Beginning, Previous Section, Section VIII, Next Section
Robin was whistling as he entered Business the following day. His cheerfulness was infective, as the people he passed could not help but smile at a man who was clearly content for the first time in years. The more people who crossed his path, the faster word spread that clearly an understanding between himself and Miss Anne de Bourgh had been reached. Few other things made a man so cheerful.
Robin was meeting Lysander and Rupert to tell them the news, feeling that as his oldest friends they had the right to know before the rest of Society found out the following week at Lady Matlock's dinner party.
The door was opened immediately for him, and he thanked the man with a smile before entering. He saw Rupert upon entering, his auburn head looking steadily at the ground, a drink in his hand.
Robin felt a spasm of guilt in his heart. Rupert was one of his dearest friends. At Cambridge he would have gladly swallowed fire if required for his friend. But he could do nothing for the state of his heart, and knowing himself to be so happy when Rupert was so miserable tore at him. Every time they talked, Robin did his best to contain his happiness with the way things were progressing with Anne in an effort not to hurt him.
"I would ask you how it goes, Rupe, but I can see it is not going well," Robin said quietly, motioning for a drink. "You look even more miserable today than you have of late."
"Siddens is going to ask for her hand in marriage soon," Rupert replied dully. "I overheard him talking to someone last night. He said that since it looked as though Anne were going to be married soon, he had gone to Matlock to ask for permission to marry Cordelia."
"Matlock told him he could as soon as Anne married," Robin finished.
"Yes. How did you know that?"
"I had..." Robin swallowed. "I had a talk with the earl myself yesterday."
To Robin's surprise, Rupert's eyes brightened. "You did?"
Robin nodded.
"Then congratulations are in order?"
"They are."
Rupert took his hand and shook it vigorously. "When you stopped talking about her, I feared the worst," he said. "Even though everyone kept saying that things were progressing well between you, I was never sure."
"I thought that it would be in poor taste for me to mention that things were going well with Anne while you were not meeting with such success."
Rupert sighed. "I never stood a chance," he said softly as a man brought Robin his drink. "I think I could stand another one of these, please." He waved his glass.
When the man had disappeared, Robin said, "Of course you stood a chance. You are young, handsome, amiable...everything a sensible woman should want in a suitor."
"I suppose I am, but there was always something I was not. At first, I was not you, then I was not Wakefield. I am simply Lord Rupert Halliday, Viscount Axelby. One day I shall be the Earl of Hemmings, but who knows when that shall be? I am considered one of the nicest gentlemen in England, but not a single one of these women who think on me in such a way have ever considered me as a possible husband."
"You have not paid court to any of them."
Rupert's drink was refreshed. "I have always tried to avoid making a fool of myself in front of London society. I had hoped that I would do what I did with Anne--I would become her friend and confidante. Then one day, when I felt the time was right, when you were close to proposing to Anne, I would tell her that I loved her and then ask her to marry me."
"It sounds like a good sort of plan."
"In theory, all plans do. Then we went on that carriage ride, and I realized that Cordelia was in love with you. That was the first blow, and one I thought that I could overcome. In fact, it would have made my role as her confidante that much easier. But she wanted me to help come between you and Anne. I could not do that."
"Then why did you still love her after that?"
"There are certain things that cannot be answered. That question is one of them. In fact, the night of the St. Cecelia's ball, I questioned it myself. I never came up with an answer but the feeling was still there. Lysander asked me the same question at Miss Darcy's debut. I never had an answer for him, either. All I knew was that my feelings had not changed. Then she disappeared for about a month, and when she returned, Wakefield was returned to London and she was constantly in his company. I never had a chance." Rupert blinked back tears as he raised his glass to his lips.
"I wish I knew what to tell you, Rupert. I could say that there are plenty of other women in this world and surely you shall find one you love as much as Lady Cordelia."
"There shall never be another like her."
"There shall be, and I know this because I have been where you are now. When Lucia refused to elope with me, saying she would be more than content with that fop of a prince her father had chosen for her, I was certain I would never marry. I was certain I would never love another woman."
"But in the back of your mind, there was always someone else you could turn to. In fact, that is what you did."
"How do you say that?"
"Did you not say that you carried the memory of Anne de Bourgh, whomever she pretended to be, in your mind for those three years?"
"Not at first."
"I do not have a mysterious young woman to court now that it appears Lady Cordelia is to marry another. I have loved her for two years for nothing."
Robin sighed. He wished he had the courage to point out to Rupert that the more he heard of his great love for Cordelia, the more it sounded like the obsession Cordelia had had for him. In fact, the more he thought on it, the more he wondered if Rupert had ever loved her at all.
"At any rate, she is to marry Wakefield, once you are married to Anne. Did I remember to congratulate you on that?"
"Yes, you did remember."
Rupert took another drink. "Good. Have you set a date?"
"The end of April."
"I have heard report that an event of a most unpleasant nature is soon to take place. Please tell me that what I have heard is not true, Robin." Lysander sat at their table.
"It depends on what you have heard. If you have heard that the Marquis of Wakefield is soon to offer for Lady Cordelia Fitzwilliam, then it seems you are correct."
"Worst thing that Wakefield could do, in my opinion. The poor man has no idea what he is letting himself in for. Does he not see that she is in love with you?"
Robin frowned. "Do not be ridiculous."
"Women can love another if the initial object of their affection rejects them," Rupert said. "I think it has become clear to everyone that Lady Cordelia has fallen in love with Wakefield."
"It seems rather convenient to me. While I do believe that women can fall in love with more than one man, I was always under the impression that it did not happen practically overnight."
"If that were the case, then I would suspect Lady Cordelia of something underhanded," Rupert said. "But you were here in London last Season, as was I. Hardly a day went by when people did not talk about the possibility of her making a match with him. Before Robin entered the picture, it was clear she preferred him over every other man, even if most of us who loved her wished to deceive ourselves on the point."
"Preferring a man and loving him to the point of despising your own cousin because she is the chosen lady are two different things. If Jason Siddens had come calling on Anne when he came to town, I doubt Cordelia would have reacted as she did when it was Robin."
"I do not pretend to fathom what goes on that young lady's mind, but I assure you that whatever she thought she felt for me, it has passed and her attentions are all focused on Wakefield now," Robin said. "You simply choose to see the worst in her because--"
"Because I prefer not to be deceived?" Lysander asked.
"I think we all know why you have always been suspicious of women," Rupert said before taking another drink.
Lysander had been in the process of motioning for a drink of his own. Rupert's words caused him to turn and glare at his friend.
"I do not think the incident bears repeating."
"Actually, I think perhaps it might," Robin said quietly. "When I went to Matlock to ask for permission to marry Anne, he told me something about our mutual enemy that I think we should investigate, even if the chances of our discovering the truth are slim."
Lysander's drink arrived before any of them spoke again. He did not even bother looking at it.
"The rumour I heard is that you and Anne de Bourgh are soon to be married. Is this so?"
In spite of the information he was soon to impart, Robin smiled. "It is."
"Congratulations."
"In the course of my conversation with Matlock, he mentioned that someone had paid Brixton to court Anne. His object, of course, would have been the chance to marry Lady Cordelia once her cousin was married."
"Dear God," Rupert breathed. "Someone paid Brixton to court her?"
"Who else would have needed the money desperately enough to do it?" Lysander reasoned. "It makes sense to me now. Brixton was one of the few who continued to court her after she turned on Society, but even he was getting weary of the chase. There were some rumours that he was calling on Miss Evangeline Campbell briefly."
"Evangeline Campbell? Was she one of Captain Campbell's daughters?" Robin asked.
"Yes, and sad to say, she looked more like a horse than her elder sister. A sweet-natured young lady, however. She reminded me of..." Lysander's throat tightened. "Fortunately for her, Brixton soon turned his attentions back to Anne, and mysteriously, most of his debts were settled."
"Did Matlock tell you who the man was?" Rupert asked.
"No, and that is what still bothers me. If this man, whoever he turns out to be, was desperate enough to pay Brixton to marry Anne so he could marry Lady Cordelia, what is to stop him from paying Brixton another sum in order to prevent Anne from marrying me?"
"I am not certain I follow your reasoning," Lysander said.
"Everyone is speculating that Lady Cordelia is soon to marry Wakefield, which would mean this man has wasted ten thousand pounds. If Brixton were to kidnap Anne, Lady Cordelia could marry no one...at least for a while. This gentleman might think he could win his way into her affections with extra time."
"I would think this gentleman more likely to do something to rid himself of Wakefield," Lysander said. "Whether Anne marries you or whether she marries Brixton, the restriction is lifted from Lady Cordelia."
"Yes, but the lady seems to have made her choice, and it is not this gentleman," Rupert said. "If such a word could be applied to the man."
"Nor shall it ever be," Robin added. "The earl knows who it is and said he would make certain this man never marries his daughter."
"Why would he not tell you?" Lysander asked.
"I think he feared I might seek retribution--and he was correct. I would like nothing more than to beat that man to a bloody pulp. Which brings me to needing your help. I want to know who he is."
"Did the earl tell you how he discovered his identity?" Rupert asked.
"No. All he would say is that he knew what had happened with Brixton at Cambridge."
"It would be a simple matter to find out who he is," Lysander said. "I shall undertake it for you."
"I would greatly appreciate it." Robin finished his drink. "Now, since it has been a while since we last spoke, you must tell us how things are progressing with Miss Darcy."
Lysander deliberately took a drink before answering. "Quite well, I think. Better than her brother would like, I know for certain."
"I am glad to hear it," Robin said. "It has been far too long since Constance."
Lysander's jaw tightened. "I am seriously considering marrying her," he said.
"Excellent!" Rupert slapped him on the back. "Why did you not say you loved her before?"
"Because I do not think I love her," Lysander replied. "In fact, that is part of the reason I think I should marry her. Love is for fools and the very lucky, Rupe. It never has been for me. I knew that even before Constance, and what happened with her only confirmed what I knew. Miss Darcy is a good sort of girl. She is sweet-natured and gentle. She knows what a lady should know and has enough intelligence not to bore me. She is quite beautiful and would be an asset to me."
"Why do you not go and buy yourself a brood mare?" Robin snapped. "For God's sake, Lysander, she deserves more than that cold assessment you give her."
"I do not think she wants a romantic entanglement any more than I do."
"What on earth makes you think that?" Robin asked, uncertain as to what Lysander knew about Georgiana Darcy.
"I know someone has broken her heart before." The manner in which this was said left no doubt in Robin's mind that Lysander knew about the elopement.
"Just because a woman has suffered a broken heart is no reason to assume she never wishes to risk it again," Rupert said. "I think Miss Darcy is quite enamoured of you. She might even love you. I think you are afraid to love her back."
"I think you are deceiving yourself," Lysander lashed out. "I am not as lucky as Robin or as foolish as you, Rupert. I shall never love any woman. And no woman could ever love me. That is the way things have been and the way they always shall be. Now if you will excuse me, I think I should be where people are not."
Lysander stormed out of the club, leaving a trail of startled gentlemen in his wake and two stunned faces staring at the door he went through.
"I wish I could kill Constance," Rupert muttered. "Did you hear him? 'No woman could ever love me.' It was that witch that put the notion in his head."
"It always amazes me that knowing her to be a liar, he chooses to believe that," Robin said. "Even fifteen years later."
Lysander threw open the door to his townhouse before his butler had a chance to open it for him. Tossing his gloves aside, he headed straight for his study without speaking to anyone. The servants read his mood and quickly scurried away, not wishing to incur his wrath. It was rare that he came home in this mood, but when he did, it usually was best to leave him alone.
Slamming the door to the study, he headed to the cabinet against the wall, grabbed a bottle of brandy and took a long drink without bothering with a snifter. Lysander's eyes watered from the burning sensation as the liquid slid down his throat, but it did not stop him from taking another drink.
He sat heavily at his desk, Rupert's last words searing on his mind. I think you are afraid to love her back.
How right his old friend was, and how much Lysander wished he had not been.
Lysander reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a tattered sky blue ribbon. Attached to the ribbon was a small key which unlocked the top right-hand drawer of his desk. With extreme gentleness, he unlocked the drawer and looked inside.
The drawer held three things--a packet of yellowed letters, written in a feminine hand and bound together with a ribbon the same color as the one which was attached to his key; a large ring set with a lock of pale blonde hair; and a newspaper clipping.
Lysander picked up the letters, undoing the ribbon and opening the top one with the delicate care one would give a priceless antique. As he reread the words a young woman had once written him, his mind wandered fifteen years into the past...
"DENBY! AXELBY! OVERTON!"That could only be Mr. Corby, furious as usual that the three young men known throughout Cambridge (and possibly all of London) as the Terrible Trio had struck again. Even in his fury, he remembered to call them according to rank--first the earl, then the viscount, then the future baronet.
His outraged yell could be heard all throughout the grounds and carried to the tallest tree, which is where a trio of young men could be found if one looked hard enough.
"I think he's upset, gentlemen," Rupert said with a grin. Even though he looked the most innocent of the three, he was the one who had the daring to think up and carry out their most outrageous schemes. Stealing his lecture notes was not quite the most outrageous thing they had ever done to their least favourite instructor, but it was quite helpful to their less fortunate peers, those who might not otherwise be able to pass the examinations without some clue as to what they needed to study. They had made a copy of them and planned to loan them to anyone who needed them.
Ephraim Corby was known for his impossible examinations and his tendency to allow his mind to wander off the topic during lectures. Most of those who passed his course did so with a barely passing grade.
"We are bound to get send down for this one," Robin added. "He swore he would see us expelled if we came up with one more prank."
"He has to prove we did it first," Lysander replied. "And there is no way any of us will be sent down. Your mother put the fear of God into Corby the last time she was summoned here."
Robin grinned. "She did, didn't she? I swear, if I should ever marry, it will be to someone exactly like my mother."
"As the quickest of the three, I think I should be the one to return it," Lysander said.
"I still say I am quicker than you," Rupert muttered.
"You say that every time, and every time we have to remind you of the time you got caught with Mr. Laurence's pet bird."
"I was only caught because the stupid bird started squawking! If it had been quiet, I would never have been discovered."
"I still have to laugh at the explanation you gave for trying to take it," Lysander said with a laugh. "Trying to get a young woman's opinion as to what type of bird to buy her as a gift, indeed."
"It worked, did it not?" Rupert pointed out.
"We are losing valuable time arguing while Mr. Corby searches for us. He has checked most of our hide-outs by now," Robin said. "If you are going to return those notes, you had best get going."
Lysander grabbed the book from Rupert's hand.
"I was not quite finished copying his notes about the ancient Romans!" Rupert protested.
"You probably know more about Ancient Rome than Mr. Corby," Robin said. "Go, Lysander."
Lysander slid down the tree with all the agility that a young man possesses at eighteen and stealthily made his way back toward campus. He narrowly missed being seen by Mr. Corby, who was making his way toward the trees Lysander had just left. He waited until the instructor was well into the shade of the trees before making a mad dash for the small house Mr. Corby rented on the edge of the university grounds.
Lysander reached the front step with relative ease before realizing that he had no way to get in. If Mr. Corby had discovered that his lecture notes were missing, then he surely had shut the window the trio had pried open in order to get to them. He was just setting the book down on the front step when the door was suddenly opened.
At first, Lysander thought that an avenging angel had appeared to repay him for all the pranks he had pulled on Mr. Corby. The vision standing before him had pale blonde hair that seemed to glow with life, tied back with a sky blue ribbon that almost matched the colour of her eyes. The angelic effect was highlighted by the demure white gown she wore and the gentle smile on her ethereal face.
He did not think her real until she spoke.
"I take it you are responsible for my stepfather tearing out of here in an apoplectic fit," the vision said.
"I--I fear I am," Lysander said. "Please forgive me."
She laughed--surely heaven's bells had never sounded so sweet!
"Do not worry, my lord. I shall not tell him."
"I am much obliged to you...may I know to whom I am indebted for the remainder of my education?" Lysander feared that he might be speaking to Mr. Corby's wife, for although every feeling revolted at the idea of a toad of nearly fifty having a wife so young and beautiful as this girl, it had been known to happen.
"I am Constance Danbury. Mr. Corby is my mother's second husband," she replied. "You obvious have had him as an instructor so you can understand why I shall keep your secret. And may I know the name of the young man who is indebted to me?"
"I am Lysander Overton," he said. He grasped her hand before he even knew what he was doing and kissed it. She did not pull her hand away as he expected her to, which pleased him greatly. For a moment, her eyes showed her surprise, but then she smiled.
"You should go," she told him. "Your friends can only detain him so long before he figures out that the missing one has his notes. I shall tell him that he must have misplaced them, for I found them under a table."
"Thank you...my friends thank you as well."
"You are quite welcome. Shall I see you again?" she asked.
Lysander smiled. "Count on it..."
And he had seen her again, in secret because Mr. Corby would not have approved, though he had seemed to accept Constance's explanation of the missing notes, for he said nothing to Lysander, Rupert and Robin about them.
Of course, when almost everyone in the class had passed his last examination, he had given them a look which told them quite clearly he knew the truth.
Lysander folded the first letter back up and picked up the second, opening it with the same care as he had the first. The first letter had been written to arrange their first meeting. He could still remember where it had been left...in his Ancient Rome book.
The letters which followed it talked of other matters all through that summer before his classes recommenced that fall. She wrote of looking forward to seeing him again and of how much she detested her stepfather. She wrote of how she missed her father and how she resented her mother for marrying and bringing them to their current level of poverty.
Lysander frowned. Fifteen years ago, he had thought the letters to be full of the confidences a young woman could confide to no one but her sweetheart. As he read them now, he saw that she had revealed very little that she could not tell anyone. There was nothing in them which could not have been read to his friends. The more he thought about them, the more he realized how impersonal they really were. Until her last few letters, she had never made any mention of her feelings at all.
But they had been forbidden, for not only was Constance the stepdaughter of an instructor, but she was the poor stepdaughter of an instructor. His father would never have approved of her. Perhaps that had been part of her attraction for him.
Lysander picked up the third to last letter, the one in which her writing style abruptly changed and left him breathless.
Dearest Lysander,The time of your return grows near. I know that before I have been reluctant to talk about how I have been looking forward to seeing you again, but now I must be truthful to you and to myself. My mother has always said that a young lady should leave a gentleman in some doubt as to the state of her feelings for him, but then, my mother also married a man such as Mr. Corby, so I do not think she has the most sound judgment in this case.
I have missed you greatly, dear Lysander. Your letters speak to me in a way that no other man ever could. When you write about how you miss the mother you have never known, I think of the father I knew only too briefly. When you write about how you barely know your father, I understand because I realized several years ago how little I knew my mother. When you write about your future, I can feel your longing for me to be a part of it. You have no idea how much I wish for the same thing.
I know you fear that your father would never approve of me, but I do not think it should matter. Two people who care for each other as we do should not be kept apart by parents. If this means we must live in poverty, so be it. I have lived in worse circumstances and would be quite willing to do so again, if you were there with me.
Daily I pass through the small woods and see our tree, the one you carved our initials into. I run my hands over the initials L.O., dreaming of the day when my hand shall be able to touch your face, for that would be the only way I would know for certain that you were actually with me again. Do you think the same about me? I somehow feel that you do.
Until we meet again, I give you a reminder of me with this ring. I hope that one day I should be given something of yours that I might wear close, so a part of you would always be with me.
I remain Your Devoted Friend,
Constance Danbury
That letter should have set off the warning bells in his mind, Lysander thought cynically as he took another drink of brandy. She had gone from innocent little-girl letters to something akin to passion.
How little he had known about Constance. If only he had known that someone had asked her to write the letter, knowing how he would respond, knowing that it could be used to humiliate him. But he had not. Lysander had walked straight into the trap Evan Brixton set for him without knowing it was there. He wrote a long, ardent letter to Constance, pouring out everything that he felt for her. The love he had never thought he would feel surfaced in that long, elegant, foolish letter.
The thought that it had existed embarrassed him even though he knew the letter was gone. But the thought of the letter a lovestruck boy had written still had the ability to make his heart ache.
Lysander picked up the ring with the lock of Constance's hair set in it. He knew who had worn the ring before him, though he had not known it then. He had known nothing when he returned to Cambridge with Robin and Rupert...nothing except that he was deeply in love with Constance.
The third night he was back, there was a letter waiting for him. It was the second to last one in his collection, and he opened it reluctantly, reading the promises it contained and the plea for a meeting at night, which was most peculiar as they had only met during the day before.
He had agreed to the meeting, waited until well after dark, then slipped out of his room to meet the woman he loved.
He arrived before she did, pacing in the dark amidst the trees. It was much cooler than it had been earlier in the day, and the wind started whipping about, causing the leaves to rustle and sending a chill down his back. Lysander worried that on such a dark night, with only the tiniest sliver of a moon to give light, something might have happened to Constance.At last, he heard footsteps and was able to make out a slender figure and recognized it as being hers. Lysander rushed over to her, crying out her name. She ran into his arms, clinging to him as tightly as he was clinging to her. Her hand snaked behind his head and brought his lips to hers, kissing him with such fervor that he was momentarily stunned. Moments later, he was kissing her with equal feeling.
He came quite close to losing control and seducing her right there in the shade of the trees, despite the cold and wind, despite the real possibility of discovery. Constance certainly seemed willing enough, as her hands had managed to undo the buttons of his coat and vest and were working on his shirt. Of their own volition, his hands had found the top three buttons of her gown and had undone them.
But even as Lysander's heart and body told him that there was nothing wrong with what he was doing, since he had every intention of marrying Constance, his mind knew better. He respected her enough to marry her. He should respect her enough to wait until they were actually married before experiencing the act of love.
"Constance," he murmured, "we cannot."
"We cannot what?" She pressed kisses along his jawline.
"We cannot do this yet."
"But I want to. I have waited for you all summer long. Is that not long enough? Is it wrong between two people who love each other as we do?" Her kisses trailed down the column of his neck.
Lysander knew that if he did not back away from her, his argument would be for naught. He took two steps back .
"It is wrong because we are not married. I do not want you to think I have no respect for you."
"I would never think that," Constance said. "I know you to be an honorable man. I know you will marry me." She took a step toward him.
Lysander took another step away. "You are right--I do intend to marry you, Constance. And it is for that reason that I want to wait."
She pouted. "But I love you, Lysander. I want to be with you in every way."
Lysander's heart filled with warmth. He no longer felt the cold of the evening. She loved him! But still he could not give in to her, no matter how much he wanted to do so.
"This is neither the time nor the place to do this," he told her.
He saw her eyes flicker away from him, but he thought little of it.
"Then where do you suggest we go? And when?" she asked, her voice louder than necessary.
Lysander hesitated. He knew he would marry her, but he did not want a secret elopement that would make it seem as though he were not proud of her. When he married Constance, everyone in England would know about it.
"I want you to marry me," he said.
"Tonight?" Her eyes were bright with excitement.
"No...but soon. Quite soon."
"Then could we not start--"
"No, Constance. I want our first night together to be something special, for both of us. This is not special."
He saw her eyes narrow in anger. "Very well, then."
Lysander knew she was upset, so he said, "Constance, please, try to understand. You have no idea how much I wish for this to happen between us, but I want things to be right. I want us to be married. I want to take you to my father's home and introduce you as my bride. Do you not want that as well?"
"Of course I do!"
"Then please, be patient. I shall make some arrangements--including asking your stepfather for your hand in marriage--and then we will be married."
"Do you promise?" she asked, her lips curving into something resembling a smile.
"I do."
Lysander kissed her, gently, tenderly, and then left her in the shade of the trees. He went back to his room and fell asleep with dreams of the day his wedding day firmly in his mind.
The following day, his world fell apart.
Lysander had attended his lectures but had paid very little attention to what any of the instructors said. Rupert and Robin had laughed at him at least a dozen times for mooning about over a woman, swearing that they would never be such fools. Lysander had ignored their laughter, merely saying that one day they would be in love and he would be laughing at them.
After Lysander's last lecture of the day, he briskly walked to his room, hoping there would be a secreted note from Constance, hoping she had gotten over her anger at his decision of last night. He barely noticed the titters that he heard following him, nor did he see the well-read letter that a trio of his fellow students were laughing over.
When he opened the door, he saw Constance laying on his bed, kissing a man whose face he could not see. Both were half-clothed.
Lysander's first thought was that the man was forcing himself on her, and so he dropped his books, startling the two of them. He grabbed the man's shoulders before he had a chance to realize what was happening and pushed him away from Constance.
With an outraged howl, Lysander punched the man in the jaw, knocking him over. When the man looked up, Lysander saw who it was.
It was Evan Brixton.
Prior to this, Brixton had only been a minor thorn in Lysander's side. That Brixton was jealous of Lysander, and Rupert and Robin as well, had never been in doubt. While the "Terrible Trio" were the three most popular young men at Cambridge, Brixton was considered something of a nuisance and had made few friends. Brixton had always needed whatever academic help the three friends could provide with their stolen lecture notes. Twice, Brixton had gotten wind of some of their more outrageous schemes and had informed on them. Turning traitor on them, however, had only damaged his own reputation among the other students.
Lysander had never thought the man despised him so much he would do something to hurt an innocent young woman.
"I'll kill you!" Lysander yelled, kicking Evan Brixton in the stomach.
"Stop it, Lysander!" Constance shouted, placing herself as a shield between Lysander and Brixton.
"Constance, get out of the way. He has attacked you and he shall pay."
Lysander thought that would convince her to move, but instead, she started laughing. When she did not stop, he thought her mind had snapped from what had happened to her. When Brixton started laughing along with her, Lysander became uneasy. Something was amiss.
"Oh, Lysander, you are such a fool," Constance said, still laughing. "Evan did not attack me."
"H-he did not?"
"No. We have been together for some time now."
"But last night you...you..."
"A woman's prerogative," she said, a cat-like smile on her face. "You see, after you disappointed me, Evan was kind enough to come along and make me happy. Of course, we were both hoping you would take me up on my offer, whereupon Evan intended to come along with a group of his friends to catch us."
"Why?" He finally managed to ask.
"You did not honestly think you were going to ruin me among my peers here and get away with it, did you?" Brixton said.
"You did that yourself when you turned us in to Mr. Adler. If you had kept quiet you would not have been branded a turncoat."
"I know the three of you were instrumental in bringing it about. You and Axelby and Denby. I have yet to find where they are vulnerable, but believe me, I shall. Just as I found out about the lovely Constance here." Constance turned around and the two of them kissed slowly. "She did like you at first, Overton, but she decided over the summer that she needed a real man, not just some foolish fop like yourself. I happened to be staying here, and so we found each other. I must admit, your letters were quite...romantic. I thought them so special that I simply had to share them with our fellow peers. You probably heard them laughing at you as you came back here."
Lysander felt as though he had been kicked in the stomach. He was having trouble catching his breath, and he did not trust himself to speak without breaking down.
"Did you like the ring?" Brixton asked.
Lysander looked down at the ring, set with the lock of hair Constance had given him.
"I cut the lock of hair, and I chose the ring. I even drafted the letter she sent to you with it."
Lysander closed his eyes, a strange numbness settling over him.
"How does it feel to be the laughing-stock of the university, Overton?" Brixton laughed cruelly. He clearly did not expect an answer, for he said, "I think we should go, Connie. We need privacy, and he is obviously not going to give us any."
The couple finished dressing. Before Constance could slip away with her lover, Lysander grabbed her arm. "Why?" he growled. "Why did you do this to me? I would have given you the world."
"You could never give any woman anything," she said coolly. "And no woman could ever love you. Evan loves me, and he can give me much more than you ever could..."
But that was not what Evan Brixton had given Constance Danbury, as everyone discovered one cold day two months later. Her last note had been delivered to Lysander on that fateful day, too late to stop her in her fatal task. By the time he had read the note and hurried to the woods where they had met a hundred times in secret, she was gone forever.
Tears streamed down Lysander's face as he opened the last letter in his collection even as he damned Constance for the deceitful witch she was. He had hated her, but knew deep in his heart that he had still loved her fiercely. Love and hate were but two sides of the same coin, someone had once told him, and after knowing Constance, he realized that person had been right.
Lysander,I know I have no right to write to you after the terrible way I wronged you, but I must make my confession to the one person who deserves to hear it. I know you may not believe this, but I did love you. I truly did.
When you left after the final examinations, I loved you. I was determined to wait for you until you returned and we could be married. Evan Brixton was forced to spend the summer here because he had not done well in my stepfather's course, which is how we met. He was quite charming and I found myself becoming fascinated by him. I did not notice at the time how many questions he asked about you. I did not notice the nature of his questions, which were quite personal and which I should not have answered. But of course, I did answer them.
Over time, I believed myself to be in love with him and allowed myself to be seduced by him. He was exciting and powerful. He said he had powerful friends. He said he was to inherit a great fortune and that as soon as he did, we would be married. I believed every word he said--what woman would not?
I wanted to write a letter to you breaking off our courtship, such as it was, but Evan would not hear of it. When I asked him why, he told me stories about you that did not seem to fit with your character as I knew it. He said you and your friends had ruined him socially here at Cambridge. He gave specific examples. Even though I despised my stepfather, he made everything you did to him sound wrong. And I believed it. Evan said you had to be punished, and I agreed to help him. God forgive me, but I hated you as much as he did.
Evan was there that night in the woods, watching and listening. He said that his intention was for me to seduce you and for him to bring the headmaster and my stepfather out to the woods to find us. His object was your expulsion from Cambridge, which would be an extreme embarrassment given the circumstances. I did not understand at the time that he had an even darker purpose.
I discovered his true purpose three nights ago, when he and I last met. I informed him that I was with child, his child. I expected him to marry me. He told me that he loved me and that we would be married. I reminded him of this.
He laughed in my face and said that I was as great a fool as you. He never had any intention of marrying me. He had used me to get at you. His professions of love were a lie, all part of his scheme against you.
His plan that night in the woods was for my stepfather to find us and force you to marry me. Though I did not know it that night, I was already with child. Your firstborn, possibly your heir, would be his bastard. You would have been made a fool twice over.
Evan told me that he was close to making a match with a wealthy heiress from Derbyshire. He said, "You should have realized that Overton was right. No man respects a woman who will give herself freely before marriage." He kept laughing at me, belittling me, saying I was a strumpet and that if he had not come along, someone else would have. He said he was doing me a favor by giving me my start in my future profession. And then he left, still laughing.
My world has fallen apart and I have no one to blame for it but myself. I feel deep shame for my actions and can think of only one remedy to make amends for my sins. I cannot forgive myself, and I cannot ask you to forgive me. I can only hope that when I am gone, you take with you the knowledge that I did love you, and that I am truly sorry for what I did.
Constance
It had been Lysander who had found her body. He remembered cradling her in his arms, then picking her up and taking her to her stepfather and mother. He lied about how he had found her, telling them that he had been wandering about the woods and come across her. Mr. Corby had been grief-stricken, and despite their former animosity, Lysander felt deeply sorry for the man. His own feelings must have reflected on his face, for Mr. Corby had embraced him, called him son, and the two had mourned together.
There was never any doubt in Lysander's mind that Constance had killed herself because of Evan Brixton. His first impulse had been to publish Constance's suicide letter just as Brixton had published his love letter to her, but in the end, out of respect for Mr. Corby, he did not. Most of the people at Cambridge guessed correctly at the truth, but without direct proof, none of them could publicly condemn Evan Brixton.
Lysander made it is duty to do whatever he could to ruin the man. He discovered the name of the heiress in Derbyshire and persuaded her parents not to allow her to marry him. He discovered the projects Brixton had an interest in and deliberately sabotaged them. He made it extremely difficult for Brixton to borrow money. On two other occasions, when Evan Brixton was rumoured to be on the brink of marriage, he had intervened, on one occasion being forced to show one set of parents Constance's letter. He had been fully prepared to go to the Earl of Matlock if Brixton's courtship of Anne de Bourgh had progressed. Fortunately, the lady seemed possessed of enough intelligence to see the man for what he was.
Over the past fifteen years, Evan Brixton may have suspected that Lysander was behind all of his thwarted plans, but Lysander made sure to do his work with the utmost discretion. Just as no one could ever prove that Brixton was the cause of Constance Danbury's suicide, no one could prove that Sir Lysander Overton was carrying out revenge in her name.
Lysander slowly folded the last letter, putting it with the others and carefully tying the ribbon around them and returning them to the drawer. He did not bother picking up the newspaper clipping, which was Constance's death notice.
He had never loved another woman after her. Though he carried out his vengeance in her name, at the time of her death he could not say that he still loved her. She had protested that she was an innocent dupe in Evan Brixton's plans but he could not believe it. Her words and actions the day he found them in his bedroom were not that of someone who was completely innocent.
Constance had destroyed his innocence and any sort of belief he had in love, which had been small from the beginning. He had once sworn he would never marry, but soon after his thirtieth birthday he came to realize that he did have a duty to his rather minor title to marry and produce an heir.
Lysander pondered the idea of marrying Georgiana Darcy. She was young, which was good. She had spent most of her time in the country, which was better. She was amiable and he had no doubt that she would make a suitable wife for him. She had already made her mistake and learned from it, and though he doubted he would ever trust her any more than he had trusted any woman, he knew they would get along well together. They would be good friends, which was all any healthy marriage needed.
Lysander locked the drawer and returned the key to his pocket. He put away the bottle of brandy and, with a grim smile on his face, left his library. The servants he passed on his way back out of the house felt no relief at the smile. Something was still terribly wrong with the young master.
Lysander walked the short distance to the Darcy residence, banging loudly on the door. The butler opened it with his usual dour expression. Lysander handed him his card and asked to speak with Miss Darcy. The butler led him into a parlor room and told him to wait.
After being kept waiting for ten minutes, Georgiana appeared, looking as innocent as rain, green eyes shining.
"I think Miss Darcy is quite enamoured of you. She might even love you."
Lysander brushed Rupert's words aside, for Lord knew he was not the most rational creature of late.
"Good afternoon, Sir Lysander," she said with a pretty curtsy.
"Miss Darcy." He bowed and waited until she was seated before sitting down himself. For a long minute, he just stared at her, his mind racing before coming to the inevitable conclusion. "I have come today to ask you to be my wife."
Georgiana was not certain she had heard Sir Lysander correctly. She blinked several times and wondered if it would be impolite to ask him to repeat himself.
Finally, she decided to chance it. "I beg your pardon?"
"I have come to ask you to marry me."
"That is what I thought you said." Georgiana was grateful to be sitting down. The idea of Sir Lysander actually proposing was enough to make her feel faint.
Or was it?
Georgiana took a long, assessing look at him. He did not look like a man overcome by the violence of his affections, which was what she would have expected to be the cause of his sudden proposal. He looked rather grim, actually, grim and determined.
But not in love.
Nor, she thought, had he made any declaration of love. He had given no reason for this abrupt impulse of his to propose marriage.
In that moment, Georgiana realized a few things. First, she realized that his coolness was an insult towards her. She realized that George Wickham had not destroyed her heart after all. She realized that she had been fooling herself when she had thought about what she wanted in a husband. She did not want a retiring, quiet gentleman. Instead, she wanted a passionate, caring man who would love her deeply and do anything to protect her.
She realized that she had fallen in love with Lysander Overton body and soul. But that realization was swiftly followed by a chilling one, especially in light of his current demeanor as he asked her to marry him--that her heart was in greater danger of being broken than it had ever been with George Wickham.
"Miss Darcy, I have not had much experience in these matters, but I think an answer is required at some point," Sir Lysander said.
Georgiana took a deep breath and said, "I don't know."
He looked rather confused, as though the answer should have been simple. She thought it probably had been to him, for obviously he had not come thinking she would refuse his offer.
"You don't know about what? Whether an answer to my proposal is required or if you will marry me?" he asked, his voice still calm.
"I do not know if I wish to marry you."
Georgiana knew she was taking a great chance with her answer. She knew that by not accepting him the moment he finished his proposal she was risking her happiness. She had to know his reason for wanting to marry her, and she suspected that this was the quickest route to get there.
"May I ask why you do not know if you want to marry me? We have been courting these past months and I have been told that marriage is the natural conclusion of such affairs."
"Is that the only reason you are here today? Because you think that it is the right thing to do?"
He looked uncomfortable with that question, and with a sinking feeling Georgiana knew she was correct. She bit her lip, trying to ignore the lump that was slowly rising in her throat as she blinked back tears.
"I am here because I have decided that you would make me a suitable wife," he said once it appeared that he had considered how to best answer the question.
"'Suitable?'"
"Yes. Let us have no pretense, Miss Darcy. You have no doubt heard something about my past that has left me incapable of...that has made it quite difficult for me to trust any woman."
"People keep telling me something happened, but I do not know the story," Georgiana replied.
"It is a long story and not worth repeating to a decent young woman such as yourself. Suffice it to say that I have never..." He seemed to have trouble figuring out what he wanted to say. Georgiana thought he might be trying to get past his long-held prejudices about women to tell her he loved her. "I have never considered marrying because I could not find a woman I felt comfortable enough with to marry. I have never thought a woman could be worthy enough to marry. Until now."
"So I am worthy enough to marry?" she asked.
"Yes, you are. More than worthy."
Georgiana's tears were gone, her fears banished. Lysander might not have said in plain words that he loved her, but what he had said gave her great hope that he did.
"You truly wish to marry me?" she asked softly.
Lysander nodded. "I would not be here if I did not."
Georgiana leapt from her chair and into his arms. "Yes!" she cried out. "Yes, I shall marry you!"
Georgiana's unexpected reaction caught Lysander off guard. He tentatively put his arms around her, because it seemed to be the right thing to do. The feel of her in his arms, however, sent a shiver down his spine. He did not know what else to call it but fear.
But fear of what? Georgiana not being the right woman to marry? That she might turn out to be like Constance? Fear that she actually loved him? Or worst of all---that he might consider falling in love with her?
"I am pleased that you have accepted me," Lysander said, taking a step back and looking down at her. Her lovely copper hair was done up in the latest fashion, with little curls at the temples. As she looked up at him, Lysander noticed that she had a light dusting of freckles on her nose and cheeks, giving her a slightly impish look. Her green eyes, the color of grass in summertime, glowed with a happiness that he wistfully wished he could feel.
"I am pleased that you asked me, though for a moment I had to admit that I was afraid..." She broke off, and he frowned.
"You were afraid of what?" he asked.
"It seems so silly to bring up now, but I must confess that when you first asked me to marry you I was afraid you were only asking because you thought it was the right thing to do." Georgiana sighed. "I did not think you loved me."
Lysander froze. Love?
He had not said he loved her...had he? Though very little had been exchanged in the way of conversation in the last few minutes, Lysander had a difficult time remembering much of what had been said between them before she had agreed to marry him. He could not remembering mentioning love at all.
"Georgiana..."
"But when you said that you could think of no one worthier than me, someone you felt comfortable with...I knew. I know you may not be able to say it right away, or for a long time, but you feel it."
"Feel what, exactly?"
Those green eyes lost a little of their sparkle. "You love me."
Lysander was speechless. So he had not said it, but she had jumped to that conclusion based on what he had said.
"You do love me, do you not?" she asked, taking a step back of her own.
"I...I did not want to misrepresent myself," Lysander said, knowing even as he said it that it sounded lame.
"What do you mean?" she asked, taking another step back.
"I cannot say that I love you, Georgiana. I like you and esteem you, which is more than I ever thought I would be able to feel for a woman. But love...is an impossibility for me."
"But why did you ask me to marry you if you do not love me?"
"I told you--I felt that you would make me a suitable wife."
"What falls into your definition of a suitable wife?" she asked, taking yet another step away from him. She was nearly to the north wall of the room now.
"Someone who will not create a scandal--and please, do not mention what you may have done in the past. I know you have learned from it and would not do anything again. I want a woman who has good principles and values, someone who will pass on these good qualities to our children. I want someone beautiful, naturally, and intelligent, both of which you are."
"I also happen to be the granddaughter of an earl. I am certain that helped in your decision."
"Not in the slightest. I am perfectly indifferent as to fortune or name. I wanted someone who would be happy in the country and yet comfortable in society."
Georgiana's eyes closed and her face hardened. "You could have married any number of women long before I ever came to London. I am hardly the first woman to have all of those qualities."
"You are the first woman I have come to admire."
"What is it you admire about me? And please, if you are about to wax poetic on my intelligence or good sense, do not utter a word."
"But do you not see? It is exactly that which I admire most about you. You are the perfect woman for me. We have both been hurt before and we both guard our hearts fiercely. We do not wish to be hurt again. Marriages based on true love are very rare and more often than not end in chaos. I do not want a marriage like that, and I do not think you want one, either."
"Did you mean what you said to me at my debut?" she asked.
"I do not know. It has been quite a while since that event. What did I say?"
"You said that you were jealous when I danced with other men. You said that you had felt what you felt for me only once before in your life. When you said you were going to call on me anyway, it gave me hope that you were finally getting past all that. And these past months, I thought you had!"
Lysander shook his head and knew with his whole heart that she was about to change her mind. "I was jealous."
"Why?"
"I do not know."
Georgiana could no longer hold her tears in check. They streaked down her face quickly and she sniffled once. "I think we both know the truth," she said. "You have managed to come here and insult me because you want to hide it. You're afraid to feel it. You fear that if you trust me enough to give me your heart, I would do the same thing she did. And I don't even know what it is she did! You are comparing me to a woman that I do not know, and I cannot understand why you think I would ever do anything like she obviously did!"
"I am sorry," he said. "I came here today because I thought you wanted the same things out of marriage that I did. I truly thought that."
"When we first met, you may have been right. Three months ago, you may have been right. But at this moment, I know that I do not want a marriage like the one you have proposed. I want something more than respect and admiration. I want to be loved...and so do you."
"No, I do not," he said, amazed at his ability to stay calm. This time, he took a step back, away from the force of her words.
"You do." Georgiana took a step closer to him. "You have come here saying you want a marriage like your father's, but we both know it is a lonely existence." Another step forward. "You want to love me, but loving me would make you vulnerable and you do not want that." She stepped forward again.
"Stay back," he whispered, unable to trust his voice. "Stay away."
"No." She took another step forward until she was within arms' reach of him. "You have let people do that for too long, and it ends today. It ends now. You have a great wall around your heart and your feelings, one that has been growing ever since whatever it is happened, but I am determined to tear down that wall."
"You don't understand," he managed to choke out.
"I think I do." There was a light in her eyes that made him wonder if she did. "What was her name?"
Before he could stop himself, he said, "Constance."
Georgiana snorted. "She wasn't very constant, was she? No, I can see from your face that she was not." She took another step toward him. If she took one more step, she would be in his arms and he could not have that. He took a step back. "What did she do?" Georgiana asked. "You said she loved another and rejected you for him, but there was more to it than that, wasn't there?"
He nodded.
"What was it?"
"I cannot--"
"I do not care what sort of tale it is. Perhaps if women knew all the dangers of the world, they would be able to fend for themselves instead of placing their trust in men. What happened?"
Lysander swallowed hard. "I found her one day in my chamber at college with someone else. That was how I learned of her new lover. The lover had a grudge against me and used her to gain his objective, which was to humiliate me in front of my peers and destroy..."
"Destroy your faith in love," Georgiana said softly. "Destroy your ability to trust. Cause you to erect that wall of cynicism and distrust until you stopped caring about most people."
"I never had a high opinion of love, and the episode with Constance only confirmed what I already knew."
"Which was what? That love was not for you? That you could never love anyone because one person hurt you?" Georgiana did not speak for a minute. Lysander wondered if she was trying to read his mind. In a gentle voice, she finally added, "You think no one can ever love you."
Lysander turned away quickly before she could see the answer in his eyes, but he should have known that the movement was admission enough for her.
"That is it, isn't it? You think no one will love you because she did not. Lysander Overton, you are a fool!"
"I am not a fool," he said coldly. "I am a sensible man who thought he was proposing marriage to a woman of similar sensibilities."
"Then you were wrong about me, because not only am I insensible when it comes to you, it would be safe to say that I love you." Georgiana walked around him until she faced him again. She reached up and took his face in her hands, the warmth of them surprising him.
He reached up and put his hands around her wrists, pulling her hands away. "You do not mean that, Georgiana. You do not know what love is," he said, turning away from her again.
Georgiana moved around him again to prevent him from shutting her out. "Think that, do you? I thought myself in love before but that was nothing compared to this. With him--George was his name--I looked at my future with a young girl's fancy. I thought that he was perfect and things would be perfect between us. I thought nothing could go wrong, that we would have a house in the country and he would love me forever and when I was old and grey, I would be covered with grandchildren who would be swept away by my tales of their grandfather when he was a dashing, handsome man.
"The truth was, if I had married George Wickham, I would most likely be heavily in debt. I would no doubt be begging my brother for whatever stipend he could afford. I would probably have half a dozen children if their births had not killed me first and George would probably be off rutting with the first...fancy woman he could afford to pay. And I would not have met you."
"What makes you think I am one bit better than George Wickham? The fact that I have a fortune? My good name? The fact that I am a friend of Lord Robin's? What makes you think I am any more worthy of your love than he was?"
"I cannot say you are. But I do see you for your true self and I love you anyway. You have your faults, and try as I might I cannot make them into virtues. You would probably say the same about me."
"Especially now," he muttered, trying to bring this conversation back to something resembling formality rather than the emotional shambles it seemed to have become.
Georgiana exhaled sharply. "You can try to avoid this all you want, but I am not going to let you. For once in your life, you are not going to run away."
Lysander snapped his head up and took two steps away from her, a tactical mistake as it put him against the wall. "Are you insinuating that I am a coward, Miss Darcy?" he asked in a low, dangerous voice.
Georgiana heard the cold heat underneath the calm tone. She wondered at the wisdom of what she was about to do, but if she backed down now she would never have him this close to confessing his true feelings for her.
With a proud tilt to her head, she said, "What would you call a man who runs away from anything that might remotely seem like emotional attachment?"
"A sensible person, I would hope."
"Strange. A sensible person seems an awful lot like a coward to me."
"So you are calling me a coward."
Georgiana rose her eyebrows and said, "I suppose I am."
Lysander's nostrils flared as he glared at her. "If you were a man I would call you out for that."
"Would you?" Georgiana smiled. "Very well, then. I accept your challenge."
"I said 'if you were a man,' Miss Darcy. Quite obviously, you are not a man."
"Still, I consider myself to have been challenged. Honor must be satisfied. I have called you a coward and you have become offended. In order to punish my conduct, you must follow through--"
"Are you suggesting we meet at dawn with dueling pistols? Your brother would have me hanged from the Tower if he heard you talking like this."
"Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of this." Georgiana knew she was about to do something extremely scandalous, and if her brother caught her he would not bother to take Lysander to the Tower to hang him, there being plenty of trees in Hyde Park to choose from. But she was fighting for her happiness and she refused to let the ghost of an unfaithful woman and the fears he carried as a result of it ruin everything.
Georgiana stepped forward again, taking the advantage of him not being able to take another step back. Before he could step to the side to prevent her from doing it, she raised herself on her tiptoes, put her arms around his neck, and pulled his mouth to hers.
She had been kissed before, by George, who had somehow managed to restrain himself because his kisses had made her curious but little else. Having Lysander in her arms, his lips on hers, made her senses reel. Georgiana felt a strange sort of heat surging through her body, and knew without a doubt that she was where she belonged.
Lysander Overton was rarely surprised, and almost never twice within a few minutes. But something about Georgiana Darcy kept him off-balance to the point where he could never quite figure out what she was going to do next.
When she kissed him, he did not have time to react. He could think of little but of how soft her lips were, how sweet her kiss, how soft her hair...
Her hair?
Lysander realized that his hands, his traitorous hands, had buried themselves into that fashionably-dressed hair and left no trace of how it had appeared when she had first entered the parlor.
He knew that if he did not break away from her now that he would be forever lost. With that in mind, he raised his head and looked at the ceiling, trying to think of anything but the fact that she was in his arms, her arms around his neck, the feel of her in his arms, his lips still aching from being forced away from hers...
It was too late. He looked back down at her and with one shot, those luminous green eyes of hers had him trapped. With a groan, Lysander lowered his head to hers again, his arms encircling her waist to pull her closer to him. He heard the soft sounds in the back of her throat as he deepened the kiss.
This was where he belonged.
The thought shrieked through his head like a thunderbolt. The tiny part of Lysander's mind which was still thinking rationally realized that when he had read through Constance's letters, it had not been to remind himself of the fickleness of woman.
It had been to remember the past one last time before breaking free of it forever. Before moving on with his life...
With Georgiana.
With great reluctance, he broke the kiss.
"No," she whispered, her eyes glazed with passion. "Please, no."
"We cannot do this now, Georgiana," he said quietly. "This is not the time or the place."
She looked around the room as though realizing for the first time where they were. Her cheeks blazed bright red as she backed away from him. "Dear heavens...what if Fitzwilliam had come in here?" she said, horrified.
Lysander wanted to laugh. How mercurial his future wife was! She had come quite close to propositioning him not five minutes ago, and now she was terrified that her brother might have caught her doing it!
"Just to be safe, where is your brother?" he asked with a smile.
"He is visiting his solicitor and expects to be gone all day. Elizabeth is at my Uncle Matlock's with Anne, talking of the upcoming wedding." She blushed even further. "Doubly improper, since we are technically unchaperoned."
"But you were quite serious about challenging me," he said. "If your brother had arrived home early, we would just be getting married sooner than I expected."
"You never gave me a legitimate reason for wanting to marry me," Georgiana told him. "Nor a compelling reason for why I might wish to marry you."
"You said you loved me. Is that not reason enough for me to want to marry you?"
"That answers the first half of our problem. What about the other half?"
Despite realizing how he truly felt, when Lysander opened his mouth, nothing came out. He tried several times and had no doubt he looked like a dead fish with his mouth gaping, but he still could not form the words.
"Georgiana...I lo--I, ah, you know what I mean to tell you," he finally managed to say.
She looked downhearted at his words, when he had thought she would be elated. "What is the matter?"
"It does not mean as much when I practically have to hold you at gunpoint in order for you to say them," she said, looking down at the floor. "It does not mean as much when you can barely get the words out of your mouth. It makes me think you might not actually love me, but rather that you are saying this because--"
"Oh, for God's sake, you know I love you!" he snapped.
Lysander had expected Georgiana to take insult with the way he had said that and mentally cursed himself for saying it that way. But to his surprise--and it was an unprecedented third time for him that day--she smiled.
"I did not know," she said. "Until now."
Lysander pulled her back into his arms, managing to resist the urge to begin again where they had stopped. "You did know," he said quietly. "You knew even when I did not."
"I only guessed," Georgiana confessed. "You had me so upset, but I was not going to let you run away from me."
"I think you knew all along. You are a remarkably intelligent young woman...along with being ravishingly beautiful, devastatingly passionate--"
Georgiana blushed again. "You cannot possibly know that from one kiss," she said primly.
"You would be surprised how many...er, how easily a man such as myself can determine from one kiss whether or not a woman is a cold fish."
"Having such great experience as you have had, no doubt."
"I cannot change what I was, Georgiana, nor what I have done," he told her. "But I can change what I planned to be in my future. And I shall...for you."
He tipped her chin up so she could see his face. "I love you, Georgiana Darcy. I want to marry you and spend the rest of our lives together. I want you to teach me everything I did not learn because I was too foolish or too stubborn to learn."
"What do I get in exchange for all this hard work I am expected to do?" she asked with a gleam in her eyes. "I expect that I shall be doing a great deal of teaching."
"You get me. Is that not prize enough?"
Georgiana looked thoughtful. "I suppose it shall have to do," she finally said before bursting into laughter. "When does this 'teaching' business start? Now, or when we get married?"
Lysander stopped short. He had come to ask Georgiana to marry him, intending for her to begin planning her wedding without having to think much about it. He had not even given much thought to when it would be, figuring that any time would do for a marriage like he had intended to have.
Now, realizing that all his plans had been hurled from the window, so to speak, Lysander could not bear the thought of having to wait at least three months and perhaps even longer to marry her.
Patience was something he would have to learn, but not yet.
"Both," he said.
She looked at him quizzically. "Both?"
"I know this is probably a bad thing to suggest, given our histories, but...I do not want to wait, Georgiana. Do you?"
It took her a few seconds before saying, "You are suggesting an elopement."
"Well...yes. I waited thirty-three years for you. I do not want to wait a minute more than I absolutely must, and if we tell your brother he would insist on at least a year--figuring that if he gave you time, you would change your mind, or I would. Then there is the whole spectacle of being an engaged couple in London. Lord, I cannot imagine what it is going to be like for Robin and your cousin Anne. I think you would not wish to wait, either. Am I right?"
Georgiana thought on this for a moment. If she eloped again, her brother would likely never speak to her. For all that he was exasperating, he was one of the few living relatives she had and he had been much like a father to her after Papa had died. She would not wish for things between them to be strained.
At the same time, a very real fear played on her mind. Lysander had finally confronted his fear and overcame it, but who was to say that a protracted engagement would not change his mind? What if something happened that put him off the idea of marriage altogether?
She refused to give into her fear, but then she thought of the amazing feelings she had had moments earlier, in his arms. She thought of Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam exchanging glances across the breakfast table when they thought she was not looking. She thought of the way Fitzwilliam had looked the day he had married Elizabeth, and the love that shone in his eyes even when he was mad at her. She wondered what that would be like.
Georgiana had never thought of herself as a very curious young woman, but when she thought of her future with Lysander, she knew that he had as much to teach her as she had to teach him.
And what better time to start than now?
"I think you are right," she said, as her mind started making plans for her escape.
Elizabeth returned to the house an hour later. Allowing the butler to take her wrap, she asked him, "Is Miss Georgiana here or did she go to the dressmaker's like she intended?"
"I believe she did, ma'am, soon after the young gentleman left."
Elizabeth frowned. "What young gentleman?"
"Sir Lysander Overton."
"You let him in even though neither Mr. Darcy nor myself was at home?"
The butler lost his colour, which was a rare thing for the usually stoic man. "I thought there was no harm in it, since I was here, as well as Mrs. Hastings and Mrs. Merriweather. If something untoward had happened, we would have been here in an instant to prevent it."
Elizabeth wanted to scold the man for being lax as far as Georgiana's reputation was concerned, but she knew that if she had been in his position, she would have likely done the same thing. "I suppose you are right," she agreed. "But in the future, it might be best if the two of them were not left alone."
"Yes, ma'am," he said with a respectful nod. "I had Mrs. Hastings start a fire in the north parlor if you are cold."
Elizabeth decided to retire to her bed chamber to change for her husband's return home. She saw the letter propped on her pillow immediately, and with a frown recognized Georgiana's handwriting. She opened the letter and read the brief message.
Dear Elizabeth,By the time you read this letter I shall be gone with Sir Lysander Overton to be married. I know that by doing this I am only enforcing Fitzwilliam's belief that I am foolish in matters of love, especially since I have been talked into another elopement after the disaster of my first one, but dearest Lizzy, please believe me when I say that I am not the same girl I was when I ran away with George Wickham.
You see, unlike last time, I know I am in love with Lysander. I love with him all my heart, and I know he loves me. I cannot go into detail, but believe me when I say that I could not have found anyone better suited to me in London than Lysander. Some may say he is a rake, but underneath that I have seen the man who has much love to give. He has masked his heart and true self behind the walls of Jericho, but I have seen beyond it and am well on the way to toppling the walls. Lysander and I need time together, something we would not get if we were to suffer a long engagement, which is exactly what Fitzwilliam would suggest.
Please do not be angry with me, and please, do not let Fitzwilliam prevent me from doing this. I know he will want to come after me, but tell him that I am quite determined that nothing will come between us.
Love, Georgiana.
Elizabeth finished the note without realizing that her lips had curved into a smile as she reread Georgiana's words about the wall around Sir Lysander's heart. "Let them topple," she told herself aloud before choosing her most seductive gown, sending for her maid and making arrangements for a candlelit dinner for two in her room.
If she was lucky, she could distract Fitzwilliam long enough to allow Georgiana to get her chance to do exactly what she wanted.