Compromised for Christmas (The Jennings Family #1)

26. Georgiana

26

Georgiana

G eorgiana sipped on her steaming cup of chocolate, the warmth of the creamy, bitter drink, lightly sweetened with sugar, infusing her entire body. She smiled over her porcelain cup, taking in the merriment floating around her at the Jennings’s breakfast table. Felicity and Felix were laughing at some obscene joke Felicity had just made, and Lydia was doing her best not to laugh at—and encourage—her raucous daughter. Fitz was quiet, as he usually was, but his lips were curved up as he cut into the cold ham on his dish. It was a lovely Christmas morning, infinitely better than the ones she had grown up with.

It would have been a tad better if she hadn’t slowly floated to consciousness this morning, only to find herself alone in her husband’s bed, his spot cold. She wished she could have woken up next to him. She imagined a sleepy Fitzwilliam was an adorable sight. Hair mussed, bleary-eyed, and freckled—probably blushing. Yes, adorable.

After she had hurried back to her chamber and readied herself for the day, she had found him, unsurprisingly, in his study. All disappointment had fled when he’d flashed a bashful smile her way and they had walked together to the breakfast room. It had been a silent walk. But a happy silence. Comfortable. Easy.

Everything inside her thrummed. Last night had been…she didn’t have words. Who could have guessed that the flustered and stuttering Fitzwilliam Jennings was an amazingly talented lover? The man had dove between her thighs like a man dying of thirst. She squeezed her legs together. Oh, mio Dio, that man.

She hadn’t experienced that particular act before, and it had been delicious. She had much more experience doing the fondling herself. Men seemed to have no qualms if a woman wanted to practice on them but were much more hesitant when asked to reciprocate. At least the cads she had dallied with had been that way.

That was another reason Georgiana had previously sought the Duke of Ironcrest. Yes, he had a reputation for doing dark, degrading things to his partners that spoke to the hidden urges that lived inside her. But more than that, his lovers didn’t leave his bed—probably because they were tied to it—until they attained their pleasure.

Clearly, she had somehow ended up with a husband who was much the same. I need you to come again, Gigi . She smiled behind her cup. The emphasis in his words, the fervor—as though her pleasure was the sustenance he needed to live.

And the awe in his voice when he’d said, this can’t be real. The way he had held her afterwards, like she was precious to him. She swore when she was lying with him, chest to chest, she felt a tug at her heartstrings. Swore one of those strings tied itself with his, joining them in a knot that couldn’t be undone, irreversible . Goodness, look at her getting all disgustingly saccharine. It was like she—

“Georgiana?” Felicity waved a hand wildly in front of Georgiana’s face from across the table.

“Apologies, Felicity. Woolgathering.” Her cheeks heated, and she glanced discreetly at her husband, the subject of said woolgathering. “I am forever getting lost in my own thoughts.”

A sly smile flitted across her sister-in-law’s face, the young woman’s gaze dropping to Georgiana’s cheeks. “Goodness, the Queen’s entire menagerie could have stampeded through the room, and you wouldn’t have noticed. That must have been some daydream. Perhaps one that was a continuation of your Christmas Eve night.” She shot Georgiana a wink.

Fitz’s face went as red as the raspberry preserves he was spreading on his brioche, and he broke out into a coughing fit.

Georgiana’s face went up in flames, too. Goodness, his mother was at the table.

“Felicity,” Lydia chided, tucking a strawberry-blonde curl behind her ear. “Leave the poor newlyweds alone. What am I ever going to do with you?”

“Love me unconditionally.” Felicity blinked sweetly at her mother, who shook her head in response.

Felicity turned back to Georgiana. “What I was trying to get your attention for was we have been invited to the Rutledge’s supper party next week. They have one in London every year, the week between Christmas and New Year’s. Their supper parties are always the best, such an interesting crowd. Even Fitzy enjoys them.”

Georgiana set down her chocolate and leaned forward. “Oh, how fun!” She’d been to a few supper parties, but they had always been just another excuse for her mother to maneuver her toward some fortune-hunting lord. She’d never truly enjoyed one before. “Do we know who will be in attendance?”

“Obviously the Duke and Lord Dunmore,” Felicity said, ticking off her fingers.

“Obviously?” Georgiana asked, looking curiously at Felicity.

A clatter of silverware had everyone’s heads turning toward Georgiana’s husband. “Apologies,” Fitz managed with a stiff smile.

Felicity cleared her throat and looked back at Georgiana. “Anyhow”—her eyebrows twisted in a whatever that was look—“they always attend the Rutledge’s supper parties.” She gave a little nonchalant wave of her hand. “I believe they were all friends at Harrow. And they all sponsor a foundling home together now.”

“Oh, really? How wonderful of them,” Georgiana said absently, half her attention on Fitz. Who appeared to be trying to cut his brioche with his gaze if the way he was glaring daggers at it was any indication.

“Yes, they are such lovely boys,” Lydia chimed in.

The breakfast room fell silent, and all heads turned toward Lady Bentley. Because truly, those were the last two words anyone would ever use to describe the two rogues.

“Lovely. Boys,” Felix said with deliberate slowness, staring at his mother like she’d grown a third eye. “Those two scoundrels? I’d rather not get into specifics with you, Mother, but you have heard the rumors about them, have you not?”

“Not rumors,” Felicity murmured quietly, shooting Georgiana a knowing look and mouthing, “Maribeth.” And Felicity would know the truth. She had first-hand reports from her best friend, Maribeth, Lady Camoys.

“Yes, I know it’s no secret they like to have a bit of fun”—Felix and Felicity cocked identical incredulous eyebrows at their mother at that comment, while Fitz remained staring at his plate—“but I am quite close with the dowager duchess, His Grace’s grandmama. They do not just fund the foundling home but take an active part in the home. A large reason they are in London for Christmas is so they can celebrate with the children.”

Georgiana’s heart instantly went gooey soft. Goodness, spending Christmas with children in need? Who would have guessed? The twin devils had hearts hidden behind their blackened exteriors. She was fortunate, she knew, to have had a warm home, with plenty of food, and two parents. But Christmas had always been exceptionally lonely in her home, and she couldn’t imagine what it must be like for children who didn’t even have families, who wouldn’t have a Christmas breakfast or dinner.

“That is unbelievably sweet,” she said, wonderment coating her voice. “Perhaps we could visit the foundling home when we are back in London.”

Fitz went whipcord straight next to her. She frowned at him, at his clenched jaw, the muscle ticking, teeth grinding. What on earth—

A violent slash drew her gaze away to her sister-in-law. Where Felicity was currently mutilating her cold ham with her fork. “Apparently, some rakes actually have hearts. Unlike certain spoiled ducal heirs who are probably too drunk off their arse to give back.”

“Flick,” Felix groaned. “Let us not get into this on Christmas.”

Fitz abruptly shoved back from the table and stood, dish clattering. “I need to leave.”

Georgiana glanced around the room, but everyone else seemed just as taken aback as she was. He was…announcing he must leave the table?

Fitz swallowed. “For London. Immediately.”

What?

“I need to make sure the townhouse is ready for Georgiana. I hadn’t informed the servants. Since I hadn’t planned on bringing home a wife.” He let out a forced chuckle. “But obviously, now I will be. Because”—he flicked his hand in Georgiana’s direction. “And, of course, business. So, I best be off.” He turned on his heel and left.

“Well, that was odd,” Felix said slowly.

“Even for Fitzy,” Felicity added, her amber brows pinched together.

Lydia was frowning after Fitz as well, her hands on the edge of the table as though she was about to get up and go after her son.

“I…suppose I should go up and pack as well, then?” Georgiana said to no one in particular. She had no idea what that had been about. As far as she was aware, they were to leave in two days for London. Not on Christmas day.

Felicity gave her a helpless shrug, no less confused than everyone else in the room. Lady Bentley sent her an encouraging nod, settling back in her own chair.

“If you’ll excuse me.” Georgiana pushed away from the table, shot everyone an uncertain smile, and left the breakfast room.

Once in the hallway, she quickened her pace and made her way to her husband’s chamber. She was sure after speaking with her husband this—whatever his odd outburst was—would be cleared up. She first tried his bedchamber, only to find a flurry of servants packing trunks, but no husband.

Finally, she found him in his study, sitting behind his desk, scrawling hastily. He signed his note with a flourish, folded and sealed it, and then glanced up, startling at the sight of her.

“We are leaving for London? Today?” she asked, stepping just inside the threshold of the room.

He frowned at her, shaking his head. “No… I am leaving for London. Today.”

She looked left and right. Answers, where were the answers to the litany of questions racketing through her brain? “Just you? Not me?”

“Correct. Is that not what I said? You shall travel with the rest of my family as originally planned.” He held up his freshly sealed letter. “But I have urgent business.” He tucked the letter into his coat pocket and patted it. “Must get to London today and have this delivered straight-away.”

“Could I? Travel to London with you, that is.”

Fitz’s eyes widened, and he blinked, frozen there like a marble statue whose eyes had been carved too large. She took that to mean he did not want her to come with him. She swallowed repeatedly, her throat suddenly not working as it should. Her mind instantly went back to when she was a little girl, trailing after her father, desperately wanting to join him in whatever task he was doing, anything. Always met with a no, poppet. Always met with a closed door. Always met with rejection.

“Hmm. You see. No. It will be better if you don’t.”

There it was. Her stupid, foolish, hopeful heart flattened like it had just been passed through a carding machine at her father’s textile factory.

“Yes, you will travel with the others,” Fitz was saying over the buzzing in her ears. He sent her a strained smile and then blurted, “More time to ready the townhouse!”

He stood from his desk and wiped his palms on his trousers. He made his way to her and stopped, wringing his hands in front of him. “I suppose I will see you, then?” His gaze fell everywhere but on her own.

“In two days’ time,” she parroted, not truly capable of much else. Because his words stung. Like a hoard of bees.

He nodded decisively. “Urm. Thank you for a lovely evening.” His cheeks bloomed a deep pink, and he squirmed before her.

He laughed nervously, leaned forward—

Was he going to kiss her?

—And stepped around her.

Apparently not.

“Ta-ta, then,” he croaked, and he hurried from the room.

She slowly turned, jaw slack, catching a last glimpse of her husband’s coat before he disappeared completely from view.

What in the blazes?

Her mind spun. Her deflated heart flopped weakly in her breast. Because he was leaving her. On Christmas. And clearly did not want her to go with him.

Thank you for a lovely evening. They spent a night of indescribable pleasure together. An evening where she vowed pieces inside of her were permanently rearranged to make room for him . That wasn’t lovely . That was life-altering.

But not for him.

She gnawed on her lip. Had she completely misread, mis- felt , everything that had passed between them last night? She had heard men would declare anything in the heat of the moment. Dear God, had he not meant a word? This can’t be real. Was that purely in reference to the shagging? She had thought he’d been speaking of whatever this new, indescribable feeling was that had surfaced last night. But perhaps he had just been talking about her vagina.

She tried to breathe through the rising panic flooding her, forcing her lungs to find air. This was fine. Everything was fine. Perhaps this was normal. He said he had urgent business.

Much like her father usually said.

Her father always had urgent business.

Her father was always gone.

Her gaze dropped to the ivory skirts she was hopelessly wrinkling with her twisting fingers. She squared her shoulders and brushed off her skirts. Brushed away the wrinkles. Brushed away the nerves and doubt trying to multiply like bunnies in her brain.

Everything was fine.

But God help her. What if she’d just married into the same life she’d had before?