It was the first time George had ever been completely and totally happy. But then it had been a day for firsts. It was the first time she’d ever felt protected and cared for. The first time anyone had sworn never to allow any harm to come to her.
It was the first time she’d actuallyenjoyeda bath. Of course that might have had something to do with the fact that this time Anthony had sat the tub in front of the kitchen fire and warmed the water for her before she climbed into it. Truly, she never realised how wonderful being warm and clean could feel. He’d tactfully left her alone while she bathed, although she could have told him it was a bit like shutting the gate after the horse had bolted. But the privacy was delicious – indeed she almost laughed out loud at the thought that she was actually enjoying the feel of the water on her skin.
And then, later, after she was warm and dry, he’d sat with her and talked to her about theAlphabet. He had her tracing the letters he’d put down on the paper. By the time she’d finished, dusk had descended, and she was scratching the shapes by candlelight.
It was the first time anyone had ever thought her important enough to teach her anything.
Supper was a lighthearted affair. Mrs. Parsons’s favourite rabbit stew – George privately wondered at the seemingly endless supply of rabbits – mopped up with fresh bread and real butter.
‘Blo- blimey, I’m stuffed,’ she complained after her second helping. ‘I ain’t goin’ to be able to fasten me britches if I keep this up.’
‘Perhaps we need to think about buying you a couple of skirts,’ Anthony commented evenly. Georgiana glanced over at him in surprise.
‘I thought you wanted me to stay as George for the time bein’?’
In answer, Anthony took a deep breath. ‘What happened between us…’ he began.
‘Ain’t nothin’ worth mentionin’,’ George interrupted, her face flaming.
‘I should not have taken the liberties I did,’ he insisted. ‘My behaviour was unforgiveable. The thing is…’
‘I forgive you,’ she countered, ‘There. We can forget all about it.’
‘I don’twantto forget all about it,’ Anthony found himself growling. He watched her begin to frown. Bloody hell, this was all going wrong.
‘The thing is,’ he repeated, trying hard not to grit his teeth, ‘I think you should marry me.’
George opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She simply stared at him. Then abruptly, she started to laugh.
Anthony stiffened. ‘I fail to see anything remotely funny in my suggestion,’ he snapped.
George simply laughed harder, while he sat stony faced, arms crossed, and waited for her mirth to subside. ‘Are you bloody addled?’ she managed at length. ‘The likes o’ you don’ marry the likes o’ me.’
‘And how are we so different?’ Anthony bit out. ‘I am a vicar’s son, George. My sister is the one with the fancy title.’
‘And she ain’t the only one,’ George countered. ‘You reckon to put me in wi’ all these nobs and lead me round like a prize bloody pig, jus’ to watch me fall flat on me face?’ She swallowed, her humour disappearing, replaced by a sudden flare of anger. ‘You’d be that cruel?’ She shook her head before adding, ‘An all because you almost ‘ad a tuppin’ you thought you’d no right to.’
‘That is not why…’ Anthony began, then stopped. It was exactly why. Or it had been when he’d first considered it. But now…? He stared at her pale, determined face. And abruptly realised just how much she’d come to mean to him. He wanted to sweep her into his arms and tell the whole world to go to hell in a bloody handcart. And then he wanted to love her with his hands and his mouth until every single inch of her was truly convinced he wasn’t asking her to marry him out of guilt.
Before he could do anything, she pushed her chair back and stood up. ‘I think you’ve ‘ad one too many brandies,’ she commented matter-of-factly. ‘So I’ll bid you good night, and by tomorrow morning, we’ll ‘ave put this foolishness behind us.’
∞∞∞
‘I sent word to Nicholas this morning, Father.’
‘But that was before Agnes was accosted by a murdering hellhound,’ the Reverend protested. ‘Look at her. A deuced shadow of her former self.’
Grace threw a suitably concerned glance towards her stepmother, privately thinking she’d never seen the matron looking better. Her face was flushed, and her eyes held an unaccustomed gleam. Even more tellingly, there was no sign of her salts or any of her revolting potions.
‘I’ve told you, Augustus. I’m perfectly well,’ Agnes commented tartly, echoing the Duchess’s assessment.
‘I don’t think Nicholas will be in any doubt of the severity of the situation,’ Grace added. ‘Even before stepmother was so…’ She paused, searching for the correct words.
‘…cruelly accosted,’ Percy supplied helpfully. The Duchess nodded.
‘Indeed. Even before then, I had an inkling that this whole business would turn unpleasant. It’s my hope that Nicholas and Malcolm will be here by tomorrow evening at the latest.’
‘Can we afford to wait that long?’ Percy demanded. The Duchess looked at the curate in surprise.
