Page 129 of Ironvine

The trees swayedin the wind as their carriage brought them into Penrose Park on the other side of the village from Ironvine. Aunt Vivian had invited Charles and Georgina to dine.

Both Charles and Georgina were still emotionally exhausted from their discussion with the Duchess and Amanda’s shocking visit the day before last. Charles was relieved the slap had left no bruise on Georgina’s cheek, only a red mark that had faded. They rode most of the way in silence.

Charles loosened his grip on the reins. “This morning, I wrote to a friend in London who knows a man trained in matters of investigation. He assures me he is very discreet.”

“Now that the Duke and Duchess are no longer the likely suspects, this is a good decision. I must say, I am quite glad that Hugh and I did not marry. I don’t mean, of course, that I’m glad your brother is dead, only that as his wife I’m sure I would have been quite alone, unhappy, and grown bitter, much like my mother.”

“You would have been, yes.” Charles kept his gaze on the road.

Georgina fiddled with her gloves, pulling them off. “Is that why you were in a temper when you came with Hugh to settle the engagement? Because you knew what awaited me as his wife?”

“He would have taken full advantage of you in every way, then abandoned you without explanation whenever he liked to be with her or whomever else had caught his eye, for as often as he liked.” He let out a sigh. “Inevitably, he was sure to break the Duchess’s heart one day.”

“I think he may have already done that.”

“I think so.” Charles let out a sigh. “Who am I to judge him?”

“Have you ever been true to any woman?”

His lips tipped up. “There she goes, merciless.”

“Give me the sordid truth.”

“No. Never.”

“Never?”

“Only to you, Georgie,” he confessed, the weight in his chest shifting. “I find I want to be constant and faithful to you. It’s quite a singular sentiment for me. Peculiar, foreign, and very potent. I cannot deny it. It’s what I want, just as I want you to be mine alone.” He swallowed hard and glanced at her. “Are you mine alone? In your thoughts? Your heart? Do I ask too much of you? Am I being selfish? Bloody hell, I don’t know how this works, I—”

“Á vous seule.”Her posture straightened as her hand gripped his thigh. “I am yours alone, Charles. That is how I feel, that is what I want. You have my complete and utter loyalty.” Georgina’s dark eyes gleamed in the afternoon sun. “I’m proud and most grateful that I am your Countess.” She brushed his cheek with a kiss. A small thing, a gentle touch, and yet it was a balm salving the gashes and scars inside him.

“Ah, there she is,” Georgina murmured as the manor rose before them. Smaller and less grand than Ironvine, but a very handsome Tudor-style house.

“It is, indeed.” Charles pulled up in the drive, and a footman aided Georgina’s descent from their carriage. They entered the hall, and immediately that familiar combination of lemon oil and cedar greeted him, and he took Georgina’s hand in his.

The servant announced their arrival as they entered the parlour.

“Ah, here they are, our newlyweds.” Aunt Vivian embraced him.

“Aunt.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek.

She took Georgina’s hands in hers. “Georgina, how good to see you again.”

“Aunt Vivian.” Georgina hugged Aunt Vivian whilst Charles greeted Alice.

“Georgina, I’m so very pleased to now call you cousin,” said Alice.

Georgina embraced the girl. “I too am most pleased, dearest Alice.”

Charles’s gaze remained on the prospect of the park from the large window where a riot of colourful flowers and shrubs framed the view. As a boy at Ironvine, he would sometimes accompany his mother as she trimmed her blooms, picked her flowers, and tended to the special varieties in the conservatory. He would hold her basket for her as she worked, helping her fill it as he babbled on, asking her questions about anything and everything, and they would talk and laugh.

“What a splendid front garden you have, Aunt,” Georgina remarked as she moved toward the window. “The colours are beautiful.”

“My sister, Charles’s mother, is responsible for that garden. Sophie chose all the flowers herself. She loved to putter about there. Said it eased her.”

“Sophie? What a lovely name.” She glanced at him with a small smile.

“We shall sit by the great window here and enjoy it with our wine as my sister would have wanted us to.” Aunt Vivian gestured at the lovely table prepared for them, and they sat down and enjoyed a glass of sherry.

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