Pretty Persuasion (18 page)

"Who?" Georgie asked as she slathered butter on a piece of toast.

"Your parents."

Her hand jerked and she dropped her knife, the clatter of metal hitting glass sounding through the small breakfast room. Dread filled her chest, thickened in her throat. Oh, no, it couldn't be. It was too soon. She couldn't face them yet.

"I do hope you're not in earnest, Sheffield," said her brother from across the table. He and Hugo were their only company. Edward was still sleeping off last night's drunkenness, and Mr. Cameron and Anthony remained absent.

"I am, unfortunately. They appear to have felt compelled to make the journey out of concern for Georgie's health. We're to expect them the day after tomorrow."

Georgie's heart jumped into her throat. "You told me you had not written anything that would make them worry!"

He gave her a quelling look. "I said I
doubted
they would worry."

Richard muttered a curse, turning to Hugo. "Rouse Ash at once." Chairs scraped on the wooden floor as the two of them stood abruptly. Hugo excused himself and quit the room. As he put his napkin on the table, her brother said to Robert, "It appears our stay will be a short one."

"But you can't leave!" Georgie knew she sounded almost hysterical, but she couldn't help it. Despite his harsh words the day before, she knew Richard would stand by her side when she finally faced her parents. Or, at least, he'd do it if she tormented him enough, but she could hardly do so if he left Kingsworth altogether. "Why must you go?"

Her brother hesitated, seeming flustered, and Robert answered for him, drawling, "I suspect it is because Yorkshire is altogether too far away from Bath."

Richard flushed under Robert's hard stare, making two things obvious to Georgie: Richard could not completely ignore the fact that he was six years Robert's junior, and her brother and cousins had lied about their whereabouts.

Taking advantage of her knowledge, she shoved to her feet and announced, "You'll take me with you."

"They will do no such thing," Robert snapped, but Georgie ignored him. He and his arrogance could hang for all she cared.

Richard stood silent for a while, visibly regaining his composure. "I think, dear sister," he said, giving a thin smile, "that you ought to sit down before your spine gives out."

A burst of fury shot through her. She balled her napkin in her hand, wishing it were her brother's neck. "How can you accuse me of being a coward when you're the one who's running away?"

"I am not running away, for no one is chasing me. I have not been found out; you have. Now, pray excuse me."

Seething, she watched him leave. She had never felt so betrayed, so ill-used. Richard often behaved detestably towards her, but he had never left her to fend for herself when she truly needed his assistance.

"He's got a point," Robert mused, intruding upon her thoughts. When Georgie whirled, pinning him with her harshest glare, he said defensively, "It is not cowardly to do your damnedest to avoid detection, is it? But hiding from an inevitable confrontation could certainly be considered so."

Because he took Richard's side, and because, the devil take him, he was right, her fury rose to new heights. With a low growl, she grabbed the piece of toast from her plate and hurled it at him. He caught it against his chest, his arms moving reflexively.

He took in the stain of melted butter smeared across the front of his cream-colored, embroidered waistcoat, and his gaze rose to her in astonishment. Committing his expression to memory with a flicker of satisfaction, Georgie spun on her heel and stormed out of the room.

"Will I ever see the end of this Ennui? I no longer enjoy these house parties. Yorkshire is dull, and Kingsworth most cruelly disagrees with me. Louisa does not understand, but then, Louisa could find contentment on a Deserted Island. I wonder if the Rat is content on his island. I should hope not, except that might make him return to England, and I had rather he did not."

— From the diary of Lady Georgiana Montford, aged 15

GEORGIE SPENT THE afternoon lounging on a settee in the conservatory. Outside, rain poured from a sky covered by bleak clouds. Ashen light filtered through the tall casement windows, tinted darker still by the droplets of water trickling down their lengths.

Tucking her legs beneath her, Georgie sighed. Her sketchpad lay beside her, the paper white and untouched. Only one thought brightened the dreary day: her brother and cousins, having departed a few hours previously, would be caught on horseback in the rain. She, at least, was warm and dry.

Warm and dry and feeling as if she were awaiting execution. Her parents would arrive in two days, and she could do nothing but sit back and wait, plagued by anxiety and tedium.

How was she going to explain herself to them? Saying she had made a mistake and wished for their forgiveness seemed simple enough, but then what would happen? She'd be towed back to London, where, if she were spared ruination, they'd expect her to find a suitable husband. Somehow, she did not think her intention to spend her life traveling the world would alter her parents' expectations in that respect.

And she could wave a sound farewell to the small amount of freedom she had enjoyed; they'd make sure she was watched every second of every day. She could defy them, of course, but to what avail? She was confident that, once she got over the shock, her mother would accept Georgie's decision. But her father could still make her life exceedingly difficult.

It would not do. She had to think of a solution before her parents arrived. Releasing a sigh, she picked up her sketchpad and flipped the page, then stared down at the drawing she had done of Robert from memory the night before. She had yet to decide whether she was pleased with it or not.

Angry, male shouts carried through the walls, and she jumped when a door slammed with a resounding bang. The voices were muffled, but they could belong to no one but Robert and his brother. It surprised her, for apart from a lack of conversation, she had noticed no signs of them being at odds.

She ceased drawing as she heard murmurs somewhere nearby, and then footfalls coming from beyond the conservatory door. It opened with a creak, and Robert's wide-shouldered form appeared. His mouth was set in a thin line, his eyes dark with fury, and Georgie gripped the edge of her sketchpad, anticipating him transferring his anger to her.

But his countenance softened as his gaze fixed upon her, and as her pulse sped up, she realized that the sight of him not only excited her, but pleased her, too. She was obviously not simply bored but also desperate for company.

For
his
company, of all things. She wished it weren't so but could not deny it, even to herself.

He paused on the threshold. "Are you armed?"

"Armed?"

"With edibles," he replied dryly. "Or something equally lethal."

"Oh." Her cheeks burned as she recalled how she had turned her breakfast into a projectile. But he didn't seem angry—at least not about that—so she held up her hand and said, "Only a pencil."

"Well, that's a great deal less dangerous than toast." He stepped inside, shutting the door before crossing over to the chair next to the settee. "I am here to make sure my brother does not bother you. He's in a devil of a temper."

Ignoring the fluttery feeling his presence caused, Georgie threw him a puzzled look. "I hardly need protection from him."

"No, I'm sure you do not." Sighing, he leaned back in the chair, bringing his arm up to rub the back of his neck. "I suppose I merely need someone to unload my frustrations on."

"And you chose me," she said, begrudgingly flattered. She knew she should be annoyed, but try as she might, she could not help but be glad for his company. But why? The man was a deceitful, overbearing rat.

A deceitful, overbearing rat who listened to her. Who gave her his full attention and always seemed to watch her with keen interest, as if he were attempting to see beyond the face and body—and dowry!—that summed up the appeal she represented to the male sex in general.

A rat whose mere presence never failed to turn her thoughts in a carnal direction.

His lips pinched. "It'd hardly be Cameron. The two of them are getting along so well I'd be surprised if Tony doesn't have his sympathies."

Biting the inside of her cheek, she bent her head to hide her smile. He sounded like a boy whose best friend had found a new playmate.

"I wonder how long he has behaved like this," Robert mused darkly.

Georgie looked up, frowning. "Behaved how?"

"I'm not certain how to explain it. He acts as if I have somehow offended him. As if he
resents
me. I cannot make sense of it." He shut his eyes, letting out a harsh exhalation. "Unless he resents me for being the heir. He never seemed to before, but I suppose he has changed."

"He was only sixteen when you left. Of course he has changed." She couldn't think of anything else to say. How was she to know what went on in that churl's mind? She didn't much care what Anthony Balfour said or did, and she certainly didn't care to talk about him, except—

Except Robert was troubled by it. She saw it in the faraway look in his eyes, the taut lines at the corners of his mouth. So she made an effort, turning the question over in her mind. "Perhaps it's not you he resents. He could be troubled by something else entirely, and for whatever reason, he is taking it out on you."

"Perhaps. But I doubt it." Robert's forehead creased. "And then there's his thoughtless behavior of late. I am told he has become quite the profligate, keeping unsavory company."

Because she did not think Robert wanted confirmation of that rumor, which was the only response she possessed, Georgie kept her tongue.

His face darkened as he continued. "When I told him just a few minutes past that I am growing deuced tired of his ill temper, he said I should be happy to know I would not be troubled by it much longer. He seems convinced we are headed for a campaign on the Continent, and he is determined to be in the vanguard."

She sighed, absently drawing a spiral on the paper in her lap. "Well, he is a soldier. It is what soldiers do."

His expression contorted again. "But I suspect it is the glory that draws him, and nothing else. The fool obviously thinks it will be a grand adventure."

Again, Georgie could not bring herself to care too much. If Anthony wanted to go to war, far be it from her to object. The need to offer comfort overrode the urge to put the feeling into words, however. "Perhaps it will be, for him. And perhaps that is the reason behind his conduct. Impatience and restlessness."

Robert shook his head. "No good can come of his rushing headlong into battle. It is something he'll live to regret," he said, then added blackly, "if he lives at all."

Were they speaking of the same Anthony Balfour? "I don't see how you can be so certain of that. I'd think a military campaign should suit him perfectly. He was not pressed to purchase his commission, was he?"

"He was not. It was my father who needed persuading to provide the funds for it. I believe Tony entertained the notion that soldiering was in his blood since before he learned to read or write—or perhaps even before he could walk."

Georgie sighed. "Then why do you think he will regret it?"

"He is too young," Robert replied, his voice raising a notch. "He is blinded by desire for adventure. I cannot stand idly by and allow him to make such a mistake."

"You told him that?"

"I did."

"Then it's no wonder you quarreled." She considered him through narrowed eyes, wondering why he was being so difficult. It wasn't like him to speak such nonsense. "You are being illogical, Robert. It's—"

"Illogical!" He leaned forward in his chair, his face set in a mask of incredulity. "It is illogical to wish your brother would not repeat the same sort of mistake you made?"

Georgie blinked. "What do you mean? What sort of mistake?"

His face smoothed, and he fell back against the spine of his chair, giving her a cagey look beneath hooded lids. As seconds passed in silence, the uneasiness his words had sparked grew until she was fairly burning with curiosity—and foreboding.

"Robert?" she entreated softly. "What mistake did you make?"

He closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Going to Barbados, Georgie. That was my mistake."

For a while, she merely watched him, watched how he opened his eyes again but would not meet hers, how he seemed to shrink away from her even though he barely moved a muscle. Horrendous images flashed in her mind, spurred by tales told by the members of society who campaigned fervently for the abolition.

She had never really considered the reason Robert had gone to the West Indies, perhaps because she had not wanted to attach the term "slave owners" to the Sheffields. And for the first time, she wondered if her impression of him upon his return had reflected changes not merely physical. The coarseness might bespeak a hard-bitten soul, the brawn indicating strength of body grown from sheer necessity.

"Why do you call it a mistake?" she asked. "Surely you had some notion of the conditions that awaited you when you decided to go?"

He cracked a laugh devoid of humor. "Yes, I suspected it would not be a holiday." His face hardened. "However, I did not expect hell on earth."

As he continued, his voice sounded distant despite the precise articulation he put into each word. He explained his father's opinion on the slaves, arriving at last at his attempt to make the late earl sell the plantation.

"And he refused," Georgie guessed. She knew the matter of the slave trade had been a difficult part of her own father's friendship with the late earl. Her father favored the abolition—which Georgie considered one of his few redeeming qualities—while the earl's feelings on the subject had seemed rather nebulous.

"Yes." Resentment churned in Robert's gut as he recalled the numerous letters he had exchanged with his father. Each refusal had put another dent in the esteem Robert had for him. Although his father's death had left him with more regrets than bitterness, the memories brought back the same sense of betrayal—the betrayal of character.