George Morland

George Morland had left the house before dawn because he wanted, for once, to hear nothing.

No aunt reminding him that a man of twenty-nine ought to have married years ago. No letters from London. No invitations. No well-meaning acquaintance carefully mentioning a daughter, niece or cousin of suitable age and family. No discussion of duty beyond the duties he already performed perfectly well. He had wanted only the cold air, the quiet park and the familiar route around the lake before the household woke.

Instead, he found a woman drowning in it.

By the time he carried her through the east entrance of Morland Hall, whatever peace the morning had promised was gone entirely. His boots were soaked, the lower half of his riding coat was heavy with muddy water and the muscles in his arms had begun to ache from the awkward effort of keeping her head supported against his shoulder. She had not properly regained consciousness since he dragged her onto the bank. Once, while he was carrying her back towards the house, she had made a faint sound and turned her face against the wool of his coat, but otherwise she had remained limp and frighteningly cold.

That should have inspired sympathy.

It did, to an extent.

It also irritated him immensely.

The private lake lay well within Morland land, far from the public road and screened on most sides by woodland, pasture and an old stone wall. No respectable traveller reached it accidentally. No carriage could have come close without using one of the estate roads, and no servant had been seen running for help. Yet here she was, alone, expensively dressed and half-drowned in the precise part of the park George used most mornings.

He disliked coincidences.

He disliked them even more when they appeared designed to involve him personally.

The east door opened before he reached it. Parker, the youngest of the footmen, stared openly for a fraction too long before remembering himself.

"If you intend to stand there gawping," George said, his voice clipped from cold and temper, "you might at least do it while holding the door."

Parker moved at once. "Yes, sir."

George stepped into the entrance hall, bringing a trail of lake water with him. The warmth inside made the cold in his clothes suddenly more noticeable. Beeswax, old timber and the faint remains of last night's fire filled the air, while from the back of the house came the first smells of bread and coffee from the kitchens. Morland Hall was only just waking, but within seconds the sight of its master carrying an unconscious woman into the house began drawing servants from adjoining passages with the efficiency of a bell.

Mrs Ellison appeared first, her cap slightly crooked from being put on in haste. Behind her came a maid and another footman, both doing an admirable job of pretending not to stare.

George stopped in the middle of the hall.

"Mrs Ellison, prepare the blue room. A fire, hot water, blankets and dry clothing. Send Lucy to attend her."

The housekeeper's eyes moved briefly over the woman in his arms. Her gaze paused at the strange cut of the soaked clothing, particularly the fabric moulded closely to her legs, then returned to George with professional restraint.

"Shall I send for Doctor Hargreaves, sir?"

"Yes. He may wait downstairs unless she worsens before waking."

Mrs Ellison nodded, but George did not let her turn away.

"And this goes no further."

The servants nearest him became still.

George's tone lowered.

"No one discusses what happened at the lake. No one describes how she was dressed. No one speculates about who she might be. If I hear the story repeated in the village by tomorrow morning, I shall assume someone in this hall values gossip more than employment."

Parker looked as though he had suddenly become fascinated by the floor.

Mrs Ellison remained calm. "I understand, sir."

"I hope everyone does."

George continued towards the staircase. Mrs Ellison followed at his side while the other servants hurried ahead to open the guest room.

"If you wish," she said quietly, "Thomas can carry her upstairs."

"No."

The answer came too quickly.

Mrs Ellison glanced at him.

George immediately regretted the sharpness of it. "She has nearly drowned. I am not handing her over halfway up a staircase merely for the sake of appearances."

Mrs Ellison's expression suggested that appearances were rapidly becoming relevant whether he liked it or not.

George ignored that.

The woman shifted slightly as he reached the landing. Her head moved against his shoulder and a shiver passed through her hard enough for him to feel it through both their clothes. His irritation receded for a moment.

"More blankets," he said.

"Already being brought."

"And warm bricks, wrapped properly."

"Yes, sir."

He carried her through the east wing and into the blue room, where servants were already stirring a reluctant fire into life. The chamber smelled of chimney dust, lavender and cold linen. Morning light seeped through the tall windows, pale and grey beneath the autumn clouds, while mist beyond the glass softened the lawns and trees into colourless shapes.

George lowered her onto the bed himself.

Only once her weight left his arms did he realise how tightly he had been holding himself. He straightened slowly, flexed one hand and stepped back as Lucy approached with dry linen and one of Eleanor's older morning gowns.

"Remove the wet things," he said. "Everything. Get her warm first and worry about propriety afterwards."

Lucy's eyes widened.

Mrs Ellison gave him a look.

George closed his own eyes briefly. "You know perfectly well what I mean."

"Of course, sir."

He turned towards the fire while the women began their work, intending to leave. Instead, he found himself looking back.

The clothing bothered him.

Even soaked through, it was too precisely made to belong to someone poor. The fabric was unlike anything he recognised, but the finish was extraordinary. The seams were neat, the material smooth and the strange footwear, while ugly by any standard he possessed, appeared constructed with considerable skill.

A woman of means.

That conclusion remained the only one that made sense.

Which made her presence here less innocent, not more.

George folded his arms.

"Where are the things she carried?"

Mrs Ellison gestured to a small table near the window. "There, sir."

He did not inspect them closely. He saw enough to confirm only that they were unfamiliar and finely made. That was sufficient for now.

What mattered was the woman herself.

The maid drew the blankets higher. Colour had begun to return faintly to her face, though her skin remained pale and damp. Her breathing was steadier.

George should have left.

He did not.

Mrs Ellison noticed.

"Would you prefer to wait downstairs, sir?"

"No."

Her brows lifted slightly.

"I want to speak to her when she wakes."

"If she is confused, it may be better to give her time."

George's expression hardened. "If she is confused, she may explain why she was trespassing in my lake before breakfast."

Mrs Ellison looked towards the bed.

"She was drowning, sir."

"That does not explain how she arrived there."

The housekeeper said nothing.

George paced once towards the window and back. Outside, mist still clung to the park. Somewhere beyond the trees lay the lake, hidden from view. His groom had already been sent back to search the roads and nearby tracks for any sign of a carriage or companion. George expected him to find something.

He needed him to find something.

Because the alternative was ridiculous.

A wealthy young woman did not simply emerge alone inside private land.

Not unless she had meant to be there.

And if she had meant to be there, George knew exactly the kind of game that might explain it.

He had seen enough manoeuvring in London to understand how quickly an engineered encounter could become obligation. A compromising scene. A witness. A rumour. A gentleman's honour converted neatly into a proposal.

This was simply a more theatrical version.

The thought made him colder than the lake had.

He looked back at the bed.

"How old would you say she is?"

Mrs Ellison frowned. "Sir?"

"Approximately."

"Young. Mid-twenties perhaps."

George's mouth tightened.

Of course.

Young, wealthy, unmarried by appearance and discovered alone with him.

Perfect.

He almost laughed.

Not because it was amusing.

Because the brazenness of it was extraordinary.

Lucy finished arranging the borrowed gown and stepped back. The transformation made the stranger look more comprehensible, though not entirely. Eleanor's dress softened the strangeness of her appearance, but there remained something wrong in the way she occupied the bed, something George could not name.

Then her breathing changed.

Mrs Ellison noticed first.

"Sir."

George turned.

The woman's brow tightened and her fingers moved faintly against the blanket. A moment later, her eyes opened.

George watched awareness return slowly.

The ceiling first, perhaps. The unfamiliar room. The fire. The women beside the bed.

Then him.

He was standing at the foot of the mattress, still damp from the lake, dressed in ruined riding clothes and looking at her as though she had personally inconvenienced the natural order.

For a brief moment, he said nothing.

He had intended to be restrained.

Civil.

Measured.

Then he remembered the lake, the private grounds, the absence of carriage or servant and the weeks he had just endured being told he needed a wife.

His patience failed almost immediately.

"I hope," George said, his voice very controlled, "that whatever outcome you expected from this morning was worth nearly drowning for."

Mrs Ellison went still.

Lucy looked at him in horror.

George did not take his eyes off the woman.

He stepped closer to the bed.

"You were found before sunrise in a lake situated well inside private land, without a carriage, servant, companion or any apparent means of having reached it. My staff have seen me carry you into this house unconscious and improperly dressed, and by the end of the day I will be fortunate if the entire county has not invented a reason for it."

His expression hardened.

"If your intention was to manufacture circumstances in which my honour might obligate me to offer marriage, you have badly misjudged both the method and the man."

Mrs Ellison made a small sound behind him.

George ignored it.

"I will provide you with dry clothes, food and whatever medical attention you require. I will also see that no one speaks publicly of what happened this morning. But if you or your family imagined that scandal would force my hand, allow me to save us both considerable time."

His grey-brown eyes fixed on hers with cold certainty.

"I will not marry you."