The Proposal (34 page)

‘Will you get off cloud nine and come back down to earth,’ Clarissa said sternly. ‘Did you use a condom?’

Georgia shook her head.

‘Well, you’d better hope to hell there’s no patter of tiny feet coming along in nine months.’

‘Wouldn’t that be good?’

‘Are you completely naïve?’ snapped Clarissa. ‘Do you really think Lady Carlyle is going to let her son and heir marry
any
woman – and I would even include Princess Margaret in this – who is with child before the wedding? These people will do anything to avoid scandal, Georgie,
anything
.’

‘How do you know if you’re pregnant?’ asked Georgia after a moment.

‘You won’t know now, that’s for sure. Perhaps you’ll be lucky, and in the meantime I suggest you keep your knickers on.’

The girls stood in silence for a minute.

‘I should get back to the party,’ said Georgia finally. ‘Are you coming, or are you staying here for your dip?’

‘It looks pretty inviting, doesn’t it?’ said Clarissa as the water shimmered in front of them.

‘I dare you,’ grinned Georgia, the tension of their earlier conversation dispersing.

‘Do you think there are towels in the hut?’ asked Clarissa, pointing at a pale green summer house.

‘I don’t think the Carlyles want for anything,’ smiled Georgia as her cousin slipped off her dress and dived into the pool with a clean splash.

She came up for air and wiped her hair back off her face.

‘Go on then,’ she said, waving her hand at Georgia. ‘What are you still here for? Get back to the party!’

Georgia was still smiling as she walked across the quiet lawns. The party hadn’t sprawled out this far and the music and laughter were still a quiet hum in the background. She considered what Clarissa had said and knew that she had a point. Rich people didn’t get that way by accident; they got there because they were ambitious. Because they always wanted more. And now that the Carlyles had a son of marrying age, it was a chance for the family to become more, to merge with another great family perhaps or to gain a proper royal title. Georgia knew she didn’t add anything to the pot, except perhaps the prospect of children.

She touched her stomach and hoped she wasn’t pregnant. It felt selfish to even think it, but she wanted at least five years of married life with Edward before they settled down to having a family. She wasn’t even twenty, for goodness’ sake – there were so many things she wanted to do as a woman before she became a mother.

Glancing at her watch, she was amazed that it was past midnight and the party was slowly beginning to wind down. There were still at least two hundred people here, but the dancing in front of the band had definitely thinned.

Georgia found Uncle Peter leaning against a wall in the ballroom, his head nodding down to his chest.
Great
, she thought.
Just when I’m trying to keep the family out of trouble, my uncle chooses this night to go on a bender.

‘Uncle Peter?’ she said gently, and he jerked awake. ‘Wurr? Whassup?’ he slurred.

‘It’s Georgia.’

‘I can see that, old thing. I might be old, but I’m not senile just yet.’

‘I was just wondering if you’d like to have a seat for a moment?’

She took his arm and led him to a chair, propping him against a pillar.

‘Thanks, old girl, think I’ve overdone it a bit. I’ll be right as rain in a minute.’ And he promptly began to snore. Well, it was better than falling flat on his face, thought Georgia.

She turned as she heard her mother’s tinkling laugh coming from the library she had passed earlier. She quickly walked over – and stopped dead in the doorway.

Estella was sitting in a high-backed wing chair holding a glass of wine, directly across from none other than Lady Carlyle.
Oh God.

‘Darling!’ she called, lifting her glass as she spotted Georgia. ‘I’ve been searching for you everywhere. Come and join us.’

Her heart sinking, Georgia walked slowly across and perched on the edge of a sofa, feeling Lady Carlyle’s eyes on her all the way.

‘So this is the girl who appears to have won Edward’s heart,’ said the grand dame. ‘Well, I can see why; you are a pretty little thing, aren’t you?’

Georgia forced herself to look into the woman’s eyes.

‘But have you inherited anything else from your mother?’

‘I – I hope so,’ said Georgia, completely thrown.

‘Well said,’ smiled Lady Carlyle. ‘We could do with a few more children who wish to follow their parents’ example, who understand the importance of family.’

Georgia looked over at Estella, hoping for some sort of sign to explain this insane turn of events, but her mother just looked away and took a sip of her drink.

‘Your mother was just telling us about the tragedy at your house in Devon. Terribly shocking, I imagine.’

‘Yes, yes it was,’ said Georgia.

‘And I understand it began in your art studio, Mrs Hamilton? Most distressing. You must let us know if we can do anything to help. Tell me more about your work. Perhaps we have a friend who could loan you some studio space.’

Her mother’s eyes started to sparkle.

Oh no
, thought Georgia.
Don’t tell her about the abstracts, please don’t tell her about the abstracts.

‘It’s fine art, portraiture mostly. Some landscapes, but I feel my forte is in the human form.’

Perhaps sensing some sort of impropriety at the mention of the human body, Lady Carlyle pursed her lips.

‘Portraiture? Might I have seen anything?’

‘I have recently completed a commission for the Earl of Dartington.’

Lady Carlyle’s face broke into a smile.

‘Indeed? Oh, I know Hugo very well. Was it a family portrait?’

‘No, just Lady Linley actually. She sat in the Long Gallery, do you know it?’

‘Oh, very well. I have spent many a pleasant hour gazing out towards the Lizard. How is dear Abigail?’

Georgia watched in amazed silence as her mother and Edward’s began to bond, discussing the various country houses and London retreats of England’s gentry. Estella’s hitherto scandalous career being at the beck and call of wealthy men was instantly recast. Instead of a subversive bohemian, she was simply a well-connected and seemingly much-in-demand artist to the upper echelons of society, her familiarity with the bedrooms of various earls and lords no longer suspect or grubby. And Estella played her part brilliantly: self-deprecating, knowledgeable, witty, she was the perfect balance of well bred and interesting, the sort of artist it was safe to invite to dinner. Georgia sat quietly, offering up a prayer of thanks to whatever deity had seen fit to turn Estella Hamilton into Thomas Gainsborough for the night. Perhaps they might pull this off after all.

‘Well, I’m flabbergasted that Edward never informed me of your family’s artistic side, Georgia,’ said Lady Carlyle. ‘I had no idea your mother was so accomplished. Perhaps we could call upon your talents sometime soon, Mrs Hamilton? I have been meaning to commit my two boys to oil before they run off and start families of their own.’ She smiled over at Georgia. ‘I wonder if we might . . .’

Slowly the smile slipped from Lady Carlyle’s face, to be replaced by a look of disbelief, then horror.

‘Oh my word,’ she whispered, her hand flying to her throat.

Georgia turned and gasped. Standing in the doorway of the French windows that led to the gardens was Clarissa, her dress torn from one shoulder. There was a cut over her eye and scratches and dirt along one side of her face.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, then slid to the floor.

Suddenly the room exploded into pandemonium. Estella ran across to Clarissa’s side, crying for help, Lady Carlyle jumped to her feet and began calling for footmen and butlers, and Peter, Sybil and Lord Carlyle appeared from the other room demanding to know what had happened.

‘Will everyone please stop shouting?’ said Estella, her voice cutting through the hubbub. With Peter’s help she carried Clarissa to a sofa and a maid brought a blanket to drape over her bare legs.

‘What happened, darling?’ said Estella, kneeling down next to the girl.

Clarissa’s face was pale and she distractedly pushed a shaking hand through her hair. Georgia could see that her knuckles were scraped and her nails torn.

‘I – I don’t want to cause a fuss,’ she stuttered. ‘I’ll be all right in a moment.’

‘Tell your aunt, Clarissa,’ said Lady Carlyle with authority in her voice. ‘This is clearly a serious matter and we need to get to the bottom of it quickly.’

Clarissa looked up at her like a frightened rabbit, her eyes darting back and forth. The confident, unflappable girl from the walled garden had gone – she looked terrified.

‘Answer us!’ shouted Sybil. ‘Who did this to you?’

Estella silenced her with a glare, then turned back to the girl, gently touching her hand.

‘Who was it, darling? You can tell us.’

Georgia was shocked to see that Clarissa was looking directly at her.

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘But it was Edward. He came to the swimming pool and started touching me. I tried to push him away, but he forced me into the hut . . .’ She started to sob.

The room erupted again, and Georgia found she had added her own voice to the noise.

‘How dare you say such a wicked thing about him,’ she shouted. ‘Edward would never do any such thing.’ She stepped over to Clarissa, grabbing her wrist. ‘Take it back!’ she yelled. ‘Take it back!’

‘He raped me,’ roared Clarissa. ‘How can you stick up for him when he did that to me?’

Sybil looked as though she was about to faint.

‘We had better call the police,’ said Peter, his voice a low, menacing growl. Georgia had never seen him look more angry.

‘I think we should find out what’s gone on first,’ said Lord Carlyle. He was a commanding presence in the room, but as Georgia looked at him, she could tell that he was sick with worry.

‘Let’s call the doctor first,’ said Lady Carlyle, her voice barely audible.

Everyone agreed that that was the first thing to do.

Georgia could barely remember what had happened next. Everything was sucked up into a hole of accusation and disbelief. The rest of the party guests were quickly and discreetly escorted off the property in such a way that it was impossible for any of them to know anything of the true drama that was going on. Georgia ran around the grounds looking for Edward, but before she could find him, she spotted him being bundled into a distant wing of the house by some officious-looking gentlemen. Her mother relayed to her the version of events that Clarissa had told her parents and the Carlyles, and Georgia had sobbed all the way through it.

Apparently Clarissa had been in the walled garden, drying off from her swim, when Edward had come in looking for Georgia. Clarissa had been wrapped in a towel and he had come over to talk. He’d stroked her chin and told her she was beautiful. He’d asked her to drop the towel, and when she had refused, he had turned rough.

Georgia had screamed that it was all a lie. She had raced to find Clarissa, to plead with her to tell the truth, but she was being examined by two doctors – one who had been called by the Carlyles, the other by Peter Hamilton.

The final thing she remembered of the evening was hearing a car draw up to the front of the house and a familiar voice pierce the still night air.

‘Georgia, I did nothing,’ roared Edward as she ran to the window and watched him being pushed into a waiting car.

It was the last time she ever saw him.

28 December 2012

Amy’s cup of tea had gone cold. She gazed at Georgia in amazement as the old woman finished her tale.

‘What do you mean, it was the last time you ever saw him? Did he get put in jail?’

‘He was sent to Singapore almost immediately afterwards, like some hideous upper-crust version of transportation.’

Amy could see the old woman’s lip trembling as she told her what had happened next.

‘He contracted typhoid out there – I have no idea how, or why he didn’t respond to treatment. But he died within nine months of the party. They flew his body back to England. I only found out about his death after the funeral.’

She looked down at her hands.

‘I was nineteen years old and I had lost the love of my life.’

The simplicity of her words made Amy catch her breath. She stood up and went to sit beside Georgia, putting her hand gently over hers.

‘He was buried in the grounds of the village church close to Stapleford, their family home,’ said Georgia, looking up, her eyes glistening. ‘I go to see him every year. Not on his birthday or Christmas – I’ve always worried I might run into one of them, although I doubt they ever go.’

‘Who? I mean, who are you worried about running into?’ asked Amy.

‘Oh, Clarissa or Christopher. The Happy Couple.’ She smiled, but her face was stiff.

‘The Happy Couple?’ frowned Amy.

‘Oh, they were married, didn’t I say? My cousin and Edward’s brother. In fact, you could say that Clarissa got everything she wanted.’

Amy didn’t know what to think. It had been a horrible story, a terrible way to treat someone in your family – and she could certainly see why Georgia hadn’t wanted anything to do with the Hamilton or Carlyle clan after that. All the same, she wondered if her bitterness – and the passage of the years – had begun to cloud everything.