Forever and a Day (29 page)

She rolled her eyes in exasperation and huffed out a breath. Was nothing in life easy? Setting aside the bottle, she rubbed her wet and now very heavily scented hand against her cheeks. Fortunately, it came off against her fingers, although her cheeks were still angry from all the rubbing and swiping she’d done.

She brushed her wet hand against her robe and paused, lifting the tips of her fingers to her nose. She sniffed. Lovely. Now she smelled like a walking Garden of Eden.

Swiping her hands against each other one last time, she stepped back. “If you can’t handle the makeup, Georgia,” she muttered, “how will you handle the man?”

This was just the beginning of transitioning into Robinson’s life. She wasn’t afraid of any of it, really. She was secure enough to know that with or without makeup or fancy gowns and servants, she’d still be the same girl. What she wasn’t quite so sure of was whether or not Robinson would be the same man she had fallen in love with.

Turning away from the sideboard, she edged herself over to the next sideboard set against the wall and paused, noticing a crystal decanter filled with some sort of amber-colored liquid set next to a pair of crystal glasses.

Plucking out the stopper, she leaned over it and sniffed the strong vapory-like scent. Alcohol? Hmm. She sure as hell needed it. Though it didn’t look like any alcohol she’d seen. In her parts it was either white or piss-yellow.

Lifting the heavy decanter, she slid the empty glass beneath it and poured the amber liquid up to the rim of the large glass, setting the decanter back onto the sideboard. Daintily placing the stopper back into its place with the tips of her fingers and feeling, oh, so accomplished, she carefully picked up the brimming glass, trying not to spill it.

She took a large sip and paused as a cedarlike, burning smoothness coated her throat as she swallowed. She smacked her lips, trying to decide if she liked it. Then, she took a much larger gulp and let it sit in the well of her mouth before swallowing. “Not bad. It’s not whiskey, but it’s not bad.”

Sipping on the alcohol, she turned and made her way around the room to see what else there was to explore. The large mahogany paneled dresser, which now housed all of the ten gowns she’d brought with her, looked more impressive than the frayed, limp dresses within it.

It was all too symbolic of how she felt. Here she was a frayed gown desperately wanting to be made new. She only hoped Robinson didn’t give up on her when he realized she was going to make a hundred thousand mistakes before she got any of this right.

A knock on the door made her turn.

Her heart fluttered. Robinson was almost two hours early from the time she had set. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? She headed toward the closed door and slowly pulled it open, taking another large gulp of her drink to see her through this one. She froze with her glass close to her chin, her mouth still full of alcohol.

It wasn’t Robinson at all.

The duke blinked, his gaze falling to her robed appearance and then the drink in her hand. He gestured toward it. “Ah. Good to know you have some. Good to know. My brandy tray is…empty.” Snapping his gaze back up to her makeup-marred face, his gray brows came together. He paused. “What happened to your face, Mrs. Milton?” he slurred.

By gad, the man was soused!

Georgia choked on the liquid pooled in her mouth. Unable to swallow, she spit everything back out into the glass with a gush. She coughed several times in an effort to free her burning throat of constriction and choked out, “Rouge. I applied too much…rouge.”

He staggered past her and into the room. He fumbled with his cravat and then stripped it, whipping it aside. “Pour me another brandy. I need it.”

She awkwardly closed the door and glanced back at him, wondering if she could trust him in his inebriated state. For safety’s sake, she decided not to latch the lock. Just in case she needed to run.

Hurrying to the other side of the room, she set aside her own glass and with a trembling hand poured him a brandy into one of the other crystal glasses. “Are you certain you should be drinkin’ anymore? You look like you’ve had more than enough. You’re barely standin’.”

He trailed his way toward her and lingered. “When I lose consciousness…only then will it be enough. Now hand it up.”

“You’ll regret it, Your Grace.”

“What don’t I regret?” He drunkenly wagged his fingers toward her.

She sighed and topped off the glass, setting aside the decanter. Slowly swiveling toward him, she passed him the glass and snatched up her own, trying to pretend like they were old friends. It was awkward. She didn’t know him any more than he knew her.

The duke took a long swallow of his brandy before lowering his glass. He eyed her. “Do you love him?” He paused and pointed at her with his glass, causing the liquid to sway. “Because I do. I love that boy. I love him more than any father should.”

She fingered her glass, astounded that this drink that he called brandy could reduce him to this. It was obviously stronger than whiskey. “Yes, I love him. I wouldn’t be standin’ here subjectin’ myself to your kind if I didn’t. You think a fish likes bein’ pulled out of water?”

He momentarily closed his eyes and nodded before reopening them. Taking another swig of brandy, he shook his head. “What a mess this is. Here I am…well respected…have vast estates…titles to match and
all
the money in the goddamn world, but I can’t make my own son happy. I just can’t, no matter how hard I try. All of this is so damn…
wrong
.”

Her throat tightened. “Why isn’t he happy? I know he yearns to be and has the means to be, given his kind, open heart. So what prevents him from havin’ it and knowin’ it? I don’t understand.”

He leveled her with a stare. “’Tis called impending dukedom and having everything but having nothing all the same. It weighs heavily upon a man in London society in a way you Americans could never fully…comprehend. Love is but an afterthought. ’Tis duty that is one’s life.” He drew in a ragged breath before letting it out. “He has always lived his life inside his own head and inside his own heart. By God, you should have seen that boy in his younger years. He used to be so much more. So much more. Society and duty and being betrayed by his own brother is what reduced him to what you now see. He…he clearly loves you. ’Tis obvious he does or he would have settled on merely dragging you into London as his mistress. He…came to me, you know, and told me of his intentions. He still hasn’t returned from his walk, and I’m trying not to worry, but…he intends to end things between you and him. I wanted you to know that. That is why I am here. I wanted you to be ready for it.”

Georgia almost dropped her glass, her chest tightening. “What? Why?”

“Because I…told him to. I put it in his head. I meant well, I just… If you think life in a slum is difficult, child, you have yet to meet the
ton
. They will ensure your chamber pot sits in the right corner lest they piss in it and make you drink every last drop. Even their own aren’t good enough for them. So can you imagine what they would do to you? A damn witch hunt is what it would be and I didn’t want that for you or him. Despite my well-meaning intentions, I…I cannot help but feel I have wronged my own son by making him turn against the last of who he is. Yardley…my first boy…
he
would have tossed you in the name of duty. That boy was a master at shuffling women and their hearts as if they were cards in a deck. But my Tremayne…no. No. My Tremayne wouldn’t have submitted to this. His heart always came first. Always.” The duke winced and took another swig of his brandy. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I made a mess of things.”

She met his gaze in anguish. “All I want is to love him. Is that so wrong?”

The duke’s brown eyes softened. “And do you know what I want for him? Above all else? His happiness. Plain and simple. And it appears he has found it in you.” He lowered his gaze to his glass and heaved out a breath. “I’ve been…thinking. I really think you and Yardley should…stay here in New York. London is nothing but a circus and a half, anyway. I would be losing my only son to the union, obviously, but…at least I wouldn’t be murdering the last of who he is. I wish there were a way to allow you both to live freely with me in London. I really do.” He sniffed. “I want grandchildren. I want to feel like there is still some—some…meaning left, even though my dearest Augustine and my first Yardley are gone and my own life is veering to an end.” He angled toward her, reached out and sloppily patted her head. “If I had the means to buy your respectability, child, I would. I really, really, really would. Why? Because knowing how much my son adores you makes me adore you. If he deems you worthy, you are.”

Georgia blinked rapidly, endlessly touched by his words. She paused and shifted toward him, taking a quick swallow of her own brandy. Wait. Now, there was an idea. It was a crazy Five Points idea laced with Raymond’s and Matthew’s views of society, propaganda and government politics, but one that would allow her to live freely and openly with Robinson in London society. Why settle for a measly half acre in the west with him when she could seize all four corners of the world and make everyone happy? “If I gave you the means to
buy
my respectability, Your Grace, would you? Could you?”

He blinked. “I don’t quite follow. I’m a bit…muddled.”

She gestured toward him with her glass. “With your prestige and wealth and my will and my way, we could, in fact, whisk me into your circle. The question is, would you be up for it?”

He chortled. “And I thought
I
had one too many brandies.”

“I’m not drunk, Your Grace. I barely had a few sips. What I’m sayin’ is that you could
buy
my respectability in the same way a politician buys public opinion and then its vote.”

He cleared his throat and lowered his voice, eyeing the closed door. “One cannot
buy
respectability. It doesn’t work that way.”

Georgia tossed back the rest of her brandy, letting it warm her throat, and quickly set it back onto the side table. “I disagree. Kings knight peasants and elevate them well above their status within a day if it so pleases them. Why couldn’t we do the same for me?”

The duke let out a laugh, reached out and patted her head sloppily again. “Whilst my fortune is vast, it isn’t quite
that
vast. And sadly, women can’t be knighted.”

She smiled. “You don’t have to knight me. All I ask is that you make an American heiress out of me. As my dearly departed husband used to say, if one wishes to control society, one merely has to locate its pulse, place a finger on it and then press hard. What we’d be doin’ is forgin’ a campaign, of sorts, that would allow me to become respectable in the eyes of society whilst allowin’ Tremayne and I to marry without mass opposition.”

He snorted. “Not to offend, Mrs. Milton…but the moment you show up in all your American glory covered in rouge and holding a brandy, the game is…over. Mass opposition is inevitable.”

She held up a finger and stepped toward him, intently holding his gaze. “Ah. But what if I don’t show up as Mrs. Milton covered in rouge and holdin’ a brandy? What if I show up as someone else? Someone draped in vast wealth, refinement and a lace parasol in hand?”

“I still don’t quite follow and I don’t think it’s the brandy.”

“Raymond used to say that governments all over the world are notorious for creatin’ and perpetuatin’
factual farces
. And that’s exactly what we’d do. We’d be creatin’ a factual farce to appease society in the way a politician does.” She paused and eyed him. “Do you know what a factual farce is?”

He blinked, leaned over and set aside his own glass onto the side table. “’Tis…propaganda. Yes?”