Damn it all!
He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to ward off the headache he could feel coming on.
Damn. Damn. Damn.
George stormed back into the house and up to her room. What the hell did he think he was doing? Damn him! He’d shaken up her life badly enough, and now he had the gall to show up and demand she live up to a bargain he’d forced her into under duress.
A bargain which dishonoured them both.
She’d never taken a lover who was married or promised elsewhere, and she never would. Not knowingly.
She tossed her hat and redingote onto the bed and flung herself into the window seat, staring out across the south lawn, watching the slowly falling snow. The muffled countryside was beautiful. Quiet and deserted.
She pulled the pins from her hair and shook it out, rubbing the tingles from her scalp as her hair settled around her shoulders.
The problem was, she’d kissed him back. That, just for a moment, was all she could think about. And whether or not it would have been safe to push him down onto a tack box and climb on top of him.
Annoyed with herself, with Dauntry, with life in general, she pulled a blanket from the bed, and spent the afternoon curled up under it reading. She didn’t go down for luncheon, or answer her door when a knock sounded, loud and peremptory.
She wasn’t interested in seeing anyone right now. Not Gabriel, not Alençon, not her father-in-law, and certainly not Dauntry.
All she wanted was a quiet afternoon, undisturbed. And if for large parts of the day the book remained open to the same page while she stared out the window and tried to think about something other than her unfulfilled bargain, well, only she was aware that that was how she had employed her afternoon. If anyone asked she’d simply say she was catching up on her correspondence.
She was still in her carriage dress, curled up in the window seat, cold but unwilling to move, when her maid arrived to help her dress for dinner. Ellen didn’t say a word, but George could tell she was concerned by the way she fussed and fidgeted, laying out her gown with agitated motions.
George forced herself up and waved away the gown, choosing an informal caraco and petticoats instead. She hurried across the house to the wing that contained the countess’s rooms, her every step muffled by a never-ending series of carpets, overseen by the eyes of ancestors dating back to the reign of Henry VII.
She caught her mother-in-law just as the countess was leaving her room. ‘I’m going to eat with the children tonight, if you don’t mind. Apparently there’s some sort of trouble brewing between the younger ones. Hay was telling me all about it this morning, and I think it might be best if one of us gave a look in.’
Lady Glendower gave her a curious look but didn’t inquire if she had some other motivation for avoiding the rest of the guests. ‘You’re still planning on going to Leicester with Bennett tomorrow?’
‘Yes, Mama. Bennett and I shall execute all your orders to the letter.’
When George entered the nursery, Hayden was nowhere to be seen. The absence of the most volatile of the nursery’s ranks sent a chill through her. Hay was capable of the most startling and amazing things if left to his own devices.
Miss Nutley’s wan smile left George with little doubt that things had spiralled out of control. Simone’s governess was one of the most capable women George had ever encountered. If she was looking harassed, things were every bit as bad as Hay had said they were.
The middle Tilehurst girl, Caroline, was openly resentful of her eldest sister’s inclusion with the adults, and with her own interment with the children. She bossed them around, flouted Miss Nutley’s gentle rule, and took out her displeasure on them all.
‘I’ve come to dine with the children, and to solicit their help with the upcoming Christmas festivities.’
Excited chatter broke out among the children. Miss Nutley’s smile softened, her eyes clearly communicating her understanding of the visit.
As they were taking their seats for dinner, Hayden slipped in, face alight with mischief. George groaned silently. He’d clearly committed some act of devilment, and was quite pleased with himself.
He took in George’s presence with a slight gulp, and a look of wide-eyed innocence. His most guilty expression. George recognized it immediately. A smile twisted up one corner of her mouth. That was the problem: Hay at his most outrageous was also Hay at his most charming and adorable.
As he slid into his seat, Hay shot a glance to his older brother and then to Simone, who giggled. Whatever he’d done, they’d all been in on it.
Dinner progressed amicably enough. All the children were caught up in George’s entertainment schemes for the annual Christmas fête. Even Caroline seemed mollified by having her ideas listened to, her opinions solicited.
The Glendowers’ annual Christmas fête and public day was one of the biggest events on the local social calendar. All of the local gentry would be present, as well as the villagers and the tenants of the Glendowers’ estate. There would be food, music, and games.
The earl would host various sporting contests for the gentlemen. The countess and dowager countess would sponsor some sort of cooking contest: apple pie, gingerbread, plum pudding. It changed every year. The main ingredients would already have been delivered to all the participating households. Judges’ slots would be awarded to the gentlemen as prizes and by lottery.
At the end of the day, the Glendowers would hand out presents to the assembled guests. Expensive baubles for the gentry, more practical things for the villagers and tenants. George had spent the last few afternoons closeted with her father-in-law going over the lists: who had a baby in the last year; who had married; who had died. Most of the gifts had already been purchased, and a
