Three weeks later
Georgie had been none too pleased at how quickly Nicholas had left Scotsby following their arrival.
They’d had one evening together.
One.
Mrs. Hibbert had prepared a simple but lovely dinner. She’d fussed and apologized that it was all she was able to pull together for their first night in the newly opened home. She assured them there would be proper menus moving forward. Georgie had not minded. They could have had tavern fare of brown bread and end-of-the-night soup for all she cared. She just wanted to be with Nicholas.
Alone.
The trip north had been glorious. It hadn’t seemed to matter that Cat-Head howled half the time or that Sam’s affection for Marcy (or was it Darcy?) hadn’t been returned, and then it was, and then not, and then—well, honestly Georgie had no idea what had happened except that there seemed to be an awful lot of drama surrounding it all, culminating in Mrs. Hibbert giving her daughter a tongue-lashing to end all tongue-lashings, only to discover she’d told off the wrong girl.
Georgie noticed none of this. She’d been lost in a blissful haze of new love, of shared conversation and laughter, of soft, quiet moments, and nights of erotic discovery.
Marriage, she’d decided, was turning out to be a most splendid institution.
But then they’d reached their destination.
Georgie had known that things would change. She just hadn’t anticipated how fast.
One night. That was all.
She’d had a proper bath, which had been nothing short of bliss after so many days of traveling. She’d even washed her hair, a process that for her took an inordinately long time. She’d always been envious of her sister Billie, who could scrub her hair clean, apply a bit of apple cider vinegar mixed with lavender oil to her wet, straight tresses and then simply comb it out and be done with it.
For Georgie, however, there was no simple about it. Her curls were tight, overly plentiful, and of a delicate texture. Taming them was, as Marian said, “a minister’s own penance.” Her hair had to be dried very carefully, or else she’d wake the following morning with a bramble on her head.
Or she could just braid it. It didn’t turn out as nice as when she so carefully combed, treated, and air-dried it, but it was a lot quicker. And had she known that Nicholas was leaving the next morning, that’s what she would have done so that she might join him sooner in their new bedroom.
She smiled, despite her current ire. He’d been undone when she let her hair down for him, all damp and silky. It had been quite the most innocently executed move; her pins had simply loosened under the weight of it. She reached up to fix it, doing what she did when alone: tossing her head upside down, shaking it out and then flipping the whole mass of it back. She’d never not resented her curly hair quite as much as when he gathered fistfuls of it in both hands, uttered “Jesus,” and pulled her to him.
They’d made such a mess of her hair that night Marian had nearly made the sign of the cross when she saw her the next morning. Georgie might have laughed—Marian wasn’t even Catholic—but she was in far too despondent a mood to muster humor.
Nicholas was gone.
He’d awakened her to say good-bye, at least. A gentle kiss to her cheek and then a soft shaking of her shoulder. Georgie had looked up at him sitting on the side of the bed, gazing down at her as shafts of weak sunlight drifted down from the high window.
She’d smiled, because such a sight would always make her smile now, and she’d shamelessly scooted herself up to sitting and pressed her naked body to his clothed one and then—
And then he said his horse was saddled and he’d be off as soon as he kissed her. He’d been playful and sweet, but the reality of his oh-so-imminent departure was like a cold, wet wind.
He kissed her, and he was gone.
And he’d stayed gone for almost a week.
Georgie had pouted off and on for days. There had been a lot to do, so she stayed busy, but she did not like that he’d left her behind.
Yes, she knew she could not go with him to Edinburgh, at least not yet. He was still living in a rooming house, one not suitable for women.
And yes, she was fully cognizant of the fact that he hadn’t left her. He had to go back to school. As was necessary. He was a student, and he’d already missed several examinations.
And yes, fine, she’d known this was coming. It wasn’t a surprise, and she had no right to be petulant.
But she was. She was in a new place, a new country for heaven’s sake, in what felt like the wilds of Scotland, and even though she knew Nicholas had behaved exactly as he must, she felt abandoned.
So she’d thrown herself into getting Scotsby up and running. Georgie had never quite subscribed to the belief that idle hands really were the devil’s playthings, but busy ones usually worked well to keep one’s mind off the unpleasant.
But there was only so much to do. Mrs. Hibbert had also taken up the task of getting the house in order, and to be frank, she was better at it than Georgie. Furthermore, it was Georgie’s aim to not be living at Scotsby very long—weren’t they planning to lease a house in Edinburgh, after all? How much work did she really wish to put into a house that would soon sit empty?
She was bored.
And she was lonely.
And Nicholas was hours away, learning all sorts of interesting things.
Now, nearly a week after he’d left for Edinburgh, she tried not to look impatient as she waited for him to return. There was no getting around feeling impatient, but she didn’t need to be obvious about it.
As it turned out, when one was the mistress of a house it was not as easy to blend into the woodwork as when one was merely the daughter. At Aubrey Hall she’d curled up on a window seat with a book, or retired to her room and no one thought twice.
Scotsby was much smaller, though. And as the only family member in residence, she had the undivided attention of the staff.
All of them.
It was impossible to get a moment of true solitude. Georgie had tried to feign not feeling well, but the looks of concern were immediate and obvious. Clearly her mother had sent them all off with strict instructions not to endanger her “delicate health.”
So that hadn’t worked.
But it was finally Friday, the day Nicholas had said he’d return. He had no classes on Saturday or Sunday (although he’d warned her this was not always the case), and he’d promised to ride home that evening. Georgie had no idea what time to expect him. By her calculations it could be anywhere from four hours past noon into the late evening.
She hoped it was on the early side. The cook Mrs. Hibbert had hired from the village was a veritable fount of dire stories of highwaymen and mischievous fairies. And while Georgie was not too worried about fairies, the idea of highwaymen did make her concerned for Nicholas’s status as a solitary rider.
Maybe he should have used the carriage.
It would have made his journey all the more slower, though.
Georgie sighed. She was literally waiting by the window.
“I am pathetic,” she said to no one in particular.
No, she wasn’t pathetic. She was just lonely. Which was startling in its own way. She’d always been content when left to her own devices. Certainly she enjoyed gatherings with friends and family, but she’d never been the sort of person who could not get along on her own. She liked the quiet. She enjoyed solitude.
She just hadn’t realized it was possible to miss someone quite so much.
At nine that evening she was back at the window, back to feeling pathetic. To her credit, she hadn’t been there all day. After feeling sorry for herself earlier that afternoon she’d got up and found some mostly unnecessary household tasks to complete. Then she’d had her supper. She was hungry, and she knew Nicholas would not want her to wait.
But now she was back to waiting for him. The days were still growing longer; they were almost to the solstice, and the sun would not set until nearly ten. And it would not be true dark until a good hour after that. Although Scotsby was in a fairly wooded area—it did make the night seem darker than it really was.
But apparently the old saying about a watched pot was true, because the minute Georgie got up to use the chamber pot was the minute Nicholas rode into the drive, and he was already in the front hall by the time she’d come back from her room.
“You’re home!” It was all she could do not to throw herself into his arms. She would have done, had he not looked so tired.
And wet. It wasn’t raining at Scotsby, but clearly it had been somewhere between there and Edinburgh.
“I’ll have Marcy draw you a bath,” Georgie said, reaching for his hat before Wheelock-the-younger could take it. “You look terribly cold.”
“Summer in Scotland is like winter anywhere else,” Nicholas said, giving a little shiver as he shrugged off his coat.
“How was your week? Did you learn anything new?”
He looked at her with faint surprise. She supposed he was not used to such interest in his studies. “Yes, of course,” he said. “We’ve been focused on the properties of circulation primarily. Plus a bit on—”
“And did you meet with the land agent?”
Nicholas handed off his coat to Wheelock, who’d practically jumped in front of Georgie to get it. “The land agent?”
“For the house,” Georgie said.
“The house,” he repeated.
“In which we might live.”
He blinked.
She told herself that he was tired. That she must be patient. So she said, “In Edinburgh. Surely you don’t want to remain at Scotsby any longer than we must.”
“No, of course not. It’s only I hadn’t the time.”
“Oh.” Georgie followed him into the dining room. This was not what she’d been hoping to hear.
Nicholas looked around. “Is there anything to eat?”
“Yes, of course, we’ve been keeping it warm for you.” Georgie motioned to a chair. “Sit.”
He did, and she took a seat next to him. “Lamb stew,” she told him. “It’s very good. With freshly baked bread and raspberry trifle for dessert. I’m sorry I did not wait for you.”
“No, no, don’t be silly. I was delayed.”
Georgie waited while Mrs. Hibbert brought out supper. Then she waited while Nicholas ate a few bites. But then she couldn’t wait any longer. “So you didn’t even contact him?”
He looked at her blankly.
“The land agent,” she reminded him.
“Oh, yes.” He wiped his mouth. “Sorry, no.”
Georgie did her best to keep her disappointment off her face. He was busy, she reminded herself. He was learning how to save actual lives.
Nicholas reached forward and took her hand. “I’ll do it this week, I promise.”
She nodded, then managed to wait five whole seconds before asking, “Once you do contact him, how long do you think it will take to find a house?”
“I don’t know,” he said with the beginnings of impatience. “I’ve never leased a house before.”
“But didn’t your father say he was sending notice ahead? So he’ll be expecting you.”
“It’s possible.”
“Perhaps by the time you meet with him it will all be settled.”
Nicholas scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Honestly, I don’t know. I’m dead on my feet, Georgie. Can we talk about this tomorrow?”
She smiled tightly. It felt like all her smiles were tight this evening. “Of course.”
He ate, and she watched, and then, because the silence was making her itchy, she asked, “Did you learn anything new this week?”
He looked at her. “Didn’t you already ask me that?”
“You didn’t answer.”
“You didn’t give me a chance.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, unable to keep all traces of sarcasm from her voice. “I was preoccupied by the fact that you haven’t been to see the land agent.”
“I’m sorry I was too busy to see to it,” he snapped. “I spent the entire time dealing with everything I missed traveling down to Kent for you.”
There it was. The expectation of gratitude. She’d almost forgotten that she’d been waiting for it.
“Thank you for marrying me,” she said, shoving her chair back so she could stand. “I am sorry it has made your life so difficult.”
“For God’s sake, Georgie. You know that’s not what I meant.”
“I know it’s not what you thought you meant.”
“Don’t put words in my mouth,” he warned, rising to his feet.
“I knew this would happen.”
He rolled his eyes so hard she wouldn’t have been surprised if he saw his brain.
“I’m going to bed,” she said. She walked to the door, hoping he’d try to stop her, hoping he’d say something, say anything.
“Georgie, wait.”
She turned just as he laid his hand on her arm.
“I don’t want to go to bed angry,” he said.
Something inside of her softened. “Nor do I.”
“I don’t even know why we’re angry.”
She shook her head. “It’s my fault.”
“No,” he said, and his voice was firm even as his weariness seemed to cloak them both. “No, it’s not.”
“I missed you,” she said. “And I was bored. And all I wanted was to hear that I would be able to move to Edinburgh so I could be with you.”
He pulled her into his arms. “That’s all I want too.”
A part of her wanted to ask why, then, hadn’t he gone to see the land agent, but she knew that would be petty. He was exhausted, and he had every right to be.
“I don’t want you to feel grateful that I married you,” he said.
“But I do,” she admitted.
“Fine, then. Feel grateful.”
She drew back. “What?”
“If you want to feel grateful, feel grateful.”
She blinked. This was not what she’d expected him to say.
Then he took her hand and raised it to his lips. “But I get to feel grateful too.”
That was when she knew. She loved him. How could she not?
“Can we go to bed now?” he asked. “I’m so tired. I don’t even know how I’m still standing.”
She nodded, not quite capable of words. This feeling—this love—it was still too new. She needed to give it time, to see how it felt.
“Can we talk about all this in the morning?” he asked. “The house? The land agent, moving to the city? Can we talk about it all later?”
But they didn’t. Talk about it, that was. They were distracted—delightfully so, Georgie had to allow—but that meant that when Nicholas returned to Edinburgh Sunday night, nothing of import had been discussed or settled. And Georgie found herself looking ahead to another week of very little with which to occupy herself.
“There aren’t even books in this house,” she despaired to Marian two days after Nicholas had departed.
“It’s a hunting lodge,” Marian said. She looked up from the socks she was darning. “Do men read when they hunt? I thought they just went around and shot things.”
“We need books,” Georgie said. “We need books, and we need paper and ink, and honestly, I’d settle for embroidery right now.”
“There’s no thread,” Marian admitted. “None that’s suitable for more than mending. We didn’t bring any up from Kent.”
“Why not?” Georgie asked testily.
“You don’t like to embroider,” Marian reminded her.
“I was starting to like it,” Georgie grumbled. She’d liked when she’d made all those even identical stitches. That had actually been, well, maybe not fun, but certainly rewarding.
“I suppose we could pick flowers,” Marian suggested. “Orrrrrr . . . We could look for embroidery thread. Mrs. Hibbert found a bolt of muslin in the storeroom the other day. Very fine quality, and never used. Who knows what else is hiding there.”
“I don’t want to embroider,” Georgie said.
“But you just said—”
“That’s it,” Georgie announced, because the last thing she needed to hear was an accounting of all her contradictions. “We’re going shopping. First thing tomorrow.”
“In the village?” Marian gave her a dubious look. They’d been to the village. It was charming. And without shops.
“No. We’ll go to Edinburgh.”
“Us?”
“Why not? We have a carriage. We have a driver.”
“Well . . .” Marian frowned. “I don’t know. I suppose I thought we were meant to remain here.”
“Meant by whom?” Georgie retorted. “Aren’t I the lady of the house? To whom must I answer?”
“Mr. Rokesby?” Marian said.
“He’s not here.”
Georgie’s volume was such that Marian’s face took on an expression of faint alarm.
“He’s not here,” Georgie repeated, this time with a bit more modulation. “I’m in charge, and I say we are going to Edinburgh.”
“But we’ve never been to Edinburgh. Should we not go for the first time with someone who knows his way?”
“The only person we know who knows his way is Mr. Rokesby, and he’s already there. Cheer up, Marian. This will be exciting.”
But Marian did not look excited, and Georgie supposed this was understandable. Marian liked routine. It was part of the reason she and Georgie were so well suited. Until recently, Georgie’s life had been nothing but routine.
“Tomorrow, you say?” Marian said with a sigh.
“Tomorrow,” Georgie said firmly. She was feeling better already.
They left early the following day, and were at the outskirts of the city by ten in the morning.
“Oh, look, it’s the castle!” Georgie exclaimed, pointing at the grand fortress on the hill right in the middle of the city.
Marian scooted along the carriage bench to get a better look. “Oh, my,” she said with surprise. “It’s right here.” She looked over at Georgie. “Can we visit?”
“I don’t know. I think it’s used as a prison now.”
Marian gave a delicate shudder. “Perhaps not, then.”
“It may have other uses,” Georgie said. “We can find out. But we don’t have time today, anyway. We have far too much to do. Our first stop is the land agent.”
Marian turned sharply to face her. “What? You can’t do that. Not without Mr. Rokesby.”
Georgie folded her hands primly in her lap. “He has failed to do it without me, so I must take the reins.”
“Miss Georgiana”—Marian had not quite got used to referring to her as Mrs. Rokesby, and truth be told, Georgie had not quite got used to hearing herself referred to that way—“you cannot go to the land agent by yourself. It is not done.”
“It has not been done,” Georgie said with deliberate obtuseness. “That is true.”
“But—”
“Oh, look, we’re here.”
The carriage came to a halt outside a tidy office front, and Georgie waited while Jameson opened the carriage door and secured the steps.
“I’m going in,” Georgie said with steely resolve. “You may come with me, or you may remain in the carriage. But it will certainly be more proper if you come.”
Marian let out a noise that was probably meant to be a sigh. “You will be the death of me,” she muttered.
“Heavens, Marian. We’re not going into a brothel.”
Marian’s mouth pinched into a line as she looked up at the sign hanging over the door. “Is Mr. McDiarmid expecting us?”
“Likely not,” Georgie admitted. “But he will know who I am. Lord Manston has been in contact, I believe.”
“You believe.”
“I’m sure,” Georgie said, looking over her shoulder as she stepped out into the street. “It was a figure of speech.”
Marian still did not look convinced.
“He’s probably wondering what has been taking us so long,” Georgie said, giving the edges of her gloves a little tug so they fit smoothly over her fingers. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already found a house.”
“That would be exciting,” Marian allowed. “Although you wouldn’t want to try to take up residence today, would you?”
“No, no, that would be quite impossible,” Georgie said briskly. Tempting, but impossible. For now, she simply had to focus on securing a lease. Everything else would follow.
With one last look at Marian, she marched up the steps and pushed open the door. “Let’s get this done.”
“Oh, that was brilliant!” Georgie exclaimed several hours later. She and Marian had settled into a table at the White Hart—practically around the corner from the anatomical theater where Nicholas sat for his lectures—and were sharing a pot of tea. “Wasn’t it brilliant?”
Marian opened her mouth, but before she could say a word, Georgie answered herself. “It was brilliant.”
Georgie faced the nearby open window and grinned up at the sky, which rewarded her with clear blue bliss. “We have a home!”
“We have a home at Scotsby,” Marian pointed out.
“Yes, but now we have one in Edinburgh. Which makes so much more sense. Mr. Rokesby can’t be riding back and forth every day.”
“He wasn’t riding back and forth every day,” Marian said.
Georgie rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. Scotsby is beautiful, but it’s dreadfully inconvenient.” She laid a hand on her breast. “I’m a newlywed. My place is with my husband.”
“That is true,” Marian allowed. Georgie watched as she fanned herself, still trying to calm her nerves. Georgie wasn’t sure why the maid had been so overcome at the prospect of two women entering the land agent’s office; she had found it exhilarating.
Mr. McDiarmid had not wanted to lease a house to her. He hadn’t even wanted to show her a property. She needed her husband, he said. Or her father. Or her brother. Or someone who could make a decision.
“I assure you,” Georgie had said with all the ice in her veins, “I am fully capable of making a decision.”
Not that Georgie had much ice in her veins, but she’d seen her mother and Lady Manston in action. She knew how to fake it.
“Your husband will need to sign,” Mr. McDiarmid had replied, his voice as mincy as pie.
“Of course,” Georgie had sniffed. “But he is a very busy man. He has entrusted me to do all of the preliminary viewings so that he might weigh in only when truly necessary.”
Marian had almost gone and ruined the whole thing right then, coughing until her eyes watered. Fortunately Mr. McDiarmid had been distracted enough getting her something to drink that he didn’t hear Georgie when she hissed, “Stop that right now!”
Or when Marian said helplessly, “But Mr. Rokesby hasn’t entrusted you do anything.”
Honestly, Marian was the worst liar.
After another ten minutes of hemming and hawing, Mr. McDiarmid admitted that he had indeed received the request from Lord Manston, and he did have two properties in mind that might do for the young couple. But he absolutely, positively put his foot down at the idea of showing them to a lady without her husband. He absolutely, positively could not even entertain the idea until—
Georgie stood right up and announced that she would find a different agent.
It was remarkable how quickly they’d gone to see the first house after that.
Georgie had known instantly that it would not do. The floor was crooked, and it was painfully short on windows. But the second house—in the New Town Georgie had heard so much about—was perfect. Light, and airy, and ready to be leased fully furnished. The décor was not quite what Georgie would have chosen herself, but it was close enough. And if it meant she could move in sooner rather than later . . .
Blue was just as good as green for a sitting room. Honestly, she did not care.
“Have you had enough tea?” Georgie asked Marian, even though they’d barely been sitting for five minutes. “I want to go find Nicholas. Mr. McDiarmid said he can sign the lease today.”
“He’s going to be very surprised to see you,” Marian said.
“But good surprised,” Georgie said with more certitude than she actually felt. She didn’t think Nicholas would be angry that she’d taken care of the house on her own. But he might not like her coming to Edinburgh without informing him ahead of time. Men were funny that way. Still, what was done was done, and she was eager to share her news.
Mr. McDiarmid had inadvertently shown her the location of the medical school, boasting of its proximity to the houses he was showing her, and so Georgie was confident she knew where she was going as she, Marian, and Jameson made their way to Teviot Place.
Nicholas had told her about the grand anatomical theater, about the steeply tiered seats looking down at the small stage at the bottom. He’d told her that sometimes the lecturer just spoke, but sometimes there was a dead body down there, cut open for all to see.
Georgie wasn’t sure she wanted to see that, but she was eager to see the room where her husband spent so much of his time.
It wasn’t difficult to find the anatomical theater, but as it had well over a hundred men in it, all facing away from her as she peeked through the door, finding Nicholas from among the many was. Georgie was wearing a deep green day dress and a hat that wouldn’t be called fancy in any drawing room, but in this place she was decidedly out of place.
And conspicuous.
But luck was on her side. The bench just outside the door was positioned such that if she leaned over the armrest she could hear almost everything. She didn’t recognize half the words, but the context was helpful, and she was riveted.
“Did you hear that?” she whispered to Marian. Something about blood, and how much of it was in the human body.
Marian closed her eyes. “I’m trying not to.”
Georgie leaned further. Now the lecturer was talking about why blood was red, and how bloodletting was frequently essential to restore balance to the nervous system.
“The body is an animated machine!”
Georgie looked down at her hands. “I suppose,” she murmured.
“What are you doing?” Marian whispered.
Georgie shushed her, tipping her ear back to the open door. Drat, she’d missed something.
“. . . perform a variety of motions . . .”
Georgie opened and closed her hands. All right. She could accept that.
“. . . and to communicate and interact with external bodies.”
Well now, that just made her think of Nicholas.
“We’re leaving,” Marian declared.
“What? No.”
“You’re flushed. I don’t know what they are talking about in there, but I know it is not appropriate.” Marian stood up with alacrity, exchanged a few quick words with Jameson, who had been waiting on the other side of the hallway, and then ushered Georgie right out the building’s door and into the courtyard.