“I’m sorry,” Georgiana said slowly. “I thought you just asked me to marry you.”
Nicholas’s mouth moved in an odd manner, as if he didn’t quite understand what she’d said. “I did.”
She blinked. “That’s not funny, Nicholas.”
“It wasn’t meant to be funny. It was meant to be a proposal of marriage.”
She stared at him. He didn’t look as if he’d been struck by a temporary bout of insanity. “But why?”
Now he was looking at her as if she had been the one struck by a temporary bout of insanity. “Why do you think?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Most of the time marriage is proposed because two human beings have fallen in love with one another, but since we both know that isn’t true . . .”
Nicholas let out an impatient snort. “First of all, you know damn well that most of the time the two human beings are not in love, and—”
“This human being would like to be,” she snapped.
“So would this human being,” he snapped right back, “but alas, we don’t always get what we want.”
Georgie felt herself nod. It was all beginning to make sense. “So,” she said, “you’re asking out of pity.”
“Friendship.”
“Pity,” she corrected. Because that’s what it was. That’s all it could be. A man didn’t abandon his studies and travel for ten days just to make a kind gesture to a friend.
He didn’t love her. They both knew that.
And then she realized. “Oh my God,” she said with a horrified gasp. “This is why you came down from Scotland. It was because of me.”
He did not meet her eyes.
“How did you even know what had happened to me?” she asked. Had the gossip reached Scotland? How far would she need to travel to escape it? North America? Brazil?
“My father,” Nicholas said.
“Your father?” she choked out. “Your father told you? What, in a letter? The Earl of Manston has nothing better to put in a letter to his youngest son than the tale of my ruin?”
“Georgie, it wasn’t like that. I didn’t even know the details until yesterday.”
“So then what did he say?”
But she knew. She knew before Nicholas could reply, and then it became clear that he wasn’t going to reply. Because he was embarrassed. And that made her furious because he had no right to feel embarrassed. He didn’t get to blush and look at his feet when he had rained such complete mortification down on her. If he was going to do this to her, then damn him he had to take it like a stoic and watch.
She couldn’t stay still any longer. She jumped to her feet and began pacing back and forth, hugging her arms to her body. Tight . . . so tightly, as if she could hold her emotions inside with brute force.
“Oh no oh no oh no oh no,” she said to herself. Was this what her life had come to? Men were being begged to marry her?
Or bribed? Was Nicholas being bribed to ask for her hand? Had her dowry been doubled to sweeten the pot?
Her parents—they had promised they wouldn’t force her to marry Freddie Oakes, but they’d also made it clear they didn’t want her to choose the life of a spinster.
Had they asked Lord Manston to call Nicholas down from school? Did everyone know? Were they all plotting behind her back?
“Georgie, stop.” Nicholas grasped her arm, but she shook him off, casting a quick glance toward the lake to make sure Anthony and Benedict weren’t watching.
“It wasn’t even your idea, was it?” she whispered hotly. “Your father summoned you.”
He looked away. The aggravating little weasel, he couldn’t even meet her eyes.
“He asked you to ask me,” Georgie said with growing horror. Her hands covered her face. It had been bad enough that Freddie Oakes had tried to haul her off to Gretna Green, but this—this—
It was the pity. That was what she could not bear.
She had not done anything wrong.
She should not be pitied. She should be admired. A man had kidnapped her. Kidnapped her! And she’d got away.
Why wasn’t that something to celebrate?
There should be parties in her honor. A gala parade. Look at the brave and intrepid Georgiana Bridgerton! She fought for her freedom and won!
When men did that entire countries were created.
“Georgie,” Nicholas said, and his voice was awful. Condescending and superior and all those things men were when they thought they were dealing with a hysterical female.
“Georgie,” he said again, and she realized that actually his voice wasn’t any of those things. But she didn’t care. Nicholas Rokesby had known her his entire life. He didn’t want to marry her. He felt sorry for her.
Then she nearly choked on her thoughts. Because she knew Lord Manston. He was her godfather, her own father’s closest friend. And she’d seen him with his sons often enough to know exactly how the conversation must have gone.
He had not asked Nicholas to marry her.
She forced herself to look at him. “Your father ordered you to marry me, didn’t he?”
“No,” he said, but she could tell he was lying. He’d never been a good liar. She couldn’t imagine why his father thought he could fake his way through a proposal of marriage.
Honestly, he was the worst.
“He can’t order me to marry you,” Nicholas said somewhat stiffly. “I’m a grown man.”
She scoffed. “Some grown man. Your father sent for you and you came trotting down like a good little boy.”
“Stop it,” he snapped.
“Don’t pretend any of this is your idea. You are doing nothing but your father’s bidding.”
“I am doing you a favor!”
Georgie gasped.
“I didn’t mean it that way,” Nicholas said quickly.
“Oh, I know how you meant it.”
“Georgie—”
“Consider this a refusal,” she said, each word a little snip of fury.
“You’re saying no.” He didn’t ask it like a question. It was more of a statement of disbelief.
“Of course I’m saying no. How can you possibly think I would accept such an offer?”
“Because it would be the reasonable thing to do.”
“Because it would be the reasonable thing to do,” she scoffed. “Were you laughing at me?”
He grabbed her arm. “You know that we weren’t.”
“I can’t believe this,” she ground out, yanking herself from his grasp. “Do you understand— No, you couldn’t possibly understand what it feels like to be so utterly without choices.”
“You think not?”
“Oh, you think this”—she waved her arm wildly—“this counts as having no choice? Being ordered to marry me? At least you get to feel good about yourself.”
“I feel splendid right now, let me tell you.”
“You get to call yourself a hero, saving poor little ruined Georgiana Bridgerton. Whereas I—I get to decide between the man who ruined me and a man who pities me.”
“I don’t pity you.”
“But you don’t love me.”
He looked ready to tear his hair out. “Do you want me to?”
“No!”
“Then for the love of God, Georgie, what is the problem? I’m trying to help.”
She crossed her arms. “I am not a charity. I don’t want to be your good works.”
“Do you think I wanted to sacrifice my life for you?”
Oh, that stung.
“I didn’t mean it that way,” Nicholas said quickly.
Her brows rose. “That’s the second time you’ve had to make that statement in the past few minutes.”
He cursed under his breath, and she was shallow enough that she took pleasure in his discomfort.
“I hereby release you from all obligation,” she said in her most annoyingly supercilious voice. “You asked. I said no. You have done your duty.”
“It is not my duty,” he bit off. “It is my choice.”
“Even better. That means you will respect my choice. To say no.”
He took a breath. “You are not thinking clearly.”
“I’m not thinking clearly?” God help a man who told a woman she was not thinking clearly. Freddie Oakes had said the same thing in the carriage heading north to Gretna Green. If Georgie heard it one more time, she wasn’t sure she could answer to the consequences.
“Keep your voice down,” Nicholas hissed. He jerked his head toward Anthony and Benedict, who had halted their games and were now looking their way.
“Did you find more worms?” Georgie called out. She had no idea how she managed to sound so cheerful. She didn’t sound so cheerful when she was cheerful.
“No,” Anthony said, but he looked suspicious. “They’re not fun if they don’t bother anyone.”
“Right, well, carry on then.” She smiled so broadly her cheeks hurt.
“You’re going to injure yourself,” Nicholas muttered.
“Shut up and smile so they stop looking at us.”
“You look deranged.”
“I feel deranged,” she practically hissed. “Which should worry you.”
He held up his hands and took a step back, a motion so patronizing she nearly went for his throat.
“Aunt Georgie, why do you look like you’re going to strike Uncle Nicholas?”
Georgie froze, only then realizing she’d made a fist. “I’m not going to strike anyone,” she said to Benedict, who was regarding her with undisguised curiosity. “And he’s not your uncle.”
“He’s not?” Benedict looked from Nicholas to Georgie and back again. He opened his mouth, closed it, and then turned back to Georgie, this time with a slightly suspicious expression. “Are you sure?”
Georgie planted one of her hands on her chest. This had to be some sort of elaborate practical joke. Even Shakespeare could not have conceived of such a farce.
“Papa says we should call him Uncle Nicholas,” Benedict said, his little nose wrinkling. “I know Mummy told us we’re to mind you this morning, but I can’t go against my father.”
“Of course not,” Georgie said.
Meanwhile, Nicholas was standing off to the side, doing a terrible job at hiding his amusement.
“You must do as your father says,” she said to Benedict.
He nodded. “I think Uncle Nicholas should be my uncle.”
Georgie wanted to scream. Even the children were conspiring against her.
“Uncle George is Uncle Nicholas’s brother,” Benedict explained, “so it only makes sense that he’s our uncle too.”
“Uncle George is your uncle because he is married to Aunt Billie,” Georgie explained. “And Aunt Billie is your aunt because she is your father’s older sister.”
Benedict stared up at her with huge, unblinking eyes. “I know.”
“A person isn’t your uncle just because his brother is.”
Benedict considered this for about half a second. “But a person can be your uncle if his brother is.”
“It’s like squares and rectangles,” Anthony interjected, with all the authority of an oldest child. “All squares are rectangles, but not all rectangles are squares.”
Benedict scratched his head. “What about circles?”
“What about circles?” Anthony countered.
Benedict looked up. “Aunt Georgie?”
She shook her head. This, she could not handle right now. No one should have to deal with an unwanted marriage proposal and geometry in the same morning.
“You don’t know anything about circles,” Anthony said.
Benedict crossed his arms. “Yes, I do.”
“If you did, you wouldn’t have asked about them, because they have nothing to do with—”
“Boys, stop,” Georgie ordered. “Now.”
“He does this all the time,” Benedict protested. “He thinks because he’s bigger than me—”
“I am bigger than you.”
“Not forever you’re not.”
“Says who?”
“Says me!”
“Stop!” Georgie yelled.
“I hate you,” Benedict seethed.
Anthony stuck out his tongue. “I hate you more.”
“Boys, stop this at once,” Nicholas said sternly.
God above, if they listened to Nicholas when they wouldn’t listen to her, Georgie was going to scream.
“He started it!” Benedict whined.
“I did not! You asked about circles!”
“Because I wanted to know about them!”
“Enough!” Nicholas put his hand on Benedict’s shoulder, but the little boy yanked himself away.
And Georgie’s faith in the universe was restored. Nicholas wasn’t having any success at managing them, either.
Benedict stamped his foot. “Anthony Bridgerton, I hate you the most.” And then he drew back his fist.
Georgie leapt forward. “Do not hit your brother!”
But Benedict had no intention of hitting his brother. Instead, his little hand swung through the air, releasing a heretofore unnoticed patty of pure lakefront mud.
It would have hit Anthony in the face if Georgie had not tried to intervene.
Anthony gasped with pure schadenfreude as it slopped down on Georgie’s shoulder. “Oh, Benedict,” he breathed. “You are going to be in so much trouble.”
“Benedict!” Nicholas said sternly.
“I didn’t mean to!” Benedict cried. “I was aiming for Anthony.”
Nicholas took him by the upper arm, pulling him a step back for a scolding. “That does not make it any better.”
And then Georgie—honestly, she could not say what came over her. She would never know what mad devil plucked her hand from her side. It was like she’d been attacked by malevolent marionette strings.
She scooped the mud from her shoulder and let fly.
Right into Nicholas’s neck.
“I was aiming for Benedict,” she said sweetly.
Then she made the mistake of looking at the boys. They were staring at her with identical expressions—eyes wide, mouths wider—and then Benedict said in almost reverent tones, “Aunt Georgie, you are going to be in so much trouble.”
Nicholas—damn him—swooped in to save the day. “Boys,” he said with deceptive calm, “I think your aunt isn’t feeling well.”
Georgie would have snapped, “I’m fine,” except that she wasn’t fine, and she wanted this to be over more than she wanted to prove him wrong.
“Run along home,” Nicholas said to the boys. “We will be right behind you.”
“Is Benedict in trouble?” Anthony asked hopefully.
“No one is in trouble.”
“Is Aunt Georgie in trouble?”
“Home,” Nicholas said sharply.
They took one look at his face and started to run.
Georgie grit her teeth. “I’m sorry about the mud.”
“No you’re not.”
“You’re right. I’m not.”
His brows rose. “That was a refreshingly quick capitulation.”
“I’m not a good liar.”
“Neither am I,” he said with a shrug.
“Yes, I know.”
Then his mouth started to twitch, and by God, that was the final straw.
“Don’t laugh,” she practically growled.
“I’m not.”
Her eyes narrowed.
Nicholas looked like he might throw his hands in the air. “I’m not! Believe me, I find no humor here.”
“I think you should—”
“Although I am flattered that Edmund has granted me uncle status.”
He wanted to laugh. She was sure of it.
“Stop looking so self-righteous,” Nicholas said testily. “We’re both covered in mud.”
She gave him one long stare and then marched away.
“Georgie, stop!” He caught up instantly. “We are not finished.”
“I am,” she ground out. She was done. “You can tell your father,” she said, each syllable more clipped than the last, “that you have done your duty and asked me to marry you. And then you can tell him that I said no.”
“You’re not thinking.”
“Don’t you dare.” She stepped forward, jabbing her finger toward him. She poked it through the air, and then she poked him right in the chest. “Don’t you ever tell me I don’t know my own mind. Do you hear me?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Again! Do you hear yourself? If you have to say ‘that’s not what I meant’ three times in a single conversation, perhaps you should consider the inclarity of your words.”
“Inclarity?” he repeated.
Now he was correcting her grammar? Georgie wanted to scream. “I think you should go,” she said, trying for a hushed tone. The boys weren’t that far ahead of them on the path.
“At least let me—”
She thrust one of her arms out, vaguely in the direction of Crake. “Go!”
Nicholas crossed his arms and looked her hard and square in the eye. “No.”
She drew back. “What?”
“No,” he said again. “I’m not going to go. Not until I am convinced that you have actually heard what I’ve had to say.”
“Will. You. Marry. Me,” she said, ticking the words off on her fingers. “I heard you quite clearly.”
“Don’t be deliberately obtuse, Georgiana. It does not become you.”
She stepped forward. “When did you become so condescending?”
He stepped forward. “When did you become so short-sighted and full of pride?”
At this point they were nearly nose to nose, and Georgie was seething. “A gentleman would accept a lady’s refusal with grace.”
He countered with, “A lady would consider the proposal before rejecting it out of hand.”
“That’s not what I’m doing.”
“I am not asking you to marry me because I pity you,” he said in a furiously tight voice. “I am asking because I have known you for as long as I have known my own memory. I like you, Georgiana. You are a good person, and you do not deserve to spend the rest of your life in isolation because of the misguided actions of a jackass.”
Her comeback died in her throat. Because now she felt like a jackass.
A jackass who had no idea what to say.
She swallowed, hating that the lump in her throat tasted like tears. Hating that he didn’t understand why she was so angry. And hating that he was actually a good person and he still didn’t understand.
But most of all, she hated that she’d fallen into this awful position where someone could make a kind gesture, born of nothing but care and good intentions, and all she wanted to do was scream.
“Thank you, Nicholas,” she said, picking through her words with careful cadence. “It was very thoughtful of you to ask.”
“Thoughtful,” he repeated, and she got the feeling that he was startled by the milkish, nondescript word.
“The answer is still no,” she said. “You don’t need to save me.”
He bristled. “That’s not what I’m doing.”
“Isn’t it?”
He stared at her for a moment before capitulating. “Yes, fine, I suppose it is, but it’s you, Georgie.”
“Me?”
“You must know I wouldn’t do it for anyone else.”
Her heart pricked. She wanted to cry. She wanted to cry so hard and she didn’t know why. Or maybe it was that there were simply too many reasons and the prospect of sifting through them made her want to cry the hardest of all.
She shook her head. “Did it ever occur to you that I don’t want to spend the rest of my life feeling grateful?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It wouldn’t be like that.”
“You can’t know that.”
He didn’t quite roll his eyes, but she could tell he wanted to. “You can’t know the opposite,” he said.
She took a steadying breath. “I can’t be your sacrifice.”
“That’s absurd.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. That’s absurd.” Her voice turned to steel. “Kindly do me the honor of not disparaging my every word.”
He gaped at her. “You know—”
Georgie waited, breath held, as he turned on his heel and took a step away from her. Every line of his body was rigid with frustration—or maybe fury—even as he whirled back around. “Forget I said anything,” he said hotly. “Forget I tried to be a friend. Forget you’re in a difficult spot. Forget I tried to give you a way out.”
He started to walk away, but she could not bear to see him leave in such a temper, so she called out, “Don’t be like that, Nicholas. It’s not about you.”
He turned around. “What did you just say?” he asked, his voice chillingly soft.
She blinked with confusion. “I said it’s not about you,” she repeated.
And then he just laughed. He laughed so uproariously that Georgie couldn’t think of a thing to say. She just stood there like an idiot, wondering what on earth had led to this moment.
“Do you know,” he said, wiping his eyes, “that is exactly what my father said.”
She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“No. Neither did he.” He stopped and bowed; they had reached the spot where the path broke in two. One way to the house, the other to the stables, where she presumed he had left his mount. “I bid you good day.”
Good day, indeed.