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

Two

S o many carriages! Who would have thought that anyone lived in such extravagance?

Carrying his portmanteau, Johnathan walked up the graveled drive to the enormous mansion.

Unsure of his reception and unannounced arrival, he left his trunk at the inn where the post chaise left him less than an hour ago, before continuing the last few miles of his journey on foot.

While his grandpa called his ancestral home “The Willows,” Johnathan did not expect a building roughly the size of a grove of trees. He heard of homes in Virginia being this big, but it easily eclipsed the size of any home he had seen in Boston.

There must be a mistake. As a farmer's son, even Johnathan knew he should not mingle with British gentry.

Grandpa's revelation that he was in line to become a British Earl sent ripples of disbelief through the family. However, it was Grandpa’s request that Johnathan travel to England to reconnect with the current earl that upended Johnathan's entire life.

No, his life was already chaos. He merely traded one kind of turmoil for another.

Grandpa gave him a choice, as much as a man only four years from his century mark could give any grandson who loved him, so not much of one at all.

That request placed him on the imposing doorstep of an earl.

What was Grandpa thinking, sending him to England?

What did he hope to accomplish? Weeks aboard a ship had not answered that question.

Grandpa mentioned taking a wife, but there must be more to the journey than marriage.

Regardless, Johnathan came this far, and he would not let a score of carriages keep him from doing his duty. He lifted his hand to the knocker, but before he touched it, the door opened. People in fine clothing gathered around the doorway, including the man dressed in black who opened the door.

“Beg your pardon. Does Mister Whitstone, Earl of Ryeland, live here?” Johnathan waited for an answer.

The man holding the door lifted his chin. “This is the residence of Lord John Ryeland, Earl of Whitstone.”

“Ah, that is what I meant. Titles are most confusing.” People stared at him. Half of them were females of marriageable age, dressed in elegant gowns, making him very aware of his dusty travel clothing. Was one of them the woman he was sent here to wed?

The man holding the door sniffed. “Come back another day when you are not interrupting his granddaughter's wedding.”

Perhaps while he was at sea, his distant cousin’s problem of a husband for his granddaughter solved itself.

Johnathan was not about to leave without discovering if his journey was in vain.

“Will you inform him that Johnathan Whittaker, grandson of Nathaniel Whittaker, born Nathaniel Ryeland, heir to the sixth Earl of Whitstone, is here from Massachusetts to fulfill my grandfather's last request?”

The time he spent rehearsing that line during the walk from the inn was well spent. Even if it was likely not his grandpa’s final request, it sounded important.

Those who had been talking in the background grew silent. A young man and a woman, who looked far too happy to be anything other than the bride and groom, stepped aside, and an older gentleman came through the crowded entry hall. He extended his hand. “You came at last.”

Johnathan found himself scooted off into a side corridor.

The man who welcomed him spoke quickly in a low tone. “I am the Earl of Whitstone. I apologize for your welcome, young man. You have arrived at the most inopportune moment. If you will wait a bit, I will explain all.”

“My apologies for interrupting the festivities.”

“Not your fault. I must cloister you for now. There are those in attendance whom it is best you not meet.” The Earl of Whitstone turned to the man who answered the door. “Show Mr. Whittaker into my study.”

The man nodded. Only then did Johnathan realize the man in the dark suit to be a servant. A butler perhaps, since he was not liveried, like others wearing a deep shade of green around the edges of the room.

Johnathan followed the butler.

Three women giggled as he passed them. He judged them to be around the same age as his younger sister, Miriam, who had just entered her eighteenth year.

He supposed at least one of those girls was among whom he was to choose a wife from.

At first glance, he was not disappointed, but there was much more to a person than a pretty face.

The butler opened a door to an office. The smell of pipe tobacco in the room chased away the scent of flowers which perfumed the air in the entry. The curtains at the tall windows stood open, giving the room an inviting feeling despite the dark wood paneled interior.

“I will send in refreshment while you wait. Do not open any of the drawers or doors, or I will know of it,” said the butler in a tone that indicated he thought Johnathan no better than a common thief.

Were all butlers so pompous? Johnathan had only met one other in his life.

Moments later, a maid dressed in black with a crisp white apron came in with a tray. She set down the food on a side table and left, closing the door behind her.

Johnathan picked up a tiny sandwich and ate it in one bite.

He quickly followed it with another. The earl’s provisions were much better than the fare he ate at inns since arriving in England, as it was not on the verge of rotting or over spiced to hide other defects.

If money was not so tight, he would not have been forced to take such economies in choosing his meals.

Although he suspected his accent betrayed him as a foreigner, ensuring that most fed him their poorest fare at any price.

Until this moment, he was not sure the English knew how to prepare fresh food.

Laughter from the house beyond the door reminded him of the women he passed in the entry.

Had he sailed around the world for one of them?

Losing his intended to his older brother stung.

An arranged marriage could not turn out any worse than what Johnathan planned for himself.

If their grandfather was anything like his, his distant cousins would follow through on their promises and appear on their wedding day.

Yet, there must be a better way for Grandpa to reconcile with his English relatives than by a marriage.

“Who is he?” Isabel asked, echoing George's silent question.

Jane shrugged. George searched among the crowd for her oldest sister. If anybody knew, Alex would. She was the granddaughter that grandfather doted on the most. None of the sisters felt slighted over grandfather's partiality as he was no miser when it came to any of his grandchildren.

Finally, she spotted Alex sitting on a brocade chair behind other well-wishers.

Father stood in front of her, obviously giving the eldest sister instructions.

As George approached, Father walked off toward the side table where a footman stood guard over the port and other libations for the celebration.

Father poured himself a glass of amber liquid.

George was glad that he was distracted for now, but knew that their trip back to Kellmore Manor would be much less pleasant due to her father's drink.

“Who was that man at the door?” asked George. Imagine arriving at the moment of Phil and Michael’s send off. Most disastrous timing indeed.

Alex tapped her chin with her fan. “I assume he is Grandfather's cousin from America, but I thought his cousin was older.”

Jane joined them. “Grandfather’s cousin would be near a hundred.”

“Obviously, this is one of his cousin's grandsons, or perhaps even great-grandsons.” Alex stood when Isabel Godderidge, their neighbor, joined them.

“I’ve never seen such a firm chin. Is he a relative of yours?” asked Isabel.

George agreed the chin was as solid as the man. However, those searching blue eyes were far more attractive than a lightly stubbled chin.

“A cousin, of sorts, definitely.” Jane's brow furrowed. Doubtless, she was trying to calculate the connection with little information. “Although not very near. No closer than a third cousin, but likely further. I don’t see much resemblance to grandfather. No one has such full and mussy hair.”

“Curly, would describe it better.” Alex tapped her fan again. “I am under the impression that grandfather asked him here to marry one of us.”

Jane gasped.

"However, after Phil's recent adventures, I believe grandfather feels he shouldn't force any of us into marriage. The poor man, to travel all this way and then...” A sigh that felt like relief followed Alex’s statement.

As the eldest, she would have been the one most likely to be offered such a match.

Because of her injury, Grandfather set up a home in Bath and a fund so that she could live quietly near the healing waters for the rest of her life with no pressure to marry ever.

Jane was as silent as a statue around most men. An arranged marriage was likely one of her twin’s deepest fears. Thus leaving it to George to wed the American stranger. At seventeen, she was still young and had no desire to wed anyone. Much less a stranger, even a handsome one.

Isabel fluttered her fan and looked toward the corridor leading to grandfather's study. “If he is not promised to marry one of you, would he be open to others?”

Rose let out a giggle. The youngest Lightwood sister joined them unnoticed. A rarity for the vivacious girl who longed for womanhood.

George took Rose’s hand to pull her near. “He may not be here to marry at all. For all we know, he has a wife and children back in America.”

Rose sniffed. “Did you see the way he is dressed? He does not have a proper valet at all, does he?”

Alex took Rose's other hand. “Darling, that is not how we speak of strangers. And it is unlikely that the man traveled all this way with a valet. He was likely two months at sea. We must give him leniency until we learn more.”