Chapter 15

“This is not to be borne!” Georgianna screeched to her husband. Her worthless, sniveling husband who even now wept silent tears. “How dare you sit there crying for your former betrothed!”

“I did not know. I did not know,” he bemoaned. “Until it was announced she was to marry another, I had no notion of the depth of feelings I had—have! Have!—for her.”

Disgusted by him, angry and frustrated that she could have been so foolish as to chain herself to him forever, Georgianna’s temper erupted. She screeched at him, “I should never have married you. I should have cast my eye to any other man, for surely even the lowest of beggars would have been better than you!”

He stopped weeping long enough to glower at her. “You would not leave me be! I told you I was betrothed to another. Over and over again, I told you that! And every time you’d tell me how you’d never allow a man such as myself to leave your sight, that you would value me too much to ever simply let me go to another city without you. And I believed your lies! Your forward and outlandish behavior colored my perception of Charlotte’s propriety. What was simply good breeding on her part, and an appreciation for decorum, I interpreted as a lack of interest.”

“It was lack of interest, you dolt! If she had truly been in love with you, would she have been so quick to jump into the arms of another? If your good and proper Miss Mulberry is truly such a paragon, would she not have mourned your broken engagement for a suitable period before moving on… to someone with a fortune and a title that you will never have?” Georgianna saw that her words wounded him deeply. She could see it in his eyes when he looked at her, and it felt good. Lashing out at him eased the burning anger inside her just enough, so she continued. “Not that I blame her in the least. If I were able to leave you behind and move on to another, I would do so gladly. I was obviously quite mistaken about what measure of man you are.”

“Shut up!” Arliss shouted. “Still your poisonous tongue for once in your wretched life! You are naught but a spoiled child who must have her way and damn the consequences… damn the cost.”

Perhaps it was the grain of truth in his accusations that angered her to the point of attack. She did not stop long enough to consider it. Instead, she threw herself at him, her hands curled into claws as she scratched at his face.

He gripped her wrists, pulling her back from him even as blood welled from his cheek where she’d actually gotten hold of him. With a surprising degree of force, he threw her off him and watched, with no small degree of satisfaction, as she landed on the hard floor with a cry of pain.

Perhaps it was the pain that kept her there, or perhaps it was some sense of self preservation as she lay there staring up at him with fury in her gaze. But her lips curved into a cruel and wicked smile as she spoke. “I’m a spoiled child? What are you then? You only want her now because someone else does. If the Marquess hadn’t pressed his suit to her, you’d have continued to ignore her.”

“I’m warning you, Georgianna, do not push me any further than you already have,” he threatened.

“As if you are capable of anything! Warn me all you wish, but we both know you’re a coward… a small, little man who can’t even keep his own promises.”

He started toward her, taking two steps with his hands outstretched as if he might throttle her. But then he stopped. “You aren’t worth it. As satisfying as it would be to never have to suffer your vitriol again, I will not swing at the end of a rope for having been foolish enough to marry you!”

With that, he walked out.

Georgianna continued to lay there on the floor for a moment longer. Then she got to her feet. Divorce was not an option and neither was annulment. But the appeal of widowhood was beginning to make itself apparent.

Arliss went to the billiard room. It was empty. There were few men at Mrs. Whitlow’s party. It was mostly ladies, a few of them having brought their aged husbands with them. The only other relatively young man in attendance was the Marquess. Arliss was quite grateful he did not have to contend with that man’s presence.

Opening the doors of an ornate chinoiserie cabinet, he found it well stocked with brandy and glasses, which he did not bother with. Instead, he lifted the decanter, removed the stopper and simply began to drink. He wasn’t certain there was enough brandy in all of England and France to make him forget the muddle he’d made of everything.

Why? Why had he married her? Why hadn’t he held firm to his convictions? And then he remembered. Georgianna and the annuity her father had promised while Charlotte had not a tuppence. But what was it the Bible said about a good wife? That she had a price beyond rubies.

In Charlotte’s case, that was likely true. She’d have been a kind wife—understanding and warm, rather than demanding and shrewish.

Arliss drank more deeply, tipping the decanter back and swallowing the potent liquid until it burned a trail of fire from his lips to his gut. There was another bottle in the cabinet still. He hoped it might be enough for him to forget his wife entirely, to forget any obligation he had to Georgianna, and to forget that he’d made the terrible mistake of casting off a kind, gentle, and loving woman for one who would only ever make his life a misery.

“You’ve cocked it up for certain,” he told himself. But men had been numbing themselves to their own mistakes with the aid of liquor for ages. And they did so for a reason.

Sinking into a nearby chair, he took another tipple. It burned less and the room became a bit hazy. Perhaps if he got himself foxed and stayed that way, the mess he’d made of his life would be a bit hazy, as well.