Page 44 of Marry in Scarlet
George hated the hypocrisy of that. If she gave her word, she’d keep it. Her sense of honor was just as reliable as any man’s. As any duke’s.
The duke was to call at eleven. Time crawled on.
By half past ten George was ready to climb the walls. Or murder Aunt Agatha who didn’t let up her lecturing for a moment. They’d all gathered in the drawing room to wait for the duke’s arrival.
“Of course you will accept, you stubborn child. You have no choice in the matter.”
“I’m sorry, Aunt Agatha, but that’s not true,” Emm said serenely. “I made a vow when I first married Cal that all the girls would be free to choose their own future, and nothing has changed. Admittedly George is in an awkward situation, but—”
“Awkward? She has causeda scandal!”
Cal added his mite. “Seems to me the duke is as much to blame, if not more so. Can’t see George instigating a thing like that, myself.”
George grimaced. Her behavior had been totally uncharacteristic, she knew. She was only just starting to understand why. It was so frustrating the way nobody talked about these things—not to unmarried girls, anyway. It was infuriating to be kept in ignorance of how one’s body worked. At least George had been able to put two and two together because of her years growing up in the country. How did gently reared London girls ever work things out? She supposed they waited until they were married—and then it was too late. They were caught.
The clock in the hall chimed eleven. Cal glanced pointedly around the room. “And if the duke is so keen on this betrothal, where is he?”
Aunt Agatha sniffed. “So he’s late. He’s notorious for unpunctuality.”
“Maybe he’s changed his mind,” George said brightly.
“No matter what the duke does,” Aunt Agatha persisted,“a scandal has occurred and the family must handle it. And if you won’t send the foolish gel down the aisle, what do you intend to do?”
Emm and Cal exchanged glances. “I suppose you could go to the country for a while,” Emm suggested. “Wait for the fuss to die down. You could go to Ashendon Court for a few weeks, or go and stay with Lily and Edward. Old Lord Galbraith would be happy to welcome you. And of course there is always your own house at Willowbank Farm. Martha would be delighted.”
George considered that possibility. She’d grown used to living in London, but there was no denying she missed the country. She’d often thought of returning to Willowbank Farm, the place where she’d grown up. Martha had begun as George’s nursemaid. Later she became cook, housekeeper and the closest thing to a mother—to any kind of a parent—that George had ever had.
And when the money from her father had run out, Martha had stayed with George, working for no wages, sharing the desperate struggle to survive. George loved Martha dearly, and knew Martha would happily welcome her back.
But when Cal had taken George away from the farm—kicking and loudly objecting—Martha had chosen to stay behind, deeming herself unsuited to a fashionable life in the city. Cal, who believed in rewarding loyalty, had then arranged for Martha’s recently widowed youngest sister and her five small children to go and live with Martha.
Martha’s own opportunities to marry and have children had been set aside when she devoted her life to taking care of George. Now she relished having a houseful of children to help raise. And having been assured that Willowbank Farm would be her home for as long as she wanted—for life—she’d gained confidence as well as security. Martha was no longer merely the cook or the housekeeper—she was the woman of the house, with a generous income and servants and farmhands of her own.
George could visit and be welcomed as a beloved guest, but if she returned to Willowbank Farm for any length oftime, she knew what would happen; Martha would revert to being her servant—she wouldn’t be able to help herself—and George never wanted to see that happen.
So Willowbank Farm wasn’t an option and neither, now she came to think of it, was Ashendon Court or staying with Lily and her husband. Or any other kind of cowardly retreat. “I won’t run away. I won’t hide out in the country as if I’ve done something wrong,” she declared.
“Brava,” Emm said softly.
“But youhave—” Aunt Agatha began.
“Oh, bite it, Aggie,” Aunt Dottie said. “We all know what you want, but it’s George’s life, and it’s her decision.”
“I’m staying here,” George finished. “As long as it’s all right with you, Emm and Cal.”
“Of course it is,” Cal said. “Society tabbies are always looking for something new to talk about. Scandals might be uncomfortable to weather, but they never last long.”
“Besides,” Emm added, “if you’re going to be the baby’s godmother, I’ll need you on hand when he or she is born.”
“Godmother? Me?” George swallowed, surprised and deeply moved. “Are you sure?”
“Emmaline! How can you say such a shocking thing!” Aunt Agatha snapped before Emm could respond.
They all turned to frown at her. “But George will be perfect—” Emm began.
“It’s our decision,” Cal said at the same time.
“Will you never stop interfering, Aggie?” Aunt Dottie added. “George will make an excellent godmother.”
