Compromised for Christmas (The Jennings Family #1)

3. Fitz

3

Fitz

F itzwilliam Jennings was fucked.

He didn’t often wander from the safety of his London town house, but even he had heard of Mrs. Thomas Hartley’s wild attempts at securing her daughter a husband. Just last year, she had accidentally shoved her daughter directly into the Serpentine. Her aim had been throwing the young woman into the Marquess of Dunmore. And if rumors were true, she had nearly succeeded, but the Marquess had given Miss Georgiana a discreet nudge to avoid her.

Miss Georgiana, meet Serpentine.

Fitz followed his brother, Felix, to his brother’s study, the Hartleys in tow. There was no way out of this one. Not when Lady Billingsworth was a witness. Besides pistols at dawn, of course. And as much as marriage frightened the wits out of Fitz, it was preferable to a duel. Barely. But at six-and-twenty he’d like to keep living. He swallowed repeatedly, trying to gain some sort of moisture in his dry-as-sand mouth.

The problem was, Fitz struggled with social interactions until he got to know someone. And then he was less awkward. When it came to women, he very rarely got to that less-awkward point, like to the point where he could breathe properly. And the more attractive he found a woman, the longer it took for his awkwardness to abate.

So where Miss Georgiana Hartley was concerned? There was zero chance of abating, zero chance of breathing. Because she was stupidly beautiful. Annoyingly beautiful. Why did she have to be beautiful? Better yet—why did she have to attack him with her breasts?

He ground his teeth, hot frustration building in his chest. He was quite happy with his current life. His blissful solitude. He had his translations, and he had his mistress—a woman he finally had gotten comfortable with. Safe . His current life was safe.

And now he was going to lose all of that peace. He wasn’t sure who he was angrier with: the young woman who had launched the bosom assault, or himself for not having the wherewithal to extricate himself from the situation before it turned calamitous.

Calamity, meet Fitz.

They settled themselves in Felix’s study, and Fitz did his best to avoid eye contact with everyone. He curled his toes in his shoes and willed his lungs to continue to breathe air, in and out. In and out.

Thankfully, Felix’s study was full of interesting—and more importantly, distracting—bric-a-brac. His brother had this fascinating clock that had come from Germany. Every hour on the hour, a small door opened at the top from which a bird appeared and made a “cuckoo” noise. Fitz was most definitely not avoiding the conversation at hand and focusing on the neat little clock.

“They must be married without delay,” Mrs. Hartley said. “A week’s time, no later.”

That distracted Fitz from the clock. His gaze shot to the woman. She was blonde like her daughter, but much more generous of figure. A figure that was wrapped in luxurious fabrics covered in an overabundance of gold embellishments and glittering speckles. Goodness, had she had her seamstress throw an entire jewelry shop onto her dress?

Fitz fidgeted in his seat. Everyone was looking at him. Was he meant to respond? Oh God. Words, Fitz .

But whatever it was in his throat that was supposed to form words was currently being strangled by the cloying air in the room and the shrewd stare the woman was sending his way. She was a hunter who had found her mark. Her eyes may have been light in color, but there was a darkness to them that had nothing to do with their hue.

Fortunately, Fitz’s brother spoke up. Unfortunately, Fitz had no idea what Felix was saying because a loud buzzing had drowned out all sound. But the vulture had turned her gaze onto Felix, and Fitz could take in an almost-normal breath.

Her daughter, on the other hand, didn’t seem to possess any vulture-like qualities. Maybe it was the large, green eyes that had blinked down so innocently at him. There was a puzzling comfort in those irises, like lying in the lush grass beneath a tree’s verdant leafy canopy, surrounded by every shade of green nature could conjure. When their gazes had met—clashed—egad, for a moment there, he had forgotten to be anxious.

That and when Miss Georgiana had been atop him, she had appeared nothing but worried for his welfare. Perhaps slightly amused by him, given the twinkling those enchanting eyes had been doing. But oddly, it hadn’t seemed malicious. More like she found his inability to people properly…endearing?

But even with that slight positive note, if the way her fingers were currently trying to tear a hole in her ivory dress was any indication, she didn’t want to marry him, either.

Of course, she doesn’t want to marry you, you bloody dolt. Who would want to marry the bumbling, fumbling Mr. Fitzwilliam Jennings? He had found out the harsh truth of that statement at eighteen.

Then his head jerked back as he realized something. Something that should not have taken this long to figure out. She had clearly been in his study for an assignation. Which meant she not only didn’t want to wed Fitz, but she wanted to wed someone else . An overflowing stream of relief flooded his veins. Perhaps there was someone else who could marry the young woman.

“Is there no alternative?” he blurted, hope taking over his tongue. How did one ask nicely if he could substitute himself with the man the maiden had been trying to ruin herself with?

“Alternative?” Mr. Hartley frowned at Fitz, and Fitz tugged at his cravat.

“Urm. Ah. Alternative person? For marriage p-purposes.”

Oh dear. Mr. Hartley didn’t like that. Fitz found it surprising steam wasn’t emitting from the man’s reddening ears. Goodness, that overflowing stream appeared to be turning into a rampant river.

“Are you trying to pawn my daughter off on another gentleman? Do you have no honor?”

“No, no, no.” Fitz gulped. Dear Lord, could he just drown in this river of his own making? “I just thought… Perhaps there was someone Miss Georgiana had set her sights on.” He looked at Miss Georgiana and gestured to his chest. “This was truly a misunderstanding.”

Her brows pinched, little charming lines creasing her forehead. He huffed out a breath. How did he make her understand?

He flapped both hands in front of his chest in circular motions. Her eyes widened, clearly now comprehending he was referring to finding her in his study, breasts exposed—waiting for someone else . She shook her head violently, her delicate nostrils flaring.

Oh dear. Now he had her panicking. Why was she panicking? He was panicking. Again.

Breaths go in and out.

“Am I misunderstanding that my daughter was found atop you with her bosom in your face, sir?” Mrs. Hartley looked down her nose at him.

Yes, that was true. But that had been all Miss Georgiana’s doing. Fitz couldn’t be blamed for that. He inhaled on a count of three and then exhaled on the same count, trying to calm his overactive heart and create some sort of moisture in his chalky mouth.

He had asked the young miss to cover herself. He chewed his lip. Fitz was fairly certain he shouldn’t mention that. He opened his mouth to say it anyway—

“My brother will, of course, do right by her,” Felix said calmly.

Probably best his brother had stopped him. Felix’s cool, authoritative tone seemed to placate the Hartleys. Well, all but one Hartley.

Miss Georgiana’s features were drawn, lips turned down, eyes flat. Somber. Defeated. Resigned to her fate. Or…his brows furrowed. Not so much resigned as reverted—to somewhere else. He cocked his head. Where had she disappeared to? He was very familiar with disappearing inside one’s head.

“And I don’t see any reason for the rush,” his brother said, throwing a sideways glance at Fitz.

There was so much in that glance. Brotherly concern and exasperation all tied together neatly in a bow. Fitz knew his brother—his family—loved him. But no one could deny that Fitz was different . The rest of the Jennings were free-spirited, confident, easy-going. Everything Fitz was not.

He didn’t know why he was the way that he was. He had a great upbringing with a supportive family and wanted for nothing. The doctors always spoke of humors needing to be in balance for the body to function properly. Apparently, Fitz’s humors were wonky.

He turned to his brother and gave a small shake of his head. He appreciated his brother’s attempt at slowing down this carriage that was careening out of control. But the only way out of this mess was marriage. And if there was anything that made Fitz more nervous, it was anticipation. Weeks or months with an impending marriage hanging over his head? He wheezed as his lungs decided they wanted to stop working again. No, definitely not.

“Cuckoo!”

Fitz jolted at the sound of the clock. His time was up. No point in delaying.

“It is fine, Felix. I’ll secure a license, and we will be married in a sennight.” He was proud of how little his voice wavered. “The Hartleys can stay on after the ball is over, and we can have a quiet ceremony at the local chapel.”

Miss Georgiana’s gaze shot to his. He wasn’t sure if her shock was because of his words or because he’d said so many of them. But either way, her wide eyes and parted lips spoke volumes. She didn’t want this any more than he did. But it didn’t matter what either of them wanted.

There was no hope.