Fates for Apate (15 page)

In less than an hour of arriving at Robert's house she was departing in her hired carriage. She hadn't seen Robert again after he disappeared with the letter. Her side raged with all the white hot pain that could be expected of a hastily mended pistol wound. She didn't know where her husband was, and noticed that his satchel was missing from the carriage. All in all, she'd had better days.

Sabre had best appreciate this. 

George made it through the wedding breakfast. Upon discovering that her family was not in Town, she accepted Jack's invitation to stay at the Harrington townhouse. Once her luggage was unloaded she was able to finally turn loose the carriage that had brought them from Dover. She'd gone over the interior with an exacting eye to ensure they hadn't left anything behind. Lost anything. As the carriage rolled out of sight she realized she had absolutely nothing of Casimir. He'd given her no ring, no tokens. Even if he wanted to find her, she doubted that he would be able to. The carriage had been the last thing they'd shared. The only thing he might recognize if he hunted London for her. And now that carriage was mostly likely picking up new passengers to make the journey back to Dover.

She saw Jack watching her, concerned. The last thing George wanted was her friend fussing over her. But Jack threaded her arm through George's and gently pulled her toward the stairs. "You seem to need some rest. Let me show you the lovely room you'll be staying in. They call it the blue room, but the bed hangings are almost the exact shade of the harebells you liked to collect back home."

Jack didn't fuss or linger. George was too grateful to question the reprieve from well-intentioned concern. She simply stripped down to her chemise and buried herself under the harebell-colored bedclothes. If she cried herself into an exhausted sleep, that was no one's business but her own.

* * *

Jack briefly knocked on her husband's study door before entering. He looked up from the letter he was writing and set his pen aside.

"I'm worried about George," she said.

"Did you find out why she was bleeding?"

Jack shook her head. Gideon pushed his chair back from the desk and held his arms open, encouraging her to come sit in his lap as she often did. She settled in with her head tucked under his chin, his hand resting on the slight bump of her pregnant belly. She had Gideon. Sabre had Quince. Who did George have? Wry, complicated George. George, who had seemed less and less herself as the day had worn on.

Gideon asked, "Do you want me to go talk to Robert to find out what happened?"

Jack bit her lip but finally said, "No. She'll tell me what, if anything, she wants to tomorrow. She doesn't like it if I pry."

"Robert took her away and then never returned to his own sister's wedding celebration. That's quite odd behavior, if you ask me."

Jack nodded. "But neither of them will thank us if we try to help."

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-
E
IGHT

George awoke feeling better rested. Her side still burned like fiery hell. She still had no husband. But she would once again be able to act as though those things didn't matter. She had spent so much time in her life acting as though things didn't matter, what was one more day? One more week? She washed, dressed, and went downstairs to begin the pretending.

When she asked after her hostess, the butler took her to a morning room where she found Jack poring over fashion plates. Jack with an interest in fashion? Intriguing.

"Good morning, George!" her friend said brightly. Perhaps too brightly. "Have you breakfasted yet?"

"No." George lowered herself carefully into a seat.

"I'll have Dibbs bring in some tea. And there are pastries that even you won't be able to decline." Jack rang for the servants and set to tidying the table in preparation for the arrival of the mid-morning repast. Such a mother hen, and marriage seemed to have made her worse.

In what she knew was her own classic behavior, George asked baldly, "How is marriage treating you?"

Jack stopped dead, as though she had been bodily threatened instead of asked a simple question. "Well, I think. I suppose. It's been an adjustment."

George wasn't sure she'd ever heard such a vague answer from her friend. "Marriage is treating you
well
? Is marriage a distant cousin you haven't seen in some time? Really, Jack. Certainly you have a better answer than marriage is treating you
well
."

"Have you talked to Sabre?"

George threw her arms in the air. "When would I have talked to Sabre? Especially about your marriage?"

"Well, I wasn't sure if she might have written or..." Jack trailed off, biting her bottom lip.

"What difference would it have made anyway?"

"She doesn't like Gideon. Or, well, that's not exactly true. She doesn't approve of our relationship."

Jack looked miserable. Sweet, defiant Jacqueline. "And you assume I'll be the same way?" George asked.

Her friend took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders, finally showing the resilience that George expected. "It stands to reason."

George shrugged, even though the motion made her side burn all the worse. "I barely know the man. I don't know the duke either." She leaned forward and said conspiratorially. "Shall we gang up on Sabre and disapprove of her husband?"

Finally Jack laughed easily. "Of course not! I adore Quince."

"Oh?" George said, her eyebrows rising. "It's Quince, is it?"

"Yes, it's Quince. I've known him longer than Sabre has, actually."

"How long was I gone? You make me feel like it must have been ages!"

"It
has
been ages! I've known Quince since February."

George knew that she had been quiet too long, but she couldn't bring herself to speak and keep the conversation at a pace of friendly banter. She had been gone for a long time. It had been a time out of time for her. She hadn't realized it then, but now she could see that being at the Congress of Vienna had felt like a game. An idyll from her normal life. It was odd to think that time had passed here in London as well. That Jack and Sabre had met their husbands. That so much living had occurred while she wasn't even aware. It made her feel off-balance.

Jack finally broke the silence. "I'm sorry that you missed so much."

It worried George that her disappointment was easy to read. Perhaps the pain and emotional conflict of the last day made her weaker than she had realized. "Consider the wonderful adventure I have ahead of me now, uncovering the mystery of all that transpired in my absence."

The worry in Jack's expression eased a bit. "You did always love a mystery." She sat back, a playful smile on her lips. "In fact, this could be great fun. We will play a little game where you can guess at what everyone's been doing in your absence."

"Do I win a prize?"

"Of course! What boon would you prefer?"

George mulled it over. "Hmm. First, the grand prize. If I guess everything absolutely correctly... you will have to kiss Lord Lucifer."

Jack sat up and blushed bright red. Blushed, searched George's gaze, but did not demur. "All right."

Interesting. Had marriage made Jack less of a prude? Or was she that desperate to humor her friend? The friend that had missed her wedding. The friend who was lying to her even now,  if only by not admitting what she had been up to in those intervening months. But first, the game. "How many things will you have me guess at?"

"Perhaps ten?"

"Very well. If I guess at least seven correctly then my boon should be a new dress. You're a countess now, you can afford to indulge your friends in such a way." Warming to her rules, she began ticking them off her fingers. "At least five correct answers earns me an indulgent turn about the portrait gallery of the museum. And you must act as though you really want to be there, none of that vapid staring off into space. With no less than three correct answers I have earned the right to dictate the dinner menu one night that I am here. And with only one correct answer you will still buy me a pot of tea at Twinings the next time we go. Agreed?"

"Agreed," Jack answered firmly.

And so they passed an agreeable morning, sipping tea, eating biscuits, and catching George up on the news from their circles. Reaching the last question of the game, George had been right six times thus far. One more question and she would have a new dress. Honestly, she had done better than she had expected, only missing Justin's news of now working in Parliament for the earl, Charlie's news of breeding the stockings out of Bitterroot's line, and the fact that Viscountess Bittlesworth had almost been abducted by her own husband. Abducted! George had never thought much of Sabre's father, but it felt like there were details missing from Jack's brief sketch of what had gone on last month.

"Are you ready for your last question?" Jack asked, her face bright with enthusiasm.

"Yes. I quake in fear of what you might have left for the last."

"Are you
sure
you're ready?"

"Yes! Dammit, woman, spit it out!" George tossed a pillow at her friend.

Jack caught the pillow and then clutched it to her belly, grinning like a loon. "Guess which Haberdasher married Lord Lucifer?"

George felt her jaw drop open. Her mind churned furiously, but she could think of nothing to say for a solid minute. Jack looked inordinately pleased with herself. Once George could finally find her thoughts, and voice, she said, "You're joking."

Jack shook her head vigorously.

Still not quite sure what to say she started with, "Well, it's not me."

Jack laughed. "That's true."

Work the clues you know
, she admonished herself. Sabre had been just as intrigued by Lord Lucifer as George herself had been. Perhaps more so, since George had eventually been most interested in teasing Jack. Could that sweet-faced man their friend married yesterday be Lord Lucifer? Certainly that was part and parcel of the devil's disguise, to be fair of face and form? But this wasn't the devil they were speaking of. This was Lord Lucifer. A friend of the Bittlesworth boys. The information chased 'round in George's head while Jack continued to stare at her with a silly grin. That was the question, really. What did Jack's reaction mean? Was this how she would react if Sabre had married Lord Lucifer? Or if Jack herself had married him? Now the answer was obvious. George pushed out of her chair, invigorated by the chase. "Where is he? I want to see him again. This is all too much."

"See who again?" Jack called from behind as George made her way to the front hall.

"Your husband, of course." George began opening random doors and peeking inside until the butler materialized at her elbow and politely indicated that she should continue through the hallway further. He opened double doors for her and announced, "Miss Lockheart and the Countess, my lord."

George stopped in the doorway. The room was all dark paneling and dominated by a large desk. That desk, in turn, was dominated by the man who sat behind it. He rose politely at her entrance.

"Miss Lockhart. I hope you are feeling better today."

She stepped closer, looking him up and down. Dark hair that was a shade too long for fashion. A fit form, from broad shoulders down to muscled thighs. It was testament to her own distraction that she hadn't noticed it before. He indeed looked like several sins had come together to make a man. "Oh my
God
. You are Lord Lucifer, aren't you?"

His gaze shifted to his wife for a moment and then he smiled at George self-deprecatingly. "So they say in some circles."

George finally turned back to Jack. "You know what this means, don't you?"

Jack rolled her eyes. "Oh yes, it means I'll never hear the end of it."

George hugged her friend tightly. "It means that next winter I'll paint you in the snow. With Lord Lucifer."

* * *

Jack felt tears spring to her eyes. She hadn't expected easy acceptance to come from George. Not dry, sarcastic George. The same George that she now owed a dress.

"You're still going to make me sit in the snow," she complained, wiping at her cheeks.

"Don't you remember? It means I have to sit in the snow, too. So I'll paint as quickly as possible."

"I missed you, Georgie."

"I know."

Jack sniffled. "Brat."

"Wiseacre."

"Now that you've satisfied your curiosity, I'm sure Gideon will want to get some work done before our guests arrive." Sabre and Quince were due to enjoy a nuncheon with them before leaving on their honeymoon. Sabre had been delighted to think that the Haberdashers would be together again so soon. Quince was, perhaps, less enthusiastic about the plan but wise enough to know that Sabre wasn't easily thwarted. Jack ushered her friend from the room.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-
N
INE

George followed her friend around the townhouse, quite surprised at how easily Jack had taken to her duties. Sabre as a duchess was no stretch of the imagination, but Jack as a countess? Not quite so easy to fathom. At least she seemed comfortable in her new house, chatting easily with the servants, which was a wonder in and off itself. In the next few weeks George would be able to see how her friend did in Society. She paused for a moment, considering. Would she be here for the next few weeks? She had been shying away from thinking about Casimir, but had he really left her? She hadn't seen him in a full day. She stubbornly turned her mind from that line of thought, it would only lead to further weakness. She had to accept that her likelihood of seeing him again was slim. She turned her attention instead to watching Jack coo over the elaborate sweets being prepared for the nuncheon dessert. Sabre had a famous sweet tooth, so nothing was likelier to please her.

One of the servants surreptitiously slid a biscuit off the tray and winked at George when he realized she'd noticed him. Cheeky. She was considering whether or not to tell her friend about the servant's behavior when Jack noted the time and swept George into action. The Telfords were expected imminently. George was regretting running around the house with Jack. After an hour or two of relative ease with her wound, the burning was back with intensity. But if there were ever a time to put in her best performance it was when sharp-eyed Sabre had come to show off her new husband for the collective envy of the other Haberdashers. Sabre could say what she liked about her desire to reunite her friends, if the girl didn't mention the fact that she was a duchess every five minutes then George might jolly well eat her hat.