Page 19 of The Colonist’s Petition (Heirs & Heroes #2)

Thirteen

L ord Godderidge’s study became a dressing room of sorts for the men for the evening. Johnathan was not the only one who brought a fresh shirt for the dance. Farmers and gentlemen alike shared the space. David Godderidge handed out hot damp towels to all who needed one.

Lucas took a towel. “Too bad Sir Lightwood yelled when he did. I was certain you would best Miss Georgiana. I cannot believe she missed her shot, too.”

She hit right where she aimed. Johnathan was sure of it. He was not positive why. Was it so the farmer could win the pig? Which may have been the same one that she chased into the orchard. Or was it because of him? “She’s good with the bow.”

“Last year she won by another five paces at least. Only person I’ve ever seen best her is Mr. Edward, the Godderidge’s second son.”

Johnathan finished dressing and tossed his used towel to the basket.

Mr. Dalrymple arrived at the door at the same time. “Whittaker, correct?”

“Yes.”

The man thrust out a hand in greeting. “I know we have not been formally introduced, but after losing to you on the archery field, I do not think introductions are necessary.”

“I agree, Mr. Dalrymple.”

“You are American. Your speech betrays you. I had not quite believed… How strange for you to come over in the middle of a war.”

“Not the middle, surely. I traveled on the same ship as the peace delegation. I believe we wish an to end this.”

“True. True. It seems England is always at war, the French, the Americans… Enough of that, the women would have our hides if we discussed such things during the festival.”

“I believe you are right.”

“I am curious about the Lightwood sisters. I understand you are a relation?”

“Distant cousin. I’ve known them less than a fortnight. I doubt I can answer your questions.” Nor did he want to. Georgiana’s interest in Mr. Dalrymple rankled.

“What can you tell me of Miss Georgiana? I found it peculiar that she would compete against the men.”

“I thought many women in society practiced archery.”

“As they do, but not in competition with men.”

Johnathan tempered his wish to defend her. It would do neither of them good if he showed his feelings. “Perhaps if more of the ladies had participated, they would have had their own category.”

“And her sisters. The eldest is a particular beauty but I have been told she, well she is—” Mr. Dalrymple lowered his voice, “—damaged.”

“Miss Lightwood is particularly delightful and honest to the core. I am sure she will dissuade you of any false notions you may have.”

“Interesting you use the word false, as I have been told her leg is precisely that.”

“Then you are well informed.” Johnathan stepped to leave.

“And the other one, is it true she is a mute?”

“No. Miss Jane is certainly not a mute. If you will excuse me. I hear musicians tuning their instruments and I promised to be on hand to help with any carting of the refreshments.” What an odious man.

The more Mr. Dalrymple had pressed about his cousins, the more Johnathan wished him gone.

What had Georgiana seen in him to spend the last two hours in his presence?

Not that she had been with him exclusively, but near often enough.

Mr. Dalrymple was not the man for any of his cousins if he was so shallow as to try to glean information in such a manner.

He needed to keep Mr. Dalrymple away from the Lightwoods.

The Harvest Ball was unlike any other. It was George’s favorite evening of the year.

The sisters and Isabel hurried down the stairway and through the ballroom, whose doors stood fully open to the patio and makeshift dance floor on the grounds. As the evening went on and the group got smaller and the night cooler, they would move inside.

Lord Godderidge, acting the role of his butler, announced a jig. The girls went their separate ways to find partners. George caught sight of Johnathan watching the proceedings with keen interest before a twelve-year-old boy from the pig chase approached her with a bow.

“May I have this dance, Miss?” he asked, his cadence missing most of the country accent he usually spoke with.

“Why, of course. I would be delighted.” She followed him out on the floor as he forgot to offer his arm until they had reached their places.

“What of Grandma Grime’s story?” he asked as they began the steps.

“It was obvious she was talking about our pig. I am glad that none of us were named.”

He smiled mischievously. “Everybody knew the lady had to be you.”

“You only know because you were there.” George caught Johnathan's eye above the head of his partner still in braids. At least Grandma Grimes left out the part of the story where the lady was helped to her feet by a handsome newcomer. She looked away before a blush could rise.

“Everyone’s talking about how you chased the pig. We’ll all be sad when you leave. Me mum says it’s time for you to go off and be wed. I wish you would not.”

Was he flirting? George was not sure how to respond to such a young man. Thankfully, the next moment took her away from her partner. When they were reunited, she asked him about his favorite apples.

The next dance was with a lad of thirteen whose enthusiasm made up for his missteps.

As she guided him through the figures, she noticed Johnathan attempting the English country dance with surprising grace.

Their eyes met briefly as the dance brought them near, and she had to remind herself to focus on her young partner.

During a break, George sought out Jane at the refreshment table serving fresh cider. Johnathan joined them, standing close enough to make conversation unavoidable.

“This is excessively delightful. You told me it would be, but I was not prepared.”

“I'm glad you're enjoying your evening.” George ignored how her heart beat a jig when he spoke.

“I have met some of the most exceptional people. I received a treatise on weaving from an eight-year-old, and a lecture on what I did wrong in the footrace I participated in this morning from her sister.

The musicians relocated themselves closer to the house. Mr. Dalrymple and Isabel joined them at the refreshment table. Mr. Dalrymple took a sip of his cider.

“Do you know which of the houses produced this cider?”

Isabel answered before George did. “It came from Kellmore. George can tell you all about it.”

The man turned to Johnathan. “I thought your name was Johnathan?”

“Oh, sorry,” said Isabel. “I meant Georgiana. You do know Georgiana Lightwood?”

“Of course. I was unaware—” Mr. Dalrymple stumbled on his words.

“An honest mistake anyone could have made.” George explained as quickly as she could about the names.

When Mr. Dalrymple requested the next dance, she accepted with practiced grace although her heart sank as Johnathan immediately turned to Isabel. Her friend set her hand on Johnathan's arm and looked up at him with a bright smile that did not merely feign interest.

The dance with Mr. Dalrymple proved interminable. He spoke little, just as he had earlier that day, leaving George to guide the conversation and express interest for Jane's sake.

Attempting to move the conversation away from farming, George asked, “Why did you choose this area?”

“It had much to recommend it, however a hundred and thirty miles to Town is a difficult thing to traverse. There are far fewer trees than I thought there would be here.”

“This is not the Cotswolds,” Georgiana replied dryly.

“Apparently not.”

“If you are disappointed, why did you choose to live here?” she asked again, trying to steer the conversation.

“The price was right. An investment.”

“Do you not intend to live here? You have excellent lands.”

“Oh, I will live here most of the year. I shall likely have a steward see to matters of farming. I have no skill for it. After tasting the cider here, I think there is some room for improvement. I could be successful at that.”

“Room for improvement?” Georgiana repeated, her tone sharpening.

“Well, yes. Would you say the cider we had today at the table was overly sweet?”

“No, I would not.” George caught sight of Johnathan leading Isabel in a perfect turn and forced herself to focus on her own partner.

“Well, believe me, the taste was far too sweet. Whoever made it had the wrong mix.”

“I would like to remind you, sir, the cider was provided by our estate. And it is known far and wide to be the best in the area.”

“My pardon. Miss Godderidge mentioned something of that sort, before we were distracted with the names. Well, to each his own, then. It seems that most everyone is delighted with it. I did not mean to offend.” He bowed ever so slightly.

Pompous man. George fought to hide her irritation.

His dismissive response sealed her opinion of him.

Father's wishes and Jane's future notwithstanding, she could not imagine encouraging this man's suit.

Watching Johnathan dance with Isabel would be preferable to enduring Mr. Dalrymple's company — though the sight of her friend's hand on Johnathan's arm still made her stomach twist uncomfortably.

When the dance ended, George made her escape to the vicar's wife, whose dower presence was preferable to the conversation of Mr. Dalrymple.

There must be a way to prevent Father from manipulating their futures. But when she caught sight of Johnathan again, still entertaining Isabel's giggles, she wondered if her heart had not already chosen a path that would complicate everything.