Page 49 of Wedding the Widow

“I am happy you will be going home at last, Georgie.” Lady Wrotham released her, peering closely into her face. “However, you do know that you are always welcome at Wrotham Park? If you ever find your circumstances as difficult as before, you must come to me and Nash. Promise me you will.”

“Of course, Charlotte.” Georgie beamed at her friend. “I don’t suppose Father has actually forgiven me. And I suspect I am in for a great deal of lectures and admonishments about being a defiant child. But I shall withstand him and write to you to put your fears at rest once I have seen him. Jemmy will be there in the beginning, so I don’t suppose Father will beat me again.”

“Georgie!” Lady Wrotham had turned quite pale.

“Georgina.” Jemmy stepped in before his sister could cause a scene. “Father has never struck you in his life.”

A puzzled gaze, wrinkled nose, and knit brows met his eyes. “Well, of course he hasn’t done it in your presence, Jemmy. I just said he wouldn’t do that with you there.”

“Georgina, when did he strike you?” Lady Wrotham’s ashen face grew even grimmer.

“When I was six years old.”

“What?” Jemmy’s jaw dropped. He shook his head to clear it. She didn’t actually mean—

“You must remember, Jemmy. I was six, and I had gone into Father’s study looking for Lucy.” Georgie nodded gravely at Lady Wrotham, whose color had come flooding back. “My King Charles spaniel. She roamed all over the castle, and I had a terrible time keeping up with her. So one day she had wandered into Father’s study—”

“Georgie, do you really think—”

“I am telling this story, Jemmy.”

“Perhaps we should go in now?” Lady Wrotham asked hopefully.

“Brack.” Lord Wrotham appeared beside the countess as if by magic. “Good to see you back.” The tall, dark-haired earl smiled easily. “Thank you so much for your assistance the other day, both with the ceremony and with Mrs. Easton. I trust she is well today?” He peered around the room.

“She left for London this afternoon, Wrotham.” Lady Wrotham placed a hand on his arm. “I was just saying perhaps we should go in to dinner?”

“What about my father beating me?”

In the shocked silence that ensued, Jemmy cursed under his breath. His sister might yet make an actress with her perfect sense of the dramatic.

“I beg your pardon, Georgie.” Wrotham seemed to land on his feet first. “Your father did what?” His mouth drew into a straight line so taut his lips disappeared.

“It’s not what it sounds like, my lord.” Jemmy shot a stern glance at his sister. He must take control of the situation before his father’s reputation was sullied needlessly. The marquess was guilty of many things, but not this one.

“Did your father beat her, Brack?” The narrowed dark gaze sent a qualm of unease down Jemmy’s spine. He’d not like to meet those eyes over a brace of dueling pistols.

“No, he didn’t.”

“Oh, yes he did, Jemmy.” Georgie flew at him, insistent as a sparrow.

“When did this happen?” Wrotham’s face had darkened like a thundercloud.

“When she was six years old.” Jemmy sighed. Georgie was currently more in danger of him beating her than their father.

“Six years . . . I thought you were away to Blackham yesterday?” The earl’s face had cleared into a confused frown.

“Mrs. Easton and I were. Georgina has not seen our father for some three years. The incident of which she was speaking to Lady Wrotham occurred when Georgie was six. It was a mere nothing.”

“He beat me.” Georgie’s insistent voice had the complete attention of Lord and Lady Wrotham.

“He swatted your derriere once, Georgie.”

“It still hurt very badly, and Lucy had to defend me.”

“Lucy?” Wrotham looked as though he wasn’t quite sure if he should laugh or growl.

“My King Charles spaniel.” Georgie smiled brilliantly. “She was the sweetest thing. No one could raise a hand to me while she was around or she’d growl and snarl and make a proper fuss.”