Page 8 of The Colonist’s Petition (Heirs & Heroes #2)

Six

D ressed before the cock crowed the first time, George hoped to leave the house unseen by anyone. Sir Galahad raised his head but remained curled in a ball at Jane's feet. She did not need a light to find the servants' stairway and make her way down to the kitchen.

Cook looked up from the kettle she placed over the fire. “I did not think ye would be this early. The farmers are not even out.”

George cut herself two slices of bread and a hunk of cheese and wrapped them in a cloth.

“Is that all you be taking?”

“I will grab an apple too.”

“I have cold chicken if ye like.”

“I know the chicken is grandfather's breakfast.”

“There is enough. Ye take some.”

George shook her head. “I should be going.”

“Not without some food in ye. Now sit down and I will get you an egg and toast.” Cook gave George a shove toward the table in the corner.

A stair creaked. George looked that direction, hoping it was one of the servants.

“But I must go.”

“Not before ye eat.” The cook turned to the fireplace as the scullery maid entered the room.

George let out the breath she held. Mr. Whittaker would not come down the servants’ stairway, would he? Did they show him how to get to the kitchen yesterday? She missed as much of the house tour as she could to limit her interactions with the newcomer.

Cook set down a pewter plate with a clatter.

George jumped.

“What has ye all worked up? Nervous as a rabbit in Mr. Sprout's garden, ye are.”

“Nothing.” George stuffed a bite in her mouth large enough to earn a frown from Cook.

“It would not be that handsome young man visiting with his Lordship, would it?”

Unable to talk because of the food in her mouth, George shook her head. That was not a lie if she did not speak, was it?

“Hmm. Either my eggs are too hot, or ye have developed a penchant for blushing.”

She was tempted to agree with her father for once—she was too close to the servants. But Cook helped fill the emptiness after mother died. “It must be the rush to get to the fields.”

“Are ye not supposed to take that fine American visitor with ye?” Of course Cook knew.

“Grandfather did not say all day.”

“Then why did that nice Mr. Whittaker ask what time would be convenient for an early breakfast?”

“Maybe he is accustomed to eating early?”

Cook crossed her arms. “He will be down to eat in a half hour, as he refused us taking up a tray. I expect you to take him out with ye for the harvest.”

The very thing she wanted to avoid. Arguing with Cook would be pointless.

“Now I need to prepare his food. Make yourself useful and peel ten of those apples.” Cook pointed to the basket in the corner.

George finished her egg and started in on the apples, playing a favorite game of trying to peel the apple in one long string.

The longest string peel yet broke as Mr. Whittaker stepped out of the vestibule of the servants’ stairway.

“Good morning. I suspected I would have to get up early to go out with you, Miss Georgiana. Apparently, I was not early enough.” The clothes he wore were much more suited to a gentleman farmer than yesterday.

George nodded his direction and picked up another apple. “I was awake earlier than usual.”

Mr. Whittaker looked from the cook to her. “If you have an extra knife, I can help.”

It was Cook's turn to blush. Served her right for interfering. “No, it would not be fitting for a guest to help in the kitchen doing scullery work.”

“But—”

Seeing where his objection was taking him, George interrupted. “Cook said that you were coming and suggested I wait. I could not sit here doing nothing.”

“And I have your breakfast ready for ye.” Cook set a large plate on the table that included stewed apples baked with egg and crumbed bread—not quite a pie nor a pudding. George's stomach rumbled at seeing the treat. “Would ye like some, miss?”

“Please.”

Cook gave her the scantest piece. Having already finished one breakfast, she could have not eaten more anyway. Still, what if Mr. Whittaker thought she was one of those women who would not eat in front of a man because she wished to be dainty?

They finished breakfast in silence, owing to Cook's excellent fare and George's concentration on not allowing last night's embarrassment to surface.

Her nightgown. What had she been thinking to leave her room in her nightgown?

She had not—her first thought was that father returned, and she needed to get the dog out of the house before father could kick him down the stairway again.

Could she never appear before Mr. Whittaker with some sense of decorum?

Cook set a bundle of food on the table. “I assume ye will not be back before teatime. If ye would have another bushel of apples sent to the house by noon, I would be happy for them.”

“If Miss Georgiana approves, we can pick them on our way to the fields, and I will bring them back straightaway.”

“That would be too kind of you, Mr. Whittaker.” Cook blushed again. Those eyes must affect everyone.

George muttered something completely unmemorable in her mind and headed for the back door. Mr. Whittaker brought the empty apple basket with him as they left the kitchen.

Dawn lit the grounds in a cool grey light as the sun tried to break the skyline. Oranges and lavenders colored the soft clouds as the eastern sky melted into golds. She would have paused to watch the sunrise, but that might lead to conversation. To her chagrin, Mr. Whittaker stopped.

“Is it not wonderful how God gifts this view to everyone no matter where they live?”

“I have never thought of that.”

“I did not until we were in the middle of the ocean and there was a spectacular sunrise, and I thought that my family would not see it for hours yet, and then that it had already been seen in England.”

“What a thought. I rarely think of anyone not in England, so I have never thought of them being at a different time than us.”

He stepped closer to her. “I had no occasion to either. I knew England existed since I was a lad and saw a globe. I learned when it was day on one side of the world it was night on the other, but I never put it all together until I experienced it.”

“Is it difficult for you to be here when our countries are at war?” Where did that question come from? Instead of safe subjects she asked ones requiring long answers.

“I came over with a delegation that is hoping to sign a peace treaty. We have lost more soldiers to illness than anything else, and we just want to end this and have our prisoners of war back before they die, as well. No doubt there are those in England with the same wish.”

“I am surprised you are not fighting.”

“My father lost his leg near the end of the Revolution. He lived for many years after, as you can guess, since I exist. After he died, my mother extracted a promise from me that I would never go to war. I kept it. There is no honor in dying of dysentery.”

George shuddered at the thought. “I doubt there is any honor in war anywhere.”

“It would depend on what you were fighting for. My father fought for freedom to make his own choices.”

“Do women have that freedom, too?”

“Not yet. Maybe someday. My mother says Abigail Adams asked her husband to ‘remember the ladies’ when he was helping frame the Constitution. In time I believe it will happen.”

“That is forward thinking of you. Even though a queen once ruled England, women have no say in most matters." The sun finished cresting the horizon. George turned to the orchard. “We should pick those apples.”

“I believe women should be considered. My mother’s opinion is invaluable to the entire family.”

Refreshing. Women were as capable as men in many respects.

She knew Jane’s “novel” last night was more likely some treatise written in German by a scientist than it was some romance.

And with the way Jane enjoyed learning facts, she could have been an excellent solicitor.

Then she would not have to think on marriage ever.

Granted, she could live with Alex in Bath.

A townhouse with no garden to speak of, George would go out of her mind with only a window box to tend.

She stopped at the edge of the orchard. Being in charge of her own farm was an impossible dream.

At least Mr. Whittaker didn’t dismiss women.

“Any particular tree?” Mr. Whittaker set down the basket bringing George’s thoughts back to the present. “I am partial to the Pippins.” George pointed to a tree not far from them.

It took only a few minutes to pick a bushel. Mr. Whittaker consistently picked apples higher than George could conveniently reach.

She set a nearly perfect apple on top. “That should make Cook happy.”

“I hope so. I feel I must stay in her good graces. She was not pleased that I refused a tray. I did not want anyone to go to extra work, and when I learned you ate in the kitchen, I decided to as well.”

“I will not ask who betrayed my hoydenish ways and allowed you to reject her hospitality. You have seen enough of them yourself that I wonder if I have not appalled your sensibilities.”

“If you are referring to your chasing of animals, I find nothing amiss with it.” He shouldered the basket. “And rescuing your sister's pet, I found it quite charming.”

George stayed a step behind him so he would not see the blush. “A gentleman would not recall that he saw me last night.”

Though Johnathan could not see Miss Georgiana's face, he knew he embarrassed her. “I have yet to be accused of being a gentleman. I am not sure if a colonist can truly be one.”

“If you are an earl, you will be one like it or not. Of course, I would prefer you acted the part as well. It would never do to have a cousin who was a rake or a scoundrel.” Miss Georgiana continued to walk just far enough behind him that he could not see her face without turning.

“Is that your opinion of me?”