Compromised for Christmas (The Jennings Family #1)

40. Georgiana

40

Georgiana

G eorgiana had somehow made it through the carriage ride without raising any suspicions, even despite the fact that she hadn’t spoken a word. If she opened her mouth, all that would come out was a sob. She had to hold herself together until this supper party was over.

Fortunately, they had been ushered inside and quickly led to the drawing room to greet their hosts, so Georgiana was able to avoid the questioning glances Felicity was sending her way. Apparently, it had been the shadows of the conveyance that had hidden the pain she’d thought she’d masked. She wasn’t fooling her sister-in-law.

They paused before their hosts and Lady Rutledge, radiant in a vibrant berry-red gown, raven-black hair adorned with matching red-berries, greeted them all, Georgiana included, like old friends. Lady Bentley excused herself, murmuring she had seen the dowager Duchess of Ironcrest, and the men wandered off to the sideboard. Fitz gave her a last searching glance and accidentally walked into a gentleman, as he wasn’t watching where he was walking. Georgiana hated that he was so bloody endearing. Stupid, stupid man.

Lady Rutledge gripped Georgiana’s hands, tearing Georgiana’s gaze from her husband’s stumbling form.

The woman’s friendly green eyes sparkled. “It is so lovely to meet you, Mrs. Jennings. Lady Felicity has told me so much about you. Your sister-in-law sings your praises.”

Georgiana’s cheeks heated, and she shot a glance at her grinning sister-in-law.

“I may have included in our acceptance that you were the perfect addition to our family. That you fit right in with the Jennings chaos.”

Lady Rutledge’s grin turned wicked. “I love chaos.”

Georgiana glanced between the two women, a bemused smile tilting her lips. “Goodness, there are two of you?” This was perfect. She could use two Felicitys to distract herself tonight.

Lady Rutledge and Felicity broke out in chuckles.

“Unfortunately, I was never able to master the art of a proper young miss like Lady Felicity. I am pure chaos, out-loud and proud. Bless my husband for putting up with me.” She glanced at the sideboard, smiling fondly at her perfectly starched husband—well, perfectly starched but for his wayward brown curls. Goodness, they gave Fitz’s a run for their money.

Georgiana’s heart tugged, glancing between the two. A love-match. Clear as day.

“I do not think Lord Rutledge would use that phrasing. I’m fairly certain he quite likes your chaos.” Felicity shot Lady Rutledge a knowing look. “At least if what I saw when I stumbled upon you two at the Marsden’s ball last season was any indication.” She waggled her eyebrows.

Lady Rutledge broke out in a sly grin, not an ounce of embarrassment in her expression. She let out a little sigh. “That was a spectacular ball.”

“Yes, the ball was spectacular,” Felicity said dryly.

Lady Rutledge giggled and shot Georgiana a wink. Georgiana couldn’t prevent her smile. This woman was a spitfire, and Georgiana liked her immensely.

“I have to say, I am so glad to see Mr. Jennings has found such a lovely bride. And by lovely, I mean just as spirited as Lady Felicity here. Your husband is the kindest of gentlemen. A rare gem in our world. You two make quite the dashing pair.”

Georgiana’s stomach sloshed uneasily, and her smile turned strained. “Thank you, Lady Rutledge.”

Felicity’s concerned brows made it clear her upset was showing.

Georgiana hastily changed the subject. “I had wanted to ask you about the foundling home your husband runs. Do they have visiting hours? I would love to visit with the children. I think it is absolutely lovely that your husband and his partners visit them during the Christmastide.”

Felicity bounced animatedly before she caught herself and settled for vibrating with excitement instead. “Oh, what a lovely idea! Perhaps we could visit them in the next day or so and have a snowball fight!”

Lady Rutledge brought her gloved hand to cover her mouth, stifling her laughter. “Egads, Lady Felicity. Have I mentioned I adore you and your fire? You and the children will surely get along splendidly.” Lady Rutledge turned to Georgiana. “I think that is a fabulous idea. The gentlemen do their best to be active with the home, and the staff there are lovely, but it is not the same as having a loving family.”

“I can imagine it can feel lonely,” Georgiana murmured. She knew all too well what it meant to be lonely. Unwanted. “Even as much as I am sure they appreciate the home taking them in.” This was something small she could do, and perhaps it would help her own lonely heart. What was left of it in the wreckage of her husband’s grenade.

“We do our best to set them up for a life of success, finding them positions and apprenticeships. Hopefully, one day, they will be in a position to have the family they were not blessed with.”

Another idea struck Georgiana. “Do you happen to have any young women who could serve as a lady’s maid? I am in need of one, and I would love to offer the position to one of your girls if it fits.”

Lady Rutledge tapped her lip and tilted her head. “I will have to speak with our matron who runs the home. We just might.” Her lips curved softly, her green eyes gentling. “That is exceedingly thoughtful of you, Mrs. Jennings.”

Her gaze shot over Georgiana’s shoulder. “Ah, I see we are ready for supper! I must find the Duke of Ironcrest to escort me in.” She leaned toward Georgiana and Felicity. “Perhaps make Lord Rutledge a mite jealous. He gets all growly when I get close to the Duke. Some old spat or some such between the two of them.” She sent them a wink and left them in a swirl of saucy skirts.

Georgiana huffed out a laugh, watching as the woman disappeared into the crowd. “She is a vixen, is she not?”

Felicity took Georgiana’s arm, and they meandered toward the supper room. “That she is. A woman after my own heart. Us hoydens have to stick together.”

Wasn’t that the truth? If she didn’t have her husband, at least she’d have her hoydens.

She had miraculously managed to get through dinner without crying or casting up her accounts, mainly because she had barely touched her food. But Felicity’s increasingly worried glances made it clear she wasn’t fooling anyone. Which was how Georgiana currently found herself cornered in Lady Rutledge’s drawing room, where the guests had reconvened, subjected to her sister-in-law’s interrogation.

“What is wrong?” Felicity asked, fierce and beautiful as ever in her champagne silk gown.

Georgiana opened her mouth, but Felicity shot up an eyebrow.

“Don’t try to say nothing. You are always smiling, chatty, and bright eyed. You’re like an adorable little bushy-tailed bunny. And now?” Felicity paused, studying Georgiana. “Now you look like a carriage ran over your poor little bunny-self. Bunny roadkill.”

“That’s not very flattering,” Georgiana muttered.

Her sister-in-law let out a hushed snort. “You’re beautiful roadkill, if that helps at all.”

Georgiana’s lips twitched.

“Life! She lives!” Felicity’s smile quickly faded, and her eyes grew serious. “But seriously, G, what is going on? I knew from the moment we stepped out of the carriage something was wrong, but this is the first moment we’ve had any privacy.”

Georgiana’s heart gave a weak flop at the pet name Felicity had just made for her. Apparently, the thing was still in there. She could have sworn she left it on her husband’s study floor. She glanced at said husband. He stood with another scholar, deep in conversation, his brow set in concentration. Her husband had been correct. The Rutledge’s supper parties were different. There were more men in trade and of business than there were other aristocrats. There were many academics, some who made Fitz’s awkwardness appear tame. Even as he destroyed her, seeing him converse so freely, speak so assuredly, it made her deeply happy. For him.

“G?” Felicity prodded.

She glanced down at her ivory gloves and fidgeted with the button on her wrist. “I can’t speak of it right now,” she murmured.

She wasn’t sure if she wanted to speak of it at all. She could hear her mother’s voice in her head, what her mother would say to her in this situation: This is the way of things, Georgiana. Just be glad you are the wife and not the mistress. You are the one with security, with power, with the potential to birth the heir to an earldom.

“Perhaps you could call tomorrow?” Georgiana finally asked. Even if she decided against letting Felicity in on her troubles—which was how she was presently leaning. Fitz struggled enough feeling close to them. Georgiana didn’t want to be the cause of any more distance—she would enjoy her sister-in-law’s company.

She caught Felicity’s gaze, and she saw so much concern there, her eyes blurred. Shite. No. She would not cry here. She cleared her throat and glanced around, looking for distraction.

Felicity reached forward and squeezed Georgiana’s hand. “That sounds perfect. And since you look like you need cheering up, I thought you’d like to know that Lord Wessex couldn’t make it tonight because one of my snowballs hit him so hard in the tallywags, he needed to stay home and ice himself. Ironic, since I hit him with a ball of ice.”

Georgiana’s eyebrows shot up. “No,” she breathed.

Felicity discreetly patted herself on her shoulder and smiled. “Perhaps this will give me a few days of fidelity!”

Georgiana barely contained her snort. “You are wicked, Fliss. Absolutely wicked, and it is utterly fantastic.”

Her sister-in-law sent a discreet wink her way. Something caught Felicity’s attention, and her entire demeanor changed. A soft, polite smile curved her lips, and her gaze lowered to the floor.

Georgiana turned and promptly sucked in a breath. Lord Dunmore and the Duke of Ironcrest walked shoulder-to-shoulder through the guests directly toward them. The two men cut quite a pair. Both taller than average, they towered over almost everyone they passed. Where the Duke was broad, with the breadth of a blacksmith, Lord Dunmore was lean, all sharp angles. Both had jet-black hair—the Duke’s cropped short, and Dunmore’s longer than fashion dictated. They oozed arrogance, confidence, insouciance. It was all Georgiana could do not to take a step back. They were predators. Predators that made one want to be their prey.

The men stopped before them. The Duke’s lips were set in a firm line, the scar that ran down the side of his face, eye to cheek, stark against his pale skin. Lord Dunmore’s lips, on the other hand, curled up in a sardonic half-smile. It was an indecipherable smile. He could be seducing you. Or he could be laughing at you.

There was nothing kind in the smile. No softness, no warmth, no lop-sided bashfulness. And to Georgiana, it was entirely lacking.

“Lady Felicity, Mrs. Jennings,” Lord Dunmore drawled.

Georgiana quickly lowered her gaze and dropped into a curtsy with Felicity at her side, returning the men’s greeting. This was the first time she’d seen either rogue since she had propositioned the Duke. The night she had wound up betrothed to Fitz. And with the way the Duke eyed her now, his gray gaze nearly tangible, he hadn’t forgotten.

Felicity peered at the men beneath her lashes. “I hope you are having an agreeable evening, Your Grace, my lord,” she said softly.

“It just became much more agreeable,” Lord Dunmore said, his smile widening. “We saw a pair of beautiful ladies standing alone without refreshment, and we knew we must rectify the situation immediately.”

“Wine, ladies?” the Duke asked, his voice deep, rich…emotionless. He gently proffered a glass to Georgiana while Lord Dunmore held out one to Felicity.

Georgiana smiled and murmured her thanks, taking the glass from the Duke. His fingers grazed over hers, and he paused, holding onto that contact. Her gaze shot to his, and she sucked in a breath. He didn’t smile, his lips didn’t move, but somehow his expression turned wolfish. She swore she saw victory in his eyes. And it would have been. Before.

“How lucky we are to have such upstanding gentlemen looking out for us,” Felicity said, smiling sweetly at the men. Nothing but perfectly polite.

It was shocking to see the woman who had just been swearing, discussing throwing snowballs at her fiancé’s ballocks, turn into a soft-spoken, demure young miss. One would think she was made up of sugar and flowers and kittens. Not snowballs and headlocks and curses.

“I noticed Lord Wessex is absent. I had thought he intended to attend,” Lord Dunmore said offhand.

“Unfortunately, he is indisposed and could no longer make it,” Felicity said.

“I am sure he is,” the Duke said under his breath.

Lord Dunmore’s lips quirked behind his tumbler.

Felicity’s smile turned brittle, and Georgiana took a discreet step closer to her sister-in-law, her shoulder leaning into Felicity’s. Silent support. Lord Wessex’s gallivanting was no secret. This wasn’t the first time it had been mentioned this evening, and Georgiana doubted it’d be the last. Lord, how did the woman stand it? Georgiana was barely holding herself together after finding out about Fitz and his mistress. And this poor woman had to bear it nearly every time a new gossip column was published.

“Well, I have to say his loss is our gain, my lady,” Lord Dunmore said. “It should be a sin to leave ladies such as yourselves neglected like this.”

“Oh?” Felicity blinked innocently at Lord Dunmore. “And let me venture a guess, we would be in much better care in your hands?”

Georgiana bit back a grin at the subtle barb, knowing for a fact Felicity believed the exact opposite of her statement.

Lord Dunmore grinned, green eyes glittering with challenge. He cocked an arrogant brow. “There are ways of finding out the answer to that question.” He studied Felicity. “I have always wondered, Lady Felicity, if you are truly as prim and proper as you appear to be.”

Apparently, the man hadn’t missed Felicity’s slight.

Felicity gave a small, faux gasp, covering her mouth with a gloved hand. “Lord Dunmore, I pride myself for my adherence to decorum.”

Georgiana nearly spit out her wine.

Lord Dunmore’s grin grew. He looked like he very much wanted to test that fact. Felicity’s amber eyes twinkled beneath her lashes, clearly having fun. The woman deserved some fun. And attention. Given her situation with her wastrel fiancé.

Felicity’s gaze caught on something, and then she turned to the gentlemen, smiling cheekily. “Well, unfortunately, I am going to have to disappoint you gentlemen, and we’ll never be able to investigate those intriguing statements. Lord Bentley is requesting my presence.” She dipped a graceful curtsy, champagne skirts fluttering like silk waves. She lifted her wine. “Thank you for the refreshment, Your Grace, my lord. I will leave you in Mrs. Jennings’s capable hands.”

And now Georgiana was left alone. Two wolves. One hen. A moment like this, prior to her marriage, would have been an opportunity. An opportunity the men clearly thought was still on the table. And was it? The wine burned in her stomach. Most definitely not. But was Fitz planning to continue with his mistress indefinitely? Would Georgiana be able to stomach that?

“Congratulations on your recent nuptials,” Lord Dunmore said, lifting his tumbler of amber liquid in a small toast.

Georgiana’s gaze darted to her husband, who appeared completely oblivious to her whereabouts. Her heart slid down in her chest. “Thank you,” she murmured. Congratulations felt awfully hollow at the moment.

“Tsk, tsk,” Lord Dunmore said, his gaze narrowing on her. “It can’t be easy, marrying a strange man, thrown into a new life you didn’t ask for.”

She shifted under the intensity of his stare but forced a smile. She shouldn’t dwell on her husband; her husband, who preferred his mistress to her. She had two strapping men giving her attention, and she would bask in that for the moment.

“It has had its difficulties, but I am not one to back down from a challenge.”

“Yes, not a simpering miss. You’ve always struck me as a woman with confidence. Knows what she wants,” Lord Dunmore said, sharing a look with the Duke.

The Duke studied her over his whisky. “It is quite unforgivable on your husband’s part, leaving his stunning new wife all on her lonesome.”

She glanced at her husband again, and this time their gazes clashed. But he hastily looked away and leaned toward his companion. She blinked. He didn’t even care that the two biggest rogues in England were moving in on her like hounds on a foxhunt? She almost stomped her foot. Perhaps if she blatantly flirted with them, he’d develop a modicum of interest in her. She would take a page out of Lady Rutledge’s book. Perhaps she could make her own husband growly.

She drew her gloved finger over her low-cut bodice and shrugged. “How can I complain with one man leaving me unattended when I find myself with the attention of two gentlemen such as yourselves?”

“If you are feeling…neglected Mrs. Jennings,” the Duke said. “Dunmore and I would gladly step in and correct that. You won’t doubt for a moment our appreciation of you.”

Why did Georgiana suddenly feel like the meat between a rake sandwich? She glanced between the two men.

Lord Dunmore’s lips curled wider, a smile that could have been the devil’s own. “Imagine what such appreciation would feel like, the attention of not just one, but two men. All on you, love.”

Oh. She was the meat between a rake sandwich. Where before that would have thrilled her, now it—well, she still did like the idea of it. But only if the two men were both Fitz. Which only made her feel doubly heartbroken. Two Fitzes to sleep with his mistress. Gah . She couldn’t do this. Provoking jealousy was not for her. Not for retaliation. Not for malice.

“I have no doubt I would feel thoroughly appreciated,” she murmured. “But for right now, I am not in search of any outside appreciation.” She smiled apologetically at Lord Dunmore and the Duke before letting her gaze stray briefly to Fitz again.

Once again, their gazes clashed, but he quickly turned and put his back to her. Ouch. She tried to swallow, but it was near impossible. Apparently, the jealousy tactic wouldn’t have worked on her husband, anyway.

“If you ever change your mind…” the Duke murmured.

“The offer stands,” Lord Dunmore finished.

They bowed and took their leave.

Georgiana was ready to do the same. Leave. She couldn’t force her lips upward in a pathetic excuse for a smile any longer, couldn’t hold back the tears constantly threatening to break free. Her head throbbed from holding them back. She just wanted to go home. Hide away in her room until she fell asleep and for a few blissful hours could forget this day.

Because just now, the melancholy was too heavy, too thick, too choking to fight off. It wasn’t the first time Georgiana had been gripped in melancholy’s unrelenting clutches. A lonely existence made it inevitable. Sometimes Georgiana could free herself; sometimes she didn’t succumb. But the aching pressure in her chest, closing over her like a blanket covered in stone, was too much. She’d let it consume her tonight. One thing she always reminded herself of: tomorrow was a new day. She’d fight again tomorrow, for her marriage, for her future. But for tonight, she would let melancholy win.

She had to hold on to the hope that there was something to fight for. Because if there wasn’t—this was the first time in Georgiana’s life she thought she truly might break.