foolish. So foolish she had not truly prepared for this goodbye or for her future, she realized, looking at Loe Pool one last time.
She'd not once gone to Trehallow since the day the duke handed her the deed. He had insisted she not go and he'd been so serious when he'd said it that she had not thought about going against his wishes. In truth, she had little curiosity.
Trehallow was near St. Ives, well beyond the neighboring estates she had known all her life. Georgiana knew it would require a bit of work to restore it. And she knew the duke had already started some of the work. He had probably wanted to present her with a challenge to occupy her mind. But what the duke did not know was that she was tired of challenges.
She was mortally tired, period.
She just wanted peace.
Deep down inside, she knew Trehallow would give it to her. And she was grateful. Every time she saw Luc St. Aubyn it was all she could do not to throw her arms around his dark, gruff figure and kiss him. She would be forever grateful to him and Rosamunde and Ata, if her hunch was correct. All of them had done this for her, and she had no way to repay them for their endless kindnesses. Kindnesses she did not deserve.
Several hours later, the gratitude she felt for the duke and his family was increased tenfold.
The carriage took a turn from the main road and someone—Luc, probably—rapped a cane from above—to draw their attention to the scene.
"Papa," Georgiana whispered, leaning forward in the plush carriage to touch her father's knee while her mother dozed in the corner. "Look."
At the end of a very long drive, shaded by enormous, evenly spaced poplar trees, rested an ancient stone four-story great house. Two turrets, one crumbling, flanked the main portion.
Georgiana swallowed. It was beyond anything she had imagined.
It was so very beautiful.
"What do you think?" her father asked thoughtfully.
"I had no idea," she whispered. "It's too much."
"Yes," he said, "but, then again, Helston warned that half is unlivable. It stood empty for so long because no one was willing to take on the time and expense to restore it." Her father touched her hand. "Will you be up to the task?"
"It's a bit too late to back out now, don't you think?" She laughed nervously.
"That's my girl," her father said.
Her mother's eyes fluttered open. She looked out the window and was speechless for the first time in her life. "Oh Lordy. Why, 'tis almost as grand as Penrose."
The carriage lurched to a stop, and suddenly the small door opened and Luc's dark face was peering in. "Come along now," he said gruffly.
"But," Georgiana said, "shouldn't we settle my parents at—"
"No," Luc said abruptly.
Something was wrong.
"Blast," Luc said under his breath. "Look, I've never been any good at these sorts of things, and I can tell you're about to ask a lot of questions, which I won't answer. So, here it is. There is a group of ladies and gentlemen in the rear gardens and they are all waiting to surprise you." He removed his hat and scratched his head before returning it to his head. "So act surprised, will you?"
Georgiana turned to her parents. "Did you know about this?"
Her father chuckled. "Quinn told me yesterday because he feared I would ruin it by suffering a seizure during the critical moment."
"Quinn?" She rearranged the folds of her gown. "He's here?"
"Yes." Luc's dark blue eyes bore into hers.
"He arranged this?"
"No, my dear," Luc replied. "Grace arranged it. She and Ata invited your closest neighbors to come for tea and cakes for a welcoming party. You are to do nothing but enjoy yourselves and meet everyone for the next hour or so, and then I promise to make them all go away so you can get settled."
"But Father"—she turned to him—"you must be too tired for all of this. Perhaps you should—"
"No, Daughter. I've had enough coddling. I want to meet Mr. Washburton. He's our closest neighbor and I understand he has bred a new type of sheep that produces very fine wool."
She looked from her parents to Luc. "And Fair-leigh is here?"
"Quinn had the devil of a time getting her to keep the secret." Luc smiled. "Come along, then."
Georgiana played her part very admirably. And in the end she was very glad for the opportunity to meet all her neighbors. Ata, Grace, and Fairleigh graciously took on the roles of hostesses, ensuring everyone's needs were tended to.
No one knew how much it cost her to face Quinn again after she had made her proper goodbyes and thought she would not have to see him again. Or worse, see Grace and Quinn together. But there they were, strolling the gardens arm in arm, stopping every so often to chat with guests. An orange tabby cat followed Quinn's steps, threading itself between his boots each time he stopped. They were a mere few feet away now.
Georgiana smiled despite herself. Quinn had always loved cats. Cats, on the other hand, had never appeared to like him—the only animal on this earth who did not seem to immediately take to him. He had suffered numerous scratches during their childhood to attest to that sad fact. At twelve, Quinn had renounced all felines. But it seemed this cat had not received the announcement.
"What are you smiling about?" Miles Langdon accepted two glasses of lemonade from a footman and passed one to her.
"That cat."
"Hmmm. I thought you were smiling because of your good fortune. Luc is a dashed good fellow for arranging all this for you. A fine brother-in-law indeed. Although I'm thinking you're so grand now, I won't ever be able to persuade you to elope to Gretna Green with me."
Georgiana smiled and noticed the strange expression that crossed Quinn's features when she chanced to glance at him over Miles's shoulder.
"I don't know," she teased. "If you were willing to bring a large-enough fortune into the equation, or maybe if you would just promise to rebuild the turrets single-handedly, I'd consider it," she said with a twitch to her lips.
Miles was so busy choosing from a selection of cakes on the second footman's tray that he ignored her comments.
He turned and placed a delectable morsel in her gloved hand before popping two in quick succession into his mouth. "I understand these are your mother's recipes. They're absolutely divine."
"Careful, brother mine," Rosamunde said, sidling up to Miles with Luc by her side. Each of them carried an infant. "I warned you earlier— you're looking a bit thick about the middle."
Miles sputtered. "I most certainly am
notl"
"You know," Rosamunde added, "I don't think Georgiana fancies portly suitors."
"What did I tell you?" Miles turned to Georgiana and muttered, "Sisters . . . the bane of every gentleman's existence. And I'm not allowed to retaliate if I want to still be considered a gentleman."
Luc smiled. "Unless you're a duke. Dukes are allowed to do and say anything they please. They only answer—"
"To the Prince Regent?" Miles interrupted.
Georgiana giggled.
Luc glared at Miles. "I was about to say that dukes only answer to
duchesses."
He glanced at Rosamunde as his lips dropped to the top of Caro's head. For a moment the duke's eyes flared with a love so potent that it was almost painful to witness.
What would it be like to have someone so devoted? Georgiana turned to Rosamunde just in time to catch the answering passionate glimmer in her expression.
Miles sighed with exasperation. "Whatever happened to the sexes presenting a united front? Luc, you're ruining everything."
Luc chuckled. "Perhaps you'll see things differently when you marry."
A footman passed by with another tray of cakes and Miles looked after the tray longingly. "I suppose I will if my wife provides cakes such as these." He winked at Georgiana. "I'll be right back." Miles trailed after the footman carrying the cakes.
"Well," Rosamunde said, switching Harry to her other shoulder, "if there was any doubt as to Miles's soft spot, I think those cakes put it to rest."
Georgiana changed the subject. "Luc, I realize you don't want my thanks, but I beg you to suffer through this. I had no idea Trehallow was quite this . . . this beautiful, or immense. Surely, the generous portion Quinn provided did not—"