Page 96 of Ironvine

“It was. My mother thought it was a ridiculous waste of time and money when I should be practicing the pianoforte, my French, or my dancing just as she and Philippa had done at that age. After he died, she got her way. She stopped my drawing and painting lessons and insisted on only music and needlepoint and the like. An obligation of my sex, which I had to fulfil to please my family, to please society, and most especially, to please men. I resented them greatly after a time.”

He stroked the side of her silky face with his fingertips, and she made a small sound that made his pulse leap hotly. “Trust me, my girl, a fine needlepoint does nothing to please my cock.”

“I’m quite sure it would not, sir.” She burst out into a peal of laughter.

He grinned. Georgina was learning what pleased his cock, but at the sound of her relaxed and easy laughter, he shoved away the image of her naked between his legs boldly pleasing his pego with her luscious mouth. A tight spring unwound in his chest. He liked this, the two of them talking about important things, understanding one another, sharing a story, a brazen jest. Nothing forced.

“I did as was expected of me,” she said. “But I continued to draw and paint in secret. I would go to the old nursery in the wing of the house where no one lived. It had a single large window, which would get the best light first thing in the morning, so I would wake very early and go there and work. Everyone thought I had gone on walks or was taking an extraordinary time with mytoilette, or feeling poorly as one often does, but I only let them think so.”

He brushed a stray lock of hair from her cheek. “You don’t have to hide anymore, Georgie.” His fingertips grazed down the side of her neck to her bosom.

Her lips parted at his light strokes across her delicate skin. “No, I don’t.”

“I want you to flourish here at Ironvine.”

“I am most grateful, Charles.” Her voice almost ached with emotion. It meant so much to her, this simple gesture of his. She’d been deprived for much too long.

His heart thumped in his chest. He was accustomed to every gesture having a price, a quid pro quo.

Not with her.

It felt damned good to feed this girl the stuff of her dreams. It was simple and yet satisfying, and it felt good to give to Georgina and not expect nor want anything in return. Charles licked at his lips. He could taste the musk of her quim this very second on his tongue and he craved it now like nothing else.

She picked up the pile of sketches of Hugh she’d collected earlier. “I thought if I could create this token of Hugh for the Duchess, she would have something of him to hold onto as I now have this painting of my father’s. If I can give her this small and very private comfort as a gesture of friendship, mightn’t I? And thus, mightn’t we learn of what she knew of Hugh and Amanda?”

He crossed his arms. “All right then. Paint that thing for her as a gesture of friendship, give it to her, and see how she reacts. It could be telling, I agree. But do not push her.”

Georgina lifted up and brushed his lips with her warm ones.

He held her close. “You must proceed carefully with the Duchess. She may not be the friend you hope her to be.”

ChapterForty-Two

Georgina

Georgina trompedthrough the grasses back to the house. Wearing trousers and tall boots made life so much simpler. She grinned to herself at the memory of asking Charles’s manservant if he had any old clothes of Charles’s for her to wear on a walk to the ruins. Luckily, it had rained early in the morning, so she explained how she did not have many dresses just yet, and nothing suitable for a long walk in the muddy wet fields. Two pairs of breeches, shirts, and even a pair of boots were found for her.

Even now under clouded skies, a cool breeze kicking up, the seat of her pants wet from sitting on the stones, knees down in the grass, her heartbeat thrummed. She was so grateful.

Within three hours, Georgina had filled her sketchbook with studies of the castle tower, the ruined wall with its small medieval windows, and the flowers curled around the stones.

She put the finishing strokes on her sketch of a wisteria bloom. Her last tutor had helped her gain momentum with miniatures, and she’d become quite obsessed with mastering that delicate craft. She was a long way away, but it was so gratifying to now have so many new and beautiful subjects at her disposal, and no one to lie to. To be able to give herself over to her tasks uninterrupted was a luxury she appreciated.

Georgina had set up her drawing supplies in the morning room that Charles had said she could have for herself. In such a room, in such a grand house, the lady of said house would most probably take her tea, take care of her correspondence, and invite a friend for a sherry.

She would do that, but this would also be her place to work in addition to the glass-enclosed orangerie where she would work on larger projects.

Her mother had once snapped at her for being untidy in her rooms at Fairthorn. She had just finished a painting, and she’d been so gratified by the entire experience she hadn’t realised over five hours had flown by. Everyone else had dressed for dinner, and here she was with paint smudged on her hands and arms, splattered on the old clothes she wore to work in. She hadn’t minded, but her mother had been disgusted and scolded her.

“Can’t you at the very least sketch like a lady, and not like a tradeswoman or a gypsy?”

After that day Georgina had tried to be good, to only work early in the morning when no one could disturb her, or, most importantly, catch her out. Now here she was in a very large house, with rooms to call her own, so many rooms to explore, and a husband who had no qualms about her working. Would Hugh have allowed it, she wondered.

Charles had been quite busy the past few days with his steward. The man was elderly and wanted to retire, and his son would most probably be taking over for him. Having been away in London for almost two months, Charles had a lot of catching up to do on estate business, but it didn’t seem to ruffle him in the least. He enjoyed the work.

“Hello, m’lady. Did you have a good walk?” Jerrold greeted her in the front hall.

“I did indeed, Jerrold.”

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