Pretty Persuasion (35 page)

He suppressed a groan. A confrontation with Tony. Just what was needed to provide the final touch to a perfectly torturous day. Or rather, a torturous month.

"Of course not," he replied. "We were both taught to behave more honorably than that, weren't we?" Glancing sideways, Robert saw the corner of Tony's mouth tighten.

"There's a difference between remembering what one has been taught and using it."

Robert snorted. "So when you switched sides, you suddenly remembered and decided to use it?"

Tony's brows lowered. "I switched sides because you were allowing that upstart to beat you."

"The upstart you were supporting," Robert added pointedly.

His brother looked away at that. "It wasn't—"

"It
was.
You were his second only because his fight was with me. But then you started feeling guilty, and so you switched sides. Tell me, Tony, how great a portion of any given day would you say you spend feeling guilty?"

His brother threw him a cagey, sidewise look. "What do you mean?"

He was going to have to say it aloud. There was no way around it. He drew in a deep breath. "Your true feelings for Georgie. The real reason you oppose my marrying her. That is what I mean."

Tony said nothing for a long while, and the tension between them seemed to thicken like ivy tightening itself around a trellis. His brother finally spat a curse and said, "I know I've not been the most congenial of brothers. But damn it, you know I'd never—"

"Yes," Robert said quickly. "I know."

"It's complicated," Tony ground out.

Robert let out a humorless bark of laughter. Complicated? Surely that was the understatement of the century.

"I've tried to ignore her," his brother continued. "But it's impossible."

No, Georgie was not easily ignored. Her presence eclipsed all others, filling a man with the need to engage all his senses with the essence of her. The thought of her had been ever-constant in the back of his mind. He had been blinded by his desire to possess her, to revive a friendship that was obviously dead and buried.

A shudder racked through him. Tony and Cameron had been right all along: she had undone and unmanned him.

Tony opened his mouth, then shut it with a sigh. Another exhalation followed, this one louder and more urgent. And when he finally spoke, the words spilled out, as if a dam confining his emotions had been opened. "I resented that she was beyond my grasp, and I made her suffer for it. And you. It's not that I want her for myself. It's that, even if I did, I couldn't have her, because she was meant for you."

"So it's simply a matter of principle?" Robert asked with a puff of exasperation.

"No, damn you!" His brother's lips tightened, and he let out a frustrated sound. "Since you were born, you've had everything handed to you on a platter. The title, the lands, everyone's attention—and simply because you were born first. And you have the right to all of it. But then they gave you her as well."

Robert watched as Tony opened his mouth as if to continue and then shut it and turned away. It was just jealousy after all—simple, ugly, and understandable. That Georgie had become the crowning on the cake was not so surprising, either. She was beautiful, and as a duke's daughter with a sizable portion, a man could hardly make a more advantageous marriage. And Southwell had all but dropped her in Robert's lap.

He could only hope that if their roles were reversed, he would have managed to play the cards fate handed him in a more mature and dignified manner.

"Robert, I'm…" Still not looking at him, Tony sighed and ground, "Forgive me."

Robert remained silent, unsure of how to respond. When his brother finally turned his head, Robert simply gave a short nod and broke eye contact again. "Is this a truce, then?"

"If you will accept it."

"I will. But for God's sake, Tony, you must stop abusing her character in such a vocal manner. It does you no credit."

"I'll try."

"
Try?
" Robert pinned his brother with a hard stare.

Tony's hackles rose. "I can hardly avoid her altogether, and I'll have you know I was not always the aggressor."

Robert closed his eyes, shaking his head. He could well believe it. Once again, the absurdity of choosing her to share his peaceful life struck him full force. God, he was a bloody, damned fool.

"I didn't know you'd be gone so long." Tony spoke quickly, as if afraid the words would outrun him if he did not hurry.

It took Robert a moment to adjust to the change of topic. Though not at all sure he liked where the conversation was heading, he knew it had been a long time coming. "Neither did I."

"You shouldn't have left."

And didn't he know it. "Why do you say that?"

Tony shrugged. "Father shared your letters. At first. And when he stopped… It was not difficult to guess why."

Robert clenched his jaw against the familiar mix of bitterness and regret that twisted through him. "He wanted me to come home."

"Everyone did."

Including me.
The air between them ripened with unexpressed emotions. Robert cleared his tight throat, blinking away the threat of tears. He could suddenly feel every aching bone in his body, and he knew he was in a damnable shape. The last thing he needed was to break down and cry in front of his brother and the other men still milling about.

Tony was obviously fishing for details. And perhaps Robert would provide them some day, but right now, he couldn't stomach the thought of doing anything that required effort, be it physical or emotional. Deciding it was time to be off, Robert pushed to his feet, stifling a groan as his muscles protested.

Tony got up as well. "If you'll let me share your carriage home, I'll forgive you for giving up when you realized Rossemore was beating you."

Robert leveled a mock glare his brother's way. "And if you'll refrain from making such inane statements, I'll be happy to oblige. I won't even tell you I held back until the last moment out of sympathy for the bloody popinjay."

A combined scoff and chuckle came from Tony. Smiling despite himself, Robert threw an arm over Tony's shoulder and began shuffling his abused limbs toward the carriage. Damn, but he had missed his brother.

They had not completely bridged the gap, but it was a start and enough to fill Robert with a feeling of invincibility, as if he had climbed and conquered a mountain of obstacles. And it reinforced the feeling that abandoning his pursuit of Georgie was the right thing to do.

He had not lost her. No, instead he had won back a scrap of self-respect. And God knew he needed every last bit of it.

"BLAST," GEORGIE MUTTERED to herself. She tore the page from her sketchpad and balled it up, throwing it to the ground before the covered stone seat. Taking a deep breath, she focused on the lily of the valley and willed her hand to cooperate. She had tried to draw the tiny white flowers all morning with poor results, strengthening her suspicion that her artistic abilities were limited to conveying things that could move, laugh, and smile.

How miserable she would have been if her father had banished her to Astley Park. It would have left her with plenty of time and little opportunity to do anything but draw inanimate objects, and the irony of it seemed tantamount to mockery.

She stared blankly at the flowers in the shade of the drooping mulberry tree that stood in the center of the garden square. Restlessness had hummed constant within her during the two days since the boxing match, and today, she could scarce sit still for five minutes together. She was wound tight with the need to talk to Robert, and she hated that she had been too blind to see her true feelings earlier.

Her little expedition to Richmond Park had put her out of favor with her parents once again, despite all her abject apologies, and she'd found no opportunity or means to meet with Robert. But at least the delay had given her some time to think things over. There had been doubts, but she had produced them on purpose, trying them out for fit. And she always fell back on the same resolution: she would marry Robert Balfour. With her mother's words echoing in her mind, she knew now that this was what she really wanted. Oh, she still had other dreams, of course, and they still mattered. But not so much that she'd let them stand between her and the man she loved.

She could not wait much longer to speak to him. He ought to call at Southwell House soon; for the past month, he had done so at least three times a week. She wanted to talk to him now, to see him, to know that he was well, and to—

"Georgie!" a high-pitched voice cried, and she turned to see her mother rushing down the short steps from the house to the garden. "Georgie, dear, there's a letter for you. From Sheffield House!"

Georgie's heart jumped. The pencil fell from her hand. Breathe. She must breathe. It was from Robert. It had to be. But why? Even with all his attempts to court her, he had never written a letter.

Her mother reached the seat and held out the folded and sealed paper. Georgie set her sketchpad aside and accepted the letter with a quiet word of thanks.

It had her name on it, drawn in his even and confident hand. Back when they were still friends, he had written to her once from Oxford—she had asked him to do so, in her childish way, knowing he wouldn't refuse—and she'd read it again and again, memorizing each word, each turn of phrase. His superior penmanship had given her another item on the list of reasons why she loved him beyond distraction. She had had actually written it in her diary, that list. The memory drew a tiny smile and exasperated snort.

"Dearest?" her mother prodded gently. "Aren't you going to read it?"

Georgie looked and found her mother watching her with an expectant gleam in her eyes. "Yes, Mamma, I shall read it," she said with measured patience, then added a pointed, "but not aloud."

With a small grimace that revealed her reluctance, her mother began pacing around the garden square, allowing Georgie "privacy" by not walking within two feet of the stone seat again. Sighing, Georgie broke the seal, her hands shaking as she unfolded the letter and started reading.

Madam,—

After some reflection, I have concluded that I did you a disservice by relating my experiences on Barbados only in part. For well-founded, but no less selfish reasons, I did not reveal the whole truth, for which I hereby intend to make amends.

I neglected to tell you that there is a hierarchy among the slaves, where domestics rank higher than those in the fields. Among the house slaves, the master's mistress is second only to the housekeeper, and treated accordingly. There are those who actively pursue the position. I rebuff'd their advances, and this was another part of my behavior that set me apart from most of the other plantation owners, whose numerous natural offspring demonstrated a freer, and more intimate relationship with their female slaves.

Then I noticed Jenny. She was a housemaid, a mulatto; I perceived her to be about your age, perhaps a bit older. There was a natural sweetness about her, and in a moment of weakness, I allow'd myself to pretend that it was not pure self-interest that motivated her as she offer'd herself to me.

It is with great reluctance and shame I confess that, on one of my more miserable evenings, I succumb'd to this weakness. The isolation from my family and home, and the battle with my conscience, pressed more keenly upon me that night. Instead of spending it fighting off melancholy while listening to the whistling frogs chanting their chorus outside my bedchamber window, I took what solace I could find in Jenny's arms.

Oh, God. What was this? A confession? She hadn't known there was more to his history than what he had already told her, hadn't even suspected. Her insides knotted as she tried frantically to wipe away the mental images his words produced. Her vision blurred, and she saw him in Lady Ferrers arms again, and the sick feeling twisted through her, knife sharp. But it was not disgust. No, she had vowed honesty, and the truth was that she was jealous. Intensely and painfully jealous of the slave girl who had known Robert as intimately as she. It took a minute and several gulping breaths before she managed to continue reading.

She made it clear that she wanted to permanently occupy my bed, but I was too appall'd by what I had done to even be tempted to let it happen again. Less than a month later, news of my father's death reach'd the island. I knew I was expected to return to England immediately, but I also knew that once I left Barbados, I would never return. My hands were no longer tied by lack of authority, and I felt compelled to leave no loose ends.

Together with Cameron, I travell'd for months, going as far as Jamaica, but wherever we went and whomever we consulted, we received the same answer: at £200-300 per head, not counting annuities, freeing all of Elysium's slaves would amount to the impossible sum of £23,000.

The defeat of it tastes bitter still. The only way to ensure the slaves' better treatment was to remain on the island, a choice I would have made at the cost of my own sanity. I could countenance the thought of bearing the title 'slave owner' no longer. I sold the plantation at a highly reduced price to the most sympathetic fellow who offer'd.

We then return'd to Elysium to pack up and leave. I intended to give Chadwick his walking papers, and I had paid for Jenny's manumission, and bought her a house in Bridgetown.

I did not know that I had freed a slave who was already dead.

She had been with child—my child, she had claim'd loudly and clearly to anyone who would listen. During our absence, her condition had become visible, which could not have escaped Chadwick's notice.

Chadwick had heard news of the moves in parliament to abolish the slave trade, and he fear'd the effects of it and became obsess'd with ending the decrease in the slave population. He blamed the low birth rate on females deliberately ridding themselves of their unborn children, and grew determined to put an end to it.

When Jenny miscarried, he proclaim'd she had done it on purpose. It was a fool's assumption, for what slave girl would give up the advantage of carrying the master's child? Whether he truly believed she had caused it, or if he merely seized the opportunity to use her as revenge upon me, I was never certain, but he nevertheless declared an example must be made of her.