Georgie walked briskly, her slippers crunching on the gravel-strewn path and a fierce wind whistling past her cloak. The chill stole up her neck and sent shivers skittering down her back and raising gooseflesh on her arms.
A drop of rain fell onto her cheekbone, and Georgie glanced upwards, the hood of her cloak pinched between her fingers as she glared at the clouds. It was as if the weather picked up her tumultuous emotions. One moment, clear and sunny and the next, brewing with a deep current of anger and loathing.
Lightning flashed and Georgie - not wishing to further scowl at the foreboding visage of mother nature- tilted her head down and scurried ever faster down the lane. Loose pebbles dug into her slippers and a low rumble of thunder followed her hunched form.
What had Randall meant with that last jab? Did he guess at her own ugliness?
The graveyard was off to the left of St. Francis' church in the countryside and as Georgie passed it, she whispered a quick prayer. There was nothing else for miles about, and her rented hackney lay in wait further down. Bile churned in her stomach as she bent her head lower to combat the cold chill.
She needed comfort, a place to make a decision, and with a storm on the horizon, this was the only place Georgie could think of. The sky threatened to open up at any moment and divulge, and Georgie wondered if it was a portent of things to come.
Georgie shuffled ever faster, bypassing the plain stones that lay unmarked, forgotten within the mass of plain, gray stone outside the rectory. She passed a wilted bouquet of flowers on one - their leaves brown and shriveled. Another held a drawing by a child's wobbly hand.
Biting her lower lip, Georgie halted abruptly at the oak where Nicholas lay. It was gnarled tree, but Georgie thought it had character. A splotch was carved out in its middle and she peered inside, slightly disappointed that the bird's nest lay empty. The bark was gray and chipped and not even a scarce ant or a beetle of any sort crawled upon it. It had been as forgotten in this place as everything else that littered the ground beneath her feet.
Unseen, but there.
Her skin itched, but she resisted the temptation of a scratch. She didn't even deserve that momentary relief.
That damned poisonous line of Randall ends with me.
It's only a matter of time before you too get thrown straight to the trash heap.
If Georgie hadn't understood Vincent's aversion to being a father, to children, then she did now. It made hopelessness settle in her chest, and in order to do what was right, she had come here.
Georgie sunk onto her knees, the skirt of her dark green gown settling around her. The grass was crisp beneath her and the dirt crumbled in places around her son's headstone. Unlike the other unmarked tombs, however, a name etched this one.
Georgie's fingers ghosted over the heavy-handed crude script, and she couldn't stop the sob that wracked her chest. Would Vincent accept their lost little one or would Nicholas make Vincent's pain all the worse? It was much too late to go back now, and her heart was much too attached. A scalpel would be needed to sever her and she wouldn't go willingly. He had to accept it.
He would.
Georgie dug the heels of her palms into her eyes, soaking up the tears that leaked unchecked.
A child's life taken before it had even had its first real breath.
Five years past, she had decided God had found her undeserving. She had become a shell of her former self until no more did she desire the passionate kisses or intimate embraces. No longer did she wish for his smile that popped a dimple in his cheek. No further await the long, intent strides as he approached her as if she were the only women in all of England. But last night he had. She loved him and to hell with being undeserving. In time, she would be.
And perhaps he would be willing to try again. And eventually, another child. Georgie flattened her hand against the cold stone and drew in a deep breath, her eyes reading the script as her fingers dipped into the grooves.
Nicholas
1812 - 1812
With her breath trembling in her throat, Georgie licked her dry lips and cast her head back as a cold droplet landed on her cheek. She had to risk it. She must. Resolved, Georgie placed a kiss in her palm, settling it once more on the cool stone, before she rose to her feet. "I promise to bring your father with me next time."
Nicholas must have agreed for at that moment a monarch butterfly whispered past and fluttered to settle at the edge of the gravestone. Georgie smiled only for a rattle to draw her attention behind her. A horse and rider took off from the opposite side of the church, and her blood drained from her face.
Could it be...?
Georgie thought back to her conversation with Randall. The unlikely meeting. The loathing he had shown for Vincent. And her.
She didn't know what Randall knew, but she did know one thing. Georgie had to reveal her secret first.
Picking up her skirts, she ran.
***
Georgie paid the hackney driver and descended two blocks down from her home and set off at a brisk pace. The sky was still dark and gray, but the rain held as Georgie tried for a nonchalance she didn't feel. She simply hoped no one stopped her along her short journey. Her mind, however, never stopped its panic-laced thoughts.
First, she had to send a messenger to Vincent, asking him to come quickly. Mother was visiting acquaintances this morning so Georgie deduced she had an hour, perhaps two, to make Vincent see reason. To make him understand. Then, she would take him to visit her Nicholas - their Nicholas - and they could plan a new future together. She would convince Vincent that he was nothing like Randall and that their happiness would be all the punishment Randall needed.
Georgie nodded, a smiling peering through. Yes, yes. It would all work out. She just needed to get a message to Vincent post haste. It wouldn't do to announce herself at a bachelor residence, mores the pity, so Randall had an opportunity to reach Vincent first, Georgie presumed. But knowing Vincent as Georgie did, she doubted he would give the man the time of day.
Yes, just so.
Drawing off her gloves, Georgie was let in by the butler, giving her cloak to him along the way. "Percy, I need to send a message off, and I need it delivered with the utmost importance..."
"My lady, there -"
"Have someone fetch tea and biscuits as well as I expect to have a visitor soon," she called out, turning around to watch Percy. "Mother is out, isn't she?"
"Why, y...yes, she is, my lady. But you have-"
Georgie tapped her chin as she began to ascend the staircase. Her writing implements were upstairs and her inkwell should have just enough ink to write the missive. "We'll need the drawing room prepared as well -"
"My lady -"
"What is it?" Her mind floundering, Georgie wondered how exactly to start the dubious conversation as she turned around and lifted a brow at Percy. That's when another voice broke into the conversation.
"What your butler is trying to tell you, my lady, is that you have a visitor."
Georgie almost fell down the staircase as her gown caught beneath her heel. Vincent stared up at her from the entrance of the drawing room, his hands laced behind his back and his lips pursed tight. His blonde hair was messy, strands this way and that as if he had arrived in a hurry. That's when she noticed his stiff posture and the angry glint in his eyes.
The formal address he had just given her. Not the adoring "Georgie" of the previous evening, but the "my lady" as if he were conversing with a stranger.
Her stomach sank.
He knew.
-------
A/N: Yes, the evil author is leaving you...right...here! Big chapter update coming soon. Be on the lookout!*
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Loving Lady Georgianna (Spirited #2)
Historical Fiction***COMPLETED!!!*** ---- Everyone has secrets... Vincent, Viscount Thorne, perfected his wicked grin and his good-humored mask years ago. He has no time for fools. Or that fickle emotion, love. The ton is full of sheep blindly walking into heartbreak...
