Compromised for Christmas (The Jennings Family #1)

36. Georgiana

36

Georgiana

G eorgiana hopped from the carriage, assisted by her husband, his strong, firm grip around her waist as he gently lowered her into the surprisingly deep snow. She glanced down, her boots disappearing from view. It seemed they’d received a fair bit of snow last night.

She looked up at him, her lips tilting upward. They locked gazes, and his cheeks tinted a dusty rose. He smiled bashfully at her, and her heart fell right out of her chest and plopped into the snow. Goodness, he was so bloody sweet. Irresistibly endearing. And finally, finally , things seemed to be looking up for them.

She turned her attention to the snow-covered St. James Park. She loved nothing more than a freshly fallen snow. A pristine white blanket surrounded them. Trees and shrubbery painted with snow. Even the pond was covered, completely out of view.

She sucked in an icy breath, reveling in the sharp chill akin to breathing in peppermint. Everything was better today, brighter. She and Fitz had finally talked. Last night had been lovely. Nothing but warming whisky and comfortable conversation. And maybe tonight… Maybe she would be able to convince him to bed her again. She wanted to be in his arms again.

Fitz trudged over to his brother, his face a mask of seriousness as he bent down to scoop up some snow on his way, testing out its suitability for snowball-making.

She had been surprised the roads were already cleared for travel; they’d never been cleared that fast where she resided in London with her family. It wasn’t the most fashionable of areas, but still respectable. But apparently it still made all the difference. Because Felicity assured Georgiana that there was no way the streets surrounding Grosvenor Square would go uncleared for long. Apparently, the wealthy aristocrats would never tolerate such an inconvenience.

Despite the roads being traversable, the park was relatively empty. The Jennings and their entourage were of the few who decided to brave the cold and snow.

“I see Mare!” Felicity tugged at Georgiana’s hand and dragged her toward a woman bundled up in an evergreen wool coat in the distance.

“Mare!” Felicity waved wildly, and the woman beamed, waving back.

She was average height, with ebony hair almost completely hidden beneath her white fur-trimmed bonnet that matched her fur tippet dangling over her shoulders. That was about all Georgiana could discern with the massive number of layers needed to brave the cold.

“Mare,” Felicity huffed, out of breath from nearly running, Georgiana in tow, to her friend. “This is Georgiana, Fitzy’s wife. Georgiana, this is Mare. My best friend.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, Lady Camoys.” Georgiana attempted to dip a curtsy. Not the easiest thing to do with the number of layers Felicity had forced her into.

“Oh, none of that. You must call me Mare, too. Or Maribeth, if you prefer. But most definitely not Lady Camoys. There is no such thing as formality with friends.”

Georgiana’s heart warmed, warmed her more than the endless number of layers she’d donned ever could.

Mare turned to Felicity. “Are you ready, Fliss?” She sent up a saucy brow.

Georgiana glanced between the two women, her brow wrinkling. “Why do I get the feeling that we aren’t talking about the snowball fight?”

Felicity turned to Georgiana. “Oh, we are.”

Mare stepped forward. “But not just the snowball fight.”

“There is a certain someone who deserves the majority of our snowballs.” Felicity’s grin was evil. Pure evil. And Georgiana loved it.

She clapped her gloves together. “Lord Wessex?” she asked eagerly. And then realized that probably was extremely insensitive. She hastily added, “I’m sorry, Felicity. I shouldn’t be excited about such a thing. I can’t imagine—”

“No,” Felicity cut her off. “You are exactly right to be excited. I have been betrothed to the man near four years. I’m about as numb to his escapades as I’d be if I were buried in this here snow.”

Georgiana thought the tightening of Felicity’s features might give that statement away as a lie, but she didn’t voice that.

“If you can’t take the cad out of the man”—Felicity shrugged—“pelt him with snowballs.”

Mare was nodding vigorously. “Exactly.”

“Is your husband not joining us?” Georgiana asked politely.

She knew little about Lady Camoys. Except what Felicity had mentioned about the woman having had some…amorous encounters with the Duke of Ironcrest. Georgiana stilled. Whereas before she had felt a rush of jealousy hearing that, now…now she felt nothing. The thought of being with the Duke—she shook her head, trying to shake off the thought. Her stomach turned. There was only one man she wanted.

“My husband wants absolutely nothing to do with me,” Mare said. “We were betrothed since birth. Neither of us wanted this marriage. He’s off in France with his lover”—she waved her hand in a direction Georgiana was fairly certain wasn’t France—“so we both do as we please. Honestly, the freedom is a Godsend.”

Georgiana glanced at Felicity, who was studying her friend, scrutinizing. Georgiana could understand enjoying that sort of freedom. But she also thought it sounded a bit lonely. Empty.

She glanced over to where her husband stood, nose pink from the cold, speaking with his brother and a newly arrived Lord Wessex. It was so subjective. She had hope that her marriage was going to be a happy one. She wouldn’t relish in the freedom Maribeth spoke of. But then there were Felicity and Lord Wessex, a fiancé who didn’t give a second thought to splashing his exploits all over the gossip columns. Not to mention the number of cruel men that existed out there. So, she supposed, sometimes that freedom was a blessing.

All three women stared at the group of men. The three formed quite a dashing image. Fitz, comfortable and at ease, was striking, his square jaw and tousled curls peeking from beneath his topper. Lord Wessex was an extremely attractive man as well, tall, lean, a rectangular face with a sharp jaw. He was one of the most handsome men Georgiana had ever seen, actually. And it was said his father was even more so. The Devastating Duke, they called him. And then there was Lord Bentley—

“He’s so pretty,” Mare whined.

“No,” Felicity said sharply.

“But, but, but. Pleaaaaaaase.”

Felicity planted her hands on her hips. “No, Mare. He is off limits.”

The woman let out a dramatic sigh and turned to Georgiana. “Felicity says I’m not allowed to bed her brother.”

Georgiana’s eyes shot wide, and she glanced at Felicity. She sure hoped the woman wasn’t talking about—

“Oh! Lord Bentley, of course.” Mare giggled. “Oh, dear. I see how that could have been misinterpreted.” She looked back at the group and stared wistfully at the man. “He’s just so pretty. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man so beautiful.”

Georgiana could see the woman’s dilemma. He was stunning. Where her husband had a strong jaw with sharp angles, Lord Bentley had softer features with prominent high cheekbones. He was just as tall and broad, slightly more burly, but he was more feline in nature, like a lion. A lion in looks and how he led his family.

“You know the rules, Mare. You can sleep with the entirety of the ton, I don’t care. But my brothers are off limits.” Felicity turned to Georgiana. “I don’t know what to do with this woman. Biggest lightskirt I know,” she said fondly.

Mare’s blue eyes danced as she gave a self-deprecating shrug, and Georgiana giggled.

“Now”—Felicity clapped, her voice commanding—“we must come up with a battle plan for this snowball fight. Objective one. Win. Objective two. Hit Lord Wessex in the head as many times as possible. Objective three—”

“Accidentally-on-purpose fall on Lord Bentley,” Mare said.

Felicity blinked at her best friend, her face pure exasperation. She shook her head and pointed to a small grouping of shrubbery. “Let us start building up our ammunition of snowballs behind there. That will be our protective barricade.”

They made their way to the shrubbery, Maribeth shooting looks Lord Bentley’s way, swaying her hips, which really only made her look like an evergreen bell swinging back and forth stuffed as she was in so many layers.

“Lord help me,” Felicity said, looking heavenward. “The woman is incorrigible.”

Felicity blew out a breath and hurried after Lady Camoys, muttering that Lord Bentley wasn’t in the least interested in what Mare had to offer, anyway.

Georgiana followed the pair, a sense of belonging lighting up inside her, brighter than the sunlight reflecting off the fresh snow before her. And sunlight reflecting off fresh snow? It was blinding.