An Elegant Façade (Hawthorne House Book #2) (29 page)

Harriette’s sacrifice had been for nothing.

The sun peeped around the edge of the curtain, slashing across the room to light up the clock on the mantel. Harriette would arrive soon. She would bring hot chocolate.

But it wouldn’t be enough.

Georgina wasn’t sure she had the strength to start over.

Colin stopped his horse in front of the stable and considered sending the beast barreling over the countryside again. His morning ride had cleared his head—or so he’d thought before he returned to find a blond vision in white strolling through the back gardens of Marshington Abbey.

“May I take your horse, sir?”

Colin glanced at the groom, waiting with his hand hooked in the horse’s bridle. So much for escaping again. Not that another excursion would be fair to the animal.

With a nod to the groom and a final pat on the horse’s neck, Colin dismounted and walked away. He rounded a stack of wood being used in the revamping of the stable area. Ryland and Miranda had truly taken hold of the Abbey, doing their best to make up for the years of neglect. Everywhere he turned there was evidence of renewal.

He crossed the wide expanse of lawn, his eyes never leaving the figure in white. Should he explain? She should know that her secret was vulnerable, that he’d only bought her a window of time. But he didn’t know how to say it, didn’t know how to make her understand why.

The gravel crunched under his boots as he entered the garden
path. Unless she’d become afflicted with deafness as well, she knew he was there.

Yet she didn’t turn. She sat on a bench, her pencil flying over her sketchbook, transferring the pink-and-purple plant in front of her to shades of white, black, and grey.

Colin started to walk past her as if they were nothing but dancers passing each other on the ballroom floor. But as the aroma of lemons blended with the floral fragrances in the garden, he found his feet refused to move.

Curiosity, that burning desire to know everything and figure everyone out, dug its claws into his mind and refused to let go. Where was his undying patience? The skill he’d used to wait out more than one unsure situation?

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

She peeked at him over her shoulder, one delicate eyebrow winging upward while her green eyes widened and one side of her lips curved upward. The perfect blend of coy and innocent. Was there any situation she had not prepared a persona for?

“I’m drawing.”

He grunted. “Why that one?”

“I beg your pardon?” She looked up, a hint of real confusion in her face.

It was enough to spur him on. Even as he told himself not to care, he clung to the idea that he could break through her façade, even if only temporarily. “Why choose to draw that plant?” He pointed to a bush of brilliant white roses. Clean, elegant. Like her. “Why not those?”

She frowned at the two plants. “This one has more interesting lines.”

He watched her draw. Perhaps it would be easier to speak to the back of her head. “He knows.”

Her hand paused. “I thought as much.”

“He was going to threaten Riverton, reveal your secret unless Crestwood became part of your dowry.”

Her pencil moved once more, adding shadow beneath a bloom.
It seemed to rise from the page until Colin was sure he could pluck the bloom and tuck it into her hair.

“You’re very good.”

She was quiet for so long he thought he’d been dismissed. Whatever had possessed him to think a conversation could work? Whatever sort of friendship they’d been building, he’d crushed it when he drove her suitor away, the man she pinned her hopes of salvation on.

“Thank you.”

The whispered comment stopped him mid-turn. His back was to her, but he knew she still sketched, the scratch of the pencil blending with the call of distant birds. “You’re welcome.”

“For everything.”

Colin’s breath hissed between his teeth. What was she saying? He started to turn back toward her.

“No, don’t turn around.” The words tumbled from her mouth in a rush.

He froze once more. Would he ever make the correct move where this woman was concerned?

“Did it cost you much?”

Spearing his hands into his hair, he tried to dispel his frustration. What was the fool woman talking about now? “What?”

“Getting the man to move to Glasgow. Did it cost you much?”

Had it cost him much? He swallowed, remembering Erika standing on the docks, the wind plucking her red hair out of its braid and toying with the strands like a child with a handful of ribbons. It was a picture many a painter would have loved to capture. She could have been his wife.

He thought of his mother and sister, waiting to see if this job would bring him home. Would they be angry that he’d given it away?

Yes, it had cost him. But it was his sacrifice to make, not her guilt to bear. “The enticement of the coast was enough for him to take a job I knew of. I might have added a bonus to hasten his departure.”

There was silence for a while. Should he turn back toward her? Continue on to the house?

“I wanted to be angry at you, was angry at you for a long time last night.”

Colin swallowed. “What changed?”

“I was reminded that even when I don’t like you much, you’ve never shown yourself to be lacking in honor. You at least try to do the right thing.”

He couldn’t bear it anymore and turned to find her looking over her shoulder at him. Her green eyes were soft, and a little smile played at the corner of her lips, as if a fond memory were dancing on the fringes of her mind.

He couldn’t help but smile back. “Who told you such a thing?”

She blinked up at him. “You did.”

“I . . . but I haven’t spoken to you in days.”

Her laugh, colored by a self-deprecating nervousness, washed over him. He loved it when she was real. When her actions were real, her emotions uncovered. “You’re in my head. Didn’t you know that?”

“I’m in your head.” His tone was flat, even to his own ears. What on earth was she talking about?

“Oh, yes. Quite firmly. I’ve tried to kick you out.” She held up a hand, counting off the ways she’d tried to dispose of him. “Thrown you out of windows, locked you in the closet. Even imagined stabbing you with a fork once or twice, but you keep coming back. I’ve grown used to it.”

“To me.”

“Yes.”

“You imagine that you’re talking to me.”

She cut her eyes in exasperation before turning back to her drawing. “Yes. Though I have to say the you in my head is never quite this slow.”

He needed a seat. Or a bed. Perhaps he would simply lie down in the grass. “You’re telling me that when you think through things, you pretend you’re talking me?”

She sighed. “Yes.”

A few moments passed, and he got over the shock of the idea. “How accurate is he?”

The pencil scratching stopped. “I beg your pardon?”

“Does he actually speak like me?” Colin eased onto the bench next to her, curiosity blooming out of his shock. He’d never been the voice of someone’s conscience before. At least not someone else’s conscience.

“Let’s test it, shall we?” She angled her body toward his until their knees were touching on the bench. “I’ve realized that in the past few years I’ve grown distant from my family.”

She lifted her eyebrows at him. Was he supposed to respond? Just tell her what he thought she should do?

“Well . . . I think you have a great opportunity to renew that relationship here. You’re safe at the Abbey with no one but family. You wouldn’t have to try to protect yourself. You know I think you should tell them.”

He braced himself for the ire that usually came his way when he mentioned revealing her struggle.

Instead, she smiled at him and leaned forward to pluck a flower from the bush. “Very good.”

The bud twirled in her fingers as she spun the stem and ran her thumb along the edges of the petals. “I’ll be ruined, tossed aside like Lavinia, if my secret comes out.”

Colin shook his head. “By some, perhaps, but Lavinia possesses neither your rank nor your position. You’ve enough poise and family support to weather the repercussions well enough.”

That was true to an extent. She would be relegated to the edges of society, and every poetry reading or impromptu play would renew the cutting remarks of those who wished her harm or found pleasure in the dismay of others.

“Hmmm. Until someone had a poetry reading or wanted to put on a play and the cutting remarks started again.”

Her words were so very close to his own thoughts it was scary.

She fiddled with the petals, easing the flower open. “What do you think of Harriette?”

“She must be brilliant.” Truly she had to be to aid Georgina as much as she did. “You should make the woman your housekeeper or something. Her talents must go further than a mere lady’s maid.”

“The merits of the newspaper?”

That was something she’d pretended to talk to him about? “A good source of information on a large variety of things, but nothing beats discovering the information yourself. Especially about society.”

“The war.”

“I hope we win it.”

“My morning mug of chocolate?”

What went on in that head of hers? “I don’t quite understand it. Coffee is more invigorating, and tea is more soothing.”

“The fact that I dread going in to church every Sunday because I fear God will strike me down for daring to show my face after He clearly marked me as someone who is less than worthy.”

Air hissed through Colin’s teeth. She didn’t think that. She couldn’t think that. “You can’t be serious.”

She handed him the flower. Colin took it without thinking. “Yes. I believe the little man in my head is fairly accurate at guessing what you will say. Though I did expect a bit more scoffing at my morning chocolate.”

The polite smile, the shell he hated so very much, slid over her face. “Did you have a nice ride?”

Did he have a nice ride? The fool woman kicked him like an irate horse with the fact that she thought God hated her and she wanted to talk about his ride? He forced the words out from his muddled brain. “It was quite pleasant.”

“Excellent. I was thinking earlier about your suggestion of Eversly. If I’m going to consider a viscount, I think Cottingsworth might be a better choice. I had begun to wonder with Ashcombe if his popularity would last once he was no longer one of the most eligible bachelors of the
ton
. I fear the same of Eversly.”

Colin’s brain hurt from the sudden shift in demeanor, the altered conversation from unpardonably personal to the absurd bordering on inappropriate. She was returning to her practiced persona.
What happened to the girl who mere moments ago was lamenting that she had grown away from her family? That she wanted to take her time here at the Abbey to let her guard down? The girl who’d revealed such a stunning misconception of God?

Even considering the fact that the topic of conversation was very personal, there was little of her in it beyond the superficial. Colin knew he could mention anything about one of the men in question and she would reply with facts about their worth as a suitor. Nothing would scratch below the surface appearance of a young girl obsessed with achieving a good marriage.

Never mind the fact that a marriage based on such a thing would crush what little of her soul remained unscathed by her own efforts to pound it into submission.

Nothing was worth this turmoil. When he saw Georgina, the real Georgina, he was very much afraid that he liked her. Possibly more than he should. To see her gain the light of day only to be shoved back into her perfect cage was killing him.

He looked from the flower in his hand to the drawing on her pad. They were the same flower, but only one was real. The fake one looked real. So real that he would probably imagine the softness of the petals if he were to reach out and stroke the paper. But it was colorless. A mere image of the real thing. It wouldn’t spin in his hand, taking on new life with every angle. It wouldn’t have the aroma or texture of the real thing.

But it also wouldn’t break. Considering the bloom in his hand, he took one bright petal between his fingers and broke it. A sharp, stinging waft of sour, hot odor hit his nose from the crushed petal. If he did the same to the drawing, it would do nothing but mar the paper.

The drawing was beautiful, requiring a skill that few possessed. But he much preferred the bloom in his hand, even with the damaged petal.

He reached over and tucked the bloom into Georgina’s hair. “I believe your sister is in the upstairs parlor. Perhaps now would be a good time to try your new habits.”

She pressed the sketchbook to her chest. “Yes. I suppose so.”

Her body remained on the bench for several moments until he couldn’t stand it anymore. He couldn’t deal with the colorless, flat Georgina, not when he knew the vibrant and real one existed.

He pushed up from the bench and began walking along the path toward the house. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

Ryland wouldn’t let him get by with skipping another meal now that there was company in the house. So, yes, he would see her at dinner, but he’d avoid her as much as possible the rest of the time. And as soon as he figured out somewhere to go, he’d leave.

He cast one more look at her before he went into the house, her slumped shoulders urging him to retrace his steps back to her side.

Who was he fooling? He wasn’t leaving this house until she did. She was quickly becoming his weakness. The thing he’d rashly sacrifice for in order to save. He still didn’t know, might never know, what his father had been trying to save when he put his company up as a bid that long ago night. But if his motivation was anything like what Colin felt when he looked at Georgina, it was a wonder Colin didn’t own the entire company.