No Greater Love (35 page)

Georgia shook her head. “It is a sad thing, what happened to your sister.’’

“Yes, it is a sad thing, although I think she must have been born with a fatal flaw of character, for I experienced the same set of circumstances, yet did not emerge with a desire to poison my husband or slander his relatives. As I told Nicholas, I never believed a word of Jacqueline’s story, although I never could understand why she would invent such a thing. And I cannot see what purpose it now serves her to drag you down as well.”

“I believe I understand her reason,” Georgia said slowly.

“And what is that? Annoyance that she lost her clever seamstress to Nicholas?”

“That I took what she wanted and couldn’t have.”

Marguerite went very still. “I see,” she finally said. “So that’s how it was. Jacqueline always was rather vindictive when she couldn’t have something she desired. Poor Nicholas.”

“Can you understand why Nicholas did not publicly defend himself? His uncle would have looked like a fool, and Nicholas loved his uncle too much to expose him to ridicule. So he left the country instead. At least, that is what I believe happened. Nicholas has not said as much, but then, he wouldn’t.”

“You are very wise, my dear. Very wise indeed, and I believe you must be correct. George once suggested the same, but I found it difficult to believe that Jacqueline would go quite so far. And so now she goes about calling you ill-gotten and loose-moraled, implying that you were the only woman Nicholas could convince to marry him. It is jealousy if ever I heard it.”

“I should be flattered, I know,” Georgia said with a pained smile, “but I cannot like being called a whore. And as for being old Lord Herton’s whore, forgive me, but that is really too much, for I practically had to beat him off with his own stick!”

Marguerite laughed. “Yes. And that reminds me—I paid a most productive social call this morning to Lady Herton and managed to discover how it was that Jacqueline convinced her to let you go. It was quite underhanded of her, but clever. Lady Herton breathlessly described to me how Jacqueline had come to her and told her she had heard of your loose ways, and Jacqueline was very much afraid that rumor had it young Robert was beginning to pay more serious attention to you than was good for anyone. She implied that you were a fortune hunter, and said that if Lady Herton did not want you in the family, she would be well-advised to dismiss you.”

Georgia’s mouth opened, and then she closed it again, for there was nothing to say.

“Jacqueline then offered, although it was at great inconvenience to herself, to take you off Lady Herton’s hands.”

“I don’t believe it! But why? Why would Jacqueline do such a thing? She loathed me once she met me.”

“No doubt she had admired your talents and wanted them for herself. She knew Lady Herton would not let you go easily. Really, it is quite amusing if you think of what elaborate measures Jacqueline took in order to steal you away. She must have thought about it for the longest time.”

“And I suppose she buried me in the country so that someone else could not do the same thing to her as she’d done to Lady Herton. Honestly, she really is the most devious woman. And now she is using her own planted story to try to ruin me. All I can say is thank God I have Nicholas, or I really would be ruined and out in the cold—although I hope Nicholas’ name has not been further damaged because of me.”

Marguerite became serious. “I do not know the details of your upbringing, my dear, but you are most certainly none of the things my sister has implied. You are a fine woman, a good woman who cares about her husband’s welfare and not about what she can take from him. You say you are not a lady, but from what I have observed, you are far more of a lady than many who go by the title. You look after those in need—I heard about what you did that terrible night on the coast, never mind what you later did for Nicholas. And taking Pascal into your home, that is yet another example of your generosity.”

“You make me out to be a saint, ma’am, when I am nothing of the sort. I have a soft spot for orphans, having been one myself. And as for the other, it is only what my mother taught me to do.”

“And bless her for it, for it is my experience that more mothers than not teach their children all the wrong things, if they bother to teach them all. Furthermore, it seems she taught you gentleness of nature and sweetness of manner, despite what you might think your shortcomings are. It cannot all be Binkley’s doing, for I do not think that he can have taught you innate grace and a style that is all your own. I look forward to presenting you. As I have said before, you will be an instant success.”

“You are kind, but overly optimistic, I fear,” Georgia replied ruefully.

Marguerite put down her cup. “Nicholas is a very fine man. I mightily doubt that he would have chosen to marry a woman of whom he was ashamed in any way. He most certainly wouldn’t have fallen head over heels in love with you if you were anything less than what he needs. And that he is head over heels is more than obvious. It gives me a positive
frisson
to see the way he looks at you. The room could be in flames and I don’t think he would notice for his own fire.”

Georgia blushed furiously and Marguerite burst into delicious laughter. “You must forgive me,” she said. “It is my French blood—I blame all of my faults on my blood; it is so convenient. But
I’amour,
the grand passion, that is my greatest weakness.”

“You think it is because of your blood?” Georgia asked, astonished.

“Oh, I think the English are capable of great passion too, or so has been my experience,” Marguerite replied with a mischievous smile. “I have been very fortunate in my marriage. I don’t know what I would have done if George had been as quiet in the bedroom as he is out of it.” Marguerite started to laugh again. “Have I shocked you, my dear? I know it is most improper to speak of such things, but I feel uncommonly comfortable with you, and after all, it appears you have an equally happy marriage, or you would never look at Nicholas as you do. You are just as lost as he. It is a delight to see.”

“It is?”

“But naturally. I would have despaired if Nicholas had married a cold fish, for he would have been miserable.”

Georgia was infinitely relieved. It seemed that Nicholas was absolutely correct and the pleasures of matrimony were meant to be fully enjoyed. It also seemed that she should bless her hot blood rather than be ashamed of it. “I feel so foolish,” Georgia said. “I thought I was being most unladylike.’’

Marguerite collapsed. “No, no, Georgia. There is something you must understand. The bedroom is the last place you want to be ladylike. That is where you must let all your unbridled passion out. And then, when you are sitting in Lady Herton’s drawing room, bored to death with her stupid, vapid chatter, and behaving the perfect lady on the outside, you can remember every delicious unladylike thing you did the evening before and amuse yourself vastly.”

Georgia, highly entertained by this image, said, “I doubt very much I will ever find myself sitting in Lady Herton’s drawing room, but I cannot imagine thinking about such things without starting to squirm and blush and behaving altogether as if I had a bad case of fleas!”

“Discipline,” Marguerite said, pulling out her handkerchief again and mopping at her eyes. “Discipline, you see, is the hallmark of being a lady.”

Georgia gave a hiccup of laughter. “Discipline and a highly active imagination. I am so pleased I have you to instruct me, Marguerite, for Binkley would never have thought to inform me of such important matters.” She pulled a stern face. “‘In cases of severe
ennui,
madam, you need only to imagine Mr. Daventry in an inflamed state.’ “

They both doubled over.

“Oh, Georgia,” Marguerite finally said, “I don’t think I’ve laughed so much in years. I really don’t. I am so looking forward to showing the world what a fine woman Nicholas married. I am going to instruct you in every particular you might need to know. It is not that you are lacking in any way, it is more a matter of your confidence. Confidence is a very powerful tool. And I cannot wait to see you come up against Jacqueline, you on Nicholas’ arm, his eyes on you with that heated look in them.”

Georgia grinned. “I fear that a heated look might only confirm everyone’s suspicions of both our moral characters.”

“Good heavens, no. They’ll be dripping with envy. There is nothing more powerful, nor more obvious to the interested observer, than the sort of love that you and Nicholas are fortunate enough to share. You also make a most striking couple, and that is all to the good. And so let Jacqueline eat her words in front of the polite world. I must confess I feel positively wicked taking such enjoyment in the prospect, but I suppose that for years I have secretly been longing for an excuse to challenge my sister. And to know that she will be thwarted in her attempt to destroy Nicholas is a particular pleasure. She has injured too many people as it is, my own family included.”

“But will thwarting her be enough?” Georgia asked with a worried frown. “Surely she will look to take her revenge elsewhere?”

“Where else, once she realizes it would only compound her troubles? Try not to worry, my dear Georgia. It will all work out for the best. We cannot sit by and do nothing. We shall make a beginning and see where it leads. And I must say, Nicholas is even more of an honorable man than I had realized, and Raven is a fool for ever thinking otherwise. But I suppose the poor man has been punished enough for his lack of judgment. We can only hope he recovers. So let us turn our attention to your wardrobe and our strategy to besting Jacqueline in this venture. She has played long enough. It is long past time she is given exactly what she deserves.”

“It was the grandest thing ever, monsieur,” Pascal said sleepily, securely tucked in the shelter of Nicholas’ arm as the carriage made its way back to the house. “I have never seen such a sight as the men flying through the air, or the man who put the sword straight down his throat. Did it not hurt him, monsieur?’’

“He p-probably eats swords for breakfast,” Cyril said.

“No, he does not. I am sure he eats a very normal breakfast. He only puts swords in his throat to make money. Isn’t that right, monsieur?”

Nicholas ruffled Pascal’s hair. “I am sure he practices very hard with his swords so as not to hurt himself.”

“And the lady who stood on the horses? She must have fallen off many times before she learned this trick. But she was very splendid.”

“It is just like y-you, little monkey. It takes a little t-time to learn to stay on your h-horse.”

“I am riding much better, though, am I not, Cyril? Cyril, he is an excellent horseman. Will you come one morning to see, when you are not busy with your business, monsieur?”

“Indeed I will, Pascal, for I should like to see how you’ve come along. Binkley says you are coming in only twice as dirty as you went out, and that sounds like improvement to me.”

Pascal snuggled closer. “I only fall now two or three times in a lesson,” he said, yawning. “It is not bad. Cyril is very patient, although he becomes annoyed when I do not remember to keep die reins, for then he must go chasing after my horse. But it is not the horse’s fault. He is a very nice horse you have bought. Thank you, monsieur…”

“My pleasure, Pascal.” But his words went unheeded, for Pascal had fallen fast asleep.

Nicholas smiled to himself. The visit to Astley’s Amphitheatre had taken its toll in excitement. The entire week had been filled with such things—an excursion to Vauxhall, a tour of Work’s Mechanical Museum, which had particularly impressed Pascal, and even a visit to the Tower. Pascal had been more interested in the elephant in the menagerie than in the history, and Nicholas was not particularly surprised. Nor, sadly, was he surprised by Cyril’s fascination with Tower Green, the site of many a beheading. Pascal had been disgusted and had given Cyril a sound telling-off for concentrating more on the dead than the living. Nicholas had stayed out of the ensuing argument, but he began to see what Georgia meant by the special relationship that existed between the two, and he thanked God for it. At least Cyril had one healthy, uncomplicated relationship to fall back on. Not only that, but Pascal had an extraordinarily optimistic view of life, and it seemed to counteract Cyril’s understandable pessimism.

Nicholas found he had grown astonishingly fond of Pascal. It would have been near impossible not to have done, for the child was quixotic and bright, and sometimes blinding in his simple wisdom. And who could not like being treated like a combination of father, hero, and the pope? Cyril’s attitude could not have been more different. Even now he kept his distance, despite the fact that the truth was out between them. Nicholas had tried to spend as much time as possible with him, to show him that he cared about him and that he did not blame him for what had happened. He really didn’t know what else to do to reach him. It seemed that Pascal was the only one who could humor him out of his dark moods, and it appeared he was having one now, for he was staring out of the window, his brow drawn into a slight frown.

“Is everything all right?” Nicholas asked.

Cyril started and turned his head. “F-fine. Why d-do you ask?”

“With everything that has been going on, I haven’t had any private time with you. I only wanted to make sure you were not worrying overmuch about what is yet to come.”

Cyril’s eyes flickered, and he looked away. “Why should I w-worry?”

“Because no matter how well things go, it is bound to be distressing one way or another. To tell you the truth, I’m frightened out of my mind at the idea of confronting Jacqueline in front of half of London.”

“Are you?” Cyril said, looking at his cousin as if he might be human after all.

“Christ, Cyril, I’ve already been badly scalded by her. I don’t look forward to putting myself directly back in her path. However Pascal might choose to look at me, I’m no hero. I’m just a coward when it comes down to it. I’d rather climb back into that broom closet than have to face Jacqueline’s venom. But I can’t. There’s too much at stake.”

“I … I’m frightened t-too,” Cyril admitted reluctantly.

“Good. That’s two of us. And Georgia, despite the brave face she puts on, is frightened out of her wits. With every day that goes by I can see her dread growing.”

“I thought she w-wanted to be p-part of all this.” Cyril waved his hand at the window.

“Are you mad? Georgia would be just as happy to climb into the broom closet with me and live happily ever after. You have to remember that she’s never had any exposure to this kind of life, and she certainly never asked for it.”

“Then why d-did she m-marry you?”

“Quite honestly, I think she felt sorry for me. And Jacqueline was making her life hell on earth. If you think she married me for social cachet, you are sorely mistaken. I am sure that is what Jacqueline led you to believe, but it is very far from the truth. Surely you can see that at the moment I’m more harm to her than I am good?”

Cyril was silent, mulling this over.

“You will have to learn to trust me, Cyril. I am not in the habit of lying, nor of misleading. When I tell you I am terrified, you can believe me.”

Cyril managed a half-smile. “That m-much I will b-believe.”

“All right. Let the rest follow. Will you be joining us tomorrow night for dinner with Lord and Lady Clarke? They have extended you an invitation. And as I think it would be a good idea to set you up in university, Lord Clarke is just the man to speak with. He has strong connections with Oxford and will no doubt be able to help. He can probably also recommend a decent tutor to bring you up to snuff. There is no point sending you away to public school at this late date.”

“Are you attempting a m-misguided p-play at f-fatherhood, Nicholas?” Cyril said, his voice suddenly cold.

“Certainly not. I have my hands full with Pascal. I am merely trying to see to a way of getting you out into the world and away from the confines of Ravenswalk. You will enjoy university mightily. I did. It’s the perfect blend of wine, women, and study.”

Cyril shifted uncomfortably on the seat. “I find it d-difficult to imagine.”

“Yes, but you will soon see for yourself.”

“I am n-not so sure. And I d-don’t like being m-managed.”

“Just give it some thought,” Nicholas said as patiently as he could. “That’s all I ask.”

“I h-have responsibilities at R-Ravenswalk,” Cyril said. “If you are g-going to g-get r-rid of Jacqueline, then I will have to t-take over.” He looked out the window again.

“Possibly. But there is a good chance that your father will recover.”

Cyril’s eyes shot to Nicholas. “What do you m-mean?” he asked, and there was a note of real panic in his voice.

“Jacqueline has been up to some mischief there too. I think she liked having your father incapacitated, and she decided to see to it that he stayed that way.”

Cyril swallowed hard. “What do you m-mean?” he said again.

“She’s been dosing him with something. But Georgia thinks she’s found an antidote. We’ll have to wait and see, but Georgia has high hope that he will improve, and I trust her skill. You might well have a father again, Cyril.”

Cyril had gone ghostly white. “When?”

“As I said, we’ll have to wait and see. But it will certainly free you to have a life of your own.”

“The only l-life I want is R-Ravenswalk,” he muttered.

“Because it’s the only life you’ve known. You cannot spend all of your life closed up there. There is a whole world waiting for you, Cyril.”

There was no reply, and Nicholas gave up. The carriage turned off Park Lane and stopped in front of the house. The minute the footman let down the steps, Cyril was out, and he went quickly into the house without another word. Nicholas scooped Pascal up into his arms and carried him in, stopping only to kiss Georgia, who had waited up for them.

“I’ll be with you in a moment,” he whispered, then went up the stairs with his small burden. He managed to wake Pascal long enough to undress him and put him in a nightshirt, and then he deposited him in bed and pulled the covers up over him.

“Bon nuit, cher monsieur,”
Pascal murmured, burrowing more deeply under the blankets. “Whatever you might say, you are a hero. And do not worry about Cyril. He will work his troubles out.”

Nicholas gave Pascal an incisive look, wondering just how much he had heard. “I hope so, Pascal, I truly do. He deserves some happiness.”

“But for Cyril it is a struggle to be happy, monsieur. He battles the darkness.”

“You are an insightful one, aren’t you?” Nicholas said, rubbing Pascal’s cheek. “But now it is time to sleep, little gentle man. Sleep and have happy dreams.”

“Thank you, monsieur. You have happy dreams too.” Pascal’s eyes fluttered heavily and then closed, and after a moment Nicholas went out, softly shutting the door behind him.

“Georgia, Nicholas! You have arrived!” Marguerite hurried toward them with outstretched hands. “But where is Cyril?”

“He became indisposed at the last minute,” Nicholas said. “He sends his apologies.”

“It is of no importance. Come, here is George. George, at last you meet Nicholas’ wife.”

Georgia, who was in a state of nerves, still managed to curiously regard Marguerite’s husband as he made his bow to her. And finally, with a warm smile, he shook Nicholas’ hand.

“It has been far too long, Daventry. I cannot express to you how happy I am that you have returned.”

“Thank you,” Nicholas said. “Your support means a very great deal. I assume Marguerite has told you everything?”

“Most likely more than you realize,” George said, smiling. “May I offer you a sherry? We have a great deal of catching up to do.”

The conversation drifted easily enough, but Georgia thought she might snap with tension. Yet it was no one’s fault but her own. George was as relaxed as his wife, and very obviously pleased to see Nicholas, and Marguerite’s bubbling laughter bound them all together. But by the time they sat down for dinner Georgia had lost her normally healthy appetite. If anything, she felt sick. What if she picked up the wrong fork, forgetting all of the instruction she’d been given? Or suppose she knocked over her glass and stained the beautiful rose crepe dress Marguerite had so generously given her and which she had so painstakingly altered? Or suppose she opened her mouth and absolutely the wrong thing came out, as it so often did. She could not count how many times she had humiliated herself at the vicarage and had been sent from the table. It was a miracle that Nicholas put up with her at all. And as for Marguerite, who was the height of elegance and who had been so extraordinarily kind—Georgia couldn’t bear the idea of embarrassing her at her own table.

Georgia took a large swallow of wine and then a sip of soup. All of her life she had made up fairy tales, putting herself in just such a situation. But it had not once occurred to her through the fog of fantasy that there were other things involved. Everyone at the table with the exception of herself knew inherently which fork, which knife, which glass, to use. It was as natural as breathing to them. She wondered if Cinderella had been faced with the same problem when she’d married her prince and had been thrown into life at the palace. Or perhaps life had been simpler back then. Maybe there had been only one set of silverware in Cinderella’s time. Surely they had used one goblet over and over instead of three different glasses all at the same time?

Georgia started, suddenly realizing she was being addressed by Lord Clarke, who sat at her left at the head of the table. “I beg your pardon?” she asked, clearing her throat as her soup plate was whisked away and another plate put in front of her.

“I was asking whether you were interested in reading, Mrs. Daventry.”

“Oh, yes, I enjoy reading very much. And please, won’t you call me Georgia? Everyone else does. Nicholas has a fine library at the Close, although it suffered some damage. But the selection is excellent, and there is a particularly fine edition of
Candide.
I was very excited to discover it, as I’d only ever read it in English and had always longed for the original. It is one of my favorite stories. Especially the end, in which Candide decides after all his trouble that the best thing in the world is to cultivate one’s own garden. It makes perfect sense, does it not?”

“It does indeed,” George said, amused. “You speak French, then?”

“Well, yes, although I haven’t very much since my mother died. I’d speak it to Pascal—he’s our French child—but I think it is best for him to perfect his English since he will be living in this country.” She stopped abruptly. “I beg your pardon. I fear I am babbling. I find I am desperately nervous.”

George’s face broke into a slow smile. “You are not babbling in the least, and I quite understand your nervousness, although there is no need, I assure you. My wife has described you as unusually delightful, and I must confess that I concur. I hope I do not embarrass you by telling you so.”

“Well,” Georgia said, coloring, “I think I should be very pleased, for Marguerite keeps going on about confidence, and if you find me not too terribly
gauche,
then I think there might be hope. I know I have babbled, Lord Clarke. It is no good your denying it. I always babble when I am nervous. Either that or I can find nothing to say at all. But I promise you, I shall keep my lips firmly buttoned at your ball. I am sure the
ton
does not want to hear about the cultivation of gardens or buying people out of slavery. Oh!” she said, covering her mouth. “I was referring to
Candide,
not myself, you understand.”

George gave a great crack of laughter, which caused Nicholas and Marguerite to interrupt their conversation and look over at them. “Please excuse me,” George said, exchanging a quick glance of amusement with his wife. “Georgia and I have been having a most interesting discussion about … about gardening.”