Chapter 20
CHAPTER 20
G eorge popped the cork off a fresh bottle of brandy, a light hiss filling the air as the sweet smell filled his nostrils. In his warm study, after a feast that finally managed to satisfy his American guests, Fred lifted his empty glass expectantly, one thumb tucked beneath his suspenders. Giving him a pointed look, George hid his grin while pouring his good friend a full cup.
“Well, now, Georgie, since my glass is once again full,” Fred mused, taking a long sip of the brandy in between, “Where were we?”
“You were offering your opinion about my stud farm.”
Fred chuckled as he cozied himself up into one of the seats besides the quiet crackling fireplace. “Look at you.”
“What?”
“Soundin’ more and more like a posh lad,” he teased. “Soon enough, I’ll barely be able to recognize you!”
George smirked as he crossed the room to gaze out the window. The sun had already set, the early evening taking over all of London in a splendid fashion. After an easy, uneventful dinner, George found himself feeling more unsettled than he could’ve imagined. Life alongside Penelope took an unexpected turn since their visit to Vauxhall gardens. Suddenly, nothing was as simple as it was before.
The days he wished to spend focused on the opening of the stud farm, whilst making sure the renovations of Yeats Manor were as they were meant to be, were instead spent imagining what it was Penelope was doing. George took a large swig of his drink, enjoying the burn it left in his throat.
“Got your head stuck in the clouds, Georgie?”
George turned to face his friend, immediately noticing the concern on his aging expression. “Why do you ask?”
“Well, we were talkin’ ‘bout your stud farm. Unless there’s…” Fred paused, raising an amused, thick eyebrow. “Somethin’ else on your mind.”
“Even after all these years, Freddie, you still manage to talk in between the lines. What’s your point?”
Fred laughed before he sighed, scooting back even further in his seat, getting as comfortable as he possibly could. “Let me make sure I keep to my character, Georgie. How ‘bout you tell me about the farm?”
“It is completed,” George said.
“Ain’t that a good thing?”
“It’s the best,” he replied with a shrug. “Much sooner than expected, mind you. I’d say it was mainly done so efficiently because of…well, because of…” He sighed, looking back towards the window. His frustration, which lied with no one other than himself, grew to a boiling point at his lack of being able to speak his truth.
Or, at least, what George considered to be his truth.
“‘Cause of lovely Penny,” Fred said. “Right?”
George remained at the window, not willing to face his friend when he knew very well that his old friend could see right through him. It never failed to surprise him that no one in England ever seemed to read him in the way Fred managed to know him, without fail. While in any other case he’d be grateful, George was now only feeling annoyed, unsure of what his own thoughts were trying to tell him.
Not only that, but Fred so easily calling Penelope “lovely” managed to drive him further into a state of unease. Not only was it infuriating to hear another man compliment her in such a way, George found the word “lovely” to be more of an insult. No, Penelope was nowhere near low enough to be described as “lovely”, a word that held little to no meaning. There was so much more, and it was trapped behind George’s face as though he still wore a mask at Vauxhall.
“Penelope had a connection to a gentleman at London’s most popular racetrack,” George finally said, trying to ignore the edge to his voice. “The fellow managed to scrounge me up some fine native stallions, to refine the breed after Vaun has done his part.”
“You mentioned a ball, didn’ you?”
George nodded as he left the window, feeling himself calm enough to join his friend beside the fire. “Yeats Manor is finally complete,” he replied. “Invitations have already been sent. I expect most of the Ton to intend.”
“The Ton,” Fred repeated, his voice mocking. “Anythin’ I need to know about ‘em?”
“I doubt it. They’ll find you and Winnie quite entertaining, I’m sure.”
Fred let out a loud laugh. “I figured just as much. ‘Spose we’ll be inclined to give ‘em a show.”
“Now, now, Fred, there’s no need for that.”
“Why,” he grumbled as he gave George a side eye, “Don’t tell me you’re beginnin’ to feel shameful, Georgie.”
Shooting him a look, George rapidly shook his head. “You know I’d never think such a thing, Freddie.”
“Wouldn’ harm you to remind me.”
“Fred,” George said with an amused smirk, “I’d sooner be embarrassed of my homeland than render you to such low standards. The only way I’ll get through it all is with you and Winnie at my side.”
“I believe you’re forgetting one.”
“Hm?”
Fred raised a brow. “Penny. Your wife.”
“Now, Fred -”
Smacking his large palm down on the armrest of his seat, Fred twisted himself to face George, looking rather miffed all of a sudden. He even set his half-full glass down, a most peculiar thing to see someone like Fred do. He must have something important on his mind.
“The boy that showed up on my doorstep all those years ago wouldn’t have dared to give a lady of that calibre the slightest hint of the disrespect you have given that woman.”
George blinked at him. Every once and a while, for as long as George knew Fred, the man managed to blurt out the most thought-provoking statements. George couldn’t deny that the stereotype of Americans and their way of thought lived on within him - it was a product of his society. That being said, Fred was a man of intellect and wisdom when he wished to be.
“Enlighten me, Fred,” he inquired. “What disrespect have I given to Penelope?”
“You walk ‘round this house actin’ like you’re worlds apart,” Fred said. “There ain’t nothin’ between you two other than your pride.”
George’s brow shot up in surprise. “ My pride?”
“What else is keepin’ you from admittin’ the truth?”
“Fred, the fact of the matter is that our marriage began as nothing more than -”
“A deal,” he interjected. “I’m well aware, Georgie.” He raised his glass once more, downing the rest of it in a large gulp or two. Lowering it to the nearby end table, Fred turned as to fully face him, half his face illuminated by the smoldering flames. “I told you of how Winnie and I came to be, haven’t I?”
George sighed. “You have. Plenty of times. Now, Fred, I -”
“When my daddy passed,” Fred began in a loud, booming voice, “All that was left for me was a patch of land out west, a bag of seeds, and a nasty pack of pests that sought to chew through my wood. But each day, when I went to the market, there was an angel on God’s green earth. And somehow, it seemed like I was the only one to notice it.”
George sighed, but nestled within his seat to enjoy the story. Even though it was one he had heard more times than he could count, George could not ignore the allure behind it. There was a sort of magic behind the love between Fred and Winnifred, one that George had admired from the moment he met them. Even now, when Fred told the tale out of spite, he reveled in it as though he were a dog basking in the warmest sunlight.
“So,” Fred continued, “I took my behind down to her estate, knocked on the door and demanded to speak to her daddy. The man didn’ hesitate to drop me down a peg. But you know what?” He leaned forward to press a firm hand against George’s knee. “That didn’ stop a thing. The man told me when pigs fly, so I bought every pig that was for sale. You know that that did?”
George smiled. “What did it do, Freddie?”
“Not a damned thing.”
They laughed together, the lightheartedness entering George’s heart but managing to seep right out when the reality of his situation returned. If it was all as easy as buying pigs from the market, George would’ve done it ages ago.
“The point is, Georgie,” Fred said, “That love prevailed. True love prevailed. The permission of Winnie’s father was nothin’ more than a pleasantry in the end. There ain’t no denyin’ the truth once its right in front of ya’, clear as the day. Do you understand me, Georgie?”
Looking away, George found himself caught on something in the corner of his study. A bed, lightly plush and layered with a few thick blankets, was tucked beside one of the bookcases. It had an indent on it, as if a large creature had been using it recently. Upon closer inspection, George realized that it was for the dogs. They had slept within his study, probably when he had been using it, and he hadn’t even realized. He raised his hand, covering his mouth as his emotions threatened to overwhelm him.
“What’re you thinkin’, Georgie?”
“I think,” George muttered, his words slightly muffled, “I think I might miss Penelope when she is gone.”
Fred raised a brow. “Miss her? That’s all?”
“Though, I am a fool for thinking such a thing. She has a different future set out for her.”
“Have you ever thought to ask?”
George met his gaze, lowering his hand. “To give myself more trouble? I think not.” Sighing, he retrieved his own glass, taking as many sips as possible to clear the racing within his head. While he expected Fred to pick up the conversation, the American fellow merely watched him, seemingly not satisfied with his final words. George finished the last bit of his brandy, and the study remained quiet besides the gentle crackle of the flames.
“Besides,” he finally added, “Penelope had as much a stake in our deal as I did. While I sought to establish my newfound business through her standing in London’s aristocratic society, Penelope wished to begin a new life for herself. One of solitude and independence, Fred.”
“Who's to say you can’t be independent together?”
“That’s quite a silly thought, Freddie.”
Fred laughed. “‘Spose it may be,” he murmured. “The thought remains the same.”
George’s eyes returned to the dog bed once more. Perhaps, in some place, there was a future in which he could have a beloved animal resting upon his lap, an utterly intriguing woman remaining by his side through thick and thin. Somehow, George began to see his thoughts take a turn as his attention turned towards the fires. How was it that a red-haired lady with a pack of wild beasts constantly in tow managed to capture the heart that had once been so rakish in nature?
“Tell me, Georgie,” Fred said, “What are you thinking?”
George rested a finger against his chin. “I fear the girl with the wild heart will be the ruin of me.”
“You Englanders,” Fred muttered with a firm shake of his head.
“I’m not sure that’s actually a word, my friend.”
The evening continued on till the bottle of brandy was half empty. They parted ways not long after their conversation came to a sudden halt. George found himself quite restless for the rest of the night, not even finding solace beneath the covers, when there was not a soul around besides his own.
Morning came agonizingly slow. George was at the dining table before the rest of the house, looking through the last minute arrangements for the ball to be held at Yeats. While he had yet to see the redone estate for himself, George had no doubt that the event would be a spectacular success for his upcoming venture.
One by one, the rest of the house arrived at the table. Breakfast was served within an instant, and while Fred and Winnifred did not wait to let their boisterous voices fill the room, George could only watch, the feeling of the mastiff’s head resting over his feet a constant tether to reality. At the end of the table, Penelope was engrossed in the conversation, a teacup resting below her bottom lip. Winnie went on about some story from out in the west, recalling a time when George had tried and failed to wrangle up his prized stallion. Penelope’s bright hair fell down her shoulders, a few braids tucked within the waves.
Within their talks, a servant entered, coming to George’s side with a sealed letter. The others were too involved in the story to take the slightest bit of notice. Popping open the seal, George scanned over the letter. It was from one of his associates, detailing the final adjustments made to the last cottage they had visited not too long ago. According to the notes, everything had been finished. The barn, the stable, the refurbished kitchen, the cracked porch. All of it was ready to be lived in.
George’s eyes raised.
Penelope laughed, the musical sound filling the room. The animals reacted to her joy, their tails thumpingagainst the ground as they grew as excited as she. If it was at all possible, her eyes seemed to grow the slightest bit greener, like a freshly plucked emerald, or a dewy blade of grass. A feeling, one he could finally understand, struck him.
Tomorrow, the ball would be held to celebrate the opening of the stud farm. Days later, he could only assume that Penelope would take her leave.