Divine (10 page)

Would she vanish? Could this dream truly last?

Dare he hope to have her as his own?

“I am sure you must have heard the news by now . . . everything that has happened to me. The broadsheets speak of little else,” he continued. “So, please . . . you must put me out of my misery and agree to be my wife.”

Chapter 5

G
eorgiana froze. Literally robbed of breath. Blinked.

The shock was jarring.

Exhilarating
.

But jarring, nonetheless.

“Pardon me . . . but what did you just say?” she managed to gasp.

She had come through the portal with her trunk to find Duir Cottage all closed up. Which was both good and bad. She had hoped to see Arthur first and ascertain what exactly he had told everyone about her. Running into Sebastian beforehand definitely complicated things.

Though how wonderful to see her old friend. She studied him, hands still clasped together. He looked the same and yet different.

Taller. Broader. More mature.

Unruly chestnut-brown hair peeking out beneath his beaver skin hat, closely trimmed sideburns cutting partially across his cheeks lending his face a saturnine look. Eyes the same chocolate brown.

But his face had lost the roundness of youth and was now all angular planes from his strong cheekbones to square jaw. Maybe not typically handsome, but certainly striking. Interesting.

He was definitely bigger. Broader.
Wait
. . . Hadn’t she already thought that?

Well, he
was
. He fairly towered over her.

For his part, Sebastian looked flustered. Off-balance. His eyes wide and intense.

Had he really just asked her to
marry
him?

“I’m sorry,” he said, squeezing her hands tighter. “I’m making a muddle of this. I am asking you, Georgiana, to let me honor you for the rest of my days. To have a place at my side as my wife.”

He gave her a hopeful smile, sweet. Sincere.

Georgiana stared.

What was it with her and lame marriage proposals? Why couldn’t she find a man who could do the job properly?

Fall down on his knees, profess undying love and actually
ask
her the question.

Not that she wanted
Sebastian
to do such a thing.

She had only just arrived, fresh from the twenty-first century. She had Shatner, orphans and a mysterious love letter to consider. Marriage to an old friend was hardly in the cards.

She floundered. What to say?

“Is this some sort of jest?”

Sebastian paused. “Surely, you, of all people have read the broadsheets. My needing to marry should come as no surprise.”

Broadsheets
? When had Sebastian ever been a subject in the newspaper rags? He was an impoverished gentleman of no real consequence. Granted, an agreeable and self-effacing gentleman but never anything more.

“Why should you be in the broadsheets, Sebastian? Has your vaunted charm finally brought you notoriety?”

“You truly don’t know?” He gave a startled laugh. And then performed a small bow. “Allow me to introduce myself. Lord Stratton, at your service, Miss Knight.”

Georgiana felt her jaw drop.

Literally sagged open. It was an interesting sensation.

But now that he mentioned it, his clothing far exceeded a simple gentleman’s wardrobe.

How could she have forgotten how much she enjoyed the sight of tight buckskins and a linen overcoat?

His overcoat hugged his shoulders and fell straight nearly to the ground, clean and perfectly tailored. A white, crisp cravat peeked out from his dark green coat and expensive silver buttons winked on his subtly striped waistcoat.

“Lord Stratton,” she managed faintly. “How? . . . Well, obviously, the old earl and—heavens, Lord Harward too!—must have—”

She was stuttering.

Sebastian nodded his head. “Yes, it was a terrible tragedy.”

Sebastian was an earl. An
earl
! She could scarcely process the thought.

And he had just asked her to be his
countess
.

At least
his
proposal of marriage had been clear enough for her to definitely count it. Not precisely a question and not done with much panache.

But a sixth marriage proposal, nonetheless. She added it to her mental list.

Sebastian tucked one of her hands into the crook of his arm and collected the reins of his horse, gesturing for them to walk toward the house.

Her heart quickened upon seeing the peaked gables of Haldon Manor, the sight achingly familiar. She had dearly missed the old Tudor home, with its mullioned windows and clinging wisteria. She knew that it would burn down at some point in the next decade or so, as the Haldon Manor in 2013 was from a later period. A great, rambling Victorian Gothic building that had been converted into a hotel and spa in the 1950s. But, of course, she had struggled to find out anything concrete about the fate of the current house. The universe, as usual, preventing her from seeing things that pertained to her own past or the ones she loved.

As they strolled, Sebastian recounted events for her, including the odd conditions of the late earl’s will. That the earldom would lose sixty thousand pounds to the gooseberry societies run by himself, Sir Henry and Lord Blackwell if he did not marry before his twenty-seventh birthday on October eighth.

“How relieved I am to find you whole and healthy,” he said. “What a merry chase you have given me! I was about to tear England apart to find you.”

She gave a surprised laugh. “Heavens, you have been looking for me?”

“Most emphatically. Even Arthur did not know of your whereabouts.”

“Really? He knows that I had gone to Liverpool for treatment.”

“Liverpool?” Sebastian cocked a skeptical eyebrow at her. “Give over, Georgie. I know you were never in Liverpool. Arthur told me that James had taken you off somewhere else. So where were you exactly?”

Oh dear. She hadn’t prepared for this kind of question. He looked at her expectantly, his eyes rich and warm in the morning light.

Georgiana swallowed and then laughed a little nervously. She most certainly couldn’t tell him the truth.

Well, you see, Seb, I have just returned from the year 2013 through a time portal
.

Kind old friend or no, Sebastian would have her committed to Bedlam.

“Unfortunately, the nature of my treatment is a bit of a secret. I am not sure how much I am allowed to disclose. But you did terrify me for a moment there, calling me a ghost. I haven’t been able to communicate with Arthur as I would like, so he does not know of my recovery or my coming.”

That lame answer would have to satisfy him. But just to be sure, she changed the subject.

“So you have to marry in just over six weeks’ time? The gossips must be having a heyday with all of it.”

He laughed, good-naturedly as ever.

“Yes, I am sure many a London newspaperman squealed like a little girl in delight over the whole situation. It has been relentless fun for the broadsheets. But the underlying facts are quite serious. If I don’t marry, the earldom will be nearly bankrupt. It’s not something I can allow to happen. So you see, Georgie, I need to marry. And quickly. Please say yes.”

His eyes pleaded with hers. She didn’t know which was worse: questions about her whereabouts or dodging marriage proposals.

This was
Sebastian
, her oldest friend. But she had never considered him as anything more than that. He was just . . . Sebastian.

She shook her head. “Seb, I am so sorry, but I’ve only just returned. I empathize with your situation, truly I do, but I am not really in a place to consider marriage to you. This is just too sudden. We are dear friends, yes, but it does not necessarily follow that we should marry.”

He blinked, taken aback. Georgiana was well aware that few women in England would refuse the charming new Earl of Stratton.

He nodded slowly. “We
are
good friends. The best of friends. Most marriages are founded on much less than that. I think we should rub along quite well.”

Georgiana bristled. “That might be well and good enough for you. But I want more than to merely ‘rub along quite well’ with my husband.” She tried to tug her hand free from his arm.

“I cannot imagine being married to anyone who is
not
my dearest friend,” he countered, keeping her hand firmly through his arm.

Georgiana frowned. When had Sebastian become so strong? His arm was like steel.

“True, but I want more than mere friendship out of a marriage. I want love. The kind of love that makes your knees wobbly and your insides all melty—”

“
Melty
? I am quite sure that Johnson’s
Dictionary
would disagree with the adverbial use of melt to describe—”

“Sebastian—”she warned.

“Yes,
dearest
friend?”

“I don’t love you in
that
way, and I am quite sure that you don’t love me—”

“How can you be sure that I am not hopelessly, madly,
meltingly
in love with you?” His dark gaze danced.

Georgiana nearly rolled her eyes. “Please, Sebastian. I am sure you do love me, in a sisterly sort of way. Just as I love you like a brother. But we both merit better than to just settle for each other. You deserve someone who adores you, Seb.”

Sebastian looked at her mischievously. He most certainly didn’t appear to be a man in love.

And then he smiled. That easy, boyish grin that lit up his face.

He winked at her. “Well, then, I just need to make myself adorable, don’t I? I will win you yet, Miss Georgiana Elizabeth Augusta Knight. Consider yourself forewarned.”

In the end, Georgiana’s arrival at Haldon Manor was exactly as she had imagined.

Arthur staring at her in astonished, relieved joy. Her sister-in-law, Marianne, bursting into noisy tears and throwing her dark head onto Georgiana’s taller shoulder, blaming most of her outburst on her burgeoning belly. Sebastian beaming throughout it all, a confident gleam in his eye.

The entire scene had a dreamlike quality. Or perhaps the past year had been a dream, and Georgiana was only now awaking to reality.

Yes, being home was wonderful and yet . . . not . . . all at the same time.

Adjusting to being a lady again might take some time, despite all her insistence that the last year hadn’t changed her.

She had hugged (hugged!) Sebastian Carew. Who was now The Right Honorable Earl of Stratton.

Sebastian was an
earl
!

The Earl of Stratton!

She added twenty exclamation points to that thought.

A lady didn’t casually embrace an earl in greeting. Even
if
said earl was an old friend. She hadn’t been gone so long as to forget that obvious bit of etiquette.

Though he was shockingly solid. The Sebastian of her memory had still been part boy, excessively thin and wiry.

She remembered seeing him at that ball at Stratton Hall right before he left for the war. He had been larger then, but she had been too distracted by her first trip to London to really pay much attention.

But now . . . all trace of the boy was gone. His wide shoulders towered over her five foot seven inches. She was used to the much leaner, shorter Shatner who only topped her by a half a head. The kind of man who matched her size instead of making her feel small and dainty in comparison.

But Sebastian was so much larger now. Vividly, she relived the embrace, the width of his chest underneath her cheek, the smell of leather, wool and clean soap surrounding her. The controlled strength of his arms.

In that brief instant, she had felt precious, protected.

At home.

Surprising, really. But after pondering it, Georgiana decided it was only to be expected.

She definitely
was
at home. Back at Haldon Manor, returned to her place in society, to familiar faces.

After all the exuberant greetings, Arthur maneuvered a chat with her alone.

“So we agree, then, that you were in Italy for your cure from consumption?” Arthur asked, confirming the story they had decided upon.

He looked at her questioningly from behind James’ desk.

No, wait.

It was Arthur’s desk now, Georgiana realized. All of this had become his with James’ supposed death.

The room looked the same. The imposing desk situated in front of large, paned windows, morning light pouring in, outlining Arthur’s brown head. Heavy blue velvet curtains framed the window, complementing the warm highlights in the dark paneled wood and bookcases that lined the rest of the walls. A strong, masculine room.

“Of course,” she replied. “It makes sense, and I have visited Italy in 2013, so I can most likely talk credibly about it.”

Distinctly, she conjured her supposed convalescence in one of the many hillside towns dotting the coast south of Rome. She
had
spent several weeks in such a place with James and Emme last winter. But now, she transferred it all to 1813.