Page 11 of The Colonist’s Petition (Heirs & Heroes #2)

“I believe he thinks that I am your valet.”

“My valet? That could prove interesting.

Georgiana told me he does not intend to visit with me for a while, which suits me fine.

Although he has upset her by putting a guest in her mother's room, he forgets I own this estate and he is only a caretaker.

There will be no guest staying in my daughter's room. Especially not the mistress who broke her heart. For I can think of no one else Felton would want in an adjacent room. There is not a single widow of means in the ton that will even look his direction.”

What sort of man brought his mistress into the house where his children lived?

What family spoke openly of such a woman?

That was worse than Mr. Hamilton publishing his letters in the Reynolds pamphlet, was it not?

If gossip here was anything like it was at home, the whole of the county would learn that the mistress was here.

That could not possibly reflect well on his cousins.

Johnathan did not make any comment, as it was not his place.

The earl beckoned him. “Well, do come in. I will deal with that woman if she comes. How was your apple picking?”

As they conversed, a palpable tension rose in the house, carried in first by the servant who brought in tea. It grew with the sound of each door shutting or footfall in the corridor.

The rantings of Sir Lightwood through the door of the library reached them moments before the man threw the door open with such force that it banged upon the wall. “See here, old man, I can put my guests wherever I choose to.”

“Felton, you forget I own this property, not you. You live here out of my goodwill. And if, as I suspect, you have brought your mistress here, the last place she will stay is in my daughter's room. Unless you have gone and married the woman.”

Sir Lightwood scoffed. “Married? Why would I marry her?”

“Why would you bring her into your house?”

“That is none of your business.” Sir Lightwood leaned menacingly over the desk where the earl sat.

The earl looked as if the invasion of his person meant nothing. “I am afraid it is very much my business. I remind you the only reason you are allowed to continue our agreement made upon your marriage is for my granddaughters’ sake.”

“I spend enough time here.”

“Really? How many bushels of wheat did the farm yield this year?”

Sir Lightwood stepped back from the desk. “I do not know. I have yet to meet with my steward.”

“You mean my steward. And Georgiana knows. If you would take time to be a proper caretaker of what you have been entrusted you would know that.”

“Of course Georgiana knows. You allow her to go gallivanting around the fields when you are in residence.” Sir Lightwood paused his rant to glare at Johnathan. “What is your valet doing here? My servants know better.”

The earl nodded at Johnathan. “Mr. Whittaker is not my valet. He is my cousin.”

“What kind of cousin?” Sir Lightwood’s eyes narrowed.

“One of close relation.”

It was as if the world stopped in that moment, and no sound could be heard for the distance of an eternity.

Jane jumped—a needle pricking her finger—when their father's bellow echoed from the library.

Alex sighed and set her stitching aside. “I hoped he would last longer. I will make sure that tea is sent in and try to separate Father from Grandfather. Do you think it is best that we coax Mr. Whittaker out?”

Jane's hand shook as she set her needlework down. “You have not shown him the cider press.”

Raised voices continued to come from the library.

“Hurry. It is best Mr. Whittaker not know the full extent of Father's wrath,” Alex limped toward the library. She had not limped in weeks. Could father have that affect on her?

A footman stood just outside the partially open door, ready to intervene if necessary.

George nodded at him as he opened the door for her and her sisters. Jane hung back as they entered the room.

“Welcome home, father.” Alex stood in front of him, forcing him to acknowledge her. “I trust you will find everything in order. Did you get tea? Cook has made the most delightful apple tarts.”

“From fruit your sister picked, no doubt.”

George signaled behind her back for Jane to come further into the room and took Alex's place in front of her father. “Have you settled in?”

It was the wrong question to ask.

“No. I have been informed the maid will not make up the primrose room as requested.”

“The blue room is available,” said Alex, not even earning a glance from her father, who scowled at Jane.

“Do not hide behind your sisters. Step up.” Father's tone lacked any note of kindness.

Why must he always take his anger out on Jane? George stepped back and allowed Jane to greet Father.

“I thought I told you to wear anything but grey and brown. Our guests will mistake you for the staff.”

The footman brought in a fresh pot of tea and a tray of tarts, saving Jane from an answer. The scent of spiced apples filled the air.

Alex took her place on the sofa and nodded to her sisters to sit on either side of her. “Cook is outdoing herself this year. Two new offerings to tempt us.”

The nudge George received was not necessary. Keeping the conversation centered on food was the best course. Jane even managed a compliment.

Father glowered as they ate but did not start or continue any further arguments.

George set down her half-empty cup. “Mr. Whittaker, I have not had a chance to show you the cider house. Would you like to accompany me on a tour of it this afternoon before the pressing starts?”

A nod from her grandfather was all it took for Johnathan to accept her invitation.

“We should start now so we can finish before dusk.” George stood, and Johnathan followed her lead.

Jane accompanied them out of the room. She paused at the end of the corridor.

“I am not going with you. I only thought it was best that Father not have reason to think about a chaperone. I mean, um—” Jane turned away.

“You should have one, or maybe not, with absolutely everyone outside harvesting, you will have more than enough.”

George touched her sister's shoulder. “Thank you. Are you sure you do not want to come?”

Jane shook her head. “I am going to check on Sir Galahad. I sent him out with the hounds.”

George put on her spencer as the afternoon had cooled. The three walked in silence until they passed the stables where Jane took a different path. The tension from the library silently followed them.

“I must apologize for my father—” she began with no ending in mind.

“Why must you?” asked Johnathan.

“Well, he will not beg forgiveness himself, and I do not wish you to think we, my sisters and I, agree with his actions.”

“I have been here for three days and have felt your welcome. I do not hold Sir Lightwood's volatile personality to your control. Despite your warnings, I did not expect?—”

She cut him off. “No, nobody ever expects. But it is the lot we have been given. Father and Grandfather will be discussing things for some time, and we thought it best you not be stuck with them.”

“So, the cider press? There is nothing better than fresh cider.”

“As you have mentioned. There is not much to see since it is not working at the moment. The morning of the fair they will press fresh cider for the contest. Most of the pressing will not happen for another week or so after the apples are sorted.”

They reached a damp section of the road, and George lifted her skirt to keep the hem from the mud even as it coated her nicest boots. Ugh—it would be a mess to clean off.

Johnathan slowed and studied George. “Do you need to return and change your clothes?”

George looked down at her dress. “It is finer than what I normally wear out here, but it will do. I will be very careful to avoid pigs.”

Johnathan's laugh was tighter than she expected. No doubt having to endure her father's tirade so soon after meeting him added to the tension. “I am going to pretend for a moment that I am the uncouth colonist and ask questions that I probably could not in London's polite society.”

George tilted her head and raised a brow, allowing him to continue.

“Is your father always so—so?”

“Do you mean loud and argumentative? No. Sometimes he can be quiet. Very quiet. But he and Grandfather do not get along well. They have not since my mother's death.”

“And why is that?”

“Father blames Grandfather for allowing Mother to leave, although he was the one that demanded she return, rain or shine.”

“Leave?”

“Oh, I am sorry. Do you not know the whole of the story?” At his shrug, she continued, “Four years ago, my mother took Alex and my only brother William to visit at The Willows.

After a sennight, they were to return, but they extended their stay almost a fortnight as the weather was quite wet that spring.

Father sent an express demanding that they return home.

And the next day, being rainy, again, Mother thought not to delay her return to Kellmore.

They were not but two miles from my grandfather's estate when my father's carriage lost a wheel as they rounded a turn, and the carriage tumbled down an embankment.

My mother and brother did not survive the resulting crash.

Alex, as you know, ended up with her friend Peggy.

Then, as you learned today, there is the matter of my father's paramour whom he has kept for more than a decade.

I think Grandfather blames my father for many things, not the least of which is breaking my mother's heart. Father is not the most discreet of men.”

Johnathan walked along silently.

“Did I shock you, cousin?”

“I did not believe you would talk about your father so openly.”

“Father's reputation preceded Phil and Alex to London and kept doors closed to them.

Phil's husband was forbidden to court her because of it. I believe it is far better to acknowledge impediments than to pretend they do not exist. And as you have witnessed for yourself, an explanation is in order. Especially if you are granted the earldom. There are also financial arrangements between the men that have changed over the last few years. Father has less say in the doings at Kellmore than he once had. I am not privy to them all, but there will likely be an argument over that issue as well.”

They passed the fence surrounding the press house.

Johnathan paused at the gate. “Pardon my asking, but I am of the opinion that faithfulness among your British peerage is not exactly expected.”

“It is hoped for.” She searched her mind for a way to defend her countrymen. “And I know there are some happy marriages. The Godderidges, for example, are one that is quite happy by all accounts, and none of the children are aware of any infidelity.”

“Would they speak of it?”

“Isabel is a particular friend. There are few secrets I think she would hide from us, although she is closer in age to Phil. Are American men faithful to their wives?”

The skin around his collar turned red. “I cannot speak for all. In my community we are taught to cleave to our wives, but not all do. I believe the expectation is that we will.”

They stopped at a shed where barrels full of apples waited. George opened the door. “Here it is. Our cider press which is probably as old as your grandfather. He may have even drank cider pressed by it.”

“That is as odd a thought as realizing when I stayed at The Willows I slept in the house he was raised in.” Johnathan walked around the large cider press. “Impressive size!”

“It is the largest in the county. After we press our apples, we allow our neighbors and tenants to use it as well.”

“That is the same as we do in Massachusetts, only we are usually third or fourth to take our turn, as the press is not ours.”

Georgiana gave the handle a turn to see if things were in proper working order. The recently oiled mechanism turned perfectly.

“Do not tell me you run the press as well.” Johnathan examined the screw mechanism.

“No, once it is full, I hardly have the strength,” she admitted, stepping back at the same time Johnathan did, accidentally bumping his side.

He grabbed her elbow to steady her. The same awareness she felt of him yesterday filled her, as did warmth that radiated from where he cupped her elbow.

Perhaps she should have forced Jane to join them.

But then she would not feel this delightful and perplexing draw to have his hand remain.

.