Georgianna: The Last Real Duchess (The Real Duchesses of London) (3 page)

He turned to her then, h
– something over her so that she could still feel them when he turned away. "No, you may stay. Just do not press me for pleasantries. And have them bring whiskey with my meat."

Whiskey
? He never drank whiskey. Whiskey was for peasants and for Scots. "Not brandy?"

"Whiskey, the cheaper, the rawer, the better
. I am sure one of the grooms will have something appropriate."

She stood and walked to the hall, not wanting to bring any more disturbance to the room than she must
. Albes, the porter, materialized instantly and she made her request.

Standing in the quiet of the hall, she waited until
the steady tread of Albes' shoes had faded away. There did not seem to be a sound left in all the world, there was not rumble of carriages from the street, no chatter of maids on the upper floors, no bird singing a twilight sonata. All was silent.

And then the clock chimed.

Strong and steady, bell by bell.

She turned and walked back to her husband.

His back remained turned to her, but he had finally sunk into the wide armchair. He did not turn as she crossed the room.

"How are they saying he died?" The question echoed as if asked by the air itself.

"Kathryn told me he'd shot himself cleaning his gun – a shot to the chest."

"The second part is correct
. He pierced a lung. He had no chance." There was a waver as he spoke the last and Annie could almost see him relive the moment.

"Oh."

"You do not sound like you believe he was cleaning his gun."

"I knew your brother well."

"You did at that." Now, there was a snap to his voice, but Annie chose to ignore it.

"He had become almost a friend these past months
. He was so supportive when there was that mess with the cartoons in the spring and then after everything was resolved with my friend Isabella I felt that we had truly bonded. I was hoping he would come and visit me and meet Robbie." She did not mention how few times Richard had been down to see his son.

"I am sure he would have."

"You still have not told me how he died." She wanted to let the subject slide, but knew they did not need one more issue, one more secret, lying between them. Sometimes it seemed their whole marriage had been nothing but secrets. She refused to live with one more.

"No, I have not."

She waited. He could refuse to answer, but he would not win by silence alone.

"Do you think he killed himself?" Richard's question caught her off guard
. "Many men in his situation do."

She considered it
. Hargrove had enjoyed the company of men and had no interest in that of women – in any sense. It was why she had married Richard instead. "No. I think if he had ever thought to commit such a sin it would have happened years ago. Hargrove had reconciled himself to who he was."

"God, I wish I had that whiskey
. Maybe I will start with a brandy.”

"You will give yourself a sore head."

"Do you think that matters now?” He slammed an empty glass down on the sideboard, civility slipping.

Only now did she realize exactly how much anger and despair filled her husband
. He might pretend calm, but it went no further than his skin.

"He died in a duel
. A silly, foolish duel." Now the fury leaked into his tone. "I will not bore you with the details. And the irony is that having entered into the matter to protect his honor Hargrove's dying words were that he did not wish me to pursue the challenger. He did not wish to ruin another life, to have the blasted man brought up for murder."

Annie stood and walked over to her husband
. She took the decanter of brandy from him and poured a full measure into the glass. She picked it up and took a great swig, coughing at the burn running down her throat. She met her husband's gaze and looking into his eyes and said the only words that came to her. "Bloody hell."

Chapter Two

Dinner had been far nicer than Annie had expected. The beef was cold, but surprisingly tender and flavorful. She had not expected to have any appetite, but the first bite of meat had awakened her hunger and she'd come close to licking her plate clean. Putting down her fork, she glanced up and met Richard's gaze. He appeared bemused.

"Should I call for more?" Richard asked, his eyes on her lips.

Heat rose in her cheeks. "No, I am fine."

"I've never seen you eat with such
– gusto."

Was that a compliment
? She did not think so, but neither did it seem pointed and mean. "I haven't eaten since my toast this morning. My stomach was in knots waiting for you to come home."

The half-smile slipped from his face. "I was busy."

Oh dear. "I did not mean to criticize. I was merely trying to explain." She dropped her glance to her hands.

"Forgive me if I am overly sensitive
. It has been a trying day."

And just like that they were back to stiff formality
– to civility. Her eyes darted about the room, desperate to find anything else to say – anything that would turn back the clock those few seconds. "Would you like some more whiskey? You're glass is nearly empty."

He raised an eyebrow
– and his nearly full glass, his strong hands cupping it completely. "Of course, it is exactly what I need this evening."

She picked up the decanter that had been left on the tray with the meal
. She didn't know exactly where the whiskey had been acquired, but imagined Andrew's earlier mention of a groom had not been far off. Even without raising the stopper she could smell the burning bog. She would never understand why men drank the things they did.

Leaning forward, she refilled his glass so that it almost leaked over the brim, watched as his eyes dropped to the hint of bosom visible above her neckline
. Her mother had warned her that all men were like that, but she couldn't remember Richard looking at her like this since the first days of their courtship and marriage. Long before she'd fallen pregnant with Robbie.

She started to look away, but then instead reached out and placed her much smaller hand over Richard's, pretending to steady the glass as she poured another splash of the foul liquor
– only suddenly it didn't seem so bad. This time it did slosh over the edge. She rubbed her thumb across the rougher skin of his palm.

She'd come to London planning to renew her relationship with her husband
– but she'd given up in the face of his indifference. Was it possible that tragedy might open long-closed doors? Why was she even thinking about that now?

Richard lifted his eyes to her face, his pupils large in the candlelight
. He stared at her for a moment as if seeking some secret. Then he shifted his hips forward, reclining in his chair, his head dropping back until he stared at the ceiling. "Did you know Hargrove always thought you were the perfect woman? I think he pointed you out as an example of all a woman should be when I was still in the schoolroom."

His words brought her mind back to the moment. "If you were in the schoolroom, I was probably still in nappies
– hardly an example of womanhood," she said.

"I think you were older than that
. Our ages are not so far apart."

"I still have a hard time imagining Hargrove saying such a thing
. He always seemed to find me a nuisance. I am not sure that he said three sentences to me while we were engaged. I can remember sitting in my mother's parlor in absolute silence for what seemed like hours – and probably was.” Of course, in recent months she'd sat just like that with Richard, wondering if she had done the right thing in choosing him over his brother. Granted, there were many reasons for her to wonder just that.

"Hargrove probably did find you a nuisance." Richard did not sugarcoat his words
. "But, other than our mother, I think he found all women annoying. It cannot have been easy for him always having to pretend."

"No, I suppose not.
” While she still could not understand the choices her brother-in-law had made, she also could not imagine never being able to show who she really was in public – only she could. These last months of pretending that all was well with Richard had been difficult. "I know I grew tired of pretending – and of what it cost me."

Richard dropped his chin and stared at her, seeming to search for her soul
. "And what have you pretended? You always seem so straightforward."

I've pretended that you loved me as you once made me believe you did
. And then I pretended that there was hope that someday you would love me. And when that failed I pretended that we would at least have a normal marriage
–
and more children, but even that dream is now ashes. And then when I gave up and thought to take a lover, someone who would cherish me, show me affection, I could not even do that. Every time I looked at another man I saw you, saw your disapproval, saw that I would be betraying my every promise, betraying myself. It did not matter that you had already betrayed those very same promises.
Of course, she said none of that. She settled back in her own chair and considered. "I am tired of pretending that I do not want more children.” Let him make of that what he would.

"I never imagined otherwise
. All women want children."

She wasn't sure she quite believed that, but at least it was a step
. "You certainly don't behave in a manner that would lead me to believe you realize I want more children."

Color rose on his cheeks at her words
. "I was not aware that you were ready for such activity. You made it very clear once that you never wished my company again."

Better now than never
. She tried to hold her tone steady, to pretend she no longer care, but she could hear the fury and the hurt behind her words. "I was eight months pregnant with your child and discovered that every time you went to London you met with your mistress. A mistress I never dreamed existed. You told me that you loved me, persuaded me not to marry your brother and all the time I was a fool, never imagining it was all a plot."

"You forgave Hargrove readily enough."

"He never told me he loved me – ever." Again that hint of hurt slipped out.

Richard was silent for a moment, and then spoke
. "I did love you in the moment I said the words. You were so young and fresh, so sweet. You were everything a man would want in a wife. How could I not have loved you?"

"It surely did not last." Now she just sounded bitter.

"Perhaps not. I loved you when I spoke, but I was only twenty and no matter how wonderful you were I was not ready to be married and certainly not to my brother's intended." His tone held the flatness hers had lacked. He let no hint of emotion ship into his words. " I never felt like I had a choice. Hargrove told me what I must do and I did it – but all I could see was that I was losing my freedom far too early. You at least had a choice. You chose to marry me."

His words were a punch to her gut. Did he really believe that
? "A choice based on lies – if it was a choice at all. I spent my whole life knowing I must marry the next Duke of Hargrove, knowing that the papers had been signed before my first birthday. Do you know how I struggled when I realized I had growing feelings for you, but that I was still engaged to Hargrove? I know you worked it all out by saying that you were Hargrove's heir once your father died, and I was fulfilling the contract by marrying the next duke, but it still never seemed quite right to me – but how could I deny our love?"

"I am sorry for that
. I never meant to hurt you."

Would the blasted man never betray how he felt? She stared up at him, seeing how tired his eyes looked
. "I may even believe that, but you did hurt me, hurt me deeply."

"All I can say is that I am sorry."

She dropped her eyes from his. She knew how unfair it was to hold him responsible for all her past hurts – particularly now – at this moment. But, she didn't care. His words brought back how she'd felt when she'd found out the truth about her marriage, when she'd felt as if her heart had been sliced open and all the joy in her had leaked out. If it hadn't been for Robbie's birth she might have died of a broken heart, just withered away. "We do not need to talk of this now – or ever."

"You are right about that." His tone turned harsh. Did he sound like he held back his own anger? Was she pushing him too far at such a time?

He stood, stepping away, the glass still in his hand. He turned and for a moment she saw fire flash in his gaze – he boldly looked her up and down, something flickered with her belly – but then he pulled in a deep breath, turned and placed the whiskey on the table by his side. His body seemed to slump before her eyes. "I am simply too tired. It has not even been a full day and I feel as if I haven't slept for a week."