Divine (9 page)

Hope
.

He had nourished that beggar for so long. But with so little to sustain it and time running short, he wondered how long hope could last.

The estate grounds

Haldon Manor

August 27, 1813

Birthday in minus 43 days

Four days later and Sebastian needed to make a decision.

Arthur had provided no further information and seemed decidedly despondent over the situation. As her brother, he wanted to believe Georgiana was alive but had little hope of it.

Today Sebastian had stolen out alone for an early morning ride across Haldon Manor’s fields. Should he wait here for another day or two, just to see if he could glean any more information?

With sinking heart, Sebastian recognized there was most likely no more information to be had. The logical course would be to admit defeat and give up Georgiana for good. After so long, why wouldn’t she have contacted her brother if she were still alive?

He had discussed options endlessly with Phillips the night before. Phillips was of the opinion that they should wait. There was time yet, and did Sebastian
want
to marry someone who wasn’t Georgiana?

The answer to that was an emphatic
no
. She was the only woman he had ever wanted.

But . . .

The earldom was in need of those funds. And it was hardly sensible to endanger the livelihood of thousands because his heart ached for a woman who may or may not be alive. There
was
a greater good to consider here.

He should probably just return to London and get on with finding himself a suitable bride. It was a dreadful prospect, but better to choose a bride himself than allow meddling women to do it for him.

It had been a lovely reprieve to be tucked away at Haldon Manor, but any day now Sebastian anticipated women like Lady Michael and Lady Ambrosia to catch up with him. Somehow, despite all his efforts, they always managed to find him. As he rode, Sebastian kept glancing around, half-expecting women to come bursting from the trees at any minute.

Which really put a damper on everything, as it was one of those rare summer days when all of England broke free of its regular gloom and burst out in glorious sun. Sunlit mist still swirled lightly on the ground, and the golden morning light turned lingering dew drops into a thousand dancing gems.

Making the world fairy-kissed.

Normally, Sebastian would have stopped to revel in the sheer unabashed exuberance of it all. Nature at her most unapologetic.

He imagined Georgiana here as a girl, riding across these fields, gathering wildflowers in this meadow, just as she had in the meadow near Lyndenbrooke. He could almost hear her bright laughter.

Forget-me-not.

The ache in his chest burned with each breath. In and out.

Would he ever be free of this obsession with her?

Sebastian cut through the woodlands, passing the shuttered-up dower house—Duir Cottage according to the plaque beside the front door—and then continued out over the fields, turning back toward the gabled roof of Haldon Manor.

Trying somehow to come to grips with saying goodbye to her. To chasing away all the hopes and dreams he had built.

To reconstruct a world without Georgiana Knight in it.

The prospect felt . . . overwhelming. Like severing a limb.

Gah!
He was becoming maudlin.

Shaking his head to clear his increasingly morose meanderings, Sebastian topped a small rise.

Lifted his head into the rising sun.

And saw
her
.

Standing like an apparition in the dissipating mist. Facing away from him. Golden hair a mass of curls pinned to her head, tendrils escaping and clinging to the back of her elegant neck.

As if some divine angel had reached into the recesses of his heart and conjured his deepest longing.

Sebastian closed his eyes, forcing his vision to clear. Surely it was just a trick of the light, a cruel heartbreaking impossibility. She would be gone when he opened his eyes.

No.

She was still there.

He blinked.

No. Still there.

Tall and slender. Her body a suggestion of womanly curves. Arms wide, turned away from him toward the rising sun, her white muslin dress trailing in the damp grass behind her.

Sebastian tried to swallow past the searing pain in his chest. Shook his head. But the vision—
she
—remained.

He was being mawkish. It was
impossible
.

She had been
dying
. Alone. In some unknown place.

This was just some terrible coincidence. This blond woman would turn around, and he would realize his mistake.

He had been thinking about
her
and so now saw her everywhere.

That was all.

But then she lifted her face higher to the sun, drew in a deep breath and laughed in delight.

That bright cascade of sound. Bell-like and clear.

The laugh which Sebastian would know anywhere. The sound that carried him through cannon-fire and the cries of men dying. The sound he would hear ringing through his ears as he drew his last breath.

Impossible. It was just so utterly . . . It was . . .

His throat tightened.

Was she real? Was this a dream?

And, if so, could it please never, ever end?

Quietly dismounting and dropping his horse’s reins, Sebastian walked toward her, watching the warm sun illuminate the edges of her, tangle through her golden hair, skim the back of her elegant neck. The light filtered through the mist eddying across the surrounding field.

Had he somehow conjured her? Had she truly died and was now returning as a ghost to haunt him?

That would be his luck, wouldn’t it? To be haunted by Georgiana Knight, to never be left in peace.

Again and again, he blinked. But each time he opened his eyes, she was still there.

Back to him, arms open, embracing morning, swaying from side to side.

An utterly inconceivable dream.

His horse snorted behind him and she startled, turning around.

They froze, staring intently at each other. A part of his mind registered the surprise in her wide eyes.

Somehow, the reality of her exceeded the beauty of memory.

Her eyes pools of winter-blue sky. Hair golden and perfectly curled around her chin. Her face sculpted, older now, reflecting the maturity of womanhood.

No trace of illness clung to her—she glowed, vibrant and whole.

He stared, greedily drinking her in.

She had to be a ghost.

“Sebastian?” She tilted her head at him, puzzled.

“Georgiana,” he said in return, dazed.

Slowly, that wondrous, wide smile spread across her face.

The smile that Sebastian loved most. The one that brought the sun with it.

It was almost more than he could bear.

His throat closed tightly, making swallowing difficult.

“Have you come to haunt me?” he asked, heart thundering in his ears.

Her smile froze.

“Pardon?” Confusion skittered across her face.

“Are you a ghost?”

Confusion rapidly transformed into panic. “A ghost? No . . . not . . . I mean, uhm, oh dear . . .”

Her brow furrowed. “Do you expect me to be a ghost?”

Sebastian paused. For a question, it was . . . odd.

“Not . . . necessarily,” he said slowly.

She took a step toward him. Assessing.

“Are you dead?” he continued. “Did you
die
wherever your brother took you?”

Georgiana held eerily still, her eyes wide and questioning.

Definitely panic-stricken.

“I am not . . . sure?” How could that be a question?

Yes, definitely odd.

She took another step toward him.

Sebastian opened his mouth to speak and then shut it again, hopelessly bewildered.

“Do
you
think I died?” she asked after a pause, eyes still wide.

She took another step toward him.

“I should certainly hope you did not,” he answered.

She blinked, processing his statement.

“Good . . . I should hope that I did not die . . . either,” was her cryptic reply.

This had to be the oddest conversation of his life.

“Why are
you
here, Sebastian? Did you come to attend my funeral?”

A beat.

“No.”

She nodded. His reply seemed to relieve her. Maybe.

They stared at each other for a moment, at an impasse.

“How can you not know—”

“I am . . . I am quite convinced I am not a ghost,” she interrupted, taking a few more steps toward him.

They were now only separated by a few feet. He could see the wind ruffling the curls next to her face, the damp seeping through the bottom of her gown.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “How would you know that you are not a ghost?”

She stilled again. And then cocked her head.

“Is this a metaphysical question, Seb? Like if a tree falls in the forest, does it make a sound? Because I am most assuredly real.” She took another step.

Sebastian stood his ground, watching her close the last few feet between them.

“Proving I am truly physically here is quite simple.”

She looked real enough. He could see her chest rising, her breath slightly visible in the cool morning air. She looked older. Not the young woman he had last seen nearly five years before. Her eyes more seeing; her body more the curved roundness of true womanhood.

“Let me show you,” she said as she stopped in front of him.

Gently, she reached out and took one of his gloved hands in both of hers, firmly pressing it between her palms.

“There, you see, I am quite solid.”

Quite. Her hands were more than solid.

Scalding where they touched him.
Searin
g, actually.

She lifted her impossibly blue eyes to his and, for an instant, Sebastian nearly drowned in them.

Her eyes had always defied description for him. A thousand shades of blue flecked with white, rimmed by a darker blue around the edge of her iris. She was close enough for him to see the few freckles on her nose, the downy hair next to her ears backlit in the sun.

It was almost too much. More than he had ever dreamed over the last few months. He had fully expected to attend her funeral or, at the very least, find her as a weak invalid.

But this . . . having her before him whole and healthy and sound . . .

How was any man to resist?

He grasped her hand in his and tugged her to him. Convulsively wrapping his arms around her, engulfing her in his embrace.

It was compulsory. As if his arms were helpless to do anything else.

Georgiana Knight held all of him in her thrall.

The sudden sheer
solidity
of her shocked him.

He had never held her this close.

He sighed, pulling her even closer. Bless her. She didn’t stiffen in his embrace but instead slid her arms around his waist, giving him a tight hug, laying her cheek against his chest.

Hope crashed through him, relentless in its intensity. Wave after wave. Unbearable bliss choking.

She was
alive
! Most definitely solid and real and un-ghostlike. And he was
embracing
her.

The rushing sweetness of the moment stole his breath. She was so . . . warm and so . . . soft and so . . .
warm
.

It was dreadfully unpoetic. But true nevertheless.

Unbidden, he dipped his face to her hair, his lips lightly brushing her head. She smelled of roses and sunlight.

See, she would make a poet in him yet.

She was the perfect height, just as he had always known she would be, her head tucking neatly under his chin. She felt so
right
. Like he had been created for just this purpose. To hold Georgiana Knight and keep her safe. Beloved. He closed his eyes, breathing her in.

It was as if for one brief second, all the stars of heaven aligned.

Everything in the universe exactly where it belonged. The stars in the heavens, the moon in the sky, and Georgiana in his arms.

She pulled away and he allowed her to step back from his embrace. But he caught her hands in his. Determined to keep her close.

She would not be
lost
again.

He smiled down at her, not caring that his grin was punch-drunk silly.

“Georgiana,” he said and then laughed. “We had all thought you dead . . . and then to find you here and cured . . .”

He stopped, his voice cracking.

“Sebastian, my dearest, oldest friend! I cannot tell you how pleased I am to see you.” She grinned up at him, wide and lush.

“Not nearly as pleased as I am to finally
find
you. You look so . . .
well
.”

She pulled their joined hands wide and ran her eyes up and down him, inspecting. “You look well yourself. I am so glad to see you returned from the war, safe and sound.”

“Yes,” he nodded, “yes, I did return, just as I promised I would.”

He stared at her, still unable to trust the reality of his eyes. She was so much the same. Being with her felt effortless, like the intervening years had never happened. Sweet, sunny Georgiana.