Page 33 of The Colonist’s Petition (Heirs & Heroes #2)

Twenty-Four

W ith the start of the parliamentary break, London society slowed to a stop.

Johnathan looked out his window onto the square.

Almost every townhouse was shuttered, as their occupants fled to the country to be with family and friends.

Only a portion of the men—Lords, Earls, Barons, and whatever else—brought their families with them for the November session as most wished to be home.

Johnathan's daily routine remained the same.

If anything, it became busier, as the earl secured a copy of the minutes of the House of Lords from the last two parliamentary sessions.

Johnathan spent at least two hours a day familiarizing himself with all that had gone on, in addition to his other lessons.

To his relief, the balls seemed to have ended. A footman tapped on the door and delivered a thin letter. The name on the front was not, thankfully, anyone he met in Town. He broke the seal, eager to read Georgiana's news.

By the end of the letter, he was filled with disappointment, as it contained almost nothing of substance.

Mr. Hale left—to the disappointment of all, including, apparently, Georgiana.

The weather had grown colder. But not once did Georgiana share her own thoughts or feelings.

A news sheet would have contained more detail.

What was wrong with Georgiana? Had Mr. Hale wooed her? Time could not pass swiftly enough until he and Georgiana would be together again.

Unsettled, George walked into the moor where no one would hear her yelling her frustration to the sky.

Father refused to relent and would not have her home at all before the beginning of the Season.

According to Alex’s letter, Jane was so upset by the news that she refused to come out of her room for two days.

The cost of sending a package, even only knit woolen mittens, was too prohibitive for George to send her sisters as a gift.

Phil and Michael intended, weather permitting, to visit Kellmore from Christmas to Twelfth Night.

Although, if Johnathan’s suspicions about Phil being with child were correct, that plan might necessarily fail.

Adding to her pain, snow began to fall. Not the soft fluffy flakes of magical winter days but harsh mini shards of ice that fell like daggers launched by a malevolent spirit.

By the time she reached the kitchen door, miniature ice shards had cut every exposed bit of skin.

Elaine turned at the sound of the door, her hand on her heart. “Thank heavens. I thought you lost. Though I hoped you had sought shelter.”

George lifted the scarf from her head. Frozen as it was, it retained its shape as well as a summer bonnet. “There was no shelter, not even a tree. Fortunately, I am no stranger to running.”

“Get out of your clothes before you catch a cold.” Elaine did not need to expound on the fact there was no money to be spent on a doctor. “I’ve heated you a bath in the still room.”

The bath, poured much deeper and warmer than the weekly baths they drew for each other, made her fingers and toes burn.

At least she would have them all. The water began to cool, and not wanting to waste it, George rinsed her hair.

She emerged to find Elaine sitting at the table with the household books.

“Thank you for the bath. Would you like me to dump the water or refresh it?”

Elaine closed the ledger. “I’ll refresh it. I could use a soak as well.”

Alone in the kitchen, Georgiana reread the letter that sent her to the moor in the first place. Johnathan's letter was nothing more than a list of dates and tasks. The last paragraph was what galled her:

Georgiana, you seem not yourself. Your past letters have been as cold and singular as you described the Yorkshire countryside. Are you unhappy?

Unhappy? Of course she was unhappy. She was denied the association of her entire family, and the man who supposedly wanted to court her was dancing with every female in London—and telling her about it.

As much as she tried not to be jealous, she found it nearly impossible.

For while her sister, Isabel, and all the other ladies seemed to have carefree days, she was knitting socks and hoping that a twice-boiled bone would create enough broth for a decent stew.

And for all his complaining about studying, at least Johnathan was warm all night.

And there it was. She was complaining about her lot again.