Page 26 of The Colonist’s Petition (Heirs & Heroes #2)

Nineteen

G rey clouds hid the sun from view, as they had for most of the month since George arrived at Lightwood Manor. As far as she could tell, the clouds’ only purpose was to prevent the warmth of the sun from reaching the ground.

“Do you think it will rain?” said George as she cracked open her egg.

Elaine did not bother looking out the window. “This time of year, it's just as likely not to rain. If you walk to the village, it will rain—likely a downpour. If you stay at home, not a drop will fall.”

“I'm afraid I've been putting this off as long as I can.” George tapped the letters she finished last night. “Nettie has several items for me to purchase.”

“You best be off, then. I have a letter for your father. I trust you can send it?” Elaine implied the real question—did George have enough to spend for postage on another letter?

“Let me put it in the same packet as the ones to my sisters, as I have yet to seal it. Then I can post them together. That would save a few pence on the postage.”

“Are my frugal ways rubbing off on you?” Elaine’s voice held a bit of teasing in it.

Her aunt had been surprised to discover that George was not only accustomed to frugality, but quite adept at living simply.

“May I go too?” asked Timothy.

George shared a glance with Elaine before answering. “I suppose we can do our lessons as well walking as we can sitting at a table.”

“Must I do lessons?” he asked, frowning.

“Our lessons will be a bit of a different type. But yes, it is important for you to learn. And it will be a good way to pass the time.” The near three miles to the little town required distraction.

Timothy lowered his head and shoveled his porridge into his mouth.

Elaine smiled a grateful smile over his head.

Other than the seedlings George planted upon her arrival, she could not help with the garden—at least not immediately—due to the cold, damp weather.

To be useful, she took over much of the burden of Timothy's lessons.

Next year, he would be off to the Richmond School, providing Father paid the tuition.

George was sure it would be easy to shame her father into doing so.

The future baronet's education had been left to his mother rather than a tutor.

For much longer than customary. As father had no sons, society expected him to foster the heir to the barony.

George's Latin was not nearly as good as Jane's, so she avoided that subject, sticking with math, history, and horticulture. Elaine offered her son lessons in English and grammar.

“We shall leave as soon as we have both finished breakfast.” George eyed the salt cellar.

She much preferred salt on her eggs, but like other commodities in the house, it was running low.

She dipped the end of the cellar spoon in, taking only a few granules —she was sure she could count them on both hands—and shifted them over her egg.

Elaine clucked her tongue. “I did not think I would ever see the day when I would be counting salt granules.”

“I believe salt is on Nettie's list for today.”

“Be sure you buy things in the order I've given. There are things we can do without, if we must.”

Timothy finished his meal and scampered out of the room without taking his leave.

Elaine sighed. “I suppose I shall have to add lessons in manners. He can hardly show up at school like that.”

“My understanding is they will fix him well enough if he does, but it is better that we instill in him at least a few,” said George.

“Do you hear often from your sister at school?”

“Rose? No. She abhors writing. She sends letters to Alex, which Jane copies and sends to both Phil and myself. They are getting much better. Reading and arithmetic were always so difficult for her, though she could recite any poem or essay given her.”

“I could remember so much more when I was young.” Elaine ate the last crumbs of her toast.

George finished her egg. “How much longer do you think the hens will continue laying?”

Elaine shrugged. “I'm not sure. They've never laid this far into the winter before. Your idea of moving the coop into the empty barn to keep them warmer seems to have helped them.”

“I'm glad I could be of some little use.” George bit her tongue before making any more of a self-deprecating comment. Elaine did not appreciate them, and they had made their peace with her father's actions. At least the little money George brought was of some help.

The slap, slap, slap of Timothy's shoes on the tiles in the corridor announced his return.

“I am ready.”

“Not without a scarf, you are not.” Elaine pointed her son back out of the room.

George hurried from the room to get her coat, which she learned was less than adequate against the cold winds of Yorkshire.

As they walked, George quizzed Timothy on mathematics problems. A rider in the distance prompted one. “A boy can walk a mile in twenty minutes. A horse can walk a mile in ten. If a rider and a boy leave for a village two miles away how much sooner will the rider get to the village?”

“Do either of them run?”

“No.”

The rider reached them and slowed, he touched the brim of his hat. “Master Hall, Mrs.—oh I am mistaken.”

Timothy stood tall. “Lord Banbridge, this is my cousin George.”

Lord Banbridge’s eyebrows rose as he assessed George head to toe.”

“More accurately, I am Miss Georgiana Lightwood.” George made the smallest of curtsies.

Timothy pursed his lips. “I did not do the introduction correctly, did I?”

“Well enough young man.” Lord Banbridge dismounted. “Pleased to meet you. I assume your father is Sir Felton Lightwood?”

“Yes.”

Timothy held up his basket. “We are going to the grocers and to post letters.”

Lord Banbridge focused all his attention on the boy. “A very good place to go. Is your mother well?”

“Yes.” Timothy turned to George and whispered. “Am I supposed to ask about his family now?”

George nodded.

“Is Patrick well? Does he like school?”

“He writes that he is well. He is coming home this Friday for a few days before I must go to Town. Shall I tell him you asked?”

“Please do. Does he do mathematics?”

“Yes.”

“Geor— I mean Miss Georgiana, was just asking me about how much quicker a horse could get to the village than a boy walking. Would you mind going and telling me how much time passes before I get there?”

George laughed. “Timothy, that will not work as we are already nearer the village than the two miles and Lord Banbridge was heading in the opposite direction.”

“I’m afraid Miss Georgiana is correct. You will have to work out your problem on your own.” Lord Bainbridge’s horse danced to the side. “I must be off. My horse is still in want of a run. I hope to see you again soon.”

George waited for Timothy to bid farewell to Lord Banbridge as he mounted his horse.

Considering how friendly of terms her young cousin was with the man, it seemed odd that she had not heard of him before.

Her aunt was a baronet’s daughter, and he was a man of some rank, there should have been some mention of the family.

His son must be the friend Timothy spoke of on several occasions.

That would make Lord Banbridge a widower.

“Three minutes,” said Timothy.

“What?” George’s mind raced trying to make sense of his statement.

“The rider beats the boy by three minutes.”

“I think you are only guessing.”

They continued walking to the village, working through the problem until Timothy found the correct answer.

The village shared much in common with the one George had frequented most of her life. It was centered around a church, a long hall of some sort, an inn, and a few shops, with houses clustered here and there. Unlike her first visit three weeks ago, George did not need to ask Timothy for directions.

The post was collected at one side of the apothecary.

They headed there first. Two large letters, franked by her grandfather, awaited her—one in Jane's handwriting.

The other claimed to be from the earl, but she knew the writing to be Johnathan's. She stuffed both missives into her reticule and headed to the grocer’s.

“Do we have a very long list today?” Timothy asked.

“Not overly. We should be able to carry it in my basket.”

“Does that mean I'm going to have to carry it too?”

“It would be very gentlemanly if you tried—at least for a while.”

“It would be much better if I had some sort of sack rather than carrying a basket.”

“We shall have to see about that. Perhaps we can find something in the attic.”

“My father carried a sack when he went to sea.” Timothy rarely spoke of his father, so this conversation was surprising.

“Do you have it, do you think?”

“No, they did not bring it back when he died. Just a letter. Everything was lost at sea.”

George never thought that Mr. Hale might not be buried in the church’s cemetery. “Do you miss him very much?”

“I do not remember him much at all. I remember the last time he left, which is why I know he had a sack.”

“Well, if we do not find one, perhaps we’ll find something we can make one from.”

“Really? You would do that for me?”

The bell clanged overhead as they entered the grocer’s.

“Of course I would.”

George went to the counter and turned over her list.

“All of this, miss?” asked the clerk.

“Top items, starting down, please stop when the total equals a crown.”

The clerk raised his brows. “So it shall not be on credit?”

“No. Mrs. Hale wishes it to be paid in full.”

“Very well.”

The clerk gathered the items. It seemed less than what it should be, to George’s mind. But it always seemed that way, even when she shopped with Phil, who was extremely good at bargaining.

The clerk finished the order and pulled out a butterscotch.

“I do not believe that is on the list.”

“My treat. Young Master Timothy looks like he would not be worse off for it,” he said with a wink.

“Thank you, sir,” Timothy tucked the candy into his pocket, holding open the door for George as they left.

“Now, to see if the butcher has any good cuts.”