Divine (12 page)

Of course, that was
not
why Lady Ambrosia had inquired after Linwood. After Sebastian himself, Lord Linwood was one of the most sought after bachelors of the
ton
.

Marianne smiled wanly, not missing Lady Ambrosia’s intent. “Why, yes, Timothy will be at Kinningsley all autumn.”

Instantly, all the Miss Burbanks went profoundly still.

Like a pride of lions, all jerking to attention and turning their heads toward that irresistible prey: an unmarried man of consequence.

“Oh, how delightful, Mrs. Knight. I was unaware your brother lived so close.” Lady Michael’s hands fluttered against her chest, her eyes instantly glassy with delight. “We shall have to make a point to call upon him, shall we not, my dears? It will not do to have poor Lord Linwood languishing without female company.”

All of her daughters nodded their heads in unison.

Sebastian
almost
felt sorry for the man. But anything that tempered Lady Michael’s enthusiasm for him was a welcome diversion.

He glanced at Georgiana, catching her stifled smile. He held her gaze for a moment, basking in the humor that sparkled between them.

Mr. Snickers wiggled off of Lady Ambrosia’s lap and began to sniff his way around the room, bearing a striking resemblance to a lumbering bumblebee with his tail wagging above his yellow and black striped tunic. The little dog paused at the lamb and roses quilled work basket near the fireplace.

“What an interesting basket. Is this your work, Miss Knight?” asked one of the Miss Burbanks, turning to Georgiana. Mica, he thought. Or was it Michaelina?

Sebastian watched as Georgiana blinked at the basket, her eyes widening. Obviously, she had hoped to never see it again.

“Yes—yes it is. I had a governess who was quite accomplished in paper filigree and insisted I learn the art.”

Here Georgiana gave a polite little laugh.

“Miss Knight is a most accomplished quiller,” Sebastian said with a guileless smile.

Georgiana shot him a warning look, her expression freezing.

Sebastian tried to keep his expression innocent but, as his smile morphed into a roguish grin, he was not sure he succeeded.

“How charming, Miss Knight,” Miss Mica/Michaelina said. “I know we all simply adore paper filigree. You must join us. Why I daresay we could spend the entire day quilling.” All the Miss Burbanks nodded their heads at this.

“Indeed? That is . . . remarkable. Did you know that Lord Stratton is a tremendous admirer of quill work?”

Georgiana turned and beamed at him, shifting slightly to press her foot down on the top of his boot. Not enough to do any damage, but enough to make her point.

He grinned right back, his smile definitely mischievous now. If she thought he found her teasing annoying, she was
far
off track.

The ladies’ heads were almost like a line of kittens, flashing back and forth between Georgiana and him.

She turned back to the ladies. “I hear Lord Stratton’s favorite subject for filigree is fruit,” she deadpanned.

“Fruit? Really?” Sebastian only just managed to keep from laughing.

“With faces on them. Particularly gooseberries.”

The Miss Burbanks all nodded in unison, obviously already composing paper filigree in their heads. Sebastian saw an army of smiling gooseberries in his future.

“Ah, Miss Knight, you know me too well. I look most forward to seeing your own charming
fruitful
example.”

He trapped her hand resting on the sofa. With a languid smile, he raised her knuckles to his lips in a careful salute. Her eyes widened in warning.

“You are all politeness, Lord Stratton,” she said, tugging her hand free.

“No, merely truthful.”

“You should know that I am only skilled in rendering lemons.”

“Perfect.”

“Truly? Oblong, boring, acidic. Lots of yellow.”

“Lemons are the most romantic fruit of all.”

“Lemons? I think that most poets would beg to disagree with that assessment.” She folded her hands primly in her lap.

“Oh, I think not.”

“Many would consider the pomegranate to be the most romantic fruit.”

“There the masses are wrong.”

“Not oranges or strawberries? Even the humble gooseberry is more likely to inspire amorous feelings.”

“No. It is most decidedly lemons.”

“Indeed? I had always considered them to be quite sour.”

“Exactly so, Miss Knight. Therein lies their charm.”

She cocked a quizzical eyebrow at him. He let his slow smile creep across his face, hoping it was as disarming as some claimed it to be.

He leaned toward her and whispered, low and quiet for her, and her alone, to hear.

“I find lemons make my lips . . . pucker.”

Georgiana caught her breath at that, the tiniest of catches expanding her ribs, the slightest flaring of her eyes.

She did not, however, blush.

Which was somewhat odd. The Georgiana of his youth would have flushed bright pink at such a statement.

Instead, she gave him a quelling look and pressed her heel into his foot again.

Sebastian turned back to see the entire room staring at them. Phillips, Arthur and Marianne grinning good naturedly.

The rest of the ladies . . . not so much. Lady Michael and Lady Ambrosia seemed ready to spit daggers, and even Mr. Snickers had a mean little look in his eye.

The sooner he convinced Miss Georgiana Knight to marry him, the better.

Georgiana’s bedroom

Haldon Manor

Early morning hours on August 28, 1813

Birthday in minus 42 days

. . . Wrap me in the light of your love . . .

That impossibly enigmatic letter.

Arthur had been quite dismissive of it.
Troublesome
indeed! Neither of her brothers had demonstrated a proper appreciation for the profundity of its mystery.

Georgiana tossed a photocopy of the letter onto the counterpane—she had left the original in 2013—and collapsed back into her pillows piled against the headboard.

After maintaining lady-like posture all day, she felt the tiniest bit naughty slouching on her bed.

She reached for her tablet and pulled up her
My Mysterious Letter
list, pondering it for a moment.

Who did she love to such depth? And when?

As she had noted in her list, the letter was dated -ber 1813, which meant it would be written sometime between September and December. Given that it was now pushing the end of August, she could write the letter at almost any time.

If only she felt that kind of emotion for someone.

. . . love that comes from deep within a woman’s soul . . .

Shatner. She cared about him—his focus, his energy, his drive—but did she care
that
much? Perhaps being away from him would make her heart grow fonder.

Or absence could make the heart wander.

She chewed on the inside of her cheek and pondered the state of her heart.

It felt . . . oh, who was she fooling?

Her heart felt whole and entirely her own. Perhaps she just wasn’t made out for romantic, gushy love like poets described. She felt happy when she was with Shatner, and she loved the idea of the life they would have together.

That probably described love for her. Other people just waxed more rhapsodic about it.

So what about her letter then? Did she write it as a lark as James had suggested—a joking expression of poetic love?

She briefly saw herself seated in Arthur’s study, pen in hand, composing the letter.

Someone else strolls to her side, leaning over, helping her come up with the lines. Someone with broad shoulders and dark hair, his low voice laughing as they write the ridiculous words of love together . . .

Georgiana groaned. Yes, she could see it all too clearly. Perhaps the letter truly was just a lark.

Sighing, she added that point to her list:

1. Could I have written (will I write?) the letter as a joke?
   

The clock on the mantle chimed once. Was it already one o’clock in the morning? Georgiana pursed her lips and looked around her room, the place that had always been her sanctuary.

The two windows stood open, allowing a cool summer breeze to stir the pale green bed curtains. No fire burned in the hearth, but the room was lit enough by a decidedly anachronistic solar lamp sitting on her bedside table. Much brighter and less sooty than candles.

The large trunk she had brought through the portal stood open at the foot of her bed. Marc had the ingenuous idea to place the trunk on casters, enabling her to wheel it through along with herself.

Georgiana had chosen the trunk because it looked quite period, but its contents were anything but nineteenth century. She might be returning from her adventures in the twenty-first century, but that didn’t mean forgoing all the perks of modern life.

Aside from the solar lamp, Georgiana had brought her phone and tablet, as well as extra batteries and discrete solar chargers for them. She had loaded an external harddrive with a ridiculous amount of information, everything from medical textbooks to music to dress patterns. She even had night vision goggles. All the tools necessary for sleuthing out an answer to her mysterious letter.

She had the trunk fitted with a false bottom, enabling her to hide all her futuristic anomalies from servants. And she knew of a small window in the attic which would be the perfect stowaway place to recharge all her small solar batteries.

However, the bulk of her trunk she had dedicated to clothing, all the dresses and accessories made for her Bosom Companions of the English Regency meetings. Even if she didn’t find love, she would be the best dressed young lady in Herefordshire. Right now she was wearing a lovely nightgown of the softest Egyptian cotton with yards of lace. The kind of lace that abounded in 2013 but would be obscenely expensive in 1813. A matching dressing gown lay draped at the end of her bed.

But how to go about investigating her letter? The Jupiter sign was an utter enigma. What did the symbol mean in the context of the letter? It wasn’t as if she could go around showing the symbol to people, asking for their opinion.

Or could she?

Georgiana pondered for a minute. That wasn’t such a terrible idea actually. A small wondrous smile touched her lips. It was just so
exciting
. The whole situation made her feel all bubbly.

And Sebastian? What to do about him?

He really was her dearest friend. Kind and cheerful and just . . .
Sebastian
.

Every time she looked at him, she saw the gangly boy who had nothing better to do with his time but sit under that old willow tree, its branches dipping down into the river.

“The Mysteries of Udolpho,” he said, taking the novel from her hands with a raised eyebrow.

She grabbed for the book, but he turned his shoulders to her, his long arms keeping it out of reach.

“Sebastian . . .” she warned.

He laughed and thumbed through a few pages. “Let’s see. Dastardly guardian. Creepy decrepit castle. Please tell me the story involves copious amounts of swooning—”

“You are terrible.” She lunged around him and snatched the book back, her long braid hitting his arm. “There is nothing wrong with swooning if the situation merits it.”

He laughed harder. A full on guffaw really.

“Please! Georgiana Knight, I cannot imagine a situation that would induce you to
swoon
.”

She glared at him, trying to control a smile which threatened to undermine the sternness of her look.

“If I were the heroine of a gothic novel, I am sure swoon-worthy moments would arise with shocking regularity—”

He shook his head, chuckling incredulously.

“I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Georgie, but gothic heroines are regularly praised for their exemplary and obedient natures. I can think of many words to describe you, but for some reason
obedient
is never on the list—”

“What a thing to say! Of course I am obedient. In what way am I not?”

He gave her a wry grin and then tapped the cover of her book.

“Case in point. Does your grandmother approve of this reading material?”

She opened her mouth to reply and then shut it.

“Touché,” she said with a nod. “But what Grandmama doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Besides, who is going to tell?”

Sebastian smiled. Slow and decidedly mischievous.

“Oh no. Just no, Sebastian.” She knew that look too well. “You cannot seriously be thinking—”

“How delightful.” He leaned toward her. “I love nothing more than holding a secret over you.”

She stared at him for an instant and shook her head. “Is it to be blackmail then?”

He chuckled. “You
were
wanting your life to be more like a gothic novel. Blackmail seems like a good place to start.”