"What exactly do you mean by that?" Hugh
asked.
Georgiana smiled. "That you think that John
Crawford, as you call him, might hire a solicitor and try to get
his inheritance back..."
"He had no inheritance."
"...when in fact I believe that he will come
straight here and take your head off with a blow of his fist."
"And do you so desire to be a widow, madam,
that you smile as you say this?"
Georgiana shrugged, but there was defiance in
her expression.
Hugh's jaw worked from side to side, though
his tone remained even. "Let me remind you, then, that should my
head be taken off by John Crawford, you will be left quite bereft,
and so will your sisters, now that your father is gone. And
furthermore, my dear, ought you not to remember that you broke your
word to the same man who might come after me? That you forsook him
to marry me and be a countess?"
Georgiana shot Hugh a furious look, her
earrings dangling, but it was his turn to smile as he continued
smoothly, "What will he believe, when he sees you more beautiful
than ever, the toast of fashionable London, while he has been all
grimy and muddy in his Indian war? What will he think when he knows
you married the man who, as you say, threw his dying mother out of
her house?"
Ned, who had been looking at the ceiling and
wondering whether he could sneak out of the room without saying
anything, now contributed, "Well, if he is to be taking anyone's
heads off, I should say it'd be better to double the footmen at the
entrance and lock the windows, for I hear he will be here in less
than ten days!"
Unable to digest the news for different
reasons, the Earl and Countess went their separate ways without
finishing their luncheon. Once Georgiana arrived in her room, she
locked the door feeling as though she couldn't breathe. Reaching
for a pair of scissors lying on her vanity table, she cut the lace
on her stays and then collapsed on the bed, hiding her face in the
pillow.
Would John hate her because she had married a
man he despised?
But why had he not written to her to stop
her? Had he been so angry at the very notion that he had decided
never to speak to her again? He was so impetuous and his rages were
so terrible! Had he not even given her a chance, or cared to help
her find another solution?
Or had he simply forgotten her, ceased loving
her through the two years of separation?
And then there could have been no other
solution, because her father, too, had died. He was supposed to
have caught pneumonia, but she knew it was worry that had destroyed
his health, and she knew that it was her fault. If she had accepted
Hugh immediately, Mr. Blake would not have needed to fret about the
fate of his daughters. But she had made everyone wait, because she
had been waiting for John.
She did not know how much of Hugh's obsession
with her had been due to desire, and how much to the need to
inflict pain on his half brother. Perhaps it was both in equal
parts. Had he not screamed at her once, when she reminded him of
his abominable treatment of John's mother,
"What about what
his mother did to mine?"
Whether or not Hugh had cause to hate his
father for loving John's mother and not his own, for loving John
better than him, Georgiana could never empathize with him. She had
never given her husband the satisfaction of wanting him, not even a
little, not even when, at the beginning, he had been patient. She
had always loathed his touch, his kisses and his bed, and he had
known it.
At some point after the third month of
marriage, it had dawned on him that she would not ever return his
caresses, but by that time she was expecting a child. He had left
her alone then, to ensure that his heir was carried to term. Heaven
knew where he had gone to fulfill his needs during this time; she
had only felt relief.
But she had miscarried two months later. It
happened often, she was told, but the misery she felt remained, and
she had not been able to conceive a child since then.
All the sorrow had been hard for her to bear:
it had changed her, and she was more melancholy now. Any affection
she had had for her older sisters had waned when Virginia had
selfishly eloped with a man she did not even love for long, and
when Bess had shaken her by the hair at the announcement that she
was to marry Halford.
"You have stolen him away with your tricks!"
Bess had shrieked.
Georgiana had screamed back. "I don't want
him! Have him, if he will have you!"
She had lost almost everything that mattered,
and now John, who still mattered so much, was returning.
But he was not returning to her.
Georgiana was as full of expectation as dread
at John’s return. She had yearned to see him for two long years
before she married Hugh, a yearning that had been felt minute by
minute, and which had never dulled or spent itself until she had
become the Countess of Halford.
Then it had still been there, but like the
horrible phantom pain of a missing limb, with the memory of its
amputation always fresh in her mind. She could no longer sit like a
girl, reading John’s letters again and again, Kissing the lock of
his hair, weeping over the circle he had drawn to ask her to marry
him, to wait for him. She could no longer smile and tingle all over
remembering his kisses, how his lips had felt, his hair in her
hands, how his eyes had looked at her and promised all sorts of
passionate delights. She could not run to her father to be
comforted when a letter said that he was in the middle of war, or
wait by the gate for another letter to come.
She had given her life away, and now she
belonged to another man, and would do so until one of them
died.
What would John say and do, when he saw her?
She could only imagine his fury at what Hugh had done to Mrs.
Crawford. John’s mother had been taken in by Mr. Blake and nursed
by Georgiana herself, with all the love in the world, but then she
had gone on to marry the man who had done this terrible thing.
John must be pacing the deck of a ship and
summoning the winds so that he could make it to England faster and
kill Hugh.
And yet, the most important thing of all was
that he was alive. He was alive, and would be in the same soil as
she.
There was something to distract her from
these thoughts: the arrival of a second cousin of Hugh’s, Hester
Stowe, who had recently lost her father and her home. A rich
widowed aunt of the Earl’s, who had considerable sway over him,
vowed she could not take care of anyone young, did not need
company, and directed Hugh to take Hester in.
Hugh had consulted Georgiana, hoping that she
would refuse. He had underestimated the sympathy that his wife
could feel for a single girl in need of a family and of
connections.
The woman, for she was twenty-four years old,
had arrived that day. She was dark-haired, with a high forehead and
eyes that were hooded but had a penetrating look, a long lose and a
secretive mouth. Hester dressed quite simply, and spoke little.
Georgiana could well imagine her as a sorceress in some ancient
tale.
“I hope you will be happy with us,” she told
Hester, with her usual generosity and open heart.
“Thank you,” Hester had replied quietly.
“Do you enjoy the city at all?” Georgiana had
continued, attempting to draw her out.
Hester had sat with her hands on her lap, the
steaming cup of tea next to her untouched. “I don’t know it,” she
had replied.
“Oh, had you never come to London?”
“No.”
Georgiana might have asked her what sorts of
things she liked to do, whether she enjoyed riding or taking any
other form of exercise, or whether she liked dancing, or reading,
or anything; but Hester gave her little encouragement. She did not
seem to mind sitting there and saying little. She did not seem to
think she needed to ingratiate herself in any way.
Perhaps it was just as well, Georgiana
thought, sighing. Perhaps she needed to stop thinking that she
would find joy and a measure of salvation in the companionship of
others. She could not help, however, thanking God for her younger
sisters, the only creatures who loved her and showed it, the girls
for whom she did all that she did.
John returned a little before Ned announced
that he would. In this, as in all things, he was impatient.
Halford House in London was as prepared for
the eventuality that John Crawford might come to have words with
his half brother as it could be. Servants had been briefed, and a
greater number of them stood by the doors, some of them even armed
with cudgels. They had been told that they could strike blows,
should it be necessary, and that the bastard should be thrown out
in the street on his arse.
That night a soirée was being given: it was
relatively common for the Earl and Countess to have guests over for
dinner, music and dancing, as it afforded Hugh an occasion to
participate in politics or talk of some other manly pursuit with
friends and acquaintances, and it gave his wife the opportunity to
parade the sisters who needed to be married. Bess and Cecily looked
pretty and shiny, as expensive wares ought to look in window shops,
and men took a renewed and more serious interest in them because of
whose sisters-in-law they were. Dorothea was upstairs since, at
fourteen, she was far too young to be courted.
And the new arrival, Hester, stood away from
others in her simple dress, yet she seemed feral rather than shy.
She observed everyone restlessly, eyes darting to and fro, flitting
among faces, as if she were looking for something that was not
there.
Very often Georgiana would find those black
eyes on her, scanning her, a frown distorting Hester’s brow and
closing over her long nose.
The Countess was a great contrast to the poor
cousin, as she looked magnificent tonight with her powdered hair
piled high, and an ostrich plume of midnight blue perched on it.
Her pewter dress with its wide skirt and fur trimmings made her
look like the moonlight. Diamonds shone on her ears, in points of
her coiffure and over the lovely breasts that rose from her
fashionable low décolletage. She did her best to smile and turn
around the room greeting everyone who mattered to her husband. Few
people mattered to her.
Until, of course, John arrived.
No one had expected him to, least of all
Hugh, who stood in a circle of his friends, drawling sentences that
passed for epigrams, and holding a glass of wine which was
constantly filled.
London knew, of course, who John Crawford
was, and the information that his half brother Halford had paid
lawyers to punch holes through his father's will so that the
bastard was left with nothing was not only known, but had even been
exaggerated. Various accounts circulated, ranging from the belief
that the previous Earl had married John's mother, and made the
bastard his true born son, to the affirmation that John was Mr.
Crawford's son, and his widow had tried to convince the Earl that
the child was his, to get him to marry her.
The majority of society sided with Halford,
for a bastard, especially one who was left a great deal of money,
was a risk to the all important issues of inheritance, family line
and pedigree. Bastards were undesirable, troublesome and even
dangerous, as everyone present that night was about to see.
As music played and guests chatted and
laughed, there was a slight upheaval at the door; it was only
slight, for John Crawford had entered the house at the pace of a
military man, a man used to charging against an enemy much more
formidable than a group of servants, even if they were armed with
cudgels.
The footmen at the door and the added
security didn't know what to do when this officer in his imposing
red coat and boots marched in, his face as black as a storm.
He walked through the servants and they
hardly dared go forward to try to stop him; when they did, they
were pushed away unceremoniously. John was holding a saber, too,
though it was sheathed, and he had the look of knowing how to wield
it.
When he irrupted into the large drawing room
where all the company was assembled, there were gasps from the
people nearest the door. Hugh and Georgiana had no idea what
was happening until the crowd started to part and John stood before
them, his face bronzed by the Indian sun and his eyes the piercing
grey of a blade. He looked like Satan loosened out of hell.
Georgiana stared at the love of her life with
so much longing and terror that she thought she might run into his
arms.
He was here!
But he never looked at her.
His eyes bore into his brother's. Hugh was frozen on the spot, as
if he were about to be torn apart by a beast.
A terrible silence had fallen and no one
moved, as if the room had become part of the scenery at a theater,
a tableau that might be called
Revenge
. Only the men
nearest Hugh started to scuttle away from him, afraid of being
caught in the fracas that would certainly ensue.
John said nothing, he just kept staring at
his prey. Georgiana thought that she must beg for her husband's
life, but only because she didn't want John to be arrested, or
hung.
She looked around and saw that no one was
about to make a move against him; no one was about to help Hugh.
All were fascinated by the scene, and all were frightened of the
bastard, who might unsheathe the saber, start cutting through the
crowd and cause a massacre if he were crossed, such was his cold
rage.
Georgiana noticed that Hester was the only
person who had come forward instead of moving backwards, and that
she was staring at John as if she had finally found what she had
been looking for.