Page 14 of The Cornish Lyon

Her eyes widened.

He smiled. “My father, God rest his soul, was an army officer like me, although he rather foolishly chose to marry a young lady with no fortune attached to her, despite being the daughter of a duke. Or at least, a fortune she would only have inherited had she married someone her father approved of. Which he most certainly did not.”

Her eyes grew even wider. “Good heavens. Your grandfather is a duke? I had no idea.”

Fitz sighed. “He is. Well, he was. He died recently and my uncle has inherited the title. Much good any of that’s ever done me. My mother produced Marianne and then me, with seven years between us, before realising that life as the wife of a poorly paid army officer was not one she wished to lead. She decamped back to my grandfather’s country estate when I was just a baby. I saw next to nothing of my father until I was an adult.”

Her beautiful eyes twinkled at him. Perhaps she was feeling that his story had somehow levelled the ground between them.

Laying down her fork, she leaned a little towards him, eyes alight with mischief now. “They say every family has a skeleton in its cupboard. Do you think your mother is that skeleton?”

This made him laugh. He took another swig of his wine. “I doubt it. She might have been then, but she’s not now. To see her nowadays, you’d imagine she was the most straight-laced and upstanding of women. She doesn’t like to be reminded of her reckless youth. I’m told by many how much I resemble my late father, and I think she finds that both embarrassing and delightful at the same time. I’m sure her whole family considers me to be the black sheep of the family, much as my father was of the Carlyon family.”

She nodded. “And your grandfather, did you get on with him?”

He sighed. “Better than with my uncle, the new duke. In some ways, he was the father I never had as a boy. But he was eighty-six, so his demise was not unexpected. I was sorry not to have been able to say goodbye. I was in Cornwall, you understand, when he went. An apoplexy, so it was very quick. He was bedridden for a day or two then slipped away in his sleep. By the time I had the news he was already buried in the family crypt. My uncle inherited the title, but he’s not young. He must be in his late fifties by now. He has a huge brood of daughters and just the one small son, who will inherit the title in due course. Judging by the size of my uncle’s girth and the redness of his face, sooner rather than later.”

A frown flitted across Georgiana’s face. “I am sorry for your loss. I still feel my own father’s loss keenly after four years, so I can imagine how you must be feeling with your grandfather so recently departed.”

He shook his head. “As I said, it was expected, and he’d had a good life. Far longer than his three score and ten.” He chuckled. “My uncle will have been relieved. I believe he thought my grandfather would never die. He also thought he’d never get himself an heir as his first wife produced nothing but all those girls. He remarried a few years ago now and the new young duchess has managed just the one boy, and yet more girls.”

He chuckled again. “I laugh every time I think of my uncle with his nursery and schoolroom full of girls. Not that his lack of a son would have put me in the line of succession because it wouldn’t have. As you are probably aware, a grandson through the female line cannot inherit. So I’ve been at liberty all along to laugh at my uncle’s predicament without fear of offending him.” He shrugged. “Quite frankly, I give little for who I offend.” Only that wasn’t quite true, was it? Because he realized he didn’t want to offend her.

Her frown deepened as though something puzzled her. “Your story sounds more than a little familiar to me. Might I ask what title it is your uncle now holds?” Her eyes had gone very wide.

“My Uncle Jasper is the fifth Duke of Denby.”

Her mouth dropped open.

What had he said?

Her face had paled. “Then I must inform you that I am well acquainted with your uncle’s oldest daughter, Lady Fanny Fitzwilliam, for we were at school together. Oh!” Her hand flew to her mouth. “But of course. Your mother gave you her surname when you were born. That is why you are called Fitzwilliam! How small the world is.”

Fitz found his own mouth had dropped open to match hers. “You know Cousin Fanny?” The oldest and most fun of his uncle’s large brood.

She nodded. “We were at Miss Baker’s school together in Cheltenham. We were best friends while there and have remained so ever since.” A delighted smile crept across her face; the sort of smile he would have liked to have caused himself. “And now I find we are to be related. I have to say, Fitz, that if I could have chosen whom to marry, I would happily have chosen my dear Fanny’s cousin. How wonderful it will be to now be her cousin as well.”

Fitz regarded her apparent delight with a jaundiced eye. Clearly she could never have heard a word about him from Fanny, or she would not be so cock-a-hoop. In fact, had any of his family benefitted her with a description of him, she might even have changed her mind before the wedding, baby or not. As he’d already admitted to her, if anyone could have been called the black sheep of the Fitzwilliam family, it would have to be him. He was, as his mother had said on many occasions, far too much like his late father. A rake, a bit of a vagabond, and a self-confessed womanizer. The question was, did he want to give up any of those things for this slip of a girl? Would he even be able to, should he decide in the affirmative? And, more to the point, why was he even considering such a situation after only having known her a bare couple of hours? Was he addled?

The dessert arrived, a rather sparse cheeseboard, so Fitz put away such philosophical thoughts for later.

Chapter Eight

An hour later Georgiana and Fitz emerged onto the street in front of the Angel Inn and Fitz raised an arm to hail a passing hackney coach. He turned towards her. “Too dangerous for a lady to walk all the way back to Bedford Square.”

He was coming home with her. The shock of realization that this wedding had been real prevented her from pointing out that she and Havers had walked to the church that morning with no untoward happenings.

Somehow, in all her imaginings about what today would turn out to be like, she’d never got further than the ceremony. The thought that an ‘after ceremony’ period existed came as something of a shock. Of course he was coming home with her. They were married now, and everything that had just been hers alone was now his as well. In fact, as her husband, he would have control over all her money and over precisely how much she was to receive as pin money. The thought that this could all have been a giant, rushed into on the spur of the moment mistake, surfaced. There might well be a heavy price to pay for her own and her child’s respectability.

However, she was made of far too sterner stuff to be put off by doubts that had arisen so late in the day. Her marriage was all done now, and there would be no getting out of it, so she would have to make sure she began as she intended to go on. He must know his place. No. That was entirely the wrong phrase. What she meant was that he must know her place and that she was her father’s heir, and not him. He must never be allowed to treat her as inconsequential. She had to stand up for herself from the beginning and not allow him to take the upper hand. Surely she could do that.

With all these thoughts tumbling through her mind, she let him hand her into the hackney coach, which was not in too bad a state, and tell the driver her address. Their address. Of course. He wasn’t just escorting her home, he would be living there as well.

With her.

There was no getting around the fact that it was now his home as well as hers. A sudden longing for Havers’ friendly face washed over her, but it was too late. Fitz, her new husband, had dispatched both servants off to his lodgings to retrieve his personal possessions. Havers as well as his manservant, as though he were now in control of her maid. If only she’d had the presence of mind to stop him sending dear Havers, but she’d been too much in shock from her own thoughts to do so. She must pull herself together.

However, after the revelations of the less than satisfactory wedding breakfast, she now felt somewhat subdued, probably thanks to the sudden realization that they would not be going their own way now. She sat in silence beside Fitz in the carriage with her hands folded neatly in her lap, not even looking at him, her brain in something of a frenzy, churning over what lay ahead.