Chapter Six
Georgiana
Georgiana woke the next day to the smell of bacon. Mrs. Honeycutt must have gone into the village already and returned with supplies. She might be a bit bawdy, but the woman knew how to get things done. No wonder James loved her so dearly.
As she lay in the narrow bed, fragments of the previous evening drifted through her mind.
The warmth of the brandy, the flicker of firelight across James’s face as he spoke of his past, the way his voice had gentled when he’d made her feel safe.
She touched her fingers to her lips, remembering the way he’d looked at her when he’d called her beautiful.
Cecily had already risen and dressed. Georgiana could hear her talking to Mrs. Honeycutt in the kitchen, their voices mingling with the sounds of breakfast preparation.
Her sister had left her a basin of warm water, which she used to give herself a thorough washing before putting on her dress from the day before. After pinning her hair with extra care—though she told herself it had nothing to do with a certain lord—she headed toward the wonderful smells.
Morning sunlight spilled across the long worktable, catching in the rim of chipped crockery bowls and a basket of golden scones.
Mrs. Honeycutt bustled between the hearth and the table in her apron and half-pinned curls, already halfway through a monologue about the indecency of village shopkeepers who had the nerve to question whether Lord Ashford had indeed hired the likes of her to be his cook.
“How very rude,” Cecily said, buttering a scone. “I hope you explained the situation.”
“Trust me, they won’t question me again.” Mrs. Honeycutt grinned wickedly. “I might have scared the grocer with my fierce tongue. I heard him mutter something about redheads and the devil. Which I paid no mind to whatsoever.”
“How you managed to get into the village before sunrise, I’ll never know.” Cecily yawned. “You’re a wonder, Mrs. Honeycutt.”
“I can’t have my James going hungry,” Mrs. Honeycutt said with obvious affection. “Or Lord Ashford, I mean. That’s going to take some getting used to.”
James, seated at the end of the table, gave a low chuckle. He looked rested and relaxed, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, hair slightly damp from washing. When he glanced up as she entered, something passed between them—a shared memory of their conversation by the fire.
“Good morning, Lord Ashford.” Georgiana took the seat across from him, acutely aware of his presence.
“How did you sleep?” His eyes held hers for a moment longer than necessary.
“Very well, thank you.” She felt warmth creep up her neck under his gaze.
There was something different about him this morning—or perhaps something different about how she saw him.
The harsh lines around his eyes seemed softer, and she found herself noticing details she’d missed before.
The way his hands moved as he reached for his coffee. The small scar near his left temple.
He cleared his throat and addressed both sisters. “I’ve been thinking about your arrangements here. The inn is perfectly adequate, but with the work we’re doing on the manor, it seems impractical for you to keep traveling back and forth. Especially with winter weather being so unpredictable.”
The sisters exchanged a glance.
“What are you suggesting?” Georgiana asked carefully.
“Stay here. For as long as you’re working on the restoration. Mrs. Honeycutt has plenty of room, and frankly—”. He paused, seeming to choose his words with great care. “After last night, I realized how much I enjoy the company. This house has been too quiet for too long.”
“Oh, yes, you must stay,” Mrs. Honeycutt chimed in. “I’ll be lonesome down here by myself. Besides, it’s not proper for his lordship to be rattling around this big house with only me for company. People will talk.”
“They’re already talking,” Cecily said with a grin. “About the mysterious sisters who’ve come to restore the manor.”
“If you think we wouldn’t be in the way?” Georgiana found herself hoping he’d insist.
“Nonsense. You’re barely big enough to get in anyone’s way,” Mrs. Honeycutt declared.
James leaned forward slightly. “Mrs. Ellsworth starts today. Once she’s settled and we’ve sorted out the staff quarters, we can move you to proper guest rooms upstairs. But for now, you’re welcome to stay here with Mrs. Honeycutt.”
“That would be wonderful,” Cecily said, clearly delighted. “The inn is perfectly nice, but this feels more like…” She gestured around the warm kitchen.
“Home,” Georgiana finished softly, then caught herself. “I mean, it’s very kind of you. And it would help us manage our expenses.”
“Then it’s settled.” James’s smile was genuine, reaching his eyes. “I confess, I’m rather looking forward to more evenings like last night.”
Before Georgiana could respond to that loaded statement, the back door opened and a woman stepped inside, removing her bonnet with one gloved hand and clutching a small parcel in the other.
“Well now, look at all of you.” The newcomer delivered a wide smile. “It’s been too long since this kitchen was full of hungry people.”
James stood immediately. “Mrs. Ellsworth, welcome. I’m so glad you’re here.”
She patted his arm with obvious fondness before turning to the sisters. “You must be Mrs. Fairfax and Miss Linley. I’ve heard nothing but kind things about you in the village. You’ve created quite the stir with the young men, I’m told.”
“We’ve heard wonderful things about you as well,” Georgiana replied, rising to greet her. “James has just invited us to stay here at the manor instead of at the inn. I hope you won’t mind. This will be your house to run, after all.”
“I’ll be delighted for the company,” Mrs. Ellsworth said warmly.
“It will be like the old days when this kitchen was filled with young people.” She reached into her bag.
“Speaking of which, on my way from the village, the postman asked me to deliver this. Apparently, word has spread that you’re staying here.
Like I said, everyone’s talking about the two beautiful women who have come to save the manor from ruin. ”
She handed Georgiana a pale envelope with elegant, looping script.
Georgiana took one look at the handwriting and her face fell. “Oh no. It’s from Mother.”
Cecily groaned audibly. “Dear God, what does she want now?”
Georgiana broke the wax seal with the resignation of someone opening a bill she couldn’t afford to pay. She read quickly, her expression growing more dismayed with each line.
“Well?” Cecily demanded. “Don’t keep us in suspense.”
“I’ll read it aloud.” Georgiana cleared her throat and adopted a theatrical tone:
“My darling girls, as I find myself in need of a change of scenery—and funds are temporarily tight—I shall arrive on Thursday, the twenty-eighth of January. Do make sure the village offers accommodations of suitable refinement. I expect to stay at least a fortnight. Longer if the mood strikes me or if I find the local society sufficiently entertaining. With love, Mama.”
“That’s in two weeks,” Cecily said, calculating quickly. “What are we going to do?”
“She’ll not be deterred once she’s made up her mind,” Georgiana said grimly.
“Lord Ashford, I must warn you—under no circumstances should you invite her to stay here. She has a talent for making herself indispensable and overstaying her welcome. The last time she visited someone, she stayed for three months.”
“And ate them out of house and home,” Cecily added. “Not to mention rearranging all their furniture and criticizing their choice of servants.”
“Now you’ll have to pay for her lodging at the inn,” Cecily continued. “On top of everything else.”
Georgiana closed her eyes briefly. “God help us all.”
James watched this exchange with growing amusement. “She sounds… formidable.”
“That’s one word for her,” Georgiana muttered, folding the letter with more force than necessary.
Mrs. Honeycutt chuckled. “Well, this should make things interesting. I do love a good family drama.”
“You won’t once you meet her,” both sisters said in unison, which only made James laugh harder.
*
A week had passed since Mrs. Ellsworth’s arrival, and Georgiana had settled into a comfortable routine at the manor.
She was just finishing her sketches for the day when a soft knock came at the door.
She looked up from her work as Mrs. Ellsworth entered, a familiar warmth in the housekeeper’s expression that had developed over their days together.
“Mrs. Fairfax, this arrived in today’s post. The village boy brought it up with the bread delivery.” She held out a single envelope, cream-colored and crisply folded.
Georgiana frowned, setting down her pencil. “Was it forwarded from Brighton?”
“No. Addressed directly to you here. Which is strange, I thought.”
Georgiana stood slowly and took the letter with cautious fingers. Her name was written in a looping hand, familiar and unwelcome. Her stomach turned to ice.
Julian.
No return address. No seal. But she knew. The way one knows when the air shifts before a storm. When poison slithers just out of sight.
She didn’t open it.
Instead, she crossed the room with careful steps, lifted the brass poker from its stand, and nudged the fire until the flames leapt higher. Then, without a word, she tossed the envelope into the blaze.
Mrs. Ellsworth watched quietly, her concern evident. “Should I be worried?”
Georgiana’s hands trembled as she set the poker down. “Just some unwanted correspondence. Nothing to concern yourself with.”
The door opened before Mrs. Ellsworth could respond.
James stepped in, still in his shirtsleeves from working on the estate accounts.
Over the past week, these informal visits to check on her progress had become a treasured part of her day.
He looked between her and the hearth where the last of the letter crinkled into ash, his expression immediately shifting to concern.