George sighed. He knew well what that felt like. “I need action. Movement.” To pound himself into oblivion.
She peered up at him. “You do not have to deal with his terrors and fits all on your own. You are no nursemaid, George.”
“He'smyresponsibility.”
Martha opened her mouth and snapped it shut. “Did he agree to continue the treatment? To continue decreasing his dose?”
George pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes. Thankfully.”
Martha wrapped both hands around one of his and pulled it close to her belly. “That is excellent. Smile, George. All is not lost. Let us move on to brighter subjects. Shall we?”
“If you wish.”
“What of Lady Jane?”
How was that a brighter subject? “What of her?”
Martha tapped her chin. “I was thinking I might extend an invitation to her. For the New Year’s Eve ball. She could stay with Wix and I for a fortnight or more so you two can have time together. It’s not been much of a courtship. Less than a week with you injured for most of the time. I’m sure she deserves flowers and attention and whatnot.” She placed a hand on George’s arm. “And you need a bright spot in your days right now. What do you think?”
“No. Maybe.” He did not want her close to Uncle Neville, but if she stayed with Martha, perhaps it would work. Hope had seemed a hardy, determined thing but a day ago. Now it seemed as frail as his uncle’s withering body.
Martha frowned, tilted her head, and tapped her foot. “I think having someone you care for deeply by your side during an hour of trouble is soothing. It helps you survive.”
George shook his head, unable to answer. Sounded lovely, what she spoke of. Not quite possible, though. Not for George, at least.
Martha paced away from him and then back, a leisurely stroll at a thoughtful pace. “I was surprised, you know, when you said you wish to marry Lady Jane Crenshaw. You've known the girl forever and shown no particular affection for her outside that of a casual acquaintance. And since you returned home, you have shown no particular joy at the prospect of marriage. Are you sure you're doing the right thing?”
No. George was not sure of that at all. “I may offer to free her from any obligation. If she wishes, she can be with a fellow with a less complicated life.” It was a good thing. Seeing Neville as he now was killed George's soul. He did not like to think of Jane being a part of it.
“It's clear,” Martha continued, “you do not hold the type of affection for the girl that a manshouldhold for his wife.”
George’s fingernails dug into his palms. “How can you know that?”
She shrugged. “Wix is always delighted to see me, and I like to imagine he is even delighted tospeakof me when I'm not there. I always imagine a small smile curls his lips at the very corners when anyone speaks my name. Yet the corners of your mouth turn down when Jane’s name is mentioned. Hardly indicative of a happy heart.”
“How can I be happy when having her with me could hurt her?”
“You left her in the country. She’s safe enough for now. That does not bring you relief?”
“A little. It does not keep me from wanting her near.”
Martha stood tall once more. “That’s more like it, George. Now you’ve convinced me.”
He closed his eyes and stretched his neck one way then the other. He remembered Jane’s fingers curling against his chest. “The only reason I planned to wed was because I thought Doctor Abbott could cure Uncle Neville. I had a bit of hope is all. I thought it was finally time for me to have a life. That I finallycouldhave one.”
“And Jane was conveniently there? A receptacle for your growing marital ambitions and hope?”
“No. The deuced woman fell out of a tree and knocked me unconscious. If anything, I should have been opposed to marrying her after that. But my heart has focused on her for quite some time now. Because of Uncle Neville, I would not let myself act on it or even acknowledge it.”
“The one time I met her,” Martha said, “I enjoyed her company. She seems a tad bold, but then all the best women are in my experience. It takes a bold woman to survive sometimes.” She tapped George on the shoulder. “It takes a bold woman to help a man survive sometimes.”
George grunted and wrapped his sister in a hug. “Thank you for worrying about my heart, Martha, but you need not do so. You have enough to worry about as it is. How is your husband?”
“His health remains consistent. Consistently poor. The doctor says he must leave London.” Her neck craned to see out the nearest window. “It is too damp here.”
George looked where her gaze lingered. The fog hung heavy outside. Looking into it chilled his bones. “I will try again to convince him to leave. Italy perhaps. Or if he refuses to travel abroad, perhaps he’ll relocate to Bath or some coastal town.”
“I have tried many a time to convince him to leave. I'm exhausted from all the trying. I swore not to try again. If you would like to do so, you may, but you'll be wasting your breath.” She sighed heavily and rolled her shoulders, placing her hands on her waist. “‘When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life.’ Wix’s favorite saying. Unfortunately”—her voice took on a bitter tone—“Wix’s never-ending fascination with London will cost him his life. But do not waste your worry on me and mine. You have your own troubles to attend to. Go for your walk, brother, if you will not rest. Make it back in time to be jolly. Wix and I will discuss preparations for the New Year's Eve ball and await your return.”
