Where Love Restores (Where There is Love Book 4) Read online

  Twelve

  When Georgiana awakened late the next day, on the morning of Christmas Eve, it seemed that the worst fears of the duchess that her daughter would take a severe chill were proved wrong. The combination of Cook’s hot broth, a well-warmed bed, Aggie’s recipe of volatile salts in syrup of balsam with oil of sweet almonds, and Georgiana’s strong constitution worked wonders during a good night of sleep. She woke with only a slight scratch at the back of her throat and a mild sniffle.

  This was fortunate because even had she been running a high fever, she would have insisted on taking part in the day’s festivities. Aggie was full of news when she brought Georgiana’s breakfast tray in. “Such comings and goings, milady.” She fluffed the pillows at Georgiana’s back, helped her sit up, and put the tray on her lap. “Lord and Lady ’arrowby arrived before breakfast, and their coach ’ad no more than pulled back to the stables than that there Lady Paget ordered ’is Grace’s coach—ordered it ’erself, mind you. Well, I can tell you that put Nixon’s back up a bit, it did. But then Lord Worcester came in and said to give the lady anything she wanted, just so she left—”

  “That will do, Agatha. It’s most improper to be gossiping like that.” Although Georgiana was careful not to issue her rebuke until she had heard all the news.

  “Yes, miss. I forgot myself. But there is a message for you.”

  “Well?” Georgiana set her cup of hot chocolate down and reached for a piece of toast.

  “Mr. Granville. He begs to visit you at your earliest convenience.”

  “My, that’s very formal of him. I’m surprised he doesn’t just barge in without a by-your-leave. Well, then, bring me my morning dress with the whitework collar and help me arrange my hair.” She was irritated at herself for her lack of resolution. Yesterday she had been furious with Gran and told herself she would be happier never seeing him again. Now she couldn’t get ready quickly enough to receive him.

  The wide sleeves of the printed cotton dress emphasized Georgiana’s small waist, and it was apparent that the effect was not lost on Granville when he was admitted to the dayroom off her bedroom. “They said you were unharmed, Georgie, but you look so frail.”

  “Thank you, sir. It’s all the fashion.” Then she turned more serious. “But I am perfectly well. I must thank you for your quick action in fishing me out and, er, wringing me dry.” She sat on the sofa and indicated he might sit beside her.

  “Georgie, I can’t tell you how I felt when I saw you take that dunking. I’m convinced a good share of the fault is mine. If I hadn’t shouted at you, you wouldn’t have crammed Mayflower—”

  “I beg your pardon. I did not cram my horse. That bank crumbled. It was no one’s fault.”

  “As you say. Yet I feel…”

  She held her breath at the intensity of his voice. Never a person to do anything lightly, he seemed to be on the brink of revealing a new depth of himself to her.

  “You feel…” She encouraged him to go on. Sensing the hesitation in him, she breathed a prayer that at last he might be open with her.

  He stood up and ran his fingers through his locks. “Hunted. I know how that fox felt yesterday. But I am hunted by hounds of failure, profligation, sin. You must think me mad even to talk like this, but I have wanted to talk to you again ever since we began our conversation after the Harvest Home… Why can’t I find peace? Why is it so easy for everyone else—my aunt, my brother, my—father? Will God never grant me the peace of knowing?”

  “Granville, your conscience is too tender; you judge yourself too harshly—”

  “But that’s just it. How does one ever know? Rennard and Anderson tell me I must do more; others, that I do too much. Then I abandon hope of ever knowing, and I do something unspeakably stupid like…” The words trailed off, and he turned away from her. “Georgie, I’m sorry. That’s what I came to say. I felt that your accident was a kind of punishment—on me—for things I deeply regret.” There was anguish in his voice.

  Standing with his back to her, he couldn’t see the radiance on her face. If he was repentant, then all could be freely forgiven. Her hero had risen from the dust, perhaps less heroic, but more vulnerably human and therefore more dear. She went quietly to him and put her hand over the ones he held clenched at his back. “Then, sir, you must ask forgiveness and mend your ways.”

  He grasped her hand tightly as he turned to her. “But that’s just it—I have. So many times. And each time the failure is worse.”

  “I know.”

  “You know?”

  She nodded. “I heard Freddie Calthorpe say… his brother—”

  “Oh, of course. That’s what you meant about pamphylians yesterday. Georgiana, I swear to you—”

  “It’s all right, Granville.”

  “No. It is not right at all. I have never been a bigger fool. But it’s not what it looked like… not what you’re thinking.” He dropped her hand and turned sharply away. “Not that it makes much difference.”

  “Well, it makes a difference to me.” Her words came out on a rush of air as if she had been holding her breath for days. As, indeed, she had.

  “It does? You care?”

  His eyes burned into her. She returned his gaze levelly, looking directly at him. “Yes, Gran, I care. I care very much.”

  He drew a long breath, held it, and released it with something like a shudder before he spoke. “Then I shall try again. Harder.”

  “Good. You might start by attending to that poor Mr. Peacock. You didn’t intend to study over the holiday, did you?”

  “Certainly not.”

  “Then why did you bring your tutor? Not that he isn’t perfectly welcome, of course.”

  “It’s customary. Everyone takes his crammie home.”

  “But you weren’t obliged to?”

  “No.”

  “Then you didn’t really want to get away from your responsibilities, did you?”

  Granville was silent a long time. “No, I didn’t.”

  Georgiana smiled. “That’s a good sign. Now you must leave this slough of despond and come help me stir the plum porridge.”

  She led the way to the bustling kitchen where throughout the day every member of the family would put in an appearance to take a hand in stirring this traditional Christmas dish. The big pot of spicy meat broth with raisins, fruit juice, and brown bread crumbs was simmering beside the open hearth. Georgiana took an enormous wooden spoon and gave it several vigorous stirs. “You must make a wish while you stir. If the pudding cooks without lumps, your wish will come true.” She spoke lightly, but then her face turned serious as she formulated her wish.

  Discarding several attempts at being more specific, she finally returned to the theme she had determined on before the hunt: I wish Granville to be happy. She gave a final vigorous swirl to the savory pudding and handed the spoon to her companion. He regarded the contents of the pot for a serious moment. Then he gave Georgiana such an intense look as the spoon circled the pot that she was compelled to ask, in spite of knowing that wishes were never to be told, “What did you wish?”

  Granville gave her his slow smile and raised one eyebrow. “I’ll tell you at Easter… if you’re very good.”

  She started to protest, but just then Nixon appeared at the kitchen door. “Milady wished to be notified when the kissing bough was ready to decorate.”

  “Oh, indeed. Thank you, Nixon. You must help too, Gran.” And she took off almost at a skip for the servants’ hall.

  The vast room hung with copper pans and lined with antlers was a hive of activity centering around the construction of the magnificent Christmas centerpiece. It hung in the middle of the room suspended by ropes running from the fireplace mantel to one of the windows that extended from wainscot to ceiling. One long oak table held a stack of small gaily wrapped packages supplied by family members. Another was rapidly being covered with red satin rosettes formed by maids cutting and tying lengths from bolts of ribbons. Three footmen cleared away the t
rimmings of yew boughs, ivy runners, and holly branches that had been used to cover the three concentric circles forming the structure. “Where are the apples and candles, Nixon?”

  “Just coming in now, milady.” As he spoke, a kitchen maid entered carrying a wooden bowl filled with red apples, followed closely by a footman bearing racks of newly made candles.

  “Perfect! Gran, you attach garlands of apples with those wires, and I’ll tie the presents on with these streamers.” She picked up a long, shiny red ribbon.

  “Yes, milady,” Gran replied with a perfectly straight face and a twinkle in his eye.

  They had worked companionably for some time amid the bustle of servants and the giggles of maids when Georgiana remarked, “Mama told me that two years ago a member of Queen Caroline’s court did the most remarkable thing at a children’s party. She had a fir tree brought inside the hall and attached candles and presents to it. Princess Frederica had told her they always do that in Germany. It was quite the nine days’ wonder. But I don’t think I should like it half so well as an English kissing bough.” She completed fastening a festoon of rosettes around the large top ring.

  Granville laughed. “If the truth were known, Queen Caroline’s lady-in-waiting probably didn’t have a staff she could bludgeon into all the work of erecting such an elaboration as this. Chopping down a fir tree sounds infinitely easier.”

  “Do I detect a note of complaint?” She looked at him severely.

  “No, milady. Your humble servant begs forgiveness.”

  “Well, I should hope so.” She stood back to admire their labors. “Excellent. Just one thing missing.” She selected the largest, most elegant rosette and used it to hang the final piece of greenery from the very center of the small bottom ring—a large green clump of mistletoe heavy with clusters of waxy white berries.

  “Quite the most perfect kissing bough I have ever seen,” she announced with triumph. “You may hang it, Nixon.” The footmen all blanched at the thought of carrying that magnificent creation to the Great Drawing Room and suspending it from the ceiling, but Georgiana didn’t notice. She turned to her cousin. “And now you must excuse me, sir. I have one more duty to perform which is of a private nature.” She turned with a secret smile and hurried to her room.

  But Agatha didn’t seem entirely pleased to see her. “Are you feeling just the thing, miss? You look tolerably pale.”

  “I’m feeling top-of-the-trees, Aggie. But I think I took the stairs a bit too quickly. My head is spinning. And now that you mention it, my throat is rather dry too. I should like a tray of camomile tea. I have some writing to do.”

  “Very good, miss. And a dose of my recipe too, I should think.”

  “Oh, very well, if you insist, Aggie.” Georgiana laughed at her maid’s concern and dipped a freshly trimmed quill in ink. Then she sat considering for some time before putting pen to paper.

  When they were small, the Somerset children had all been directed by their tutors in the composition of Christmas pieces which they laboriously copied onto sheets of decorated paper in their best handwriting. The polite greetings were then presented to their parents on Christmas Eve. Georgiana had long outgrown the tradition, but she now had a new application for the custom.

  Her pen moved slowly over the paper, then went back to scratch out and make an insertion. There was another long pause before she dipped her quill again. But she dipped far too deeply and blotted her paper. After some time of uneven effort, she laid down her quill with a sigh and took a sip of the tea Agatha had quietly placed on her writing table.

  Georgiana’s forehead wrinkled in furrows as she read the results of her labors:

  A Christmas prayer I wish for you,

  Of peace and joy the whole year through;

  Of laughter, love, and much content,

  That all may be from Heaven sent

  G.S.

  Embarrassed that such a simple rhyme should have cost her so much effort, she started to crumple it up. Then with the gloomy certainty that another attempt would fail to produce much improvement, she took a final sip of tea and recopied the couplets on a piece of parchment elaborately ornamented in scrolled designs of red, gold, and green. When it was finished, she sprinkled it with sand, rolled it into a cylinder, and sealed it with a gold wax wafer.

  She rose wearily and rang for Agatha. “Aggie, please take this to the drawing room and place it in the small drawer on the lower right of the Pietradura cabinet.” She handed her the parchment.

  “Yes, milady.” The maid bobbed a curtsy and left Georgiana alone.

  If she didn’t change her mind, she would give the poem to Gran tonight. But for now her head was aching, and she felt she must have a nap before the evening’s festivities…

  “Most sorry I am to disturb you, miss, but there won’t be time to do a proper job of dressing if we don’t start soon.”

  Georgiana opened her eyes. The lighted candles in the room told her that it was indeed time to be about her toilette. “Yes, Aggie, thank you. You know which dress.”

  “Yes, indeed, milady. It’s the most beautiful one you’ve ever worn, if I may say so.”

  The deep rose silk gown that so perfectly displayed Georgiana’s own delicate pink and gold coloring was cut low on her shoulders, with softly puffed sleeves balancing the ornamentation of plush and silk roses and tuberoses arranged in rows around the bottom half of the skirt. In addition, the dressmaker had supplied extra matching flowers, which Agatha cleverly arranged in a pyramid behind Georgiana’s high golden curls.

  Agatha administered the finishing touches by fastening on the opal, pearl, and diamond earrings and necklace that had belonged to Georgiana’s grandmother, the fifth duchess. Georgiana pulled on her mitts of Brabant lace and picked up her fan.

  Apparently the duchess had been waiting for her daughter’s appearance. As soon as Georgiana entered the Great Drawing Room with its green silk walls and crystal chandeliers shimmering in candlelight, the duchess signaled Nixon to begin. The cheerful buzz of conversation from the assembled company quieted as the musicians struck up a merry tune and four liveried and powdered footmen entered the room bearing the wassail bowl decorated with standing sprays of evergreens. They paraded it around the room so that all could be enticed by its pungent aroma of cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, and cloves.

  When the bowl began its second circle around the floor, the duke took up the musicians’ tune and burst forth with the traditional Gloucestershire carol. The entire company immediately joined him.

  Wassail, wassail, all over the town;

  Our bread, it is white and our ale, it is brown.

  Our bowl, it is made of the white maple tree;

  With the wassailing bowl we will drink unto thee!

  Amid laughter and applause, the bowl was set in front of the fireplace to keep it warm, and Nixon served the spicy drink.

  “I brought you a cup with bits of apple in it. I hope you like it that way.” Georgiana turned to see Granville before her.

  For a moment she stared. It had been so long since she had seen him in formal evening attire that she had forgotten how he stood out from all those around him. His exquisitely cut black evening clothes and gleaming white pleated shirt with a fluted ruffle between collar and waistcoat were the perfect accompaniment to his military bearing and strong features. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t see you approach.” Georgiana gathered her wits and accepted the proffered cup. “Yes, by all means, we must have bits of roasted apple—that’s much the best part of a wassail bowl.” She raised her cup to him before she drank. Then she looked around the room. “Your parents are looking well. I haven’t had the pleasure of visiting with them since their arrival.”

  “It is a pleasure I have indulged in only briefly myself.”

  His slight emphasis on the word pleasure made Georgiana raise her eyebrows, but the sight of her brother bowing over the Countess Susan’s hand and then leading her to the floor with a flourish made her choose another subject. “The
re is Worcester dancing with your mama. I’m happy to see that he doesn’t appear at all blue-deviled over Lady Jane’s departure.”

  “If the truth were told, I should say he looks quite relieved,” Granville said. “I only hope poor Freddie Calthorpe doesn’t have too ramshackle a time escorting her back to London.”

  “Oh, is that where Fred is? Dear, faithful Calthe. How gallant of him to do escort duty.” Then she smiled. “And I shouldn’t wonder if you were relieved to see the back of him.”

  “The harm has already been done in that quarter.” His dark tone made Georgiana regret having mentioned it. “When I have a serious talk with my father, I fear I shall learn the extent of the harm. Ah, but here’s old Peacock come to wish us merry, haven’t you?”

  The tutor gave a slight bow. “Indeed, I have. The very merriest felicitations of the season, Lady Georgiana.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Peacock. Oh, here is my sister. Have you been introduced?” Georgiana waved to Charlotte, who joined them in a shimmering dress of green and silver shot India gauze, its white mull skirt embroidered in green and silver flowers to match her diamond and emerald jewels.

  Georgiana wasn’t quite sure how it happened, but after a few moments’ conversation among the four of them, she found herself being led to the far end of the room by Mr. Peacock to dance a lively country reel. Her suspicion that it had come about because Granville had first bowed over Charlotte’s outstretched white hand did nothing to put her in humor.

  Her unease increased when, at the end of the air, Charlotte and Granville concluded their dance directly beneath the mistletoe center of the kissing bough, and Granville did a rather more complete job of the gallantries than tradition required. Well, she reminded herself, you wanted him to be happy.

  “I should like to join my mama now, sir,” she said to her partner, who appeared to be on the brink of requesting another dance.

  The duchess was standing near the fireplace conversing with her brother’s wife, Harriet, Lady Granville, newly arrived for the festivities. Harriet was saying, “I am indeed relieved to see that you have not discontinued dancing and all entertainments as some who follow your persuasion have.”