eyebrow.
‘Yes—just imagine if you had to get married and lots of...of ugly women started...ogling you, and...and you had to put up with it all...and—’ She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. ‘And don’t you dare smile.’ He wasn’t smiling, exactly, but his lips had definitely twitched in a way that hinted he was sorely tempted to do so. ‘It isn’t funny!’
‘Not remotely.’
‘And don’t patronise me, either.’
‘I am not doing so. I am in complete agreement, knowing far more of that sort of thing than you might imagine.’
‘What? How can you possibly?’
He shrugged. ‘Well, it is just that I am quite a catch myself. Why do you think I never or—to be strictly accurate—very rarely make an appearance on the social scene?’
She didn’t have to think about that statement for even a second. ‘At least you have a choice. Whereas I have to...’ She whirled away. Walked to the next cabinet of curios.
He followed her. Stood next to her in silence. Waiting.
‘Oh, very well, I beg your pardon,’ she said, once she could no longer feign any interest in the display of antique weaponry. ‘You don’t have to tell me I am behaving very badly today. It is just that I seem to have reached the end of my tether and—’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Quite.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Actually, having witnessed Major Gowan’s behaviour I can see why you are so angry with him. I can also see that you feel trapped and observe that you appear to be struggling like any frightened creature would, when caught in a trap.’
‘I am not frightened,’ she said indignantly. ‘But trapped, yes, I do feel trapped. Because there isn’t any way out that I can see, apart from doing the one thing I most wish to avoid.’
He gave her that look, the one he applied to a new specimen, or puzzle that he was determined to solve. And then, after a few moments’ scrutiny, led her to a bench where he sat her down.
‘Believe it or not, I do understand how you feel. It is something like how I felt when I was...obliged to leave Bartlesham and everything and everyone I knew. And it was frightening.’ He gave her a stern look as though daring to argue with him. When she didn’t, he continued. ‘You panicked when faced with a similar exile. I know you did, because nothing else would have compelled you to propose to me.’
She blushed and hung her head.
He cleared his throat. ‘The thing is, now, I can look back upon that time in the Scilly Isles and see that it was actually more in the form of...an escape,’ he said, gazing off into the distance, which meant she could now look at him again and encounter nothing more challenging than his lean, closely shaven cheeks. ‘An escape from a prison...a luxurious sort of prison, but a prison, none the less. I had no notion how restricted my life had been at Fontenay Court until I experienced a different life.’
‘London isn’t an escape from anything, for me,’ she muttered mutinously.
‘You have not given it a chance.’ He half-turned to her. ‘And nor did I, when I first arrived on St. Mary’s. I was upset for a long time. Even though I knew, deep down, that I was there for my own good, I...was very, very unhappy.’
He looked uncomfortable, as though it was costing him a great deal to admit this.
Perhaps that was why he hadn’t written to her, then. Perhaps he was ashamed of being so unhappy, and hadn’t known how to put his feelings into words. Perhaps—
‘Come,’ he said, getting up and moving away from her a few paces, as though admitting that much was too embarrassing for him to be able to sit still. She followed him until he stopped abruptly by a case full of brightly coloured butterflies.
He gazed down at them, his throat working. Was he thinking about the day she’d filled his bedroom with the tiny, British cousins of these exotic specimens?
Had her gift, the time she’d spent collecting them all, meant anything to him at all?
‘Do you think,’ he said, thoughtfully, ‘that caterpillars have any notion that one day they are going to turn into beautiful creatures like these? Do you think they have any idea what it would be like to have wings?’
‘No.’
He turned to look at her, expectantly, and she knew he wasn’t speaking about butterflies and caterpillars at all. ‘Are...are you saying that...I am like a caterpillar? Wanting to stay on my little leaf, rather than going out into the world and becoming a butterfly?’
‘Ah, not exactly. Putting it the way you have just done is to imply some sort of criticism. And I cannot fault you for thinking or feeling the way you do. I felt the same, don’t forget. No, what I am saying is that you don’t need to be afraid of new experiences. Of becoming the beautiful creature you are meant to be.’
‘The trouble with that metaphor,’ she said bitterly, ‘is that I’m doomed to stay a caterpillar. No matter how hard Stepmama tries to make me into one, I simply cannot be a butterfly.’
‘What do you mean?’
She sighed. ‘Look, you know that I never used to fit in with the other girls in Bartlesham. But once Stepmama taught me how to behave like a lady, I did think I might be able to...pretend I was normal. But then, none of the men at the local assemblies would ask me to dance, even though they flocked round Sukey. The only way to get them to dance with me was to ask them. Which they had to do, from good manners, but it wasn’t the same...’ Not when she saw a flash of something like fear in their eyes. As though they were picturing her knocking them down.
‘The men of Bartlesham are idiots. Take it from me. You are perfectly splendid exactly as you are.’ He waved his hand at the glass case. ‘There are all sorts of different butterflies. And you do not have to be like all the others to be a butterfly. Have you learned nothing from Miss Durant? She reminds me of you at that age, before...life, shall we say, crushed out that spark.’
He’d liked her then. Before Stepmama and Papa had tried to turn her into a Sukey butterfly. A task that had always been doomed to failure, because inside, she was always going to remain a grub.
But what did he think of her now?
He gazed down into her face with concern. ‘Why can you not believe you are attractive? Ah—the idiot male inhabitants of Bartlesham.’ His lips thinned. ‘Georgiana, you believe, I hope, that I would never lie to you?’
‘Ye...es.’ She thought for a moment. He had actually been outspoken to the point of rudeness, on occasion, but he had never fobbed her off with anything less than the truth. ‘Yes,’ she then said with more conviction.
‘Then let me tell you, in plain speech, speaking as a man who is most definitely not an idiot, that you are a most attractive woman. You have lovely eyes. Lovely hair. And your figure is...’
‘Big,’ she interjected. ‘Ungainly.’
‘No,’ he said sternly. ‘Your figure is splendid. Full, yes, but with a firmness that speaks of health and vitality,’ he corrected her. ‘When you couple that with your love of the outdoors and energetic pursuits, it makes men looking for
