The English Wife by Lauren Willig

Author:Lauren Willig
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press

FIFTEEN

Tarrytown, 1894

October

“Annabelle? Annabelle.”

Georgie struggled out of the darkness with a sick feeling in her stomach and the sense that something was very wrong.

Stop calling me that, she wanted to say. I’m not. I’m not. Don’t you know who I am? But her tongue felt thick and fuzzy, and moving made her want to retch.

A voice she recognized now, low, a whisper. “Georgie!”

And then a horrible stench that made her cough and start, flailing against a soft surface that only billowed around her when she tried to push against it.

“Stop that!” Georgie blinked open her stinging eyes to see Bay bending over her, one hand chafing her wrist, the other holding a vinaigrette, reeking of brimstone.

“You’re awake,” said Bay with almost comical relief. His face was a study in relief—but also something furtive, apprehensive.

Why should he … and then Georgie remembered. She remembered the garden and Charlie. And Bay.

“Get that thing away,” Georgie rasped, pushing the vinaigrette away.

The walls around her were papered with blue flowers. They bloomed improbably over the counterpane covering her. She was still in her dress beneath it, her stays loosened, but not removed. The ends of her stays poked uncomfortably into her hips.

Bay sat down abruptly on the bed beside her. He smiled unsteadily, reaching out to smooth the hair away from her face. “It’s only smelling salts.”

Georgie flinched away from his touch. “It smells like the devil’s own breath.”

Someone made a harrumphing noise. Georgie looked up to find her mother-in-law standing in the doorway, surveying the scene with displeasure.

Bay rose hastily, extending the vinaigrette to his mother. “Thank you for the vinaigrette, Mother. Would you mind returning it to Mrs. Newland?”

Mrs. Van Duyvil did not appreciate being dismissed. Ignoring her son, she said to Georgie, “You have caused a great deal of bother.”

Bay rubbed his tired eyes. “Hardly that, Mother. Only Charlie…”—was it Georgie’s imagination, or did Bay stumble over the name?—“only Charlie Ogden saw, and he certainly won’t go spreading stories.”

“If he won’t, his sister will.” Mrs. Van Duyvil looked pointedly at her son. “She’s spread enough rumors already.”

Rumors about … but no. Mrs. Van Duyvil wasn’t thinking about that. She hadn’t seen what Georgie had seen. Georgie felt a crazy urge to laugh. The rumors about Bay and Anne seemed a lifetime ago, entirely inconsequential.

“You might,” said Mrs. Van Duyvil to Georgie, “have shown the prudence to find a place of privacy before succumbing to the vapors.”

Georgie levered herself up on her elbows, saying hoarsely, “In the future, I will endeavor to save all swoons for more convenient locations.”

Bay stepped between the bed and his mother. “It will only cause more talk if we’re all gone. Someone from the family needs to see Anne off.”

Mrs. Van Duyvil nodded, tight-lipped, and retreated, vinaigrette in hand.

Bay sat on the edge of the bed, his hand near, but not touching Georgie’s. “She doesn’t mean to be unkind. She’s upset about Anne’s marriage. If you hadn’t been ill, it would have been something else.”

Why in the devil were they talking about his mother? She didn’t care about his mother.

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