Chapter 8
Sleep was hard to come by these days, and once more George found himself in his study early that morning.
Looking over ledgers and accounts, he felt as if all the words and numbers were melting in on themselves, making it impossible to make heads or tails of anything.
It was high time he found a new estate manager to take care of these things, but with the way the last had left it, he wasn't confident.
Leaning back in his chair, he sighed deeply, ran his fingers through his hair, and considered perhaps taking a break.
All of this would still be here when he returned.
Maybe a ride around the estate might help to clear his mind. Perhaps he might even speak with a few of his tenants to see if that made things clearer.
He was just considering his options when there was a tentative knock on the door.
“Enter,” he called, wondering what someone might want from him now.
Mr Dawling entered with a low bow before he announced, “The lady dowager Cumberland has requested your presence at breakfast, Your Grace.”
George huffed. Of course. His mother had been insisting upon keeping a strict routine ever since he had arrived, bombarding him at every meal with the insistence that his first priority ought to be securing the dukedom for another generation.
What excuse might he give to avoid it this time?
He could not think of one, so he sighed. “I shall be there momentarily.”
After all, he had been looking for something to take his mind off the accounts for a while.
His mother certainly had a way of doing that. Though he was sure to be more frustrated after having breakfast with her.
“Of course, Your Grace.”
Mr Dawling left, and George prepared himself for breakfast with a quick look in the mirror. No doubt his mother would have words on his appearance again.
And now, he could not blame her for he had yet to go to the barber as she had suggested.
There were more important matters to be aware of right now. Or so he told himself to remain busy.
Leaving his study, he walked slowly to the breakfast room, anticipating that his mother would be in full form when he arrived.
And when he did, he was surprised to find that she was not alone.
“Lady Mary!” he exclaimed, surprised to find the young woman sitting beside his mother.
She looked at him with her big brown eyes, smiling in welcome as she rose from her seat to offer him a curtsey. “Your Grace.”
“I hope you do not mind, George. I invited Lady Mary to take breakfast with us.”
His mother's tone left no room for argument, and besides, he could not find any.
“Of course,” George said, entering the room to take a seat opposite them as Mr Dawling poured him a glass of fresh orange juice. “It is good to see you, Lady Mary. I hope you are well.”
“And I, you, Your Grace,” Mary said, playing with her gloves as if they were uncomfortable. “Though I must admit I cannot stay long. I am here on an urgent matter.”
George bit back the urge to scoff. He was certain he already knew well what that might be.
“I do hope it is nothing too serious,” he said. He lifted his glass to his mouth and took a deep swig, trying to ignore the expectant look upon his mother's face.
“I'm afraid Lady Mary comes with terrible news, George.”
His heart skipped a beat at that. Perhaps she had not come about her father's will after all.
Had something happened to Lady Cecelia? Was she hurt in one of her rebellious moments climbing a tree or swimming in the pond?
Bile rose in the back of his throat as a million scenarios played on in his mind.
The urge to get up and go to Fernworth Manor to see for himself was almost impossible to ignore.
“Your Grace, I implore you,” Mary said, glancing at her hands, playing with her gloves still, “please reconsider your position on my father's wishes.”
George's heart dropped. So that was in fact why she had come.
He leaned back in his seat, sighing with deep exasperation.
“Lady Mary, as I have said—”
“You are a busy man, I understand that,” Mary cut him off, her cheeks a little red at the fact. “But things have changed, Your Grace.”
He raised a brow, considering chastising her for cutting him off.
“How might things have changed so much?” he asked, picking a piece of fruit from the table.
He could never truly bring himself to chastise the young lady who had been like a sister to him during his childhood.
Mary looked him in the eye for only a second before she looked to her hands again. “My mother has taken ill, Your Grace. Cecelia refuses to leave her side.”
George tilted his head slightly, well aware of his mother's lack of interjection.
“Then she is in no position to debut,” he pointed out.
Mary's head lifted, and she looked him dead in the eye then.
“She only refuses to consider her debut because she does not have the proper chaperone. If she were to, she would never deny herself the opportunity. Mama would surely feel better if she knew everything was being taken care of.”
George gritted his teeth. His mother's expression had grown all the more expectant.
“Your sister is stubborn, Lady Mary,” George pointed out, “were she to know that you had asked this of me, she would never accept.”
Mary's cheeks reddened. “And that is why I ask that you keep this conversation between us.”
“George, you must see reason,” his mother said, her expression almost pained now. It was clearly taking all her effort not to simply order him to do the right thing as she might have done when his father was still alive.
Mary looked at him with large, round eyes filled with silent pleading.
Beneath the table, George pinched himself, fighting the urge to give in right then and there.
“Your Grace, without your help, I fear what shall become of my family,” Mary said, as if she hoped to tip him over the edge of his indecision. “We shall be forever in your debt.”
Some men in his position might have been well prepared to hold her to that, to have the Flannery family at his every beck and call for the rest of their lives.
But in truth, George did not care for such things.
He would not wish to lord anything over the people who had been like family to him, whether Cecelia had broken him or not.
Closing his eyes, he considered his options once more.
He ought to return to his study and get on with his own business, allow the Flannerys to handle their own affairs, and yet he couldn't help thinking of Cecelia sitting at her sick mother's bedside.
“Has a doctor attended your mother?” he asked, barely daring to open his eyes again for fear that he might give into Mary's pleading gaze.
“Doctor Danham is hopeful she shall make a full recovery,” Mary admitted before she quickly added, “though I am not certain she could take any more bad news with how weak she is, Your Grace.”
George cringed. How could he send her away without even a glimmer of hope?
His throat constricted, and for a second, he was unable to speak.
A glance at his mother told him where she stood on the matter, though for once, she was uncharacteristically silent.
“Lady Mary, I shall agree to chaperone your sister on one condition,” he stated, and he had to force himself not to smile when he saw the delight on her face.
“Yes? Anything, Your Grace,” Mary insisted, “I shall do anything you wish.”
“Lady Cecelia must not learn of this conversation between us,” he said firmly. “I shall not have her reject my help out of stubbornness.”
“Oh, Your Grace, my lips shall remain firmly closed on the matter!” Mary said, her voice almost breaking with emotion.
George nodded his acceptance of her promise. “Now, can we eat before all of this food goes to waste?”
His mother's smile was plainly joyous at his words, and he tried not to look at her. Certainly, he knew she would be sure to remind him that she had been right at some point, though he was not ready for such conversations yet.
“Thank you, Your Grace, but I should return home quickly or risk being found out,” Mary said, rising from her seat.
“Please, allow me to escort you out,” George said, making to rise.
Mary waved him off the idea. “I think I can find my own way to the door. After all, this place is as much home as Fernworth.”
At that, his mother reached out and took her hand. “And it always shall be, shall it not, George?”
The way the two women looked at him made George nod. “Of course.”
Mary looked as if she were about to leave, but before she could do so, George heard a commotion coming from the hallway.
He stood up with a start, half-expecting something terrible to have happened.
“My Lord, you can’t just go in there.” He recognized the voice of one of his footmen just seconds before Walter barged into the room.
At the sight of him, Mary dropped into a low curtsey. “My Lord.”
George bit the inside of his lip, trying not to smile at the dumbfounded expression on his friend’s face.
“Lady Mary,” he said, clearing his throat. “Forgive me. I was unaware that the duke had company.”
At that, the footman arrived, a flustered look upon his face that most assuredly told George he had known well he had company.
“Please do not apologize, My Lord. I was just on my way out,” Mary insisted, rising from her curtsey but keeping her gaze low.
George watched his friend take a hesitant half-step towards her. He glanced in George’s direction before he responded, “Do not let me encourage you out. I was just coming to remind George that he promised me a ride out this morning.”
He glanced at George again, but his gaze quickly returned to Lady Mary. George and his mother shared a glance, one filled with knowing and amusement.
“I hadn’t forgotten,” George insisted, though in truth, he had.
“Well then, I wish you well on your ride, Your Grace, My Lord,” Lady Mary said, offering each of them a dip of her head before she finally raised her eyes to look at Walter and add, “I am ever so glad to see you home safely, My Lord. I was not aware you had returned.”
George thought he saw a little colour light his friend’s face. “I should have sent word,” he sighed, shaking his head. “I am terrible for such things. I am glad to see you well also, My Lady.”
The tension between the two of them was palpable, even more so than it had been when they were children, and George came to realize quickly that it seemed nothing had changed between them over the years.
He remembered well how Walter and Mary had always been close, the two of them always in each other’s company, laughing, playing, and doing just about anything to stay at each other’s side.
And it made his heart ache, for once, he and Lady Cecelia had been entirely the same. Now, they were practically strangers. Suddenly, he wondered what he wouldn’t do to get back to that.
The thought was gone in a second as he remembered all over again what had happened in the gardens that day. How could he possibly grow so close to a woman who had once called him coward?
“Perhaps, Lady Mary, you might join us?” Walter suggested, and George almost missed it, too entrenched in his thoughts. It was only when his friend said, “What do you say, George?” that he registered the words spoken.
“I … umm …” George stammered, unprepared for such a question. He wasn’t certain that riding out with Lady Mary in tow after having just made a deal with her to keep things secret between them would be such a great idea.
Luckily for him, Lady Mary appeared all too willing to save the day.
“I thank you for the offer, My Lord, but I’m afraid I’m much more comfortable with books than I am horses,” Lady Mary said, dipping her head again. “And I really ought to be on my way home. My mother is quite unwell at present, and I do not wish to stay away too long.”
Walter looked more than a little disappointed at that, and George felt a small shred of sympathy for him.
“Perhaps another time then?” Walter suggested, his expression becoming hopeful.
Lady Mary looked up, a brilliant smile on her face then and said, “Perhaps.”
It was clear to see that though she never had any intention of horse riding that day, she desperately would have liked to spend some time with him.
The way they looked at each other reminded him once again of her sister, and George had to force himself to look away, hoping to give them a semi-private moment.
When he glanced at his mother, she had her head down and was focusing on her breakfast as if she wished to do the same.
“Can I at least escort you to the door, My Lady?” Walter asked.
Lady Mary’s cheeks flushed at that. “I would like that.”
Walter glanced at George as if looking for something to stop him, or maybe even a little courage, but then he offered Lady Mary the crook of his arm.
“Good day, Your Grace, Your Grace,” Lady Mary said, dipping a quick curtsey to both George and his mother before she allowed Walter to guide her from the room.
Almost as soon as Mary was gone, his mother stated, “I knew you would see sense eventually.”
George straightened his back and declared, “I am merely doing my duty towards Father and Lord Flannery's friendship. Nothing else.”
His mother raised an eyebrow at that, her expression suggesting she was not entirely convinced.
Whether she was or not, George was determined to convince himself of the fact.
This is duty, nothing more.
Yet, when he closed his eyes again to avoid his mother's gaze, he found himself thinking of Lady Cecelia beside her mother's sickbed again. And a part of him felt an overwhelming urge to go to her.
It was only staunched by Walter’s return, and George quickly focused himself upon his friend once more. He smiled knowingly when he saw the flustered look upon his face.
“Is Lady Mary well? Did she get off safely?” he asked, shoving his hands into his pockets.
“Don’t look at me that way,” Walter snapped as if he knew well what his friend was thinking. “She did.”
“Good, I am glad,” George said, unable to stop his smile from broadening. “I did not anticipate you returning so quickly.”
“Yes, well, we have a ride to get on with, don’t we?”
George cocked his head. “I would have waited.”
“There was no need,” Walter insisted, but George could see on his friend’s face that the idea of having spent more time with Lady Mary was most appealing.