Page 69 of Ironvine

She let out a laugh. “There’s something medieval and very strong about the name he chose. A vine is a terribly unglamorous thing.”

“As are the iron and coal and ochre found in our local mines.”

“But they are all precious treasures of our land. And in the Bible, the vine represents the seam of life. Christ likened himself to the hale and stalwart vine.”

“Hale and stalwart, eh?”

“They are hardy. They survive. They have many, many branches, and bear much fruit.”

“I do not think such vines can be found here any longer. Those are a thing of the past, I’m afraid. All we have left is a story and a name. And that name has become renown for misdeeds and impropriety.”

She leaned forward. “You are the Earl of Ryvves now, Charles. You are Ironvine, all that it was, all that it is, and, most importantly, all that it can be.”

He swallowed hard at her words, at her earnest tone. How she believed in him. As the second son, he was never supposed to inherit the title, and he’d grown accustomed to that. He’d never imagined himself shouldering it all alone. Taking charge, assuming total control.

Charles took in his new wife as she examined the other paintings in the room. He was no longer alone. Drawing in a deep breath, he allowed the pleasure of that thought—of comfort and ease—to seep through his body for the first time in a very, very long time.

ChapterThirty

Georgina

Husband and wifeeach dressed for their first dinner together and met in the drawing room.

“You are quite lovely,” said Charles, his voice unusually low and rough, and her face heated. He didn’t compliment her with the same glibness that he once had over the years. Now he seemed to take her in as if he were appraising every detail of her with a fervour she’d never before experienced. It was almost disturbing.

And deeply exciting.

“Thank you.” Georgina took his arm, and he led her through to the dining room.

The servants pulled out their chairs for them. From the opposite end of the long table gleaming with silver candelabra and elaborate place settings, she asked, “Must I sit so far away, Charles?”

With a grin, he gestured to the servant. “The Countess and I shall dine alongside one another.”

Georgina made her way toward Charles’s end of the table, where the servants quickly set a new service for her, and she took her seat. “We are terribly modern, after all.”

“Aren’t we, though?” His eyes flashed at her. “We swindled your family of you.”

“Swindled? Such a term, my lord.”

“What would you prefer, my lady?”

Her spine tingled every time he referred to her as “my wife,” “wife,” or “my lady.” And, most especially, when he called her “My Countess.”

“I suppose you are correct.” She tasted the wine as the creamy white soup was served. “I was to be bartered, and I swindled them of their product and opportunity. It all happened so swiftly and on the turn of the direst of circumstances and yet, here we are. I am most grateful to be here at Ironvine with you, Charles.”

“You are the mistress of Ironvine, Georgina. Not my kept woman.”

Their soup dishes were taken away, and they were served fillets of beef. “Have you ever kept a woman, Charles?”

“Well…” The wine he’d just swallowed burned down his throat. “Yes.”

“Here at the house?”

“No. Never here.” He cleared his throat. “At a house in London.”

“What became of her?”

“She was an actress and had many admirers. I failed in paying her the attentions she required and as often as she required, and she found someone who did and had deeper pockets than I.”

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