Georgianna: The Last Real Duchess (The Real Duchesses of London) (10 page)

"Nonsense. You must stay.” Annie's mind could not think beyond the words. Richard's face had been so stiff as he'd greeted Elizabeth. He'd made it clear that she was welcome, but a coldness had remained. A coldness directed at Annie, not Elizabeth. Annie could not help wondering if he'd be happy to have Elizabeth stay while she climbed into the carriage and departed.

"Are you sure? You don't look pleased with the idea. I truly did hope my visit would be a relief and not a burden," Elizabeth turned and looked out over the formal gardens, her gaze settling on the small lake that marked the beginning of the wood.

Annie forced her mind to the present. Her friend was here. This was just what she had wanted. "I actually sent you and our other friends letters yesterday asking if someone could come. I thought if I could get you, Isabella, Kathryn, Annabelle, and Linnette to come perhaps I'd be able to figure out my problems. It was an impulse and I was almost regretting it today when you arrived. I am just not sure what to do and it seemed like getting your advice would be sensible. I wanted to talk to you in particular."

"Whatever for? Not that I don't give the best advice of the group." Elizabeth winked, but Annie knew she was actually serious. Elizabeth had always had great belief in herself – even when her husband had left her to go off and explore the world.

Annie glanced about. The last thing she needed was for Richard to hear this. It was bad enough that he'd overheard her greeting Elizabeth. "Richard wants to try again."

"I am not sure that I understand."

"He thinks we should pretend the past never happened and start over."

"He should know that's impossible – not that I know what you need to forget. You can never forget the past, only learn from it."

"You sound like a proverb. I need practical advice on how to live with my husband without letting him disturb me. I thought he'd stay in London. It is so easy to ignore him when he's not here."

Elizabeth laughed, low and husky. "Yes, it is easy to ignore them when they are not around. I ignored Westhaven for years that way. And everybody thought I was happy doing it."

"We didn't think you were exactly happy – but I admit you did not seem to mind that he was gone."

Elizabeth turned and looked at Annie, her eyes solemn. "Oh, I did mind. I just didn't want to let the world know. And I did learn to enjoy myself, to concentrate on each day instead of dwelling on all my problems. It was rarely easy and I am afraid I may have seemed slightly gruff, at times."

Gruff that was an interesting word choice – and not the one she most often heard applied to Elizabeth. But that had been the past. Since, Westhampton's return Elizabeth had been much softer. "How did you ever manage?"

"Isn't that what you've done since your son's birth, and some time before that, managed?"

It was Annie's turn to look away from her friend. Yes, that was what she'd done. She'd managed. She'd survived. But she had not flourished. It was why she'd gone to London. She'd needed something more in her life. Another child? A lover, perhaps? But, no, every time she seriously considered letting another man do more than hold her hand, her whole body shuddered. "You are right. But, I have not yet found a way to find joy – except when I am with my son."

"Then perhaps you should consider your husband's offer – not to forget, but to move on and perhaps to forgive him for his transgressions."

"You truly are sounding biblical." Annie held back a grin – Elizabeth and biblical had never seemed a pair before. "And I have forgiven him. I understand that I was not the wife he wanted, that I was forced on him. I know that he behaved as best he could."

Elizabeth reached over and took Annie's hand, clasping it between her own cool palms. "Have you forgiven him? Truly? I do not know what happened all those years ago that left you so bitter. You have never said more than that you married for love and then found out it was a lie. I do, however, have an imagination and it is often fairly accurate."

Annie glanced quickly at her friend and then away. Her cheeks heated with color. "Yes, I imagine you can guess. It is what most often tears marriages apart."

"I don't know that you are right about that. I've always thought that was indifference. It is much easier to drift apart when you don't care than when you want to make the other person hurt as you do. I find that when I am angered I rarely go farther than I can throw things. It is lucky Westhampton knows how to dodge."

Against her will, Annie found herself smiling. "He does seem rather fast on his feet."

"But that does not solve your problem. Have you talked to Hargrove about it."

Annie's smile faded. "No, in truth, I've avoided him. I don't feel ready to talk. I've opened myself up before and been wounded. I don't want it to happen again."

"Admitting that is the first step. Now, you just need to decide what you do want."

"I don't know – all I know is it seem so impossible.” Annie felt her eyes well with tears. Her emotions were all over the place.

"Well," Elizabeth patted her hand, "If it weren't impossible what would you want?"

"I'd want my husband the way he was when we first married, when it felt like we were a real family."

Not saying a word, Elizabeth patted her hand.

And suddenly Annie understood. "That's what Richard wants too – but do I trust him? Can I afford to?"

"Can you afford not to?” Elizabeth asked. "Of course, that doesn't mean you make it easy for him."

#

I wouldn't know.
Such a simple sentence, but it conveyed so much. Had he truly failed her that badly?

Richard stomped from the house. He should ride and let his emotions go with the wind, but it didn't seem like the answer. He'd thought of going back to play with Robert some more, but Nanny had announced it was time for dinner and bath. The activities sounded delightful, if frightening, to him but Nanny had made it very clear that he was not invited to attend.

It would be dusk soon, time for dinner. He'd hoped he'd have a chance to talk to Georgianna then, but with Lady Westhampton here that seemed unlikely. They would undoubtedly spend the meal talking about dresses and bonnets and he didn't know what else. What did ladies talk about? He'd never bothered to listen and find out. One more check against him in the great list of why his wife didn't want to spend time with him.

Could he learn to care about bonnets?

No.

But then, he never noticed women being interested in men who talked about bonnets – unless they were haberdashers. Women liked men who were men – men who talked of horses, and wars, and politics. Men who were powerful – powerful and rich. He had to admit that in his experience women liked having their bills paid.

But then, the women of his experience were not the same type of woman as his wife. He'd never really considered what wives wanted in a man.

Even as he had the thought he heard Georgianna's laugh fill the air, low and full of joy. When was the last time he heard her laugh like that? Had he ever?

His feet began to move toward the back of the house, toward Georgianna, but he stopped. She was happy. If he appeared would her happiness fade, would he have to acknowledge that he was the reason she seemed so sad?

Turning again, he walked to the stables. The elegant brick building set just around the turn of the house. Horses were simple. You fed them, gave them a field to run in, a warm box with straw and they were content.

Dogs were easy too. They loved you no matter what. You could run them through mud and leave them in the cold for hours and still they'd leap with joy at sound of your step.

Wives were another matter. It was impossible to know what made them happy.

Not that he'd really tried. Even in those early days he'd just done what he wanted and been pleasantly surprised at how much joy Georgianna took in each little gesture.

So was he prepared to try, to leave himself vulnerable? Did he want his wife back if that was the cost?

#

Dinner had been far easier than Annie had expected. For once Elizabeth had put herself out to be entertaining. The countess had regaled them with hilarious tales of her husband's adventures in the Andes and then further tales of how Westhampton refused to relearn London manners. He didn't understand why he should talk to a duchess any differently than he had a mountain village woman – and he also had no understanding that not everyone found discussions of the different varieties of corn fascinating. Elizabeth speculated that it was all a ruse and that her husband talked about agriculture whenever he found the company dull, that he took pride in being so boring that he could drive the other bores away.

Annie knew Elizabeth's husband only slightly, but if he managed to hold Elizabeth and make her love him, Annie was convinced that he could not in truth be dull in any manner. Elizabeth was not known for her patience.

But, now the evening had come to an end. Bending her head back, Annie let her maid release her hair from the combs that had held it up. With each stroke of the brush she felt herself relax, the muscles in her neck softening, her shoulders dropping. After a day of trying to look calm it was wonderful to let it all go, if even for a few minutes.

Tomorrow she would figure out what to do, how to handle her husband, whether to take Elizabeth's advice. For now she would think about her gardens, her friends, and her son.

She would not think about her husband, not think about the wonder of being held in his arms, not think about that moment during dinner when she'd caught his gaze settled upon her, when his eyes had dropped to her lips and held there. Not remember how her own glance had answered his, how she watched his tongue flick along that lean, lower lip, wondered how it feel against her own. She'd felt her breath caught, her breast rising against the thin muslin of her gown, she'd . . .

There was a tap at the door.

Who? Oh, there was really only one person it could be.

Pulling her robe night about her, she waved her maid away and turned, calling out for him to enter.

"I am not disturbing you, am I?" Richard asked.

What could she say to that?
Yes, of course, you are!
You disturb me when you're not here. How can I handle it when you're here, here in my bedchamber? "No. Come in."

Step by step Richard entered the room. He looked about as if he'd never been here – and perhaps he hadn't. She'd slept in his bed until their marriage had fallen apart. "I wanted to be sure that you were comfortable."

It was hard to hold back the comment that came to her mind. He wanted to be sure that she was comfortable? Now? He'd never made such an inquiry before.

"I am quite fine," she replied.

"Good.” He made no move to leave.

"Was there anything else?"

His eyes came to rest on the tie of her blue robe. They slowly moved up her body, lingering over her breasts, and pausing again at the bottom of her neck where her flesh must standout against the dark fabric. And then they swept up to her eyes. He held her gaze, lowered his glance to her lips, and then up again
,
a repeat of that forbidden moment during dinner. "I think we need to talk."

"Talk?" Was that why he was staring at her lips, because he wanted to talk?

"Yes, I meant what I said the other day."

"About beginning again?"

"Yes."

"You should know I cannot forget the past and doubt that I will ever be able to. You broke my heart once and I am not sure that I am free to give it again."

He took a step nearer, his gaze still focused on her mouth. "I do not ask you to."

"I believe that you mentioned forgetting the past.”

Another step. "I really only meant that we should try and take up our marriage again. I do want you as my wife."

"You've never acted as if you did."

"I was young and foolish."

"And this winter, when your brother died, when you took me to your bed and then sent me away?"

His gaze finally dropped to the floor. "Can you not accept that in my grief perhaps I was not rational? Or that perhaps I wanted to protect you?"

"Protect me? By sending me away?"

"I didn't want you caught up in all the fuss that was bound to follow Paul's death. I knew you wished to be back with Robert. I thought that I could join you in a few days and all would be fine. Perhaps I can see now that it was not the best of plans."

"You actually planned that – sending me away after . . ."

"No, I didn't mean it like that. I just . . ." His words trailed off.

"So why are you here?" Did she sound cold? She hadn't meant too, but wasn't sure she regretted it if she did.

Lifting his gaze back to hers, he stepped forward again. "I want to know what you want."

Want? She pulled back. Did he think she was going to welcome him to her bed after – he had better think again. "I want you to leave."

That stopped him. He did not turn to leave, but neither did he step forward again. "I can't."

"I believe you have legs. Use them.” Was that really her speaking? Annie didn't think she'd ever spoken to anyone in that tone before.