Page 40 of Lessons for Marquesses
Her father’s eyes were darker. His shoulders seemed to span the width of the green leather squabs as he bent in and scooped her onto his lap. As if she were a girl again and what had happened, hadn’t. He slipped the wig from her head and, weeping softly, rubbed the stubble where a fortnight past there had been long, crimson curls.
“If your mother were here…” His shoulders shook with grief beneath her cheek.
“Do not cry, Papa. She is here. In our hearts.”
Her father was the strongest man she knew. And the saddest. When her mama had died, a part of him had gone with her.
He cleared his throat when she kissed his jaw damp with tears. A smile formed on his lips, but looking over her shorn hair, it fell away. “Now we shall begin a new life,” he said.
Georgiana’s eyes grew hot. What she wanted was her mama back. But if it made her father happy again, she wanted a new life, too.
“You wish to race the best horses,” he said, gently chucking her chin, “and you shall have them.”
They turned up a drive, lined by oak and ash. The sun broke free of the clouds, gracing the land and a home of dove-grey stone. Like hope, it reflected against the vast range of windows.
“Farendon,” her father said. “It is yours.”
“Mine?”The Eastwick’s home?
“I paid twice its worth. Just for you.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The Afternoon After Raceday
23 April 1763
Newmarket
Oliver St.Clair rubbed the heel of his hand at his chest.
Eight windowpanes in the back of the let house required replacing. Georgiana had attempted to capture the miscreants and received four stitches on her foot and three on her forehead for her folly. Like everything during Newmarket’s race meeting, the quack cost a fortune to do what his wife did for free. Five pounds for seven stitches.
Yet it was not the most shocking part. No, Nicholas had offered Georgiana his assistance. And Georgiana hadn’t stopped begging him to agree to it, knocking on his bedroom door at sunrise when he hadn’t gone to sleep until three. She had hounded him through breakfast, back up to his room, through luncheon, in the study, until he’d had to lock her out.
Georgiana was laying siege, her boots wearing a path in the hall.
Nicholas assisting her? With the opportunity to win back what had been taken from her? Whathehad taken from her? What had Oliver ever done in his life to deserve this? He worked like a dog for his country and king. He was a faithful husband. He hadn’t so much as admired another woman since he’d laid eyes upon Annie. He loved his daughters, didn’t give a damn that there wasn’t a son among them.
He was a loyal friend, Nicholas Eastwick the prime example. Oliver had saved his skin. If only he hadn’t succumbed to his love of loopholes and added the clever bit on allowing Nicholas the right of first refusal. He had thought it would give his friend something to live for. Who could have prophesied that peaceful Nicholas would return as the Wolf or his beloved Uncle William would lose it all. No, Georgiana would lose it all.
The girl was a warrior, descended from Penda, king of Mercia and driving him insane with her pacing.
“I can’t hear you!” he shouted.
Her plea squeezed through the threshold. “Oliver, please.” As of this morning, he hated his name. “Oliver. Allow me the chance, please.”
“A chance? You had your chance, and Eastwick took it from you!”
The door rattled at its hinges. “Mr. Wolf pledges to make it right.”
“Right? Right!” He should come out and tell her Mr. Wolf’s identity.
She tried a different tack, two raps on the panel, polite enough. “Oliver? Mr. Wolf?—”
“Enough!” She was going to know, loyalty to Nicholas be damned. She was his blood, and he couldn’t piece two thoughts together.
Crumpling the contract Georgiana had written for Mr. Wolf, he tossed it behind his back and stomped to the door. “Do you know who?—”
