Eleven Scandals to Start to Win a Duke's Heart
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But he would be damned if he would give her up.
He’d found her.
And he wanted a lifetime with her.
“At least give Penelope the opportunity to choose, Simon.” She watched him carefully, taking in his anguish. His conflict. “She deserves a chance to choose. And God knows you and Juliana deserve the chance at happiness.”
That part, at least, was true. Hope flared. “Do you think there is a chance that Penelope will release me?”
Georgiana smiled, and there was something in her eyes—a knowledge that he did not entirely understand. “I do.”
They fell silent, and he watched Caroline, asleep on his sister’s shoulder, her little mouth making soft, sweet motions while she dreamed. And he imagined another child, with dark hair and sapphire eyes, asleep on her mother’s shoulder.
He closed his eyes at the image, longing spiraling sharp and deep.
He wanted that child. He wanted that family.
Wanted their life to begin.
Immediately.
But first, he owed his sister an apology. “I made a mistake with you as well.”
“Only one?” He scowled, and she grinned. “To which mistake do you refer?”
“I should not have left you here. In Yorkshire.”
Georgiana considered the words for a long while. “I wanted to be here.”
“Yes. And you could have stayed here. But I should not have left when I did. The way I did. I should have been more concerned for you. And less for the scandal.” He went to the window and looked out over the heath. “I cannot change it. But I am sorry.”
“Thank you,” she said, simply, and he was struck by how she had grown, by the young woman she had become.
“I wish I could have fixed it. I wish you would tell me who—”
She stopped him. “He is gone.”
“I could find him. We could still repair this damage.”
“You could not find him,” she said. “Simon, I am beyond repair. Surely you must see that.”
Frustration flared in him, the urge to protect her undeniable. “It’s not true. So we are too late to find a man to claim the child . . . but you are the daughter of a duke. We could surely find a man to wed you. To be a good husband to you. A good father to Caroline.”
“Stop.” He watched as she stroked one hand down the baby’s back, an instinctive, soothing touch.
“You think you can stay here in this little corner of England for the rest of your lives? What will happen when Caroline is old enough to understand? How will you answer her questions about who she is? Where she came from? What will happen when this is discovered? I cannot hide you forever, Georgiana.”
Georgiana met his gaze, firm and unwavering. “I never asked you to hide us. Indeed, I would prefer not to be hidden. My reputation is ruined, Simon. You can try all you like to change such a thing, but the die has been cast.”
The words were so simple, as he imagined the truth often was.
“You deserve—”
“I deserve to be a mother. I deserve to raise a child who is healthy and strong and who knows that she is loved. God knows we did not have such a thing.”
“I want you to be happy,” he said.
Funny, how he had never given happiness much thought until recently. Until Juliana.
Georgiana smiled. “And I will be, in time. But not in the way you had planned.”
The irony of the situation was not lost on him. She was sister to one of the most powerful men in England. And still, with all his concern for reputation and honor, he could not change the course of her life. He could not restore her reputation or stop the gossip that would eventually find her—find them all—but he could give her his support. And he could give her his love.
“Georgiana,” he said, his words thick with promise. “Whatever you want. Whatever you decide. It is yours. You and Caroline—I shall stand beside you.”
“Are you certain you wish to tempt fate in such a manner?”
One side of his mouth lifted in a half smile. “I am.”
“I ask because the sentiment may be tested sooner rather than later.”
He narrowed his gaze on her. “What does that mean?”
“Only that I wish for one of us to have our happy ever after, Simon. And since it cannot be me, it shall have to be you.”
Juliana.
She was his happiness. She was his passion.
And he could no longer live this passionless life.
He had to go after her. Now.
He stood and moved toward his sister and niece. Bending low, he placed a kiss on the top of Caroline’s head and another on Georgiana’s cheek. “I must go. I must get her back.”
Georgiana smiled. “Mother will be furious.”
Simon lifted a brow. “Mother will make an excellent dowager.”
She laughed. “Tell me you plan to put her out to pasture.”
“It is not an impossibility,” he tossed over one shoulder, heading for the door, thinking only of Juliana.
“Simon?” his sister called.
He turned back, eager to follow his love.
Eager to begin his life.
“Your betrothal gift is already on its way to London.” Her face split in a wide grin. “Give Mother my regards.”
Chapter Nineteen
Reputation is all any woman can claim.
The refined lady protects hers at all cost.
—A Treatise on the Most Exquisite of Ladies
There are times when the source of the scandal surprises even us . . .
—The Scandal Sheet, November 1823
Juliana went straight to see her mother.
It was late in the evening, long past an appropriate time to make or receive calls, as she stood in the beautiful receiving room of Nick and Isabel’s London town house, filled with Greek and Roman marbles collected during Nick’s time abroad, and waited for her mother to join her.