Compromised for Christmas (The Jennings Family #1)

7. Georgiana

7

Georgiana

G eorgiana shrugged into her heavy wool coat, grabbed her muffs, and followed her mother from the drawing room to the carriages that awaited them on the front drive. She lifted her chin. Though this past week had done nothing to lift her hopes about her impending marriage, she was determined to give it her best try.

Because she was a fighter. She and Mr. Jennings were about to vow their lives to each other. For better or for worse. Right now, it seemed worse. In sickness and health. Right now, it seemed a bit like a sickness. But she would do her best to make this marriage tolerable for the both of them. She had a chance for a fresh start. Perhaps she would find a family who wanted to know her. Wasn’t disappointed that she was born a woman and saw her as more than a pretty face to lure a lord.

So far, the Jennings had seemed welcoming and warm and simply…wonderful. A niggling feeling wormed its way into her gut. That same feeling she’d experienced when her fiancé had so blatantly dismissed her from his study. The one that said she was an inconvenience, a hindrance, a bother . A very familiar feeling.

She tried to remind herself that this could be much worse. She could have ended up with one of the balding, gout-suffering, elderly lords her mother had been pushing her toward. Like the donkey-man. Her soon-to-be husband was young. He had all his hair—and it was a lovely shade of amber. He did sweat quite a bit, especially for December, but the strong, square jaw and freckles dusting his face made up for it. The thought of bedding him didn’t make her want to flee across the Atlantic.

Which had her mind drifting to their impending wedding night. She stepped out the front door, and her stomach dropped to the icy ground. She blew out a breath, and all her disappointment fogged the air in front of her. Georgiana supposed she could kiss her proclivities farewell. The nervous man walking ahead of her, who had just tripped and nearly landed face-first in a pile of fluffy snow, couldn’t possibly entertain her desires. She wasn’t sure he could entertain consummation at all.

A biting wind picked up, sharp against her cheeks and in her lungs.

“Dear heavens,” her mother grumbled. “We are to have another severe winter. I am at a loss to understand this dratted weather. This year has been the wettest England has surely ever seen, and now the coldest.”

Georgiana hummed in agreement; the unusual weather had caused a host of problems. Though mother complained because it meant she couldn’t parade around with the fashionable set, showing off the expensive wares Father had purchased for her. Her mother didn’t think about how the excessive amount of rain had caused a food shortage. How those who farmed were hurting because the harvest had been drastically hindered. How those who weren’t sitting on a fortune from textiles had empty bellies. But that was Mama.

Georgiana settled in their carriage, her mother and father sinking into the seat opposite her. Her father sat back, unfolding his tall, lean form and rested an arm across the top of the squabs of the conveyance.

But her mother leaned toward Georgiana and patted her knee. “Do not fret, Georgiana.”

Mother had clearly misunderstood Georgiana’s silence as apprehension. It wasn’t. Silence was just the best way to deal with her mother. It wasn’t as though her mother heard anything Georgiana said anyhow. So why waste her breath?

“This isn’t a terrible match,” Mother continued. “Mr. Jennings is next in line to inherit. The current Earl isn’t even married, and his mother—Lord knows why—isn’t putting any pressure on him. If he were to die, your son would be heir!”

Georgiana blinked. As she had said, it was best to just stay silent. What on earth did someone say to such a morbid statement?

Her father’s green eyes—identical to her own—lit with amusement. They were the one thing she’d inherited from him. Her blonde hair and porcelain skin came from Mother.

“Now, now, Augusta. Let us not wish ill health on the man.” That was Papa, always with an amused expression on his face. He smiled at you without ever seeing you. People mistook it for joviality, but it was merely a superficial facade he put on for the world, family included. The only thing her father ever paid close attention to was his business. He was as shrewd and cutthroat in his dealings as her mother was with her marriage machinations.

Her mother flicked her hand in a careless wave. “Oh, I don’t mean right now . But the Earl is past thirty now and has shown no signs of looking for a bride. Even if he were to live to a ripe old age, if he doesn’t settle down and produce …” Her mother shrugged—she would become the mother of a countess, the grandmother of a future earl.

Georgiana struggled to understand the appeal. Wealth and title were so important to her parents. But if one took all that away, what would they be left with? If they all had to sit down at a table together, would they even have anything to say to one another?

Not to mention the man she was about to marry couldn’t even look at her naked breasts, couldn’t even look at her . How was he going to bed her? Georgiana feared for the Earldom of Bentley because it appeared neither brother was going to be producing .

She turned and stared out the window as the carriage rocked down the road. Thinking about producing just brought her mind back to her proclivities. She wished she had at least gotten to experiment a bit before her mother finally succeeded in saddling her with a husband. She had been kissed, fondled, and done her fair share of fondling. But never anything close to what she wanted to explore. Nothing dark . She had held tight to her virginity, as a good girl ought. Now she regretted that decision immensely. What she would have given to have just one experience with the brooding Duke of Ironcrest.

She let out a huff, clouding the window in front of her. She supposed it would just be her and Derek for the rest of her days, when it came to her pleasure. Derek being her trusty dildo. He was a beauty. Carved ivory. Quite expensive and difficult to locate. But Georgiana’s curiosity had started at fourteen, and she was now twenty. She had a lot of time—years—to discover things . She had procured Derek two years ago.

The carriage rolled to a stop.

Apparently tonight she would finally see how a flesh-and-blood man compared to Derek. And she had to admit, she wasn’t optimistic. At least if their interactions since the Christmastide ball were any indication. She hopped out of the carriage and shoved her hands in her muff as she and her parents made their way to the local chapel, Mr. Jennings and his family ahead of them.

They entered the chapel, her coat and muff were ripped from her, and then she was unceremoniously shoved to the altar by her mother. It appeared everyone wanted to hurry this along. Before the bride ran off or the groom’s heart gave out.

And by his elevated breathing right now from where he stood in front of her, throat bobbing like apples at a country fair, it seemed likely. They really needed to get this over with. For Mr. Jennings’s sake, more than anything.

She feared he wouldn’t make it through the ceremony.