Page 59 of The Mistletoe Dare

“I suppose you would, but any husband worth a damn would move heaven and earth to ensure your happiness.”

“What about you, your grace?” Georgie said in a rush, his words creating a heady mix of pleasure and anxiety that made her heart skitter about in her chest. “Do you miss your family?”

His expression darkened. “No.”

Georgie’s mouth fell open at the firm remark. “Oh, well, of course you have no siblings, do you? And you told me of your father. But do you have no grandparents living? No aunts and uncles?”

“My line has a rather discouraging propensity for dying young and in ignoble circumstances,” he said with a wry smile. “So, no. Only my mother lives, and she tolerates my company as one does a wasp in one’s shoe, which is to say, not at all.”

“I am sorry to hear you are estranged,” Georgie said, meaning it. “My mother is the dearest creature, and I rely very much on her good sense and her comfort. I realise I am fortunate, though, not everyone is so lucky.”

“Estranged?” Rochford mused with a rumbling laugh. “No, I do not believe we are estranged. That would imply there was once warmth between us when there has been nothing of the kind.”

“Oh.” Georgie stared at him, sympathy filling her chest. Coming from a large, boisterous, and loving family, it seemed incomprehensible that a mother could have no affectionate feelings for her only son.

“Don’t look so stricken,” Rochford said, his expression softening. “I’ve always been a difficult devil, as you know to your cost. I cannot pretend the blame is all hers.”

“But she’s your mother!” Georgie burst out, unable to keep silent. “And I do not believe you can have been born bad-tempered and cynical, no matter how flawed your character now.”

His lips twitched at her words and the rather damning defence of his personality. “My word, Lady Georgina, do you mean to say you think there was a time when I wasn’t quite so dreadful?”

Georgie flushed, aware he was teasing her. “I don’t think you’re dreadful at all,” she said, sounding breathless. “You are too ready to think the worst of people and you sometimes say dreadful things, but that’s not the same thing, you know.”

Rochford’s gaze on her was too intent, and she looked away.

“My father was a handsome man before disease ravaged him, and mother was a beauty—still is, for her years—and she is a perfectionist. She loves beautiful things, and for everything to be pretty and flawless. You can imagine how her hulking brute of a son fits into her immaculate world. I’m afraid I rather disturb her equilibrium.”

“I can only imagine what she does for yours,” Georgie shot back indignantly.

There was something bright and hopeful shining in his eyes as he stared at her now. “Would you defend me, love?”

His voice was warm, a note of wonder there that made her throat feel tight.

“Don’t call me that,” she said unsteadily, and urged her horse into a canter.

Chapter 16

Dearest Viv,

I am glad you are feeling better, your grandmother’s foul potions aside. Having been once on the receiving end of one of her remedies myself, I heartily sympathise, though I too recognise their efficiency. I suppose it’s better than enduring a head cold for days. Just.

So what if I danced with Monsieur Le Comte twice? I also danced with Mr Hadley-Smythe twice and the Duke of Rochford. So what do you make of that?

Shall I call on you next week?

―Excerpt of a letter to Miss Vivien Ashton (daughter of Silas and Aashini Anson, The Viscount and Viscountess Cavendish) from Miss Evie Knight (daughter of Lady Helena and Mr Gabriel Knight).

19th December 1840, Beverwyck, London.

“Oh, Vivien! We did not expect to see you so soon,” Georgie exclaimed, greeting their friend as they gathered in the drawing room where the family were at home for morning callers.

There had been a steady stream of guests for the past few days, but this morning seemed especially busy. Most people came to thank the duchess for the marvellous party and to catch up with—or spread— the ensuing gossip.

“I am here too,” Vivien’s twin brother, Ashton, grumbled as everyone fussed about Viv and saw her comfortably settled with a cup of tea. “She only had a cold, you know.”

“Ha! And if you’d have suffered the same ailment, you’d have ensured everyone knew you were at death’s door,” his sister retorted. “Whereas I suffered in stoical silence.”

Ash stared at her in outrage. “Good God, was that what it was? I must look up the definition of the word silence when we return home, Viv, darling, for I believe we have wildly different ideas about its meaning.”