Page 53 of Marry in Scarlet
How did a duchess behave, anyway? George didn’t really know. She pictured some kind of an Aunt Agatha, only worse, more dignified, if that were possible. Pompous and autocratic. Not that the duke’s mother was like that. But she was dying.
Downstairs she heard Cal go out on some business. She’d talk to Emm. Emm was her aunt by marriage, but their relationship was more like a maternal big sister or a friend. She was wise. And she really listened.
George found Emm reading with her feet up in the small sitting room.
Emm looked up as she entered. “That was quite an about-face you made today. You don’t exactly look like a radiant bride-to-be.”
George grimaced.
Emm put her book aside. “You haven’t been forced into this, have you, George, darling? I know Aunt Agatha is terribly keen for you to make a splendid marriage, but if you truly don’t want it, now is the time to say so.”
“No, I’ll go ahead with it—I’ve given my word now, and I won’t back down, but...”
“But you’re having second thoughts.”
She nodded. “Oh, Emm, I don’t know how to be a duchess. You know how I hate all that formal stuff. And I don’t want to learn it.”
Emm leaned forward and took her hand. “You will be the kind of duchess you decide to be. Duchesses come in all kinds of shapes and sizes and with all kinds of temperaments.”
George nodded. “I know. Like the Duchess of York.”
Frederica, the Duchess of York, was unhappily married to a royal prince. The duchess had retired to Oatlands, her country home, where she lived with dozens of dogs, monkeys and horses.
The thought of the Duchess of York calmed her somewhat. The duke had chosen George, and if she wasn’t the kind of duchess he wanted—the kind society would expect—he’d just have to put up with the way George was. She wasn’t going to change. And she’d make sure he couldn’t squeeze her into a mold.
And if the Duchess of York could retire to the country and live with dozens of dogs, so could George.
“Exactly. In any case, Everingham isn’t a very political kind of duke—he sits in the Lords when Parliament is sitting, and Cal says he’s diligent in tending to his various ducal responsibilities, but he doesn’t seem to have any political ambitions. If you think he wants you to be a grand society hostess, well”—she squeezed George’s hand—“he will learn differently, but I don’t think he will expect it of you.”
“But what if he does? What will I do?”
Emm frowned. “George, this is not at all like you, fretting about what people expect and what people will think. Where is the girl I first met, spitting fire and brimstone, determined to forge her own way in the world? And facing problems head-on.”
George bit her lip. That was true. It wasn’t like her to worry over what might be. She’d lived most of her life dayby day, facing whatever she had to face. It had stood her in good stead, too.
And she’d never worried about what other people thought of her—she’d always done what she thought was right and never mind the consequences.
Her brow cleared. “You’re right, Emm. I am worrying about nothing. The duke put me in this position, andhecan wear the consequences. And if he doesn’t like the kind of duchess I become, that’s his bad luck.” She stood. “I’m going to take Finn out for a walk now. Would you like me to bring you back an ice from Gunter’s?”
Emm laughed. “You know me too well. I’d love one, thanks. I just wish I could walk with you. I don’t like being cooped up indoors, but I suppose at this stage, it’s inevitable.”
***
Hart was dressing to go out when he received the note from Lord Ashendon. So, Lady Georgiana had decided to accept the betrothal, had she? And Ashendon would be obliged if he would call the following morning—with or without his man of business—to discuss the settlements.
The surge of triumph he felt on reading it surprised him. Of course he’d known her objections were for form’s sake—no sane woman would turn down an offer from a duke such as he—but he had to admit to a few doubts at the time. She’d seemed so adamant in her refusal.
He adjusted his cravat, inspected his reflection in the looking glass and snorted. As bad as Lord Towsett, indeed! She was like every other female he knew—blowing hot and cold according to whim. Saying one thing while meaning another.
He had no idea what had finally caused her to accept the inevitability of their marriage, but he wasn’t going to question it.
He collected his hat, gloves and cane, and headed off to his club for a quiet, convivial evening. Instead he found half the members in a fever of speculation about his betrothal: Had Lady George truly accepted? Was it really going ahead?Who had put the notice in the newspapers? And more offensively intrusive questions upon which bets had been made.
Refusing to answer any of their questions, Hart took himself off to a gambling den where he was less well-known, where he played carelessly, his mind only half on the cards. He returned home in the wee small hours with a pocketful of winnings and a very bad mood.
“Lucky in cards, unlucky in love,” one impertinent fellow had quipped.
Hart ignored him. Love was a delusion that women used to control men.
