Page 16 of The Cornish Lyon

She shook her head in an almost matter-of-fact manner. “I did not. My dear papa died unexpectedly when I was just turned seventeen years old and I was sent to live with my Aunt Patience, who is a spinster and has very strong ideas as to how young ladies should be brought up.”

Was that a twinkle in her eyes? Dared he pose the question on the tip of his tongue?

“If she was so strict, and you were not presented, then how did you come to be in the, er, somewhat indelicate condition you find yourself in now? I am assuming that your aunt’s ‘strong’ ideas do not relate to young ladies and gentlemen’s union before marriage?” It had been a struggle to put that politely and he wasn’t certain he’d succeeded.

However, she didn’t appear to be offended. In fact, she laughed. “Of course they didn’t. The very thought is quite amusing. No. She held but one party at her house that I was allowed to attend, and to which she invited select guests. This was how I encountered the young man who was to be my nemesis as he was the grandson of her dear friend, home on leave from the navy. Then my aunt, unaware of our mutual attraction, allowed me to attend another small dinner party.” She paused. “And, er, that was where it happened.” She blushed hotly. It must be hard for her to recount the tale of her own undoing.

He offered a raised eyebrow to ask her to continue.

“You wish for the whole sordid tale?”

“If you don’t object to sharing it with your… husband.”

“Touché. And no, I don’t object. How can I when you have been kind enough to offer me a way out of my predicament?” She indicated an arbor with a bench. “Shall we sit down and make ourselves comfortable? And I will tell you.”

Did he really want to know? The sensation arose that her being with child to another man now seemed to matter far more than it had done when he’d accepted Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s offer and she’d been an unknown quantity. More so, also, than it had at the church this morning. Might he be, even on such short acquaintance, a little bit jealous that someone had been before him? That he could never be her first? Although he’d been the first for practically none of his previous conquests. However, a man, he admitted to himself, in general likes to be the only man in his wife’s heart. And this situation was different indeed to the one he’d toyed with before—that of finding himself a rich and merry widow to marry. Why it was different he couldn’t be sure. Only that it was.

She sat down beside him and smoothed the skirts of her gown. “I thought I fell in love with Alexander on our first meeting. How could I not have? He was so very handsome.” She frowned as though something about this statement bothered her. “It was a small party, but there was dancing. I was only allowed one dance with him, of course, for propriety’s sake. Aunt Patience kept me close by her and monitored my behavior like a hawk. But I went into supper with him, and…he was most attentive to me. He was very handsome in his naval uniform.” Another little frown as she repeated this information. “And he was charming, as well as being close to me in age, as none of the other guests were. He was the first man who’d ever been charming towards me.” She met his eyes, her own candid. “I say again; how could I not have fallen in love with him when he so obviously was in love with me from the moment we met?”

Was she saying this in order to convince herself it had been true love when she now suspected it had been nothing of the sort?

Fitz, being both a man of the world and as cynical as it was possible to be, couldn’t help but think her young man had just been after her substantial inheritance. For a moment he bristled at the thought before he remembered that he himself had married her for her money. So he didn’t have a leg to stand on, if he was honest.

And yes. He was jealous. He acknowledged that in his position thinking things like that about another man was not quite the done thing. But damn it, the bounder had left her with child. He ignored the fact that the object of his anger was dead. In his eyes, the fellow was a scoundrel for having forced himself on an innocent girl. The irony of this escaped him.

Seemingly oblivious to his emotions, Georgiana continued with her tale. “He called on me the following day and asked me to marry him. Of course I said I would, but Aunt Patience was of a different opinion. She refused to give her consent. I’d thought because he was grandson to her especial friend she would be pleased, but she called him a fortune hunter and said I was too young to know my mind and definitely too young for marriage. We had a terrible argument.” Her eyes clouded at the memory.

“So, if you don’t mind me asking, how did you manage to…?”

This question made her blush, but it also brought the ghost of a smile to her lips. Perhaps she longed to be able to tell someone her story.

“Aunt Patience most conveniently caught a cold which she insisted was the influenza and took to her bed. She was quite delirious, or so she said, so I took the opportunity and sent a message to Alexander. He came to the house and we…we walked together in the garden. I was a little afraid my aunt would drag herself to her window and spy us there, so I encouraged him to retreat into the summerhouse. Perhaps that was a mistake and what happened after that was all my fault. He said we should be married as soon as I turned twenty-one, which was a very short time, on his return from Ireland. He was a lieutenant in the navy, you see, and was on the troop carrier The Sea Horse which was to transport troops across to Cork.” She blushed hotly, but soldiered on. “He…er…he became somewhat enflamed because we were hidden from view, and I’m ashamed to admit I was also persuaded by the privacy of our situation. He-he said it wouldn’t matter as we were so soon to be married. So I let him.”

The cad. Not that he himself wouldn’t be averse to trying the same thing with a young lady. Had, on numerous occasions. “And he never came back?”

“The ship foundered in a storm and sank. His body has never been found.” She put a hand on her stomach. “It saddens me that he will never know he is a father.”

But was she truly sad for him or was it for herself?

Somewhat carried away by the melancholy in her voice, Fitz caught her hand. “Georgiana. I would like to assure you that you will always be safe with me.” That sounded wrong. “I mean, I shall afford you all honor and respect.” A little better. “And I shall acknowledge your child as mine. He will have the benefit of the ancient name of Carlyon.”

Her melancholy flown, her pretty, and eminently kissable, mouth quirked in a smile. “He might well be a she, you know.”

The thought of a little girl who looked just like her mother was oddly pleasant. “Whether he’s a he or a she, I shall treat your child as my own. As ours.”

She squeezed his hand. “Thank you, Fitz. I am most reassured by your words.”

Chapter Nine

Fitz woke the next morning when Thewlis came in to draw back the curtains. He was the bearer of a tray with a cup of Fitz’s morning favorite—strong black coffee. The drawing back of the curtains did not, however, let in an appreciable amount of light.

“Alas, it is raining today, captain,” Thewlis, ever lugubrious, intoned.

Fitz sat up in bed and retrieved his coffee from the bedside table where Thewlis had set it. Ah, perfect. He doubted very much that anyone but Thewlis could make that important first cup of coffee in the morning exactly the way he liked it. And it was still piping hot. He sipped it with a touch of caution and felt the hit of the caffeine tingle his nerve endings. What a wonderful discovery coffee was. So much better than that insipid tea most ladies liked to drink.

Thewlis began to lay out his master’s clothes for the day, humming a little tune as he did so. What reason did his valet have for being so cheerful all of a sudden? Did he like it here? That would be a turn up for the books, as Thewlis was yet to like anywhere his master had lived, Denby Castle included.

“Would you like me to bring you warm water, sir?” Thewlis asked.