Chapter 27

"Still abed?" Jean asked in surprise when she stepped into her mistress's bedchamber, carrying a tray of biscuits and hot chocolate.

Stretching, Georgiana merely rolled over to give her a grin. "I am. You keep telling me I should sleep more, so you have no right to tell me to rise."

Her maid chuckled. "Very well, then stay put. Here is your tray, Your Grace. A very good morning to you."

"And a very good morning to you," Georgiana returned. Giggling, she sat up and shifted her blankets about. "Goodness, that smells delicious!"

"Doesn't it? I sampled the chocolate this morning, since I feared the cook had burnt it. Hope you don't mind. It's so heavenly!"

Georgiana shook her head. "Next time, pour yourself an entire cup. If there's any left of this, you may finish it."

"Abed and so generous?" Jean poked her playfully. "Now I know something must be wrong. What is it? You're dying? I'm dying? Pray don't tell me you're letting me go."

"Certainly not. I'm just…" Georgiana fumbled for the right words, before giving up and shrugging her shoulders. "I'm just happy, Jean."

First, the bedspread was pushed back, with the sheets folded over her lap. The tray was nudged a little closer for easy access. Finally, her maid straightened up and took a step back to study her.

Jean cocked her head. "Yes. Well, that is a lovely look on you, if you don't mind my being so bold."

"Compliments are always welcome, thank you, Jean." Leaning back against her pillows with her cup of hot chocolate in hand, Georgiana sighed in contentment. "Come back for me in an hour. I have no desire to do anything else today if I can help it."

Jean bobbed a most refined curtsey. "Certainly, Your Grace."

Alone again, Georgiana let out another giggle. She had slept perfectly, and had happy dreams she'd already forgotten. Somehow, she just knew they had been happy. The sunlight was filtering through her curtains, her bed was comfortable, the hot chocolate was hot, and her toes were just a little chilly. She couldn't be more content if she tried.

Especially after last night.

A delightful shiver ran down her spine. She smiled at finding she hadn't spilled her drink and took another contented sip.

No matter how much she was pretending that Owen was not at the forefront of her mind, he wasn't exactly in the back of it either. She thought of his kiss last night over and over and over, only certain of one thing—it couldn't have been any more perfect.

And at the ball… The way he protected me was unlike anything I had ever experienced. That horrid viscount! How crude he was. But there was Owen. He's always there when I need him. He was such a fierce protector. He cares, whether he says it or not. But I know. I can see it in his eyes.

They were both new to love, she supposed. While she acknowledged they might not be there yet, Georgiana couldn't resist the thought that they were well on their way. She had read the stories––a husband didn't protect his wife like that unless he adored her. Maybe even loved her. And the kiss really had been perfect.

"Perfect," she whispered.

There was a voice in the back of her head that said she shouldn't get her hopes up. It was a dangerous thing to do, especially so early in their relationship. She understood many marriages didn't become peaceable until years had passed.

"But I can't wait years," she told herself.

Georgiana enjoyed a quiet morning as she broke her fast. Before long, Jean returned to help her into a soft morning dress. Then Georgiana made her way to the kitchens to check on the menus for the week and announced she would be spending some time in the library.

This was one of her favorite rooms, and it had the best little writing desk in the entire house. She took her seat before penning a short letter to her sister, recalling the difficult conversation she'd had with her father.

I hope it will all work out. He must understand that I mean this for everyone's well-being. Emma cannot be left unattended as she grows up. She deserves companionship, and if he will not let me be there for her, then he must do it. But I'll write to him tomorrow. I don't wish for anything else to ruin my mood today.

"Your Grace?"

Looking up, she grinned at the footman. "Good morning, Thomas. You've come at the perfect time. I have something to post. And are those new letters?"

"Yes, here is all of your correspondence," he said as he stepped forward to show her the envelopes on the silver tray. "I've already shared everything else with His Grace."

Georgiana paused, remembering the last time this had happened. "Did he remove any letters for the trash, Thomas?"

He hesitated before nodding. "Two invitations. Only three remain here, Your Grace."

There were five letters in all. Though she didn't like the thought of invitations being tossed in the trash without offering a proper and polite rejection, Georgiana supposed her husband was used to doing such a thing. She hoped no one would think differently of her. Eyeing the thicker invitations, she wondered what other events he apparently wished to attend with her.

It is an odd way to show he cares, but it certainly is something Owen would do. He wants to feel some sort of control over the situation while still allowing me a mode of control. We'll need to discuss this further. In the meantime, I cannot help but feel amused. Appreciated, even.

"Thank you, Thomas." She put the invitations down and scooped up the other letters. "Here, can you have this one sent post-haste?"

The footman offered a polite bow before accepting the letter she had written to her sister. "Certainly, Your Grace."

As he left her in peace, Georgiana turned to the invitations. She shifted comfortably in her chair before opening the first card.

It wasn't too much of a surprise to see there was an open lecture on botany happening that week. Of course, Owen would wish to attend, and she rather liked the idea of seeing what held so much of his interest. The other two were more aligned with her interests—another upcoming ball in the next month and then an early luncheon hosted by Lord and Lady Blythe and his wife.

"Oh, I should like to see her again," Georgiana noted to herself. "I wonder if Marjory might join us? I owe her and her parents a letter for last night's ball."

She could start writing that, she supposed, but the other two letters held her attention. The one on top was a notice from her modiste. She'd requested some particular purple satin to be imported, and it had arrived. They could do a fitting any time she liked. As she pondered on visiting the modiste's on the morrow, she turned to the final letter.

"Strange," Georgiana murmured, as she noticed it didn't mention where or whom it might have come from.

The paper was of a fine quality, as was the ink. She opened it, wondering if Marjory had sent her a letter and had been too distracted to sign her name.

Even then, there should be some sort of reference to where this post came from. Although perhaps she sent it with a footman. If it's truly important… Oh.

She first frowned when she opened the short note to find there was no name signed on it.

Then, as she read the lines, her frown only deepened. Clouds formed overhead. Her heart sank to her stomach. She had to read the letter a second and a third time, as though hoping she was wrong.

Your Grace,

While we may not know one another well, I would be remiss not to reveal to you the truth of your situation. Any claims of adoration or love the Duke may have made to you are false. Owen Comerfield is nothing but a deceitful liar.

It is because of him the two you have married at all. He orchestrated Benedict's proposal just as he orchestrated Benedict's disappearance. Owen knew his cousin would jilt you at the altar––all to marry another woman. This would leave you trapped with only one option to salvage your name: to marry him.

All he wants is control. He is a worthless vermin. There is no telling what he plans to do next. When he is not at home, he is away with ladybirds and frauds. None of this is real.

The Duke should not be trusted, and I encourage you to distance yourself from him before it is too late.

As she reread the final line, she shuddered and dropped the note on the desk. Shock ripped through her. Georgiana wrapped her arms around herself while staring numbly at the opened letter.

Somehow, the temperature of the room had dropped significantly. She felt the goosebumps forming on her arms. Then she heard the heavy, hollow beating of her heart inside her chest as she tried to catch her breath.

"It's not…" She swallowed and tried again to refute the claims in that strange letter. "He can't have…"

Or could he?

He doesn't leave that house that often, I think. That is, he disappears often and is out every morning. But he must have gone riding. I have seen him in the stables. He must be only going out to ride, mustn't he? And a plot like this would be intricate and require time and…

Her mouth dried as a memory slowly came to mind. She hadn't heard the entire conversation, but she recalled how strange it had been.

On the morning after her wedding, Georgiana had come across Owen arguing with his uncle. She squeezed her eyes shut to try and remember what it had been about.

"You knew what Benedict was planning, and you helped him get out of this. It's your fault he's weak. You ruined everything!"

That was it. That was what the Marquess had said.

Georgiana exhaled. The Marquess had learned Owen's secret and had been furious because the match had not worked in his own son's favor. Instead, it had gone just how Owen wanted.

She slowly opened her eyes again even as she felt a tear rolling down her cheeks. Piece by piece, her world was unraveling in front of her.

The letter made sense. Too much sense. It filled gaps and pointed out holes that she hadn't even noticed until now.

All this time, Owen had been tricking her. She had believed his words and wanted everything he said to be true. He had told her he didn't want to be in love. That was all a lie. Everything he had ever said to her had been a lie. None of it had ever been true.

Why? Why would he do this to me? He knew I didn't care for him. Did he do all of this just to hurt me?

Georgiana's breath hitched as she tried to think of a reason why this could not be true. But her emotions were already rising within her like a raging fire, heating her and freezing her all at once. Her heartbeat grew louder. She couldn't think clearly. The dam burst.

The horrid letter. She snatched it up and started to rip it apart.

But then she abruptly stopped.

Sucking in a deep breath, Georgiana stared blankly at the letter before decidedly folding it up and putting it in the pocket of her dress. She might need it for later. It was best if she kept it close, even if it was painful. She gathered her thoughts to decide on her next course of action. Something had to be done.

I can't just stand here. My father will not manage my life, and my husband won't, either. Whoever sent this letter is right––I have to act.

"Your Grace? I brought you your tea. Fresh biscuits, too. Shall I set them on the desk for you?" Mrs. Helen asked as she strolled into the library.

Georgiana blinked. She wiped away her tears before the woman could see them. Hurrying forward, she stopped the housekeeper from coming any further into the room.

"Mrs. Helen," she choked out while trying to keep the panic at bay, "you must know about His Grace. Where he spends his time during the day? And when he leaves the house?"

Wide-eyed and confused, Mrs. Helen shifted her grip on the tray before nodding. "Certainly. He rides his horse in the mornings. He rarely has business meetings outside the house, however, so he's always in his study. Except for today."

Georgiana's stomach lurched. "What do you mean?"

"Well, His Grace is out. He said he had a morning appointment and would return before the day was out. We all know what he is like," Mrs. Helen added cheerfully. "He will return as he said."

No, he only likes to say nothing. Anything out of his mouth could just be a trick. A lie!

"How can you be sure of that?" Georgiana demanded. "How can none of us know where he is? Is everyone watching to make sure he is where he says he is?"

"I… Your Grace, I cannot say. We have no reason to doubt his actions. Is something wrong, Your Grace?"

She shook her head. "No, no, that's not it. This only means you can't know, not really. So long as you don't have eyes on him, then you will never have a clue where he might be! He knows things he doesn't tell us—he does things. Did you know about Benedict?"

"I… Your Grace?"

"His cousin. He was in love with someone else all this time, all before he even offered to—" Georgiana suddenly fell quiet.

The panic that had been clawing at her throat suddenly turned and twisted. What was she doing, talking to Mrs. Helen about this? The staff saw plenty, to be certain, but they didn't see everything. They couldn't know everything.

Georgiana took a step back. Then another one, just to be safe.

"Your Grace?" Mrs. Helen asked anxiously. "What is it? You look unwell."

Breathing in, Georgiana slowly nodded. "Yes, I'm afraid I don't feel very well right now. I won't have tea. I think… I need to go." Then she brushed past the housekeeper and ran out of the room.

Perhaps she was not mad yet, yet she felt she was very near it. All of those happy feelings from this morning were gone—the mere thought of them made her feel ill. Owen had never cared, not really.

What had she been thinking? Love wasn't real. Not under this roof. She had been played like a fool, but she refused to be in the game any longer.