Compromised for Christmas (The Jennings Family #1)

21. Georgiana

21

Georgiana

G eorgiana hadn’t seen her husband since she’d left his study earlier. Since their incendiary connection had been doused by a bucket of cold water, one that had come out of nowhere. Well, not nowhere. Apparently, Georgiana had been the one to throw it. But now he was here, with her and the rest of his family in their library. Yet, he wasn’t.

Fitz sat in an over-sized, leather armchair before the low-burning fire, adorable spectacles resting on his perfectly straight nose, and a book in his lap. He had turned the monstrosity of a chair to face the rest of them, but he was still…apart from them. He had barely acknowledged her presence.

Georgiana, Felix, and Felicity were gathered around a coffee table in the middle of the library, the pair of settees pulled back to give them plenty of room to sit on the floor around the table. His mother, Lydia, sat on one such settee observing her children while she embroidered what looked like a handkerchief.

So yes, they were all together, celebrating Christmas Eve, but…not. Georgiana glanced discreetly at her husband, who was brushing back a temperamental curl that kept falling in front of his spectacles while he read. Argh. That man. Beautiful. Awkward. Unexpected. She wished he’d join them. Join her.

Gigi . Him groaning the pet name echoed through her mind, and she shivered. She had liked that a great deal. She’d liked the entire thing a great deal. Until she had ruined it. She was all too familiar with being dismissed, with walls. When she had brought up their initial encounter in his study, him finding her there bare-breasted, he had closed himself off to her, erected a barrier, pushing her back into the lonely tower she had inhabited her entire life. She didn’t understand why.

But it also didn’t seem like it was only her he pushed away. It wasn’t the first time over the short duration she had been in his life that she had noticed he always seemed to separate himself. I’m in my head quite a lot , he’d said. Was there room for her in that anxious mind? She was starting to realize she really wanted to take up residence there.

Could two lonely souls find a shared home together? She was foolish to hope that, to risk what it meant if it couldn’t be. Her heart. It didn’t matter, though, because she was helpless against it. For the first time in Georgiana’s life, she felt seen, and with every peek into the enigma that was Fitzwilliam Jennings, the more she craved to uncover.

The man was endearingly awkward and unforeseeably filthy. The things he had whispered in Italian—Georgiana fanned herself. Thinking about her husband’s glorious cock and vulgar tongue when about to play a festive game on Christmas Eve with his family was decidedly not what she should be doing.

A cork popped, pulling her attention to the coffee table where Felicity poured a hearty measure of amber liquid into four snifters. Georgiana fought a grin. Felicity looked completely ridiculous. Her ensemble consisted of a skirt paired with a separate bodice—the bodice of which was covered in white, gray, and black feathers. And in the center of the bodice? An exceptionally crafted, stuffed goose head.

Felicity’s ugly waistcoat: the Christmas goose.

Georgiana’s grin won out and spread across her face. An ingenious idea. Felicity had won the competition, much to her bemoaning brothers’ dismay. But honestly, the woman had a floppy goose head hanging from her bodice. She deserved the win.

A shallow dish filled with raisins sat in the middle of the table, and small bowls rested in front of her, Felicity, and Felix.

“Felicity, what are you doing?” Felix asked with a huff and a jingle, his voice thick with older brother exasperation. Yes, with a huff and a jingle. Because his gold waistcoat was covered in silver bells. And strings of gold beads. And a blinding number of metallic accents. It was a little hard to look at, if Georgiana was being honest.

Felicity looked up and frowned. “What does it look like?”

“The brandy was for snapdragon. Not to drink.”

She blinked at Felix. “You expect me to stink my fingers in fire without imbibing?”

A snort came from the massive armchair.

“What was that, Fitzy? Did I hear something come from that quiet corner over there?” Felicity asked loudly.

“Just think it’s funny you’d say you need liquor to do something reckless, sister,” Fitz mumbled back to her.

Felicity shrugged. “True, but it does make it more fun if you’re a bit bosky.” She turned to Georgiana and winked.

Felicity was a joy, impish and fun and a little bit naughty. Georgiana loved her. She was like a best friend and sister, all wrapped up in one. A small twinge stirred in her heart. Something Georgiana had never had. No sister, nor best friend. She had friends growing up, but no one she was able to get close to. Her family lived in a strange in-between, above the middle-class, but below the elite haute ton . Her mother didn’t want Georgiana associating with other girls whose families were in trade, and the young ladies of the ton didn’t want to sully themselves with associating with her.

“Fitzy, will you be joining us?” Felicity called to her brother. Then she leaned toward Georgiana and whispered loudly, “Fitz never joins us. Too delicate. Too worried about burning his appendages.”

Georgiana chuckled. She hoped once she and Fitz moved into his London town house, they’d still be able to visit with his family often. She would miss this camaraderie. The only other time she’d had such friendship was with her beloved Bernie. A sharp jolt went through her chest, and she let out a slow breath. Sometimes the grief came streaking back out of nowhere.

“I personally like my fingers. Thank you very much,” Fitz said, sounding very much like a cantankerous old man.

“I don’t think she was talking about your fingers, Fitz,” Felix’s deep baritone chimed in.

He caught Felicity’s gaze, and they glanced at their brother and broke out in sniggers.

Georgiana frowned and turned to her husband—who was quickly turning an alarming, blotchy red.

“What—” Georgiana began.

“A few years back,” Felicity said eagerly. “We were playing snapdragon and one of the raisins Fitz pulled out was especially hot, still burning with a flame. He’d dropped it right on the front of his breeches.” She grinned, devilish delight dancing in her amber eyes. “Burned his co—”

“Felicity Mary Jennings!”

“I beg your pardon, Mother,” Felicity said, not an ounce of contrition in her expression or tone. In fact, the young woman’s grin only grew.

“It was one time,” Fitz gritted out. Her poor husband was still bright red. “And it gets brought up every year.”

“Only because you haven’t played since,” Felicity pouted. “I had thought you were competitive. Or did you burn off your whirlygigs as well?”

Georgiana’s hand flew to her face to cover her snort.

But apparently, Felicity’s taunting was all for naught.

“It’s not going to woooork,” a slowly-returning-to-normal-coloring Fitz sang. “Some things are more important than winning.”

Georgiana smiled softly. The hint of the playful side to her husband? Another layer pulled back. Another dangerous layer. She wanted to pull them all back until she found the true man underneath. Nothing but raw and naked Fitzwilliam Jennings. Mmmm, naked Fitz. She growled at herself. Stop, Georgiana!

Felix chimed in, drowning out her growl, “I’d have to agree, protecting one’s cock trumps winning.”

“Children,” Lydia reprimanded. But there was no bite in her tone, and she hadn’t bothered to look up from her embroidery. A small smile even tugged at the corner of her lips. This was clearly all very normal behavior for the Jennings.

“That is beautiful embroidery,” Georgiana murmured to Lydia, studying the cloth: a book with initials overlayed on it.

Lady Bentley glanced up at her and broke out in a full smile. “Thank you, dear. I like to embroider handkerchiefs for my children. I’m always needing to embroider new ones for Fitzwilliam. He goes through them like a child with sweetmeats. You know, with the poor dear’s propensity for sweating.”

Georgiana looked at her husband, who was gazing at her in wide-eyed terror—she swore his eyes were larger than his spectacles—his blush fully back in place.

“Oh, don’t look so horrified, Fitzy,” Felicity said. “We all know how you’re nervous and jittery and anxious and sweaty and stuttery and awkward and—”

“We get it, Flick,” Fitz bit out.

“—you know, we always wondered if perhaps Fitzy had a different father. Because where in all of Christendom did all those qualities come from?” Felicity continued, despite her brother gnashing his teeth at her. “If he wasn’t the spitting image of Father, I’d have had my doubts.”

Georgiana’s chin jutted in, taken aback that Felicity would make such a declaration in front of her mother, even in jest. She glanced around the group, but no one else seemed to blink twice at the statement.

“Mama and Papa were the epitome of a perfect marriage,” Felicity went on with a dreamy sigh. “It is what I have always aspired to have in a marriage.”

Georgiana’s gaze darted to Lydia, who had stiffened at her daughter’s words—not at the jest of an affair, but at the declaration of a loving marriage. The woman’s hand fluttered over her throat in a nervous gesture. But Georgiana blinked, and the tension, the panic, whatever it was, disappeared.

“Let us leave Fitzwilliam alone, children,” Lady Bentley murmured, smile firmly back in place.

Odd. Perhaps Lady Bentley’s marriage hadn’t been as perfect as her daughter believed. Georgiana knew all about facades. A vision of her father’s smiling, amused visage flitted through her mind. How deftly they could fool.

Georgiana discreetly glanced at Fitz, rolling her bottom lip in with her teeth. The teasing was loving, but—it was still teasing. Her heart stuttered, and she was sure it paused. Because she thought—that tight expression on her husband’s face? That thick swallow, like he could barely get his throat to work?—she thought that looked a lot like pain .

She grabbed a snifter and slowly swayed over to her husband.

Sometimes she wondered if she and her husband faced similar demons, two kindred lonely hearts. If maybe they had been brought together for a reason. That just maybe, a man weighed down by anxiety and apprehension but could lower his guard under the guise of another language, was meant to end up with the lonely, love-starved Italian girl.

She stopped before him; his head bent down toward his book. “For you,” she murmured, holding out the glass.

“Thank you,” he said rigidly, gaze not meeting hers as he accepted the brandy.

“You are sure you won’t join us?” Georgiana ventured.

Felix’s baritone rang through the library. “You know, Flick, I think you would have benefited from a tad more apprehension. If you had a touch of Fitzy’s anxiety”—Fitz stiffened—“I wouldn’t have to worry that you would sneak off and snuff out Wessex while he was sleeping.”

“What a marvelous idea, Fifi,” Felicity said with altogether too much enthusiasm.

Felix groaned, and a weak smile played across Fitz’s face.

He glanced at Georgiana and said quietly, “I’d prefer to read, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course,” she said with a soft smile, carefully keeping the hollow sensation in her stomach from her words and expression.

She made her way back to the coffee table and quickly took a sip of her brandy, needing to fill the hollowness with something, anything. She stared blindly into the amber liquid. Perhaps she had been mistaken earlier. The way he had held her, kissed her so reverently, as though she were important to him.

It had made her feel things. Things that twisted her insides, made her head spin, and filled her chest with a warm buzzing. Things she had never felt before. She cocked her head at her brandy. Well, that wasn’t quite right. It was relatively similar to being in one’s cups if she really thought about it. And she had no idea what it meant.

She glanced at her husband and caught him staring at her over the rim of his spectacles. For the briefest of moments, their gazes locked—held—and fireworks erupted in her stomach. And it wasn’t a measly shower of sparklers. No, it was Catherine Wheels. It was Roman Candles.

And then he hastily turned away, pushing the brim of his spectacles back up his nose, and busying himself back in his book. And just like a firework, the exploding lights inside fizzled and fell away.

She blinked, placing a hand over her belly. What on earth was wrong with her?

“All right, is everyone ready?” Felicity flopped to the ground, a very welcome distraction. “Felix, do the honors.”

Felix lit the brandy, blue and yellow flames emerging from the dish.

Felicity turned to Georgiana. “Now, we play a touch differently in this house. Normally, you snatch and eat as many raisins as you can, avoiding getting burned. But ”—her eyes narrowed, and her lips curved in a smirk—“you have no way of knowing who wins playing that way.” She tapped the bowl in front of her. “Snatch ‘em and fill your bowl. Whoever has the most when they’re all gone wins!”

The yellow flames had dwindled, and now solely blue fire danced over the dish. Felix leaned over and sprinkled a pinch of little white crystals into the flickering fire. The flames popped and flared a brilliant gold just for a heartbeat. Georgiana’s eyes widened, and her breath caught.

“What was that?” she asked, her gaze trained on the flame. She had never played this game before, and she thought she shouldn’t be so excited to stick her fingers into fire. But…had she mentioned she lacked any sort of apprehension in life?

“Salt.” Felix grinned. “Just a little added flare.”

Georgiana was helpless but to grin back at his boyish excitement. She wasn’t sure there was anything more shocking than seeing the Lord Bentley casually cross-legged on the floor, about to partake in a not-so-friendly game of snapdragon. Georgiana glanced back at her husband. That wasn’t quite right. Her husband did his fair share of shocking her as well.

“Everyone ready?” Felicity’s gaze bounced between Georgiana and Felix.

Georgiana had never seen the girl more serious. But given how competitive she was learning this family was, she shouldn’t be surprised. Georgiana and Felix nodded.

“Douse the lights!” Felicity called, and a couple of servants scurried around the room.

Darkness engulfed them, nothing but the blue flames dancing between them and the soft glow of the slow-burning coals in the hearth behind them. It was eerie, haunted, nothing but flickering shadows illuminating their faces. To Georgiana, the atmosphere felt much more fitting for sharing ghost stories than engaging in raisin snatching.

But she didn’t have long to get lost on that errant thought because Felicity was yelling, “Go!” and—blast and damn—Georgiana was shoving her hand in a dish full of fire.

She hoped she wouldn’t get burned.