Page 39 of Lessons for Marquesses
Huntingdonshire, England
Mr. Redgrave dronedon in Greek about heroes.The Odysseyspecifically,her tutor having a fondness for Odysseus and his epic journey home after ten years of war. After the fourth telling, Georgiana had grown weary, not of the tale itself, but the endless promulgation of themes.
She could not bear to attend to heroics and themeswith the piece of toast and bite of herring she’d had for breakfast still lodged in her throat. Her fear had turned nearly untenable two hours before when the magistrate had arrived. And all the while Mr. Redgrave droned on about the triumph of justice.
Currently, he expounded on Odysseus’s slaughter of Penelope’s suitors. Georgiana had never agreed with the hero’s decision to kill 108 men because they’d taken up residence in his home during his absence, wooed his wife, emptied his winecellar, then thrown a few insults and heifer hooves at him when he returned disguised as a stranger.
“Heroessuffer,” Mr. Redgrave reminded her. “And they impartsuffering.”
Her breakfast inched up her throat. She rubbed both palms, sticky with sweat, on her breeches. Two hours and the magistrate hadn’t appeared in front of her. But the man hadn’t departed her home either.
As the clock ticked, the air thinned in the gallery lined by fifty feet of mullioned windows. Upon Gothic paneling, ancestral portraits leaned forward at the top from their hooks and watched her.
Another three-quarters of an hour passed. Another coach arrived though she dare not leave her seat.
Spittle had formed on Mr. Redgrave’s lips. “We must never forget the principles of xenia. To exemplify generosity when providing for our guests, to grant them safety…”
Georgiana fumbled for the slip of paper in her coat sleeve. Since the first of July, she had been carrying it without fail, tucking it in her pillow case when she slept.
Fear thou not, for I am with thee. Be not dismayed, for I am thy God. I will strengthen thee.
Mr. Redgrave slapped the book shut. “Are you listening?”
Georgiana sat straighter. “Yes, sir.”
“What is the importance of xenia?”
“The ancients believed gods walked amongst them. And if one hosted a stranger poorly the host risked incurring the wrath of a god disguised as a stranger.”
“And what of the suitors? Why was it right that Odysseus slay them?”
Her chest screwed, working her breakfast down until at last she could speak. “Yes, sir. They demanded beyond the bounds.”
She conferred with the scripture again.
“What do you have there?” Her tutor yanked down her arm and stole the verse. He scowled and promptly rendered the paper to ash over a taper.
Georgiana sank in her chair, certain the verse had been her sole protection.
Her father’s voice warmed the silence. “George, please come with me.”
Georgiana stood on shaking legs, following her father beyond the library to the corridor leading to the massive staircase that, even with the blood-red carpet to line it, always gave away the trespasser.
Cousin Oliver stood at the ponderous double door. His suit of grey matched his frown and the clouds looming beyond him. His eyes raked over Georgiana’s wig. Under it, her newly shaved head itched.
Oliver’s frown deepened as her father stepped past him. He shook his brown-wigged head and ushered her through. He took her arm, leading her to a coach where her father waited inside. Sweat dripped down her neck, wicked away by her stock.
Oliver squinted. “I’ll see you there.”
There?
At her father’s gentle urging, she climbed into the coach. They rode in silence, Georgiana cherishing each breath. Miles and miles they traveled.
A castle’s crumbling parapet flitted over the trees. Sometimes she intruded upon Eastwick land to the old Margate castle ruin to search for ghosts. But the only ghost she had ever seen was a young man on horseback, across a barley field, too far to discern his features. Georgiana had called to him, and he had pointedly presented his back. Another rotten Eastwick.
Her father spoke. “I love you, George.”
Georgiana stammered, his words unexpected, though he had never once withheld his affection. “I-I love you, too.”
