Chapter 5
George closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. It was nearly time for him to take his leave and make his way to the house of another, to a gentleman and his family with whom he was soon to be very closely acquainted indeed.
He did not want to go.
Forcing himself to walk out of the door and towards his carriage, George curled his fingers tightly into his palms so that there came a slight bite of pain from where his nails dug in.
This was what his father had expected, what he had demanded from George, and, given that it was his duty to protect his family line, there was nothing more he could do but obey.
Sitting down in the carriage, George recalled the moment he had opened the letter from his father the day after he had kissed Miss Williams at the Christmas ball.
His heart had been filled with hope and expectation, thinking of the future he might share with her, delighting in all that he felt…
but it had all been taken away from him in a single moment.
His father had informed him that his business in London had taken an unexpected turn and that George would have to be the one to repair the damage his great-grandparents had done.
That in itself had been confusing, but the documents his father had enclosed had been all the more perplexing.
At first, he had been doubtful about the whole thing, quite convinced that there was something amiss with the letter, the documents, and the entire situation.
He had been determined to speak with his father at length about it all.
That had not been what fate had for him.
Instead of sitting down and having his father explain all, George had been met with a note from the butler in London, informing him that his father had taken very unwell.
By the time George had reached London, it had been too late.
He had arrived at the house to be informed that not only had his father breathed his last but that he now bore the title.
That had put an end to every intention George had about understanding the documents and the expected duty settled upon his shoulders.
There had been his mourning period thereafter and, with it, time to go through all that his father had been responsible for, and yet, still, those documents weighed heavily on his mind.
They were the reason he had not been able to return to Miss Williams – would never be able to return to her, no matter how much his heart longed for her.
It was to be his burden to bear, but bear it, he would.
His responsibility was to his family, to his estate, and to his duty, and certainly not to his own heart.
With a rap on the roof, George waited for the carriage to roll on down the road, his heart knotting painfully and his mind screaming at him to turn around.
Perhaps this gentleman knew nothing about these documents; mayhap he could do as he pleased, without any concern whatsoever!
Letting out a hiss of breath through his teeth, George closed his eyes and leaned his head back, his chest tight.
If only she had not come to speak with me.
The way Miss Williams had quietly demanded an explanation of him had made his heart yearn to be truthful with her about it all, as if, somehow, that might make a way for her to solve his present difficulty.
He knew it would not. Instead, his explanation would bring her the very same pain that he endured, knowing that the lady he wanted to pursue, he had to stay away from.
The way she had looked into his eyes had him begging silently to give way to his own feelings and to kiss her soundly, to the point that he had been forced to turn away without explanation.
He had not answered her question, had not told her the truth about why he had not been able to return to her, for if he had dared, if he had lingered, then his resolve might have fallen away completely.
And I need my strength, he reminded himself. I need it to stay away from Miss Williams for this coming conversation.
Quite how long the carriage drive took, George did not know, but it felt like an age. When it finally drew up, it took every ounce of inner strength he had to step out, looking up at the door and wishing he could walk away from it.
It opened for him without him even walking to the top of the steps, as if someone within had been watching and waiting for him.
Mayhap they have been, George thought to himself, his jaw setting tight as he climbed the steps to the door. After all, they have been waiting for many months for this.
“Lord Surrey, good afternoon.” The butler, evidently aware of exactly who George was, took his hat and then his gloves from him. Handing them to a footman, he gestured down to his left. “Lord Turnhill is waiting to speak with you in the drawing room. If you might come with me?”
George did not say a word but nodded, following the butler through the house.
He had sent word some days ago to Lord Turnhill, and thus, the gentleman was now expecting him.
They had never been formally acquainted, having written through letters only, but all the same, they were bound together.
George steeled himself as he was directed into the drawing room, his stomach clenching as he bowed, coming face to face with the gentleman who would dictate his future.
“Viscount Turnhill, good afternoon.”
The gentleman returned George’s bow, looking back at him with a steady gaze, although George did not much like the gleam that he saw in the man’s eyes. He could not think too poorly of such a thing, however, fully aware that this situation went in Lord Turnhill’s favor.
“And so, we meet at last.” Lord Turnhill put out one hand to shake George’s, his grip firm and strong. “I have only ever been acquainted with your father, and I must say, there is a strong family resemblance between you both.”
George released his grip and tried to smile.
“I thank you.” Lord Turnhill was not a tall, broad-shouldered man but a thin, wiry sort of fellow with very little grey hair left on his head, though he did sport a well-trimmed moustache and beard.
There was a quickness to the way he spoke, his words often hurried as if he could not wait for the general remarks to be finished so the conversation might move to the matter at hand.
“I was heartily sorry to hear of his passing,” Lord Turnhill said, directing George to sit down in a chair. “That must have been very difficult for you.”
“It was,” George replied, his heart squeezing with a sharp pain at the mention of his father.
“We did not get the chance to discuss the matter at hand before he died, for which I am very sorry. I should have liked to have understood the situation – and the documents he left me – a good deal better.”
Lord Turnhill sat down, tilted his head, and searched George’s face. “What is there to understand?”
It was not only the question but the hint of sharpness to the man’s tone that brought George up short.
“I did not mean to suggest that the documents themselves were unclear,” he said, slowly, telling himself to choose his words with great care.
“I should have liked to know where they had come from, why they were brought to his attention, and if the authenticity can be verified.”
“I can tell you where they came from.” Lord Turnhill snapped his fingers, and the door behind George opened; the servant came in to bring in a tray of small cakes and another with a decanter of what to George’s mind appeared to be brandy.
Momentarily distracted, George forgot what it was he had been asking Lord Turnhill, only for the gentleman to repeat himself again.
“I can tell you where the documents came from,” he said again, rising to his feet to pour them both a measure of brandy into two glasses. “My solicitor found them.”
George blinked, his eyebrows lifting.
“You can imagine my astonishment,” Lord Turnhill continued, handing one glass to George before going to seat himself again.
“Here I was in London, trying to find my two daughters a suitable match, only for these papers to be presented to me! And that took care of one of them, did it not?” He chuckled as darkness swam into George’s mind, weighing him down.
“Your father was also present in London, much to my relief, so I shared them with him at once. We were not introduced at the time, but he was very gracious indeed.”
A tiny smile plucked at the edge of George’s lips, and he raised his glass to his lips, taking a sip of his brandy.
His father, whilst being firm of character and a little short in his way of speaking, had always been gracious and, to George’s mind, considerate and kind.
It did not come as a surprise to him to know that Lord Turnhill had found him so.
“Together, we discussed the matter, and he was quite determined to make certain that these documents were genuine. He passed them to his solicitor, and thus, we waited.”
“And it was reported that it was so?”
Lord Turnhill nodded. “Yes, the documents state the truth. Many years ago, your great-grandfather, the Earl of Surrey, took land and property from my great-grandfather, Viscount Turnhill. It was an unfair deal, done poorly and without consideration.”
“For which I am very sorry indeed.”
Lord Turnhill waved a hand. “It is not as though this were your doing, Lord Surrey! It is not as if you were in any way responsible yourself, so please, do not place guilt upon your shoulders that you need not feel.”
George tried to smile, but he could not. His heart was beating much too hard, his throat closing up as he waited for Lord Turnhill to finish, to tell George what he already knew was coming up on the horizon.