The harsh chill of the truth seeped through to scrape at her bones. Now that she had started she could not stop. ‘It was an agreement between the two of you. That’s why you were so content to allow me to walk alone with him in Hurstborne Park, even when you knew that I didn’t want to go. The seduction was planned.’ She stared at him, the full extent of the horror uncoiling. ‘And Mama…surely she could not have known too?’
‘Your ranting renders you fit for nowhere but Bedlam, an amusing spectacle for the aristocracy, nothing more. Be careful what you say, Georgiana. I would not have your mother any further upset than she already is. I must warn her to watch for any signs of a brain fever in you.’ He sighed and, removing his spectacles, pinched at the bridge of his nose. ‘Both Mr Praxton and I only want what is best for you.’
Her mouth cracked to form a cynical smile that did not touch her eyes, eyes that faded to a bleak grey-blue. ‘How my leap into the River Borne must have dismayed you both.’
‘You jumped?’ Raithwaite’s brow lowered.
Georgiana’s smile intensified. ‘Oh, yes, dear Papa, I’d rather face death in a swollen river than submit to Walter Praxton’s cruel lips.’
‘You’re mistaken about him. It’s a measure of your youthful ignorance, and I won’t let you throw away the chance of a good marriage because of it. You’re one and twenty, and in danger of being left on the shelf. This is the best opportunity you’ll get.’
She shook her head sadly. ‘He is not a kind man, Papa. How can you justify what you’ve done?’
Edward Raithwaite slowly sat himself down in the comfortable chair behind his desk. ‘I said that my actions are for the best, and so they are. The end justifies the means, my dear. You’ll thank me in the years to come. Now, our discussion is at a close. It would be well if you did not mention that of which we have spoken to your mother. I will not have you run bleating to her. Do not seek to flout my judgement, Georgiana, for, if you refuse to marry Walter Praxton, then I’ll have you deemed of unsound mind, and I don’t need to explain what the consequences of that would be.’ His mouth shut in a tight grim line.
Indeed, he did not need to offer any explanation at all. It was with a very heavy heart that Georgiana made her way out of the study.
Nathaniel propped himself against the sturdy wooden gate and was content to enjoy the view before him. Collingborne was set amidst the soft rolling splendour of the Hampshire countryside, close to Harting Down. The green velvet of fields stretched ahead, dotted periodically with prehistoric mounds. Above yawned a rich russet canopy, its seasonal castings rustling gently around his feet. The air was damp and still, the sky grey with cloud. Within the hour the light would fade to darkness and the gentle patter of winter rain begin…and he would be back within the great house to suffer the hatred of his father. A robin flitted between the branches overhead, singing its distinctive call, alone in a field of crows and starlings and magpies. It was a feeling that Nathaniel knew well, and not one on which he wished to dwell. This was his respite, his time of peace, and from it he gathered the strength to face the sombre house once more. He would be gone tomorrow, and he could endure all that his father would throw at him until then. The leaves crunched beneath the soles of his riding boots as he strolled with purposeful resignation towards the place he could not call home.
‘Mirabelle?’ Nathaniel halted in surprise upon the gravel drive.
‘Nathaniel!’ His sister by marriage clambered down from the travelling coach. ‘You’ll think that I’m following you! But I couldn’t wait four more weeks for that dratted brother of yours to return. He sent me a letter saying that he couldn’t leave until then. So I decided right then and there to come. And here I am. Won’t Henry be surprised?’
Nathaniel thought that perhaps surprise might not be Henry’s primary sentiment when he viewed the arrival of his wife and children. Not that his brother did not care for them, it was just that Mirabelle’s presence was not entirely conducive to performing matters of business. Quite how the relationship between his straight-faced sibling and Henry’s vivacious wife worked was something that Nathaniel was often given to speculate upon. Mirabelle certainly brought happiness to his brother. Perhaps there was more to the lady than her chatterbox ways would suggest.
Behind Lady Farleigh a stout woman had just emerged from the carriage carrying one small child wrapped within a blanket, and holding another by the hand. ‘Unc Nath!’ The child loosed Nurse’s hand and threw himself towards Nathaniel. On reaching the now mud-splattered high boots, the small boy stopped, looked solemnly up with his big pansy-brown eyes, and raised his chubby arms towards Nathaniel. ‘Up, please, sir,’ he said in a polite voice, and waited patiently for Nathaniel to respond.
Nurse tutted and stepped forward to reclaim her errant charge.
But without a further thought Nathaniel lifted the child against him, unmindful of the buckled shoes scraping against his smart country coat, and the small sticky fingers pressing against his cheeks. ‘Have you missed your uncle Nathaniel?’
The curly head nodded seriously.
‘And have you been a good boy, Charlie?’
Again the head nodded and the arms tightened around his neck, rendering his carefully arranged neckcloth a mass of crushed linen.
‘Then I think we’ll have to play a game of horses.’
A broad grin spread across Charlie’s face and he uttered with reverence, ‘Horses, yes, play horses.’
To which Nathaniel set the boy upon the ground, turned around and crouched down as low as he could. Charlie clambered upon Nathaniel’s back, gaining a firm hold around his uncle’s neck. He was secured in place by Nathaniel’s arms and then the pair were off and running, galloping up the broad stone stairs in front of Collingborne House, accompanied by Mirabelle’s laughter and Nurse’s snorts of disapproval.
Charlie’s giggles reverberated around the ornate hallway, up the splendid sweep of the staircase and along the full length of the picture gallery, through the green drawing room and back down the servants’ stairwell. The boy squealed with delight as his uncle attempted some neighing noises and stamped his boots against the marble floor to simulate the clatter of hooves. Just as they rounded the corner to head back to the blue drawing room and Mirabelle, Nathaniel stopped dead in his tracks. For there, not two feet in front of them, in imminent danger of being mown down by Nathaniel and his small passenger, stood the Earl of Porchester and Viscount Farleigh. Both heads swivelled round to view the intruders, the old man’s face haughty with censure, the younger’s gaping with shock.
‘Charles?’ Henry managed to utter, as he regained a grip on himself. His countenance resumed its normal staid facade and he raised his eyebrows in enquiry to his brother.
The earl said nothing, only looked briefly at Nathaniel with sharp brown eyes. His cool, unwelcoming expression altered as his gaze shifted to his grandson, and although it could hardly be described as a smile, there was a definite thawing in its glacial manner.
‘Papa!’ Charlie’s sticky hands reached out towards his father.
Nathaniel shifted the child round and handed the small squat body to his brother. ‘Mirabelle and the children have just arrived. She wanted it to be something of a surprise for you. I left her in the blue drawing room.’
‘Quite.’ There was no disputing the disapproving tone in the earl’s voice. He did not look at Nathaniel.
‘We
