How to Marry a Rogue (29 page)

“Well, it’s there for you when you want it.” Jonathan said amiably, but a frown creased his brow.

“Besides, Georgiana,” Jack said, giving her hand a squeeze, “it might be nice to have a place to go when the blush of newly wedded bliss wears off and you are tired of me.”

Their laughter turned his words into a jest, but she couldn’t help but wonder if it was already the other way around.

Chapter Thirty

Georgiana stared in awe at the palatial residence that was Stoughton Park. Set back from the main road by several miles, it appeared suddenly when their carriage rounded a corner flanked by trees.

“This is where you grew up?”

Jack frowned. “Do not regard me with such surprise, Georgie. Did you think I lived in a stable?”

“Some sort of animal housing, yes.” She leaned out the window to take in the view. “It is breathtaking, Jack. Has Jonathan ever been here?”

“No. Actually, I have not lived here since the old codger sent me off to school. As you recall, I spent most of my holidays with your family at Fairwood Hall.” He squeezed her hand, which rested on her lap. She squeezed back and was mildly surprised but tremendously pleased when he continued to hold her hand all the way to the gate.

He tugged on his neckcloth, and she pulled his hand down to rearrange the knot. “Worry not. You look all the crack, Mr. Waverley,” she teased.

His face was grim, and she smoothed her hands over the front of his coat. As always, his impeccable garments belied the pugilist within. The shoulder seams of his black worsted coat strained against his broad shoulders, and his buckskin breeches looked as if they’d split at any sudden movement. “Jonathan’s valet nicked you just there.” She touched a spot on his jaw with the tip of her glove.

“I shall request he sack the old man.” He stared past her at the house, which loomed over them like a fortress.

“You’re clenching your jaw. Are you not pleased to be seeing your grandfather? When was the last time you spoke?”

“In person? When I left Cambridge. He shook my hand and gave me a note drawn on one hundred pounds and wished me luck.” His gaze remained on the passing scenery, but Georgiana wondered if his mind wandered elsewhere.

“I cannot believe he would treat his grandson that way.”

He shrugged. “There is nothing like being raised as a gentleman and then being forced to scrabble one’s way up into the world. My luck changed when he was unable to make the yearly journey to the
vignoble
and asked me to take it over. Of course,” he added bitterly, “I receive a set salary and am required to pay my own way across the Channel.”

“How did you manage on your own? I can’t imagine…” She shuddered.

He turned from the window. “Thank God for your brother. Lockewood came to see me in town and established me into rooms next to his at the Albany. I paid him back every penny, with interest.” He chucked her on the chin.

“Jonathan has always cared for you.”

His lips tightened for a moment. “More so in the past than recently, I’ll wager.”

“What do you mean?”

“He practically accused me of seducing you and turning your head.” One eyebrow lifted comically. “He overestimates my charms and power over susceptible young ladies.”

A hot blush flew up her throat and settled to just below her hairline. “Seduce?” She shook her head in dismay. “I never gave him reason to suspect something so base. When we spoke, I assured him of our mutual love and…and…” She gulped, flustered by the way he was looking at her. She gave herself a little shake. “Will your grandfather approve of me?” She tilted her head to the side and batted her eyelashes.

He tugged her earlobe from beneath her bonnet. “I approve of you, and that is good enough for me.”

This caused another blush, though she did not know why. Unsettled, she gazed out the window until they stopped before the massive entrance of Stoughton Park. Two footmen assisted them from the coach. Georgiana wished she could stretch her back and stiff legs but restrained herself. Jack glanced about the grounds and the house, scanning the windows—for what or whom, she did not know. She took his arm before he offered it. He cast a distracted smile, leading her inside while the footmen struggled with their trunks.

“It will be like him to make us wait,” he said in a low voice as they were shown into a parlor twice the size of Fairwood Hall’s largest drawing room.

Georgiana was almost afraid to walk around and explore the busts and other objects in the room. The house had none of Fairwood Hall’s homely charm and looked a bit like a museum—cold and empty. Jack seemed wedged in place by the fire, his hands clasped behind him. He’d thrown back his shoulders and held his chin high, but his left foot tapped a miniscule tattoo. No one had come to bring refreshment, and as Jack did not seem to expect anything forthcoming, she reconciled herself to a grumbling belly and dry mouth.

They stood in silence for several minutes. A few times, she’d wanted to say something, but the words died in her throat from the tension. She entertained herself by studying the portraits on the wall. One above the fireplace resembled Jack but the costume was from a different era.

“Is this your father?”

He nodded curtly.

“You look like him. He’s quite handsome. Is there a portrait of your mother?” She glanced around the room, but he shook his head, a frown on his lips.

“No, there is none of my mother in this house.”

Before she could question him, the door opened and a short, balding man of about sixty entered. His black coat was plain but well cut, and his waistcoat a muted dark gray silk. Ignoring Jack, he walked to Georgiana.

With a relieved smile, Georgiana removed her bonnet and handed it to him. “Thank you ever so much. May we have tea brought in? And perhaps some cake or sandwiches. Lord Waverley does seem to have kept us waiting.”

Jack cleared his throat while the old gentleman cocked a thick, white eyebrow. “Grandfather,” Jack said clearly, “I’d like you to meet my wife, the former Georgiana Lockewood. Georgiana, this is my grandfather.”

****

She had been to the theatre once and saw a play where a trapdoor in the stage floor opened up, swallowing an actor on his descent into the pits of hell. The Persian carpet in the drawing room did not look as if it contained any such device, so she contented herself to blushing furiously and gingerly taking back her bonnet.

She curtsied, hesitant to raise her eyes. When she did recover, however, it was to find the old man’s hand extended before her. She took it uncertainly, expecting him to kiss it, but instead, he turned her palm upward and ran his thumb across her hand.

“No callouses,” he remarked.

She pulled back as if burned. “Certainly not!”

Jack chuckled, but his face belied no trace of humor. “She is of good stock, Grandfather. I have not seduced a scullery maid. You could not have chosen better for me, even had I allowed it.”

Lord Waverley snorted, his gaze still appraising her until she knew how the horses in Tattersall’s felt.

“Lockewood, you say? The Derbyshire Lockewoods?”

She nodded uncertainly, unsure if there was another family of the same name with whom he might be acquainted. “My brother’s seat is at Fairwood Hall.”

He nodded, his expression betraying neither interest nor disregard. Still studying her, he said to Jack, “I trust the wedding was legal, with witnesses?”

Jack strode to a settee and sat with a purposely sloppy gesture. “Yes, sir. And it was signed with genuine ink, not blood. I did have to rouse the drunken minister a few times, but we got through it just right, didn’t we, darling?”

A dark flush shadowed his face. Georgiana gulped audibly. His temper was fearsome in any situation, but she had hoped the reunion with his grandfather would hold a little bit of cheer. She hastily sat beside him, moving his knee with a nudge of her leg.

“I have known Jack all my entire life, Grandfather Waverley. We fell in love….”

“What did you call me?”

She startled at the interruption but remained stalwart. Taking Jack’s clenched hand, she unfolded his fingers until he held hers. “Why, I called you Grandfather Waverley. Isn’t that what Jack calls you?”

A dry smile twisted his lips. “Yes, my dear. That is what Jack always calls me. Is it not, Jack?”

Jack was nearly immobile. She caught the scent of a fresh outbreak of sweat beneath his arms, and squeezed his fingers. Were it not for the vein bulging in his throat, she’d have thought him peaceful.

“Georgiana is as kind and genuine a lady either of us has ever met. If you continue to insult her….”

Lord Waverley raised his hands defensively. “I do no such thing. I was merely recalling the last name you called me.”

“Do you mean the name I shouted as you drove away in your shining new coach and six?” He had spoken so pleasantly and quietly Georgiana was almost convinced he was not angry. But not quite.

“Yes. The very one. Always the artist with your words.”

Before Jack could retort, the door opened and two servants arrived with a teacart. Georgiana poured the tea, as both men seemed more intent on staring each other down. She quickly thrust two plates of sandwiches and cake into their hands.

“He won’t eat it. It’s meant for us,” Jack said.

His grandfather smiled tightly and carefully placed his dish on the table beside him. “I never eat luncheon,” he admitted, then glanced at Jack. “Is she capable of entertaining herself while we speak?”

Jack bristled, but Georgiana smiled as prettily as she could. “Do you have a pianoforte in this fine house, Grandfather Waverley? I may entertain myself whilst you reacquaint yourself with your grandson.”

Lord Waverley opened his mouth and closed it just as quickly. He scowled, then shrugged. “It has not been touched in quite a while, though it is routinely tuned. You may suit yourself.”

Georgiana continued to smile at him, refusing to be brushed away. “Do you enjoy a particular piece, Grandfather? The sound will carry if I am close by.”

“I do not care what you play.” He puffed out his chest like a drawing of a penguin she’d once seen in a book. “Bach, then, if you have a firm hand. Otherwise, do not attempt him. You may play any of the silly tunes young misses are expected to know.”

“Georgiana has been taught by the finest masters…” Jack began, but Georgiana waved his words away with a quick motion.

“Bach, it is.” She rose gracefully from her seat and kissed Jack lightly on the lips. She then went to his grandfather. Before the old man could move, she kissed his pale cheek.

They watched her leave the room, and then his grandfather stared at him for a moment before taking an opposite chair.

“You always spoke out against marriage. I did not expect you would obey me so quickly.”

“I saw the folly of my ways. You only planted the seed of an idea.”

A servant entered the room with hardly a sound, bearing a tray with the dry, almost tasteless cheese sandwiches his grandfather preferred. Jack ignored the food on his own plate while the old man watched him.

“You’ve done very well for yourself, Jack. I’ve heard only good news from Gaston.”

“You sound surprised.” He sipped his tea, noticing Georgiana had sweetened it with just the right amount of sugar.

“I am not surprised.” He removed the top half of his bread and placed it on the plate, and then removed one slice of cheese. As long as Jack could remember, his grandfather had maintained the same routine. He didn’t know why the cook could not prepare a single slice of bread with a single slice of cheese but was not about to question it now.

“I expected you to go into the law, Jack. Your cousin, Wilfred, has done well in the superior courts. He could have found you a position had you tried just a little.”

“I did not want to turn into a dried up boor like Wilfred.” The assorted cakes and tarts looked delectable, but he couldn’t find any trace of an appetite. He placed his cup on the table and crossed his arms.

“You could have tried soldiering, Jack. Lord Nelson told me…”

“A bought commission. Yes, very noble.”

“It’s a far sight better than having your face rearranged! How many times have you broken your nose?”

“Twice, and I did not break it. It was broken for me.”

“Still the same, aren’t you boy? Quick-tongued and no respect for your elders.”

Jack pushed out of his chair, deciding to leave before things were said that could never be taken back. He’d waited nearly fifteen years to tell the old man exactly what he thought of him, but did not want to do it with Georgiana in the other room.

“That’s right, Jack. Run away. You always did, you know.”

“I was not aware a six-year-old boy could run away and place himself in school.”

“Sit down, sit down.”

“I’ve done what you asked, sir. I found a bride. A wealthy one, as it turns out. I have no use for your money, as you can plainly see…”

“It wasn’t about the money, damn you!” His grandfather’s eyes seemed to burn in his head. His thin lips, drawn into a thin line, trembled. “It was never about the money. If it were, I’d have given you everything I had the moment you reached your majority.”

“Then…”

“Sit.” He waved at the settee.

After a pause, he sat. His grandfather poured him another cup of tea. “No, thank you.”

Lord Waverley rose stiffly from his chair and opened a cabinet. He showed the decanter to Jack. “I suppose you’re old enough to have a drink with your grandfather?”

Vibrating with anger, Jack gave a curt nod. His grandfather poured two cups, and Jack noted the shaking hands, peppered here and there with brown spots. He walked to the cabinet and took the cups from him. Together, they walked back to their seats.

“You’re a damned fool, Jack.”

“A trait, no doubt, inherited on my father’s side.”

His grandfather snorted, and for a moment, Jack thought he was going to laugh.

“Where are you keeping your wife?”

“Sir?” Jack tried to maintain a calm demeanor, but every nerve fought against it.

“It was a simple enough question, even for a man whose brains are knocked about his head every night. Do you share the same abode, or are you conveniently established in your rooms in town while she must suffer gossiping tongues?”