Aunt Agatha said he didn’t want the usual kind of wife, that as long as she bore him children, he would let her live an independent life in the country, as she’d always planned.
If she married him, she could find out for herself what it was like to lie with a man—and rid herself of all those tantalizing, disturbing, crazy-making sensations that invaded her dreams. That made her lose all sense of herself when he kissed her. And climb him like a tree.
Her cheeks warmed. These were not the thoughts to be having in a dying woman’s bedchamber.
The duchess’s thin fingers gripped hers. The haggard, haunted eyes bored into her.
George writhed inside.
There were agreements to be signed before a marriage; she remembered that from Lily’s marriage. Aunt Agatha had implied that they would live more or less separate lives, except when congress was necessary to conceive an heir. If he would agree to that in writing...
The duchess’s bony grip tightened. Her eyes filled with tears. “Please, my dearest girl... Tell me what I need to hear. Let me go at last... in peace.”
All through her childhood George had brought home wounded creatures—mending birds’ wings, nursing orphaned fox kits, rescuing creatures caught in traps, and kittens left to drown.
It was simply not in her to crush the last hope this poor woman had. She’d been ready to resist all the other pressures that had been brought on her to marry the duke, but how could she refuse a dying woman’s last wish for her beloved son?
“All right,” she said heavily. “I’ll marry him.” She instantly felt sick and wanted to retract her statement. The duchess sank back against her pillows, her eyes closed, an otherworldly smile on her face. It was almost as if she were dead already.
“Excellent.” Aunt Agatha rose. “Now come along, we’ve exhausted the duchess enough. She will wish to sleep now.” She bustled George from the room, and before she could blink they were out in the street, climbing into the carriage.
“What’s the matter with her?” George asked. “Is she really so close to—”
“It is vulgar to speculate,” Aunt Agatha said brusquely. “The duchess’s situation is not your concern. The sooner we settle this business of the wedding, the sooner her mind will be at rest. I’ll speak to Ashendon this afternoon.”
They returned to Ashendon House and Aunt Agatha, looking like the cat that had swallowed the canary, wasted no time in informing Cal and Emm that George had agreed—promised, in fact—to marry the duke after all.
Cal frowned. “Is this true, George?”
George nodded.
“You weren’t forced, were you?” Emm asked worriedly.
“Because if you were—” Cal began.
George sighed. “No. I wasn’t forced. I just... I just changed my mind.”
“You’re sure, then?” Cal asked. “Because once this is agreed, you won’t be able to change your mind.”
“She can always change her mind,” Emm said serenely. “But it would look very bad. So think it over, George, dear, and be sure in your heart that this is what you want.”
George swallowed. “I’m sure.” She wasn’t, she was filled with doubts and second thoughts, but she’d given her word to the duchess, so she wasn’t going to act on them.
“So, Ashendon, you and Everingham can begin drawing up the settlements,” Aunt Agatha said.
“Cal, the dukeand Iwill begin drawing up the settlements,” George corrected her. She still felt sick about the promise she’d made. Every part of her screamed to escape, but a promise was a promise.
And if she was going to marry the wretched duke, she would make sure she got what she wanted out of the deal.
Aunt Agatha raised her lorgnette and eyed George narrowly through it. “What nonsense! Ladies have no part in such negotiations. It would be quite unseemly.”
“Perhaps,” George said sweetly, “but how often have you told me I’m no lady? Seemly or not, it’s my future that’s being negotiated and I’m determined to have my say.”
***
George went upstairs and flung herself on her bed. Finn came padding up and nudged her gently, but she wasn’t in the mood to go out, not yet. She was swamped with doubt. What had she agreed to?
Marrying the duke would put all kinds of ghastly restrictions on her. She’d have all of society watching her. Judging her. Life in a birdcage. She’d be expected to behave like a duchess, dress like a duchess, perform duchess-type duties.
