Divine (6 page)

Sebastian could never keep them straight, each girl being a copy of the next. Their names were even variations on a theme: Mica, Michelle, Micayla, Michaelina. Lord and Lady Michael had proved decidedly unimaginative when it came to child naming.

“Indeed.” Lady Michael gave Lady Ambrosia a scathing perusal. “What a lovely gown. I was unaware they made mourning gowns in pink nowadays.”

Sebastian saw Phillips biting back a laugh out of the corner of his eye.

Lady Ambrosia’s smile froze, eyes narrowing. “What brings you here, Lady Michael? Such a burden to find husbands for four daughters. Do you often scour the hedgerows of Oxfordshire for eligible men?”

Lady Michael’s gaze turned arctic. “At least I manage to keep my carriage on the roadway.”

Lady Ambrosia stiffened, causing Mr. Snickers to growl.

Before things could become more heated, Sebastian stepped forward. “How delightful to hear that your carriage is in excellent repair, Lady Michael. We shall not hinder your journey.” He moved to wave on the coachman.

Lady Michael’s eyes acquired a hint of desperation. “A moment, my lord. Perhaps you would be so kind as to settle a disagreement between Miss Michelle and Miss Mica.” She gestured toward two of her daughters inside the carriage. “Michelle thinks that lilies make the best subject for paper filigree, but Mica quite disagrees and insists that it is roses. What make you of this conundrum, my lord?”

As a specimen of absurd questions, it was truly superb. Inane and completely frivolous.

Sebastian forced himself to see the humor in the situation. The ladies hunting him down, all leaning toward him, waiting gleefully for his pronouncement on lilies versus roses.

It was either hilariously funny or terribly, terribly sad.

And, as with most aspects of life, Sebastian chose to laugh.

And so, he made a point of looking up at the sky as if thinking. “Lilies or roses? Are those my only choices? Personally, I have always been partial to lambs. What say you, Phillips?”

“Lambs? I am afraid I must disagree with you, my friend. For me, it has always been unicorns.” Phillips’ lips twitched.

Ah, he was truly the very best of friends.

Lady Michael looked back and forth between them, eyes wide.

“Lambs or unicorns?” she repeated faintly. And then rallying asked, “What would complement them more, lilies or roses?”

She was obviously not going down without a fight.

“Have you considered adding cherubs to your list of choices?” Phillips asked solicitously.

Sebastian just managed to stifle a chuckle.

Before long, all the ladies had piled out of the carriage and were fluttering around the roadside, shades of blue and yellow and pink.

It was utterly absurd.

By unspoken rule, Phillips engaged them in conversation while Sebastian directed the men in righting the yellow chaise.

“Bless you, Phillips,” Sebastian said as they resettled into his own carriage after sending both sets of women on their way. “Honestly, there is not enough money in Christendom to adequately thank you. It just keeps getting worse.”

“I predict that ladies will be falling out of trees next. Anything to ensnare you. You really do just need to get married, you know,” Phillips laughed good-naturedly.

Sebastian snorted. “I’m trying, my good man. I am most definitely trying.”

Phillips gave a grunt of agreement. “You have so little time left. Just under two months, right?”

Sebastian nodded in agreement. “A point the ladies all well know.”

Sebastian looked out of the carriage window, the trees passing slowly along. He had officially been earl for nearly eight months now. Which in and of itself was a good thing.

The problem, of course, lay in the old earl’s will.

Sebastian, along with the rest of aristocratic society, had been surprised to learn that the eccentric old earl had neglected to alter his will after the former Lord Harward married.

The will still required the heir to the earldom to marry before his twenty-seventh birthday or forfeit sixty thousand pounds: twenty thousand pounds each to three gooseberry societies—one the earl owned—the other two run by Sir Henry Stylles and Lord Blackwell respectively. He had never met either Sir Henry or Blackwell, but their devotion to gooseberries was only rivaled by their fierce competition with each other. They had apparently had a falling out several years previously over some gooseberry slight. Judging by the correspondence he had had with each man, the little fruit could inspire strong passions.

Sebastian had thought it all a merry joke until his solicitor pointed out the earldom could ill afford to lose sixty thousand pounds. Most of polite society considered Sebastian’s immediate marriage to be a necessity. As he would celebrate his twenty-seventh birthday on the eighth of October, time was running out.

A fact not lost on Lady Ambrosia, Lady Michael and other eager matchmaking mamas desperate to trap him into marriage. London had rapidly become intolerable with ladies following him everywhere, popping up at the most inopportune moments. Calling at odd hours of the day. Constantly accosting him during his rides in Hyde Park. One particularly enterprising young miss had even hidden herself in his carriage.

Thankfully Phillips had been there to help. As a cashiered officer, Phillips had no current ties to the army. Therefore, he accompanied Sebastian back to London and had proved himself a most useful friend ever since.

Phillips had proposed the ingenious solution of acting as Sebastian’s chaperone. Being caught alone with a young lady almost guaranteed a marriage. It was marry her or face her angry father/brother/guardian with pistols at dawn. Having already experienced enough violence for a lifetime, Sebastian wished to avoid either scenario. Phillips, always at his side, ensured that no young debutante managed to get Sebastian alone.

Besides, Sebastian had long ago decided
who
he wanted to marry. And no over-eager debutante would stand in his way.

He loved Miss Georgiana Knight, had always loved her and—now that he was an earl—was finally eligible to honorably court her.

From all reports, she was ill and, most likely, dying. She only cared for him as a brother.

But brotherly feelings aside, it gutted him to think of her wasting away without him at her side. Sick or no, he would relentlessly woo her, somehow persuade her to marry him and spend what little time they had together, ensuring that whatever life she had left was as comfortable as possible.

As far as plans went, it was an excellent one.

Now if he could only
find
the lady in question.

For someone supposedly dying of consumption, Georgiana Knight had proved remarkably agile at hiding from him.

As soon as he had cashiered out of the army and returned to London to assume the earldom, Sebastian had written James Knight, inquiring after his sister’s health and discreetly asking for permission to formally court her.

Arthur Knight had written in reply, informing Sebastian that his brother, James, had been killed in a carriage accident while on the road to visit their sick sister in Liverpool. Arthur welcomed Sebastian’s interest in his sister.

But, regretfully, her health is such that she cannot permit visitors.

Months passed. Becoming a new earl had been overwhelming, so many things to learn, so many decisions to make, so many people suddenly looking to him. Sebastian quickly found himself drowning in duty, commanding a small army of servants and tenants, taking up his seat in the House of Lords. The demands on his time were such that he couldn’t drop everything and chase across England, tracking Georgiana down. Despite the fact that was
all
he wanted to do.

Fortunately, Phillips again saved the day, taking over the responsibility of sending out letters and inquiries. After several pointed letters back and forth with Arthur Knight—letters which took an inordinate amount of time going and coming—they had finally learned that Georgiana was in the care of a physician named Dr. Carson in Liverpool, a renowned specialist in the treatment of consumption.

Sebastian, himself, had written Dr. Carson separately, but the man had been circumspect, citing patient confidentiality. Phillips had then taken the extreme step of hiring a man to investigate the good doctor’s practice, but Phillips reported that their man had not been able to confirm or deny Georgiana’s presence in Liverpool. All the while, events managed to keep Sebastian in London: the ongoing war with Napoleon required his insight as a former soldier, legislation needed to be passed through Parliament, piles of legal papers demanded his attention.

At times, it felt as if Fate were standing in his way, preventing him from finding her. Everything he tried came to naught.

It was utterly maddening.

Everyone he questioned agreed Georgiana’s health had been failing for nearly two years now. She had lost weight and had developed a rattling cough. There was no suggestion from any quarter that she had left to cover an unwanted pregnancy or unequal marriage. Sebastian didn’t doubt she was genuinely ill.

Parliament had
finally
closed for the season, allowing Sebastian to escape London at last and devote all his energies to pursuing Georgiana in earnest.

“For the thousandth time, Phillips, it just makes no sense. Why does Knight resist telling me of Miss Knight’s exact whereabouts? Why the secrecy?” Sebastian gazed out the carriage window, fingers drumming his thigh in frustration.

“I agree. ‘Tis a pity that Dr. Carson hasn’t been more forthcoming. It is as if Miss Knight has fallen off the planet. I have not been able to find a trace of her anywhere.”

They rode in silence for a minute.

“It seems unlikely that she is no longer . . . living?” Sebastian shied away from the word
dead
.

Phillips nodded almost reluctantly. “It would be odd of Knight to lie about her death. But, it is hard to know his true motivations. Perhaps the manner of her death was disgraceful in some way, and Knight wishes to protect the family honor . . .” Phillips’ voice trailed off.

Sebastian swallowed. It was his worst fear.

That Georgiana was already gone, his chance with her lost before it had even begun. He didn’t care if Georgiana was dying, if she was emaciated and feeble, her body wracked with ragged coughing. He just wanted to see her again, to hear her voice.

Sebastian stared sightlessly out the window. Wildflowers dotted the lane, poking their heads out from the grasses, a riot of late summer color. Reds, pinks, yellows followed by bush after bush covered in small icy blue flowers.

“Here, Seb,” Georgiana said, handing him poppies and daisies. “These will do.”

“What about some of those cornflowers?” He pointed to the cobalt stems dancing farther out in the meadow.

She glanced at the flowers and then turned back to him. “To match my eyes?” she asked, shamelessly fluttering her eyelashes.

“No. Cornflower is not the right color. Too dark,” he returned drolly. “Your eyes are definitely more forget-me-not blue.”

“Not larkspur or bluebell?”

“Not in the slightest. Forget-me-nots. Two little flowers of them.”

She matched his wry smile. Nudged him with her shoulder. “And will you ever?”

He gave her a questioning eyebrow.

“Forget me?” she asked, teasing.

He stilled, her words a lance to the heart.

“No.” A pause. “That’s what ‘forget-me-not eyes’ mean. You don’t ever leave them behind.”

He ran a hand over his face and turned away from the window.

He was nearly at the end of his tether, unsure and helpless as to what to do next.

Two months. He had just shy of two months left. What time did Georgiana have?

He needed to
find
her. Soon.

He refused to leave her behind, to forget, to move on with his life.

But time was, indeed, running out. For both of them.

Chapter 3

Duir Cottage

Herefordshire,

August 14-17, 2013

W
hat to do?

Georgiana felt herself sliding into a morass of indecision. It beat a steady tattoo in her head.

Whattodowhattodowhattodowhattodo
.

The letter had thrown her life into confusion. It was proof—wasn’t it?—that she did indeed return to the past and soon.

Like a tourist. She could take the air, wear a high-waisted dress, embroider some flowers. Discover what her letter was all about.

But . . .

What if she returned to 1813, and then the portal didn’t let her come back to the present? What if she fell in love and decided to stay in the nineteenth century? What if she never saw James again?

That
thought made her want to stay put. How could she risk being parted from James? Being nearly eight years apart in age, their relationship had always been part brother/sister and part father/daughter. With the death of their parents, James had assumed responsibility for raising her, for guiding her into adulthood. He was so very dear, and she was closer to him than anyone else. Just the mere
thought
of life without him made her eyes sting.