Chapter 3

Chapter Three

December 23

"The only good husband is a dead one." –from The Masculine Inconvenience: Memoirs of a Superior Lady

T he sunniest room in the house, with its wide windows and vines curling outside the glass, was the best place to rifle through Aunt Prudence's mind and the pages of her memoir. Georgiana dragged a desk before the windows and sat, spine straight, determination in place. With the exception of the surprisingly graphic descriptions of her affairs, every page was like an echo in Georgiana's mind. The same words she'd heard since she arrived, alone, on her aunt's doorstep one Christmas morning.

She chewed her lip. Was the only good husband a dead one? Once, she would not have questioned her aunt. But now…

Sarah would certainly not agree with the sentiment. Many of her friends would lose their hearts with their husbands. But Aunt Prudence had hated her husband, had railed against him often, and with good reason. He'd slung fists as well as words at her, only stopping when it became apparent she'd never have a child. Poor woman. Thank goodness Uncle Angus had died quite early, leaving Aunt Prudence almost four decades of life without him to enjoy the beds of other men.

Clearly, in some cases, dead husbands were best.

"There you are. Sarah said you'd hid away up here. We have precious few moments before the others join us. She's determined you won't lock yourself away the entirety of your stay. Apparently, that violates the spirit of the dare. You must not only be here, but you must participate ."

She groaned and turned in her chair, clasping the back edge of it in gloveless fingers. He stood in the doorway, shoulder propped against the frame, lean body angled to advantage, legs crossed at booted ankles.

"Mr. E," she said with a smile. "I welcome your company." Though she could not deny the dare—the kiss—hung over her head like a guillotine, and his presence inched the blade closer to her neck. "I'm reading through Aunt Prudence's memoirs. I'm almost finished with the entire thing, but I'm not sure I can read much more today." Each word was more bitter than the last. An earned bitterness, to be sure. She pitied her aunt. But she also began to wonder if her aunt's philosophies should be adopted as such, her bitterness stolen and worn like a heavy cloak across Georgiana's own shoulders. Perhaps, considering Xavier and Josiah, she should consider her aunt's dictates more as a warning. She must approach men with caution, like the snarling beasts they were, but armed with knowledge, she could protect herself.

Josiah strode to the fireplace and poked at it a bit, encouraging the dying flames into a roaring, crackling, lovely heat.

"Thank you. I did not realize how cold I was." She pulled her shawl up tighter about her shoulders.

"Happy to serve you, my lady." He dropped into a chair nearby and slunk low, long legs outstretched, gaze heavy on her. "You look… drained."

She stiffened and rifled through the pages of her aunt's memoir. "A gentleman would never say so. But perhaps"—she thrust a page at him—"all gentlemen would . My aunt has often said men will be mean to women because they can be ."

The smile drooped as he read the page she'd given him, that very maxim scrawled across the top of the paper. When he placed the paper on the desk and looked up at her once more, he spoke, his jaw tight, his words hard and slow, "I did not mean offense, and I apologize for my thoughtless words." He fell forward, bracing his elbows on his thighs. Strong thighs, shown to advantage in buckskin. "I admit, I've not always been a thoughtful fellow. Some days, it's still a struggle."

"By some days, you mean Monday through Thursday?"

"Oh, and Friday, too." He tried a wavering grin. "Your aunt is right on this one. Men can be mean and say as they wish. Like Afton, that beef-wit. But you do not have to suffer their words. I cannot imagine you doing so."

"One excellent lesson I learned from my aunt was how to stand up for myself. Financial and emotional independence are the greatest gifts she gave me."

He stared at the ground. "I meant only, when I commented on your looks, that I was worried. You always look beautiful. Surely you know that."

"It's nice to be told that now and then." Soft words for the soft feeling stealing through her. A good river of warmth to wash away the bitterness left behind by her aunt's past and opinions.

He lifted his head, their gazes locked, and his lips seemed to stretch into the same small smile she felt turning up the corners of her own mouth.

Noise from the hallway spilled into the room.

"There you are," Sarah said, her arm wrapped through Xavier's, a gaggle of people at her back, all of them spilling into the room.

The connection snapped, Josiah fell into the back of his chair once more, and Georgiana straightened and bundled up her papers, replacing them in the leather folio they'd come to her in.

Sarah bustled over to Georgiana and pulled her up, dragging her to a table closer to the fire. "Cards. We're to play vingt-et-un." She plopped Georgiana down in a chair and waved to Josiah. "You, too. Come along now. Everyone gather round."

Xavier did as she said, grumbling, "This is what comes of giving up daring, my dear. You've begun to fixate on other competitive challenges."

His wife flashed him a smile.

"Must we?" Georgiana asked. "Cards are all well and good, but I was reading. And I am sure I do not wish to dampen the party spirit by beating you all soundly."

"See there, Xavier," Sarah said. "There's my challenge. Mrs. Hoskins is bringing negus in a moment—ah! Here she is." Sarah bustled over to help the housekeeper, then pushed the serving cart to the table herself as everyone settled in their seats.

Josiah sat right beside Georgiana and across from Miss Darlington. Peter, Josiah's younger brother, sat next to her, across from Georgie. The chair across from Xavier remained empty until Sarah took it, pressing a warm cup of negus into Georgie's hands.

"We are all family here, and you will serve yourselves, I hope," she said to the assembled players before nudging Georgie's shoulder. "You are our special guest, though, so I've served you." She winked. "Yours might be more potent than the rest."

Georgiana sniffed the warm wine drink. Lemon and nutmeg and sugar. She took a sip. Not as good as cake, but it warmed her insides. She sipped again and took the cards as they came to her. She focused. A little competition riled the blood. Or was that the wine? Or the man sitting next to her who, for some reason seemed bigger sitting than he did standing, as if he could curl her entire body into his own and shelter her—

What nonsense. She needed no sheltering. She took another sip, sighed her satisfaction, and got to work. She won the first hand.

Sarah glared, and Xavier patted her back, whispered something to her about rewarding her for being a good sport later.

Josiah had a whisper for Georgiana, too. "Good work, Lady Gee."

She shivered, sipped her wine, and tried not to gloat.

"Mr. Evans," Miss Darlington called out. She leaned slightly over the table, pressing the underside of her breasts into its top, pushing them up. Her lashes fluttered. Bold chit.

Georgiana couldn't help it. She liked the girl. But she'd promised to help Josiah, and it seemed he was about to be under attack. She could lean, too. She did so. Closer to Josiah.

"Yes, Miss Darlington?" Josiah asked.

"You are excellent at cards. I could not read your expressions at all," the debutante said.

"Were you watching him so closely then?" Georgiana asked.

"Oh, yes. Who cannot watch Mr. Evans closely? Such a very handsome visage. It's hard to look away."

Silence descended on the table but for the crackling of the fire.

"Are compliments unwelcome?" Miss Darlington asked, folding her hands together before her in a way that pressed her breasts together.

It was much too cold for such a low bodice. Georgiana would have to teach the girl the art of fashion that allowed for practicalities as well as seduction. When one must cover up to keep warm, one should choose the right fabrics and shapes to accentuate one's form. No tables or elbows required.

"Not at all," Josiah assured her.

"Not unwelcome, perhaps," Georgiana said, "for Josiah ." She lifted a brow and sipped her drink as silence wrapped around her blatant use of his Christian name. Let that detail sink into Miss Darlington's skin. Then, when the silence became a touch awkward, she turned to Xavier. "Will you deal?"

"Of course." He shuffled and divided up the cards.

This hand was not as good as her previous one, and she rested one forearm on the table, drumming her fingertips as she considered how to play.

A solid warmth brushed up against her arm, stopping her fingers midbeat. She glanced down. The length of Josiah's naked forearm pressed against her own arm, encased in green velvet. He'd divested himself of his jacket at some point and had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbow. Scandalous and informal. No man in London would be in public in such a way. But Josiah was a man of the fields and woods. No refined Town prince, he. A light dusting of hair swept up the back of his arm, and she felt the crispness of it where the backs of their gloveless hands grazed. She glanced up at him to find him looking at Xavier, daring him with a glance to beat him at this hand.

He did not even appear to notice their touching arms, but at the sight of his fingers wrapped long and strong around his cup, steam curling up from it, steam curled inside her, too.

She downed the rest of her drink to drown her inexplicably wanton thoughts and refocused on her cards. But the feeling of his arm against her did not lessen, and her breaths would not slow, and her heart—she jumped up from her seat, letting her cards flutter to the table and finding the pot of negus to refill her cup.

She drank this one too quickly and kept her arms narrowed in her lap. She did not win this time. Sarah did, and Xavier bussed her forehead.

"Clever as always, Queenie," he said. That glow in his eyes when he looked at his wife. What was it that made a competitive man like him seem glad his wife had beaten him soundly? Love?

The word curled like steam on her tongue, feeling heavy there.

Lord, she was foxed. Did anyone notice? She looked up, found Josiah grinning at her.

"I'm foxed," she said, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she knew they had a desire to go for a jaunt about the room.

"I see. Well, then, Lady Gee, let's—"

"What's all this, then?"

Everyone turned toward the door as the Earl of Westgrove sauntered through. His long, once-dark hair was mostly gray now, though some strands of black still flickered through like glimpses of a midnight sky through curtains, and his blue eyes, so much like Josiah's, sparked.

"A party?" he said. "And I was not invited? No matter. I've a meeting with a lady in the village later." He winked.

"Father." Xavier stood, his voice calm but his form rigid. "Please do consider the company when choosing conversational topics."

"I suppose that's the gentlemanly thing to do, eh?" He chuckled, but then his eyes locked on Georgiana. "You. I've seen you about. The heiress?"

"Heiress no longer. I am an independently wealthy woman." She stood, pulling herself up tall, tipping her chin up, too, then she sank into her best bow. And her best bow was better than everyone else's with the exception, perhaps, of the Queen. Even when foxed.

"This is Lady Georgiana Hunt, Father," Josiah said. "You've been introduced before."

"Yes, well, I can't be bothered to remember every chit's name now, can I?" The clock ticked off seconds as Lord Westgrove scrutinized Josiah. "Going to marry her?"

Josiah jumped, eyes widening.

"If not," his father continued, "there's that one behind you." He gestured over Josiah's shoulder at Miss Darlington. "Her hips aren't as wide, but she has money, too, and the heiress is likely too good for you now that you've lowered yourself with working like a common—"

"Enough." Xavier's single word command echoed off the walls. "Isn't there someone waiting for you in the village, Father?"

Lord Westgrove snorted, gave Josiah one last look. "Let me know if you need help making a decision. Your mother had hips enough for six children, five of them boys, and she had the good sense to shove off to the afterlife before old age could bother her much. I know how to pick ‘em."

"Bloody hell," Josiah hissed, his arms stiff clubs at his side.

But his father didn't hear. He was whistling and walking out the door.

A collective groan followed his exit, and everyone melted into their seats.

Josiah scrubbed his hands down his face. "And Father is—"

"Not the best role model," Peter finished. "Yes, yes. I know."

"Negus, anyone?" Sarah asked. "And charades, perhaps? I'll see if Edith and Griffin are back from their walk. They might wish to play."

Georgiana took her cup and left the group as Sarah left to find Lord and Lady Hartfield. She returned to her chair near the window and held the cup beneath her chin, letting the steam warm her as the outside chill pressing into the glass did its best to freeze her.

"Come closer to the fire, Lady Gee." Josiah had followed her.

"No thank you. That was enough participation for now. I've made merry and am quite exhausted from it. Besides, it's too warm over there." Her entire body was a furnace.

He sat in the chair he'd sat in earlier. "You're foxed is what you are."

"A bit. Not too much though. Just enough for my mind to have become like molasses. My limbs, too."

Stillness took him. And with his elbows braced on his knees, and his hands clasped together, he looked like a statue of grave cogitation. Finally, his mouth broke the illusion. "I apologize for my father. He's—"

"Like every other man, I suppose. I know them. Him. I am not shocked."

"You should be. I… I acted like him for years. I'm not proud of it. I knew it was… not quite right. I wanted to please him, though, show him I was worth something."

She startled and snapped her head to face him. "You are worth something."

"Not to his way of thinking. Third son who did not go into the military as he'd been destined to." He gave the slightest shrug as if to throw off the ghost of a red uniform. "I didn't want to fight. I wanted to be here. My mother was sick. Dying. She didn't ask me to stay, but I wanted to anyway. For her. For myself. I knew she was dying somehow. Didn't want to go off and die myself. What good would that do? But my father thought that meant I was weak, that my mother had somehow ruined me, made me cling to her skirts."

"Your mother died?" She knew the answer, of course, but she was a prodding for more information.

He nodded. "Seven or so years ago now. I was young. I was supposed to go to school." His gaze had grown distant. "But I knew if I did, I'd never see her again. The pregnancy had not been easy on her. I begged to stay. Father railed at me. I left. And"—his shoulders slumped—"I was right. I returned for her funeral. Their funeral. The babe died, too. A little girl."

She reached for him, her hand moving on a wave of warm wine to his bare forearm and resting there, wrapping gentle fingers round. "Josiah, I'm—"

"It's fine. No need for apologies or condolences. When Xavier began to take the load of the estate work from Father, I saw my chance to prove that a man who cares for his family's home, for his family's holdings, is not weak. Wanting to comfort a dying loved one is not a fault."

She nodded and squeezed his arm.

He hung his head. "I've done much here since I convinced Xav to reassign the previous steward. Fixed the staircase and modernized some of our farming methods. Improved our bookkeeping. Mother would approve, I think. Father doesn't notice. Not that he's noticed anything regarding the estate for some time now."

Her brows collided. "You did all that?"

"I'd like to do more. Add a shower. Have you seen them? Fascinating things. Healthful, even. Not as fun as a bath in a tub by the fire though." He lifted his head slowly and winked.

Her heart stuttered.

"Much more leisurely, too." The way he looked at her… his gaze like a touch, a caress along her bare neck, fingers spearing into her hair… she could barely breathe.

"I have a feeling you've a double meaning." Her voice breathless and raspy.

"Oh, I do." He winked again.

This time, her heart didn't stutter, it stopped. She must be way past foxed. She'd not had enough of the watered wine to push her to extremes, but that must be the cause of her flailing body. She'd never gone silly from one of Josiah's winks before. Her body felt as if it were falling, her mind reeling. She removed her hand from his arm and blinked the falling sensation away, found her focus.

"My aunt's opinion," she said, proud her voice was steady and strong, "was that husbands were better off dead."

Josiah cracked a laugh and fell back into the chair, arms hanging to his side. "Perhaps some are, Gee, perhaps some are."

She pressed her fingertips to her temples. Everything was so muddled. "But some are better off alive. Xavier for instance." A difficult concession to make but it must be made.

"Undoubtedly so."

"How come you are not so muddled about all this?"

"Because I have not had so much wine as you. It's truly not a particularly difficult concept to grasp."

She looked at the leather folio containing her aunt's memoirs stuffed beneath the desk. Perhaps something else had helped muddle her mind long before now, and she currently waded through fields of ancient mud to discover the truth shining in the distance, out of reach.

"I've captured Edith and Griffin!" Sarah called out, bustling back into the room, Josiah's sister hooked through one arm and her husband through the other. She settled them near the negus and looked about. "Where are—oh." Her gaze had landed on Georgiana and Josiah, and her lips curled into a sly grin. "You two may stay there. If you like. No need to join us if you're having a cozy chat." She caught Georgiana's eye, pursing her lips as if to give a kiss.

A reminder, a double dare.

Georgiana groaned. "Josiah. Jos. I think I'll call you Jos."

He laughed. "Yes, Gee, Queen of the Warm Wine?"

"You're not going to like what I have to do at all."

He shook his head, that lock of hair falling over one merry eye. "You need fresh air." He slapped his thighs—such nice, thick thighs—as he stood and offered her a hand.

Which she took so quickly she almost fell into him as he pulled her from her seat.

"Skating, anyone?" he asked, pulling her toward the door.

"Don't think skating foxed sounds like a good idea," Georgiana muttered. But it did sound daring. She liked that.

Peter jumped up, as did Miss Darlington.

"No, no!" Sarah waved them back down. "You've both already started this game. You must see it through." She smiled Josiah and Georgiana out the door. "Have fun! Perhaps take a walk first to sober someone up before strapping blades to her feet?"

Josiah rolled his eyes and pulled Georgiana close to his side, a rather welcome help in keeping her upright. "That was the plan."

Plan. She had a plan. Do her dares and go back home. But that meant kissing Josiah. And with their sides touching, and his palm warm against her, even a dared kiss seemed more dangerous than balancing on blades while bosky.

Fresh air would be good, though. Fresh air would clear up the matter of husbands and kissing, would remind her as much as Lord Westgrove's boisterous interruption had, that some dares went too far, and kissing Josiah was one of them.