Page 128 of Lessons for Marquesses
Georgiana’s mind reeled in all directions. Her cousin knew Nicholas was the marquess. She managed to say steadily, “I know who he is.”
Caroline’s perfectly plucked brows arched high. “Oh. And so you know he killed his brother.”
Nicholas had crushed Georgiana with his deceit. Yet to her very depths, there resided a certainty. “He did not kill his brother.”
“He did.”
Georgiana’s voice rose. “And I know he did not.”
“Know? How? You were twelve, traipsing about in your breeches. But you still do, don’t you?” Caroline folded her arms, a swagger to her narrow shoulders. “He asked me to marry him, did he tell you this? That he loves me?”
Georgiana focused on her cousin’s mouth when her words turned muffled as if she’d been thrown and the world had gone distant. Was this Nicholas’s beloved? Caroline had deserted Nicholas for the pompous, natter-brained Lord Tufton? A man referred to, in all seriousness, as Tuffy?
“He killed his brother for a title.” Caroline pointed an emerald-ringed finger up to Georgiana’s nose. “He killed for me. He knew I would not marry a second son, and he tried to win me.”
A strange mixture of anger and pity buffeted her. Who was truly the pathetic thing? Georgiana felt a consideration at oddswith Caroline’s vitriol. It was impossible to hate a person who was so blind.
“Caroline, you lie to yourself to assuage your guilt. You deserted him. I can see it in your eyes. You left him to his fate. You let him go off to war without his beloved. You chose to leave him and to believe he killed his brother.”
“And why wouldn’t I believe it? They found him in the billiard room covered in Edmund’s blood.”
Georgiana’s shoulders bent sharply as if a fist had been driven into her stomach. The blow dealt might have stripped her from speaking ever again. Her heart plummeted, recovered, and raced. It pounded at her neck, in her ears. Yes, the man in the billiard room had been Nicholas’s brother.
Lord Tufton, Caroline’s husband, stood at the door. “Caro, you’ve done quite enough. Apologize at once to your cousin.”
“I’ve done nothing to apologize for,” Caroline said.
Lord Tufton closed his eyes briefly. “Eastwick came to me in London. He showed me the slanderous article you had published. He threatened to ruin me through the courts. And strip you from the world.”
He snapped his fingers. A thin, stony-faced man carried in two wood cases with tufted, embroidered tops and set them on a parson’s table.
Lord Tufton opened both. “I trust these meet to your satisfaction, Miss St. Clair?”
Georgiana glanced at the bumper of jewels in each case. Whose jewels? Her mother’s jewels? She nodded absently.
“Now you will go pack, Caro. It’s time you acted like a wife and mother. And you will bring down any of the jewels given to you by William St. Clair.” Lord Tufton yanked the emerald ring from Caroline’s finger.
After a stunned moment, Georgiana took it when offered.
“I will not!” Caroline cried.
“You will. Or I will be sued by Eastwick and Acomb. And I will banish you to the country for the remainder of your life. Not two years. Do you heed me?”
Caroline paled beneath her bruises. “Y-You cannot.”
“I can. And I will. Until Eastwick is satisfied that you will no longer cause any grief to Miss St. Clair. If that is for life, so be it.”
Nicholas had gone to London and demanded her mother’s jewels back. Demanded Caroline’s bullying be thwarted. Threatened to bring suit.
Caroline’s yellow petticoat whirled over her panniers as she smirked at Georgiana. “Then I have no remorse for alerting Sir Jeffrey about Kitty wanting to run off with Julian and his friends to Paris. Good riddance to her!”
Georgiana stumbled into the hall, gripping the railing when the stairs were clouded by her tears. She gained the corridor and lurched along its length.
She fumbled for the doorknob at the master’s chamber. Between their kisses and caresses, their joining in love, Nicholas had spoken of his brother. His voice had cracked in pain, his whispers poignant as he told her how much he wished to see him again.
At the writing desk, she scrubbed her eyes. The drawer scratched along its slide, giving up its contents reluctantly. She pushed away the medallion. The truth wrapped itself around her, squeezing at her chest.
Edmund Clayton stared back at her in miniature.
