The remainder of the night was torture. Sebastian’s luck failed him utterly, probably not because of the abandonment of any angel of fortune but rather due to severe distraction on his part. Dramatic performance had never been his forte, but bluffing skills proved to serve him beyond poker, as no one noted his inattention. Of course, alcohol may have played some part in that as well, the players in high spirits and unconcerned with one sullen member. Whatever the case, he was suddenly eager to end the gaming and revelry, longing for the refuge of his dark bedchamber where he could crumble in private. He fervently prayed Lord Caxton would be too tired or caught up in silent musings to talk, but his luck continued to fail him.
“Butler, I never have properly thanked you for introducing me to Miss Darcy. I suppose it was sheer coincidence that we encountered each other that day at the Conservatoire, but I feel I owe you a debt of gratitude nonetheless.”
“You owe me nothing,” Sebastian mumbled, staring out the windows into the moonlit cobblestones and wishing the sky was overcast, so he could not see the shine of happiness visible on the older man’s countenance.
“She is a remarkable woman. Nearly flawless she is, if one can presumptuously assert that claim upon another human being. I am quite besotted and find I have lost all flavor for Paris. My heart now yearns for home so we can publicly proclaim our mutual affection. Pity you shall be otherwise occupied by the time we exchange our vows, Butler, since your acquaintance with the lady led to our paths crossing.”
Sebastian nodded once and remained silent. Truly he could think of nothing to say, even if his throat had not been dry and constricted beyond the ability to vocalize. God, why is this carriage moving so slowly?
“I am also induced to thank serendipity for preventing her heart for falling for you or vice versa,” Lord Caxton continued. His gravelly chuckle rang oddly churlish instead of humorous. “Nevertheless, who am I to question fate? Obviously you were meant to be the friendly conduit and nothing more. You are young, my friend, so do not lose heart. Someday you too shall know the delight of a lover’s touch, her smile upon your face, the scent of her skin, the feel of her breath, her kiss—”
“You have kissed her?” Sebastian cried in genuine shock, his eyes wide and murderous when he jerked his gaze to Caxton. A rush of rage blended with a surge of nausea, the struggle to keep both under control immense.
“Not as yet. I am a gentleman above all. But once we declare our intent, and I am able to speak to Mr. Darcy, I shall ask for the honor, have no doubt. And it will be wonderful!”
Sebastian was utterly speechless. How visible the stunned expression on his face or shimmering pain in his eyes from where he sat in the shadows he could not know. Caxton did not comment on what he saw, but his eyes never left Sebastian as he rhapsodized over the fair Georgiana Darcy. He stressed her returned attachment and affection, recounted conversations, and eloquently described the sparkle in her eyes and glorious smiles as they danced. The final blow was a detailed summary of how she agreed to his courtship request.
Sebastian’s heart and mind were numb long before the journey to his townhouse was over. Monosyllabic grunts and vague nods were the best he could do, while praying fervently for the trip to speed up and for the strength not to strangle the enamored baron. If once or twice a note of falsity entered the stream or a gleam of warning was directed his way, Sebastian was too distraught to grasp on to it.
Then, as he threw open the carriage door without waiting for the footman and prepared to dive head first onto the street if necessary to escape the torture chamber, Lord Caxton leaned forward and clasped onto his wrist. He brought his face near Sebastian’s, eyes black and harsh in the pale light, and said in a heavy voice, “Have no worries regarding Miss Darcy, Butler. I know she is your friend so it will comfort you to know that I adore her and promise to protect her with all of my strength for as long as I live. No one shall be allowed to harm her or take her from me. I promise you that, Butler.”
***
“Amanda, may I ask a question?”
Mrs. Annesley halted her reading and lowered the novel to her lap. Miss Georgiana had not been listening to the tale of mystery anyway. For the past half hour Mrs. Annesley had been observing from the corner of her eye, noting how Miss Georgiana stared sightlessly into the mirror and brushed the same section of long hair over and over.
Finally, Mrs. Annesley thought, the mounting tension was driving me mad! She silently said a rapid prayer for wisdom and hope that this was the opening she had been waiting for.
“Of course, Miss Georgiana. You know you can ask me anything.”
Georgiana nodded distractedly, her eyes unfocused and hand clasping the brush loosely in her lap. When she spoke it was a bare whisper but intense, revealing the serious nature of the question.
“You have told me, many times, of the love you bore for your late husband. How… that is…” She sighed and closed her eyes. “What did it feel like? How did you know?”
“May I answer by telling you a story? When I was twenty, I met a man who quite simply stole the breath from my lungs. It sounds rather melodramatic and girlishly fanciful, like something from a badly written romance novel, but that is precisely how it was. He was beautiful. Handsomeness personified. I was overwhelmed and fluttery. All the ridiculous phrases of erotic, nonsensical poetry applied to how I felt around this man. Of course, it is no longer so absurd or laughable when it happens to you!”
She chuckled in memory.
Georgiana smiled and again nodded her head. “Visceral, would you say? Beyond logical reason?”
“I daresay that is apt, but there is little in the way of logic when it comes to love, my dear. That is not to say love is utterly foolish, but I am getting ahead of myself. With this man, it was like fire, an uncontainable passion that was both terrifying and thrilling. Of course, I was very young and I had no sense of restraint. I was enraptured by life in mostly the irresponsible ways and allowed my sensibilities to rule.” She shrugged, a humorous smile flashing. “It was not wise at all, but extremely fun, I confess.”
Georgiana had turned on her stool and was looking at her companion in surprise. Amanda Annesley had gradually become a dear friend over the years, a woman of uncommon strength, morality, and steadfastness who also possessed a dry wit and rustic practicality. Yet here she was talking of being impetuous once upon a time. It was mind-boggling but also enormously intriguing.
“Uncontainable passion,” Georgiana quoted, her eyes wistful. “A marriage of wildness.”
Mrs. Annesley laughed aloud, shaking her head and her finger at the dotty young woman. “You are creating your own fantasy tale, Miss Georgiana, and not allowing me to tell mine.”
“Are you not speaking of Mr. Annesley?”
“I was in love. Besotted. Infatuated. Giddy. After two blissful months of flirting and dancing, he was forced to leave for a business trip. Oh, the tears! I was anguished. Until another man came along who captured my heart and wrest my breath away worse than the first.”
She was smiling softly, gazing at Georgiana’s perplexed expression with only reminiscent humor and no self-chastisement. “I was the worst form of silly girl, Miss Georgiana. So easily in and out of love that within three years I fell in love at least five times! They were decent gentlemen who returned my affections to varying degrees, but always something went awry. Usually me falling for another! Then one day, I was sitting on a large boulder in a clearing near the pathway toward my home, nursing another broken heart, when a man happened by. It was the son of the local barrister, a gentleman all of us in town knew very well and thought well of. He was a bookkeeper of respectable financial means and excellent reputation, thirty-five years of age, nondescript in appearance, and staid in personality. One could not help but have the highest opinion of him, as he was decent, kind, friendly, a fine dancer, and responsible. I cannot tell you how many times I had overheard, or even partaken briefly, in a wondering conversation as to why he remained unmarried. Yet
for all his stellar qualities, he was unattached and indifferent to the machinations of many an eager mother or marriageable young lady.”
Her face shone with remembered love and traces of grief. “He comforted me as a gentleman ought, asking no questions. He merely handed me his handkerchief and then began to ramble about the weather, the flowers, the clouds, the laughing children that he had encountered further up the road. I do not even recall what he said. It was the sound of his voice, his genuine concern for my misfortune while not probing or faultfinding, and his willingness to postpone whatever business he was about to tarry with a foolish girl like me that I remember most.
“Out of compassion and friendship bloomed a love that was passionate, eternal, and utterly fulfilling.” She reddened faintly, fidgeting with the edges of the book’s pages as she momentarily reverted to the blushing bride of long ago.
“How did you know it was he and not one of those other men? Or one yet to come?”
“In some respects, it is indefinable and most assuredly varies for everyone. I already knew Mr. Annesley’s character, so there were no questions there. The surprise was in how he made me feel. With the others, it was as if lightning had struck, wild and astonishing but also rapid and without substance. A flame must have fuel, Miss Georgiana, or it quickly dies. To continue with the analogy, a sustaining fire must first begin with the tinder banked and stacked, with kindling material appropriate for the job. The blaze must have adequate purchase and replenishing resources to survive. Passionate love is like the flame. When all is laid correctly, it will exist, thrive, and be unquenchable. I knew I had that with Mr. Annesley, and he for me. We just… knew.”
She looked at Georgiana then, her eyes grave. “Occasionally, as the years passed and our love flourished, I would muse on those other men who came before my Mr. Annesley. Love is not a simple emotion, Miss Georgiana. I am not a scholar, as you know, but I understand that in some languages there are many words that we translate as love. I have been often fascinated by this fact, but of course it makes sense. I did not love those other men the same way as my husband or with near the depth, but I did love them. Or at least held an affection and spark that may have flowered into something more. Fate worked for the best in my case, I am sure of it. However, they were generally good men who may have made me happy. Who knows? Would that instantaneous flame of passion fanned into a long-lasting blaze to stand the test of time? Or was it always destined to die a swift death, and I am lucky to have discovered the truth before the folly of an ill marriage? I cannot know, of course, but I do know that what burned in my heart for Mr. Annesley was stronger and more beautiful than what any poets have been able to put to words.”
“Do you not believe there is only one man for each woman? That one person completes your soul and will bring true happiness?”
Mrs. Annesley pursed her lips. “I am not sure it is always so simple. You and I are rather spoiled, yes?” She smiled at Georgiana’s puzzled stare. “I think it may depend on one’s ignorance. If I had married one of those men before I met my Mr. Annesley, I would never have known the possibility of consuming love. In that ignorance, I may well have contentedly lived out my life, none the wiser or worse off for the lack. Two years after my husband died, I received a marriage proposal from a dear friend of our family. He too was a good man and I knew he would take care of me in most of the ways that count. I was sorely tempted, Miss Georgiana. I was lonely, still young enough to wish for the companionship and special joy that only takes place within the bonds of matrimony, and the practicality of financial security was certainly no small instigation. Yet, I could not do it. I knew, beyond doubt, that we would never share even a tenth of what Mr. Annesley and I possessed. I decided it was better to be alone in my memories, and wait for another man of like passion to come along, if God willed it, than to marry for lesser reasons. You, my dear friend, are spoiled by the uncommonly rapturous marriages that surround you. I could be wrong, but I fear you will never be happy until finding that person who, as you said, completes your soul.”
Georgiana’s head was hanging low. Mrs. Annesley waited. She had spoken, answered the questions Georgiana had put to her. Now she needed to hear precisely what the impetus was.
Finally, in a whisper, “Lord Caxton asked me for the honor of paying court, making it clear he wishes to marry me.”
“I see. And what did you say?”
“I did not know what to say, and that was the most shocking aspect of the entire situation.”
Georgiana rose and began to walk about the room at a slow pace. Her eyes were clouded and her hands clenched before her breast. “Maybe I should have foreseen his declaration. I certainly was aware of his regard, so a wiser woman would wonder at my surprise. But our acquaintance is of such short duration that I never anticipated matters moving so swiftly. I did not expect it, Amanda, that is true, but if asked, I imagine I would have expressed happiness at the idea of courting Lord Caxton. Of being his baroness.”
She turned to her companion. “I felt the lightning bolt the first moment I saw him. My breath was squeezed from my lungs. Our hours together since have been very pleasant. I like him, I truly do. Maybe I even love him. What better way to discover the depth than to engage in a courtship? But I could not agree. And then he…”
She sighed and quickened her pace. Her eyes flashed and voice rose angrily. “It should not be so complicated! Should it? I know I am only twenty, but why is it that every time I think I am in love something muddles up? It feels wrong while also feeling right, which makes no sense. Why must affection be false or misplaced or weak or not returned? Why do you fall in love with the one man who does not love you back?”
She halted as if slamming into a wall. Her breathing came in harsh spurts and her cheeks blotched red. Frustration registered upon every aspect of her being as she stared blankly out of the window into the darkness. So indrawn was she that it was several minutes before she realized Mrs. Annesley was at her side with a comforting hand resting on her arm.
“You refer to Mr. Butler.”
Georgiana nodded and tears shimmered in the eyes she lifted to her companion. “What you describe, the varying flames? I understand the analogy. I feel it in my heart, Amanda. Only… unlike your Mr. Annesley, Mr. Butler does not feel the same.”
“Are you certain of this?”
“Today I sang his psalm, the sixty-third. When I first played it days ago, my heart was awakened. It did not touch me as a worship song but rather one of human love, of passionate love between a man and a woman. I saw that he had written it recently, after meeting me, and I hoped. But he said nothing, he did nothing.” She shook her head, the tears glistening on her cheeks. “I talked about the baron, partially to search for information that might shed an unsavory light on a man who appears almost too perfect to be real, but also to make Mr. Butler jealous. Is that not awful of me?”
“No. It is natural. What did he do?”
“He left! I am sure he feels something for me, Amanda, but it distressed him. He does not want this… complication in his life. And the truth is, I understand, even as it breaks my heart.”
Mrs. Annesley enfolded the confused young woman into her arms, holding tightly until she felt the slim body relax. Then she led her to the bed, silently moving through the familiar procedures of shedding the robe, plaiting her hair, and tenderly tucking her under the warmed blankets. When all was accomplished, Georgiana comfortable amid the plump pillows and goose-down counterpane, Mrs. Annesley sat on the edge of the bed and gently ran her fingertips over her friend’s weary brow.
“Sleep, my dear. Soothe your mind in pleasant dreams. You are fretting when you should not. There is no reason to leap into decisions of such magnitude. Lord Caxton will understand that you are not ready for a commitment. And if he does not understand, then that is part of your answer. As for Mr. Butler, I think you may be allowing preconceived notions to rule. Yet, whatever the truth, peace and serenity are necessary to interpret affairs of the
heart. Trust your instincts and trust God to lead you. Do not be hasty. Mark my words, dearest Georgiana—all will fall into the proper place if you remain calm and in control. Now, sleep.”
Georgiana did sleep, although her dreams were troubled. Dark-haired men faded into blonde men, music played, and laughter rang. And she kept hearing a voice saying I love you but had no idea who spoke.
***
“Sebastian?” He was pulled from his inpatient contemplation of the ceiling to eagerly look at the woman who spoke his name. Merely the sound of his name from her lips was enough to complete his soul and blanket him in peace.
A lazy, appreciative smile lifted his lips, his respirations increased, and his heart started to pound. His eyes roamed slowly over her figure as she gracefully glided toward the bed where he lay. She wore a flimsy nightgown of pale cinnamon that shimmered in the half-light. The fabric flowed over her curves as she walked, revealing tantalizing glimpses of the exquisite flesh underneath. Her hip-length golden hair shone, crowning her head, shoulders, and back as a regal veil. She was smiling, her face resplendent with happiness and hints of lust as her blue eyes swept over his unclothed form concealed only by a thin sheet of satin.
She reached the bed, joined him under the lifted coverlet, burrowed completely against his body, and released a heady sigh. She propped herself on one elbow, her beautiful face hovering above him and wavy blonde tresses a curtain enshrouding them. One hand caressed his neck and shoulder while the other traced tender circles over his brow.
“I love you,” she whispered.
He captured the teasing fingers that massaged his scalp and played with his hair, drawing each tiny tip to his lips for light kisses. He grazed over the underside of her fingers, bestowed nibbles along the way, paused to reverentially kiss the gold rings on her finger, and then traveled on to her palm and delicate wrist. She moaned faintly, her eyes liquid with rising passion.