Page 9 of The Colonist’s Petition (Heirs & Heroes #2)

“No, if you were either, you would not have turned away last night when I appeared with so little decorum.” She paused. “Thank you for that. You must think me the least genteel of ladies.”

“On the contrary, I find your devotion to your home and your sisters most amiable.”

The footfalls behind him stopped. He turned. Miss Georgiana stood as straight as a tree.

“You do not think me next to heathen?”

“Not in the least.”

“Then you have given me hope.”

“Hope for what?”

“That not everyone will find me unfit for my first Season.”

“Autumn?”

The corners of her mouth turned up, and she resumed walking. “The Season in London. A time to find matches, which usually starts after lent and runs until the parliamentary session ends. There are balls, dinners, and musicals most evenings.”

“There is a time to find a spouse?”

“Some call it the marriage mart. In England, as I assume it is everywhere, the type of husband one can obtain determines a woman's future.”

“So everyone goes to London for a Season to search for a spouse?”

“It is one way it has been done for decades. My sisters and I are fortunate that my grandfather purchased Alex a home in Bath and left a legacy to care for it. Still it will go further if it does not support all four of us. Anyway, I digress. There is also The Little Season and one in Bath, but they are not The Season . That is the place where most matches are made, as the men of any consequence are in Town during the parliamentary session. This spring, Jane and I are to have our Seasons. Some women go for several Seasons, but father has declared we are only to have one. Phil and Alex went this past spring.”

“You are two years younger than your next sister, the one who married.” He was not sure what he should call the wife of a Viscount. “Should you not wait for a year?”

“Since father lowered our dowries already, we do not dare put our Season off.

As charms do not go far in finding a good husband.

We are of age to marry, and father is determined that we must capitalize on Phil's connections. It is better we choose for ourselves than have father manipulate our lives for us. Phil and Alex agree we should take this chance.”

“Why do you call them that?”

“Call who what?”

“Your sisters with the masculine version of their names?”

Miss Georgiana laughed. “Until our brother was born, Father always called us by the masculine. Once William started walking, he stopped. However, those are the names to which we were accustomed. We even convinced the Godderidge children to use them. Alexandra, Philippa, and Georgiana are such a mouthful, do you not agree?”

Johnathan, whose own name often felt longer than it should, could not help but to concur.

“Jane is fortunate to have such a short name. If it bothers you, I can use our full names.”

“No need, however, whenever you are called George, it brings to mind my eldest brother. Who, of course, is named after President Washington.” They reached the kitchen. Miss Georgiana opened the door, and he set the basket inside and waved to the cook before heading in the direction of the fields.

“I did not realize you had a brother named George. I think you only mentioned a sister. I can ask my sisters not to call me George if that helps.”

“Not necessary. Miss Georgiana, I was just curious.”

“As we are cousins, it is not necessary that you call me Miss Georgiana all the time.”

“As long as you refer to me as Mr. Whittaker, it is.”

“Are you so terribly formal in America?” She sidestepped a puddle bringing her closer to him.

“Not as formal as I’ve seen here, at least not with family.”

“Since you are family, I propose we drop the formality when not in company.” She looked to the fields bustling with activity. “Which is not now.”

“So you will call me Johnathan?”

“Only if you wish it. I assume you would not call me George.”

“No. I do not believe I will.”

“Is your brother nice?”

“Sometimes. Older brothers can be difficult.”

Georgiana laughed. “All siblings can. Older and younger.”

They reached the edge of the field, and Georgiana found Mr. Rhodes, the steward, who directed Johnathan to where he could help. Georgiana waved and went to join the women working at the far end of the field. His thoughts followed her.

In Massachusetts, a woman working the harvest would hardly warrant notice.

But here, watching Georgiana interact with others with such natural ease, he could not help but admire how she balanced between the two worlds.

She knew every worker's name, understood the land intimately, yet could transform into a proper lady for dinner.

Nothing like the simpering misses he expected.

Not that he should be comparing her to anyone.

He was here to consider becoming Earl, not to notice how the sun brought out golden highlights in her hair which by its lightened color was not a stranger to the sunlight.

The wheat harvest was in, and judging by the gathering clouds, none too soon. The wind tugged at George's hair. She tucked it away only to have a strand fly back into her face. She should have braided it instead of only tying it back.

Johnathan crossed the field to meet her. In his shirt sleeves, it was easy to tell he was as muscled as any other worker. Did he understand he could not be just any other laborer? That his new station would make his working as inappropriate as her own?

She watched him throughout the afternoon. Not once did he shirk the back-breaking work. The men around him warmed to his laughter. Johnathan—she was glad to think of him that way—fit him much better than Mr. Whittaker did. How would he be as Earl of Whitstone?

“Will I offend you if I do not put my coat back on?” he said as he reached her.

“Not in the least. Enjoy it while you can. Once you are titled, you likely will not work in the fields.”

“I will not?”

“Perhaps in dire circumstances, but not day by day.” Thoughts she suppressed came to the forefront of her mind.

Perhaps her sister and others were right.

“No. As loath as I am to say it, this is likely my last year. I am no longer a child, and my presence causes some discomfort, and I hold no title of rank. I doubt the farmers would feel they could talk and act freely.”

“Are you sure?”

“It is an idea I am trying to accept. Though it has been told to me for years. However, today I think I felt a little of it for the first time.”

“How so?”

“There is a new bride among our tenants. Her husband grew up here at Kellmore and is used to me joining in, as is her mother-in-law. Every time I came near, she curtsied and grew silent, even though all of us assured her she has no need of giving me deference. If I marry, I will move away. Even if my husband allowed me to go to the fields at harvest time, his tenants, assuming he has them, will not accept me among their ranks as readily as the ones here at Kellmore. And my sister is correct. I am too old to wear breeches under my dress.” She kicked her leg out, showing the soiled cuff.

“I think it is an ingenious idea.”

“It has saved me some scrapes and scratches. However, if I had been pursuing more appropriate pastimes, I would not have been in a position to be injured.”

“Like chasing a pig?”

“Will you not allow me to forget that moment of indignity?” She willed the heat in her cheeks down.

“I will not mention it again, but I cannot forget one of the dearest memories I have of this country so far.” A short chuckle marked his words. “It was the first time I thought I might be able to overcome my homesickness and stay.”

“You realize that women of any rank rarely chase after errant pigs? Likely you will never see such again in your life?” She tucked her hair back again.

The gesture allowed her a moment of reprieve from his gaze.

Perhaps forgoing braids that morning was a wise choice, even if it would take forever to brush out her hair.

“Yes. But up until then, my visit had been all bowing and politeness and I was not sure I could be in a country where people do not laugh.”

“We laugh.” She could not say for sure about all her countrymen, but she was sure that they laughed. Otherwise what was the point of the jesters or the many amusements?

“Politely.” His point was well made.

“We are to do everything politely. Not that I have ever experienced it, but among the ton, if one has offended, they might receive the cut direct. Which is simply a look and turning away without words. Which is more polite than harsh words.”

“Hardly. If I offended someone, I would wish for words so I can fight them or defend myself.”

“But that could cause a scene.” She answered as her Aunt Healand would.

“It could create a memory. If everything is all stiff politeness, how does one remember one event different from another?”

“I assure you, I have plenty of memories.” Perturbed, George sped up, anxious to reach the house and to change out of her soiled clothing.

He caught up with her easily. “I was not implying that you do not have fond memories. I am not explaining myself well.”

She whirled to look him in the eye. “What do you mean, then?”

He ran a hand through his already unruly hair and looked at his feet. “I do not know how to explain myself. It is a difference between here and home. And I miss all I knew.”

Something tugged at her heart. She felt loss before—like nothing would ever fit again.

Although he had not lost his family to death, he had to distance.

It was unlikely after he was made earl that he would visit the Americas more than once, possibly twice, in his life.

She reached out and touched his arm. He raised his head.

As their eyes met, something material passed, almost like a silk rope linking them.

She dropped her arm, but the feeling did not leave.

“Then do not try. I am sure if I went to America I would have the same feelings of sorts. Come, we have already missed tea. If we are fortunate, Cook will have saved us a biscuit we can eat as we prepare for dinner.”

“I hope it is more than a biscuit. I am famished.”

George laughed. The invisible silk rope slipped away, and they were back on friendly terms. “Cook always has more biscuits if you know where to look. And it is your lucky day. I know all the good hiding places in the kitchen.”

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