Page 7 of The Colonist’s Petition (Heirs & Heroes #2)

Five

C arrying a bucket in either hand, George descended the servants’ stairway into the kitchen.

The scullery maid looked up from the vegetables she chopped. “You do not need to do that, miss. I could have emptied your bath.”

“You have far too much to do with Grandfather and Mr. Whittaker arriving a day earlier than we thought. My unplanned bath should not have put you out more than necessary.”

“Are you going back out dressed like that, miss?” asked Cook, clearly concerned that George donned a clean day dress.

“No, they should return soon and Alex will likely call for tea.” In truth, she embarrassed herself far too much for one day.

George contemplated going out just so she could hide from Mr. Whittaker, but there would still be dinner.

Putting off facing him again would only cause more difficulties.

It should not matter, really. Everyone in the village knew that she helped with the harvest. Mr. Whittaker was a colonist, not a peer of the realm—at least not yet.

For some inexplicable reason, Mr. Whittaker's opinion of her mattered far more than it should. Which was perplexing in itself. When Mr. Dalrymple took over the estate to the north this summer and every woman was all a twitter, except Isabel and Jane—Alex never was so she didn’t count—George cared nothing for the goings on.

Perhaps that was a poor example since her closest friends did not either.

However, her other acquaintances could not stop talking of him.

She hurried back up the servants’ stairway to her room to do something with her damp hair other than braid it. After several attempts, she managed to form a passable bun at the nape of her neck.

Sir Galahad dashed into the room, followed closely by Jane.

“Does Grandfather know he is not to be in the house?” asked George.

“Of course he does.” Jane set her bonnet aside. “Grandfather does not care.”

“I would be careful. Father is likely to show up without notice.”

Jane shivered, no doubt remembering the last time Father banished Sir Galahad from the house with a swift, rib-breaking kick. The dog spent weeks recovering under the care of the master of the hounds.

Jane peered at George, her head tilted. “You did your own hair again, did you not?”

George puffed out a sigh. “That bad?”

“Sit, I will take care of it.” With a few deft movements and far fewer hairpins than George used, Jane created a simple hairstyle that would be suitable for the rest of the day. “There, much better.”

“I do not see what was wrong with wearing my hair the way it was. You always wear your hair in a simple bun.”

Jane smoothed her grey dress. “I wear my hair in a way that suits me. You are not nearly so confined.”

George bit her lip, wanting to ask Jane questions without raising suspicion. “How was the rest of the tour? Was Grandfather pleased at our progress?”

“Could not be prouder. Alex sang your praises too. Do you know the apples are almost ready?”

“Yes, they should be perfect for fresh cider at the fair. Did Mr. Whittaker say anything?”

A small smile lit Jane's face, and she sat on the edge of the bed. “He said many things on all manner of subjects.”

“I mean about me, about how utterly wretched I am?” She must know even if it meant having her sister guess the possibility of interest in the man.

“You are not utterly wretched. I believe he found it refreshing that a woman supposedly out in society cared so much for her lands.” Sadly, Jane was not one to elaborate or repeat long conversations. Where was Rose when her best skills were needed?

“He is a farmer, is he not?”

“I believe so. He talked of his farm. They also grow apples.” Jane petted her dog, which jumped up beside her. “Alex has ordered tea. I was sent up to find you.”

George stood and smoothed the day dress she rarely wore. “Is my dress acceptable?”

“Of course it is,” Jane replied, turning to her dog. “Go to the kitchen.”

Sir Galahad left ahead of them as they exited their room. After the dog slipped through the door to the servant's stairway, Jane closed it. “I thought it best that Galahad not come to tea. While Grandfather might tolerate him, our guest might mention later that the dog was there.”

Even with Father absent, the fear of him hung over their heads. George was about to inquire more of Mr. Whittaker when the man arrived at the top of the stairway at the same time they did.

He nodded at both of them. “I see you have recovered from wrestling that swine.”

“Yes, I, um, usually I am not...” George's mouth refused to work. Where were her words?

“Of course you are not.” He offered each sister an arm as they descended the stairway.

It was not fair for men to have such sparkling blue eyes. It made them far too handsome.

He continued talking. “But some things happen on farms that city folk can't comprehend.”

“Yes, they do.” Jane agreed, surprising George with the ease with which she spoke around a stranger.

They found Alex and Grandfather already in the parlor.

Grandfather stood as they entered. “There is my girl. I must say, I have not seen the harvest at Kellmore look better than it has this year.”

Heat rose in George's face. Why ever was she blushing at Grandfather's praise? She mumbled a reply citing the steward’s excellent work and sat next to Jane on the settee.

Mr. Whittaker, like Grandfather, took one of the wingback chairs. Immediately, the maid brought in the tea cart. Alex directed Jane to pour, as she often did, as it was a way to include the least talkative of the sisters.

The cup shook as George took it from her twin.

What was wrong with her? She was so agitated that she was sure to spill.

Usually, it was Jane who showed signs of nerves around people, yet she seemed quite at ease around Mr. Whittaker.

Could it be that this man would be the exact type of husband her twin needed?

An uncomfortable sort of lump lodged itself in George's chest. As much as she dearly loved her twin, there was some bit of her that did not like the notion of Jane with Mr. Whittaker.

Although, once Mr. Whittaker obtained the earldom, assuming Grandfather's plan came to fruition, Jane could live the quiet life she wished to.

The same sort of life her grandparents had led.

For it was possible for an earl to live with some degree of solitude without judgment from the ton.

Jane would make the better match if one were to be.

In time, these odd palpitations George experienced in Mr. Whittaker's presence would fade.

She was only seventeen, anticipating her first Season, likely this attraction for a man she barely knew would occur again.

Why was she even pondering marriage? It took months for most plants to grow into usefulness.

A single embarrassing day did not signify if one was growing toward a lifelong attachment.

The earl kept the conversation going through teatime, a tour of the manor house, and into dinner without it growing stale.

Johnathan never once felt unwelcomed by his three new cousins who wove their way in and out of the rooms and conversation.

Despite the earl's caution that Miss Jane was quiet around people, Johnathan discovered that Miss Georgiana was the least likely to respond to a general question.

An oddity both Miss Lightwood and the earl commented upon.

Perhaps her day in the fields exhausted her.

The difference between the girl—no, woman—he witnessed chasing after the pig and the quiet one who barely contributed to the dinner conversation, despite a good deal of it being about the harvest, piqued his interest.

When they retired to the library after dinner, Miss Lightwood pulled out the cards and proposed a game. “George, Jane, one of you must partner with Mr. Whittaker.”

Neither twin looked overly happy at the declaration. Miss Georgiana volunteered and sat next to Miss Lightwood.

Miss Lightwood sat and indicated he should take the other chair next to her. “It is not fair to anyone to have the twins as partners when we play. I have never figured out how they do it, but they win every game.”

“We do not cheat,” said the twin sisters in unison.

Miss Lightwood shuffled the cards. “I did not say you cheated. Only that when teamed together, you two win the vast majority of the games. I believe being twins gives you an unfair advantage.”

Miss Jane frowned before answering. “Perhaps it is because we play so often. There must be a finite number of card combinations, and even though that number is well beyond my calculations, I believe we have played them all.”

“You play that often?” asked Johnathan.

“It is my fault.” Miss Lightwood passed the cards to him to cut and deal.

“I was nearly a year in bed, and I would beg my sisters to come play anything with me. Phil is particularly good at chess. Rose trounces us all at vingt-et-un. And any game involving partners, George and Jane are nearly impossible to beat.”

“My apologies, Miss Georgiana, if I put you at a disadvantage this evening.” Johnathan’s comment was met with a raised brow.

“I do not believe the point of the game is to win as much as it is to entertain ourselves before we retire.” Miss Georgiana looked at her cards. Her face showed no reaction.

Miss Jane sorted her cards, not looking at anyone. “We could retire and read, but that would not be very sociable. The library here at Kellmore is not as extensive as the one at The Willows, but it should provide you with ample reading material.”

“You will make Mr. Whittaker think he is unwelcome.” Miss Lightwood delivered the reproof with a smile.

“Oh, no, I did not mean that at all! I am nearing the end of the most delicious novel, and I—” Miss Jane blushed a deep shade of scarlet.

The earl came to stand behind Miss Georgiana. “It has been some time since I have played a hand. Perhaps I could take your place, Jane. I doubt your sister will relish having you burn a candle half the night.”

Miss Georgiana gasped and held her cards to her chest as she turned to her grandfather. “You saw my cards.”

“Of course. How else am I to cheat?” The earl's laugh matched that of his granddaughter's.

The sound brought a wave of homesickness that made Johnathan feel both alone and welcomed. If it were possible to feel such opposite emotions at once.

The game proceeded with each of the teams winning a round. As far as Johnathan could tell, no one cheated, though the teasing continued. During the third round, Miss Georgiana hid one yawn, then another, behind her hand. They lost the round spectacularly.

“My apologies, Mr. Whittaker. I cannot keep my eyes open. Will you excuse me?” Miss Georgiana stood, when no one responded. “Good night.”

“Will you be concluding the grain harvest tomorrow?” asked Miss Jane from her seat near the fire.

“Yes. I will try not to disturb you.” Miss Georgiana yawned again as she left the room.

Miss Lightwood gathered the cards. “I am surprised she stayed awake that long.”

“Did my presence deny her sleep?” asked Johnathan. He was not tired, but he should follow suit since he planned to observe the harvest in the morning at the earl's invitation.

“No, mine did,” said the earl. “I am afraid I forgot Georgiana keeps farmer's hours most of the year.”

“Her first Season will be difficult for her, with so many late nights and nothing to plant.” Miss Lightwood stood, balancing herself with a chair back.

Johnathan scrambled to his feet, belatedly realizing he failed to stand when Miss Georgiana left the room. His mother taught him better.

Miss Lightwood shook her head at him. “Mr. Whittaker, we are not so formal here. If you got up every time one of the three of us stood, you would not be able to accomplish anything all day. As you are to be with us for several days, there is no need to play the Jack-in-the-box here.”

“Will you forgive me if I do? My mother spent hours lecturing me on the practice, and I am still learning to make it a habit. As I have already proven tonight, when I did not stand for your sister, I have far to go in formal manners.”

Miss Lightwood tilted her head. “As you must, then. Only if you are to follow George about the fields, please do not act too gentlemanly. She does not like it when others treat her like the lady of the manor.”

“I shall endeavor to remember that.” Johnathan looked uncertainly about the room. Miss Jane was intent on her reading. The earl moved to the chair nearest the fireplace. Miss Lightwood returned the cards to a box on a shelf and crossed the room to Jane.

Johnathan moved the chairs back into place. “If you do not mind, I shall retire as well.”

At the top of the stairway, a low growl met him. Johnathan took another step, which was followed by a sharp bark.

“Sir Galahad. Bad dog!” Miss Georgiana rushed down the corridor, her mob cap askew, white gown billowing behind her, and bare feet slapping on the carpet. She stopped short of him, her hand clasping the shawl around her shoulders. “Oh, no.”

Johnathan turned his attention to the growling dog. Anything to keep from staring at Miss Georgiana in a nightgown looking all soft and adorable.

“Come, Galahad.” Her command was sharp.

The dog lowered his tail and slunk past Johnathan. He heard rather than saw Miss Georgiana scoop up the dog.

“No more barking at Mr. Whittaker. He is a friend.” She cleared her throat. “My apologies, Mr. Whittaker. I will talk to Jane, and her dog will not bother you again.”

Johnathan waited until he heard her retreating footsteps to look back in her direction. The most delightful ankles peeked out from under her nightdress. Miss Georgiana was the most interesting and unexpected thing he had seen in England.