A minute later, the door opened once more to allow Charles Hartley to enter. In the light streaming in through the long windows, Georgiana studied her cousin as he crossed the room towards her. His appearance had improved considerably since last they had met. She suppressed a grin at the memory. He had been drunk. Now he was clearly quite sober. His clothes were not as elegant as those she had grown used to seeing, but were clean and, unless she much mistook the matter, new. His cravat was tied neatly, if not with flair. A great improvement over the stained and ill-fitting togs he had worn at the Place. He was neither tall nor short, neither corpulent nor lanky. Yet his figure was unimpressive compared to the other in her mind. His colouring was much paler and less vibrant than her own. Lank fair hair hung across pallid skin; pale reptilian eyes regarded her with little evidence of emotion. Repressing her instinctive shrinking, she extended her hand as he drew near. “Charles.”
As he took her hand and bowed over it, Charles was conscious that his little cousin had somehow changed. The young girl who had fled to her chamber to escape his lovemaking had grown even more lovely. And more confident. But she would never be a match for him. He smiled, struggling to keep his thoughts from showing. She had blossomed into a more delectable piece than he would have predicted. The figure outlined by the bronze silk dress she had worn at the ball was quite real, albeit now garbed in sober grey. Perhaps he would enjoy the role of her husband rather more than he had anticipated.
At his continued scrutiny, Georgiana allowed her brows to rise haughtily.
Recalled to his purpose, Charles assumed a serious face. “Georgiana, I’ve come to beg your pardon.”
Now Georgiana’s brows flew upwards in surprise.
Charles smiled tentatively and pressed his advantage. “For my boorish behaviour at the Place. I… Well—” he shrugged and smiled self-deprecatingly “—I was swept away with desire, my dear. I should have told you, of course, of the arrangements that had been made. But I had a hope you would love me for myself and it would not be necessary. I see now I should have explained it to you at the start. You see, my father and your father wanted us to marry.” At her instinctive recoil, Charles raised a placating hand. “Oh, at first I felt as you. You can imagine my dismay, a young man being told his marriage was already arranged. I ranted and raved, but in the end I agreed to do my duty to the family. So I waited for the day your father would send you home. As things fell out, he died before he had brought himself to tell you and send you away from him.” Pale eyes carefully scrutinised Georgiana’s face. “I can imagine how attached he was to you, and doubtless he sought to keep you by him for as long as possible.” Charles smiled meaningfully into Georgiana’s eyes. “I can understand his feelings.”
To his consternation, Charles could detect no response to his revelations, other than a slight widening of the huge hazel eyes.
“In the circumstances, you can imagine my surprise when I first saw you, first learned of your beauty.”
Another smile accompanied this piece of flattery, but evoked no hint of feminine preening.
Charles frowned. Was the child paying attention? He turned the frown to good effect as he continued, “I’m afraid my behaviour was rather wild. I can only ask you to excuse my excesses on the grounds of my incredible relief that, now you were finally here, everything was going to be all right.”
Still Georgiana gave no sign of reaction to his tale.
Mentally groping in the dark, Charles put on a humble face and asked, “Georgiana, can you possibly forgive me?”
At the start of her cousin’s tale, Georgiana had schooled her features to impassivity. As his story unfurled, she was thankful for the iron control, polished over the weeks of social gadding, that held her silent. She had no doubt that the existence of a long-standing, family-arranged betrothal between them was a fabrication. Her father had always shown particular concern for her eventual state. He had not expected to die suddenly, it was true. But that he had died forgetting to tell her she was formally betrothed was impossible. She resisted the impulse to laugh scornfully, and forced her voice to a cool and even tone. “I suggest your behaviour at the Place is best forgotten.”
At his too ready smile, she assumed her most regal manner and forged on. “However, as to this other matter you have raised, of us being betrothed, I’m afraid I must insist that such a betrothal never occurred. Certainly my father never told me of it. Nor were there any documents among his effects to support such a notion. I’m afraid, if your father led you to suppose there was an agreement, then he misled you.”
Charles’s frown was quite genuine. So much for that idea. He would have to try his second string. He turned slightly and moved away from his cousin, taking a few steps away, then pacing back. His features obediently fell into a look of downcast dismay. He looked straight at Georgiana, an expression of wordless misery on his face. Then he gestured eloquently and turned aside. “Georgiana. My dear, what can I say to convince you?”
If she had not been so sensitive on the subject, Georgiana would have found his histrionics quite entertaining. As it was, she felt no inclination to smile, let alone laugh.
From the corner of his eye, Charles watched her stony countenance. Intuition told him an avowal of love would fall on barren soil. Instead, he o
pted for a more avuncular line. “I would do everything possible to make you happy. Your father’s death has left you alone in the world. Please, I beg you, allow me to take on the task of caring for you.”
Georgiana barely managed to keep from laughing in his face. He, to talk of caring for her! He had threatened her—more than threatened her—and under his own roof! She could manage quite well, she felt, without his sort of protection. With perfect composure she replied, “Please say no more. My mind is quite unalterable on this point. I will not marry you, Charles.”
Yet another proposal, she thought with a wry inward grin. Even less welcome than the others.
Charles sighed dramatically and turned so she could no longer see his face. All in all, he was just as well suited with her decision. It was hardly a great surprise. At least now he had a clear path to follow. After a pained moment, he turned back to her and smiled bravely. “I knew it was no use. But, you see, I felt I had to try. If I could just ask that we remain friends?”
Georgiana blinked. Friends? Well, it couldn’t hurt to make that concession. It meant so little. She smiled gently, somewhat relieved that the episode seemed set to conclude on a much more reasonable note than she had anticipated. She held out her hand, a friendly enough gesture, but still a clear dismissal. “Friends, then, if you wish it.”
Charles took her hand and bowed over it. As he straightened, his face cleared as if reminded of a pleasant event. “Ah, I nearly forgot.” His eyes sought Georgiana’s. “Those paintings you were looking for. At the Place.”
Georgiana’s heart leapt.
Sensing her response, Charles inwardly smirked. So much for her impenetrable shell.
“Yes?” Georgiana prompted, not bothering to conceal her eagerness.
Charles smiled. “I don’t want to get your hopes up, but the Pringates were clearing out the attics when I left. They sent me a message two days ago that they had found some pictures, among other things. I wrote back to ask who had painted them. If they are the ones you seek…” He let his voice trail away.
Breathlessly Georgiana seized the proffered moment to issue the invitation Charles was angling for. “You’ll let me know at once? Please, Charles?”
Genuinely pleased, he allowed his smile to broaden. “I’ll let you know at once.”
Deeming it wise to leave well enough alone, he merely bowed over her hand and smiled encouragingly as she crossed to the bell-pull to summon the butler.