~~*~~
Henry had not been to see them, of course, and she was not much surprised. Her cousin not having the capacity, she had recently decided, for those very deep feelings which some more sensitive men do, was, as a consequence, more difficult to genuinely wound. Georgiana was quite easily convinced that he did not suffer some deep injury that needed to be coddled. He did, however, possess a normal amount of male pride, and she did not wonder that he had not once called at Loweston since their return. She had, after all, refused him, even if he had turned to Esme to restore his dignity.
Julia was greatly offended by his absence. ‘He promised me he would varnish my little box! Why does he stay away? Oh, I do hope he will come soon!’
Georgiana was not able to give her younger sister the satisfaction of a reply in the affirmative, and Julia had to content herself with looking out the parlour windows every fine afternoon, and sigh when no rider on horseback appeared.
The Colonel was still a regular visitor, of course, and accompanied the girls on country walks and partnered Georgiana when there was any dancing to be had, but Georgiana considered him no substitute for her cousin, whose lively chatter and diverting stories had previously cheered her on his visits. The Colonel seemed more subdued these days too, spending more than half the time he sat with them in the front parlour in silence, and startling when addressed. When he spoke, it was to address the greater quantity of his remarks to Mrs Hall or to Georgiana. Elizabeth seemed slightly affronted by this snub, having grown accustomed to the Colonel’s ever-attentive efforts to flatter her and press his suit, but Georgiana could now hardly wonder at his distant behaviour, given Elizabeth’s open snubs to him in town only weeks previous. But ‘Elizabeth at home’ was not ‘Elizabeth in town’, and now she was returned to Loweston, her sister could not afford to be so fastidious in the company she kept, and was much put out that the Colonel had given up all his attentions to her.
~~*~~
One morning, the Colonel was announced by Gibby, and shown into the drawing room. Finding only Georgiana at home, her mother and Eliza having gone into the village with Julia, he patted the chaise and Georgiana sat beside him expectantly. He had about him an air of sadness.
‘You do not look at all yourself, Colonel. Is there something I can get Gibby to bring you? Sherry perhaps, if tea does not suit?’
‘I am perfectly well, my dear girl, I thank you. No, what ails me, there is no cure for, except one I shall undertake myself. I am come to say that I am going away, for a time.’
‘Oh, but Colonel, is this not a sudden scheme? We had no idea of your going away— Mama will be most upset. She relies upon your advice and support for— well, for everything, I think!’
‘Aye, that she does, and I am glad to give it. Your father, my dear, was my good friend, and I like to think he is somewhere over my shoulder there, telling me what to say, giving the advice he would want to give.’
She said in a choked tone, ‘I know he is. And you have always been the best friend to our family.’ She did not ask the Colonel why he was going away, for she did not need to. She patted his hand. ‘I will miss you as my dance partner, you know, and on walks. I shall have my cane, but I have always relied upon your arm. Are you to go soon?’
‘Yes. I shall go this very day, to my sister in the west. It is two years since I have seen her and I plan to stay some time. It will do me some good to be away from here. I shall shut up Lidcombe. God knows it has never seen many visitors; it will not mind being left for a time!’
‘And will you call again, Colonel, to say goodbye to Eliza and Mama?’
‘It will be out of my power— I think not, my dear, I think not. I pray you will pass my fondest regards to your family, and say goodbye to them for me, and say that I will write to your mother with my direction, in case she should need anything.’
‘I see. Yes of course. You will be sorely missed, you know,’ she added feelingly.
‘But not perhaps, as much as I would wish, by some,’ the Colonel added, with slight rancour.
Georgiana took his hand impulsively. ‘What is it some great poet said? “That Time and Absence proves, rather helps than hurts to loves”. Perhaps an absence of long duration might work its effects, more than constant attendance, where it is taken for granted.’
The Colonel squeezed her hand. ‘Thank you, my dear. I shall not give up all hope.’
‘May I ask you something, Colonel, before you take your leave, something that has been on my mind for some time?’
‘Of course, my dear, if I can answer it.’
She was silent moment. ‘My father’s debts. Were they truly from gambling?’
The Colonel looked kindly into her eyes. ‘I know you thought highly of your father, my dear, and he did love you all, but truth be told, he found himself rather cut up for money by the end, and I cannot blame it entirely on overgenerous living at home.’
‘It is true then.’ Her voice was choked. She got up from the chaise and went to the window. ‘I wanted to believe it was all Mama, you know. To preserve the image I have in my mind of Papa. Eliza tried to tell me, but I could not bear to hear anything against Papa. I thought it was spite that made her say it. But it was true, after all.’
The Colonel remonstrated kindly with her, but his grave looks spoke more honestly than she had ever wished to believe. He took his leave shortly afterward, and Georgiana sat for some time at the window. She had assumed from infancy the goodness of men, and had always believed in it, from the tenderness and patience of her dear Papa, and the attentiveness and good-nature of her cousin Henry, to the kindness of Colonel Walker. Even Captain Brandt, whom she had first thought of as noble and good, she could not view the same way since his proposals to her. Now, she felt as if the ground beneath her had been rocked, and her unswerving faith in the seeming unselfish goodness, of the inherent nobleness of those people in her life that she had always looked up to, had been shaken. Was it true, that her idols had, after all, feet of clay?
Fifteen
The end of October arrived, and the weather turned very cold, bringing a light dusting of snow to Loweston. Georgiana passed this time quietly, in unusual contemplation, and was often found with a book in her lap by the fire, but staring into the room.
‘I beg you will find something useful to do with your hands, Georgiana, if you are going to be sitting around in that silly way. It is abominably provoking! Go and ask Gibson to give you her mending, if she has not done it all.’
Her mother was impatient with her, although it was as much from her own want of company as from seeing her daughter listless and idle. Now that Colonel Walker was gone away, both Eliza and her mama seemed out of sorts and more ill-tempered than ever. But Eliza could not expect to enjoy the attentions of the man whom she had rejected so decidedly only weeks before, thought Georgiana sadly, remembering the Colonel’s last visit.
Georgiana had not written to Lilly, since returning to Derbyshire, although she thought of it every day, and had not received any news from her friend. She wondered at this, but it was very much a matter of delicacy, since Henry had not announced an engagement, and she did not wish to mention the affair to her friend unless asked. She therefore had decided it wiser to remain aloof from the situation, and not to write at all, until such time as Lilly mentioned Esme and Henry, and all could be spoken of openly.
The possibility of a secret engagement between Esme Osbourne and Henry Hall had occurred to Georgiana more than once, given that Mr and Mrs Osbourne had railed against their older daughter’s choice, and yet, Henry was not so poor a choice as Charles Hailsham; the law was regarded as a gentleman’s profession, he boasted an adequate income, and looked forward to good prospects and a home at Loweston when he married. Perhaps Henry waited to announce his engagement to Esme out of delicacy for Lilly’s situation.
It was not long before Georgiana had the answer supplied to the question in her mind. A cool November morning brought a rather flustered Gibby into the brea
kfast room, where Mrs Hall and her daughters were seated over warm chocolate and rolls.
‘Ma’am, I wonder— that is, perhaps you haven’t heard, Ma’am?’
‘Have not heard what, Gibson? Explain yourself!’ commanded Mrs Hall impatiently. ‘I dislike exceedingly secrecy and beating around the bush!’
‘Oh, Ma’am,’ continued Gibby, with anxious care, ‘I daresay it is none of my business, but I think you may not have heard or I would not have mentioned it. Your nephew, Ma’am, Henry Hall— is engaged to be married, Ma’am. To a Miss Caroline Wright of Ploverdale.’
Georgiana put down her tea cup. It clinked sharply in her saucer. ‘To Miss Caroline Wright?’
‘Yes, Miss.’
‘But I thought—’ She stopped abruptly. ‘Miss Caroline Wright? Are you sure you heard correctly, Gibby?’
‘Yes, Miss. I heard it on good authority from the housekeeper at Beecham House. It was announced yesterday, Ma’am, and I wondered if you had heard it, as young Mr Hall has not called here for some weeks.’
Mrs Hall sniffed. ‘Well, Miss Osbourne is safe, after all. All those goings-on in town! But perhaps she is fickle-minded and gave up the engagement. It seems young women these days think they can all do whatever they like, and not give a thought for their families!’
Georgiana felt all the personal injustice of this remark, and her resentment rose, but she remained silent, quite astonished at the news.
‘How odd!’ noted Elizabeth. ‘We did not expect such a development when— but,’ she continued, glancing at Julia who was listening most attentively, ‘how excessively charming, is it not Georgie? We must write and offer our congratulations.’
Georgiana was white. ‘But poor Esme! I wonder what can have happened? Can his character indeed be so dark? Oh, I do not understand it at all!’
‘I dare say he has simply changed his mind, as young men tend to do. Henry, as we know, is not the most constant young man,’ said Elizabeth meaningfully.
Georgiana, who understood immediately her sister’s meaning, shook her head. ‘I must write to Lilly at once! Poor, poor Esme!’ She sought the peace of her room and sat at once at her writing desk.
‘My dearest Lilly,
I have just heard the news of my cousin’s engagement. I hope you will not consider me ill-mannered my dear friend, but afflicted by a heart full of compassion, I cannot remain silent. I am shocked at my cousin’s behaviour; whatever I thought he was in the past, and however he has dealt with me, his behaviour toward your sister is insupportable, and I cannot excuse him on any point.
I confess that until recently I did not believe him capable of such heartless dealings with your sister, but other circumstances, of which you know, have revealed weaknesses in his character to which I have formerly been blind. I now look back upon those last weeks we spent in town, and find it impossible not to partially assign blame to myself for having not warned your sister. How quickly he had changed his allegiance! And yet, I did not think him capricious enough to so positively put her at risk of harm. I did think there must be some true attachment!
I can only hope that Esme will recover her spirits in time, with the help of her friends.
Write to me when you are able, and tell me that Esme is not so cast down that she cannot recover. Oh Lilly, the suffering that comes when we place those we care for on pedestals so high that they cannot remove themselves without falling!
Your devoted friend,
G. H.’
She was not long waiting for a reply, for five days after posting it, Lilly’s return letter came, addressed from her cousins in the north.
‘My dear Georgiana,
I must beg your forgiveness, to have so neglected you by way of a letter between this and your last, but I flatter myself you will forgive me such a slight, when you hear what a to-do has come over our family!
We here at Bournemouth heard the whole of the business between Mr Hall and my sister from my aunt, who heard it all from Mama, and I cannot but think Henry Hall has treated my sister with great disrespect. But, only think, Georgie, my sister will not confess to any love affair with your cousin at all! It is so very peculiar! Mama writes to tell me that Esme refuses to speak of the incident in the park, denies any attachment, and becomes most agitated when pressed! I cannot but wonder if they quarrelled, or if there was nothing between them, after all! Mama is beside herself, and insists Esme’s reputation must be now ruined by the business, but I do not think it is as bad as all that. Most people, I think, will feel very sorry for the way she has been treated.
I understand Mr Laidlaw has retreated from town and gone to his friends in the south. I feel very much for him, for I think he was a good way to being very much in love with my sister.
I am still with my cousins, for Mama mistakenly thinks that a long stay here will be enough to separate dear Charles and me, but I am to return home to Derbyshire in a week or so, and I will talk to Esme myself. Perhaps she will confide in me; Mama can be quite stern, you know, and my sister can be such a timid little thing! Perhaps I shall get to the truth of the matter. I shall write you again when I find anything out!
I must thank you, dearest friend, for carrying out the commission I entrusted to you some months ago. I hope I did not cause you any uneasiness by asking it, but I am sure Mama cannot indefinitely keep two people apart who are so meant for each other! Charles continues to write, but addresses his correspondence to my cousin, Harriet, as a school friend, so my aunt cannot find us out. Oh, Georgie, I do so wish Mama would relent a little, so that Charles and I may marry soon; I could not bear a long engagement if there is no hope of a future!
In the meantime, I am ever your friend,
L. O.’
That Esme Osbourne might deny all knowledge of an attachment did not surprise Georgiana so much. In fact, she thought it rather a likely course of action to take, were one’s reputation or pride at stake. Still, if there had been a real attraction between them, as the scene in the Vauxhall Gardens had intimated, Esme must be suffering from the broken heart that inevitably follows such a connection. Perhaps in her choice of silence, she hoped not to distress her sister, separated as Lilly was from the man she loved.
How fickle, thought Georgiana, was the nature of a woman, to seemingly give her heart to one man, and then as quickly to another! She thought, too, of the fickle and unknowable nature of men, which she had come to understand in the last few months. If Esme had transferred her affections from Tom to Henry, Henry was no less fickle in his proposals to herself, and then to another lady within a fortnight! Even Captain Brandt, offering first to two other women, before approaching her, could be reproached with the shame of fickleness and caprice! No man, it seemed could be trusted to know his own heart or mind. Disappointed and disheartened, Georgiana went down to dinner, feeling sure she would never trust a man enough to risk her own heart!
Sixteen
One morning, as Georgiana sat at breakfast with her family, Mrs Hall made an announcement. ‘Well, well, girls, but how horrid this weather is! It makes everybody intolerably dull and everything seem flat! But it seems you must brave a little snow, for I have had a letter from Fanny yesterday, and she invites you all to Northstead for Christmas. There now, Julia, you may have your dancing finally!’
Julia got up and began jigging about, holding Lumley awkwardly in her arms until his satiny bulk slid down to the floor. ‘We are going to Northstead for Christmas, Lumley! Eliza, are you not quite diverted? Oh, I shall like it of all things!’
‘No indeed, I shall not want to go! I should detest travelling in that dull, horrid carriage in this weather, and for hours on end! I shall be quite content to remain here! Besides, there is too much snow, we should not get through.’
‘That will do, Julia,’ admonished her mother. ‘Pray do not drag that creature around! Why look at your gown! It is covered in dog hair!’
Georgiana was eager. ‘I should like to go, Mama. I will take Julia. It will do her good to be in compan
y again. She might learn to be more ladylike!’ she added, laughing at her sister’s look.
‘Aye, and you shall use the time to think about your duty to this this family! I suppose it is too late now, to get your Captain!’ Mrs Hall added discontentedly. ‘But supposing an offer were to be made again, from someone in your aunt’s set — I should hope you remember your duty this time!’
To this speech, Georgiana made no reply, and kept her head low. She was aggrieved by this assumption that she would marry whomever asked and wondered if she would ever feel free in her own house again, of the burden of having not “done her duty”. Was she to endure such comments for as long as she lived?
‘When are we to go, Mama?’ asked Julia.
‘I think it must be soon,’ noted Mrs Hall, ‘for the weather looks very bad to come, and it is a good two-days’ journey. You will have to stop at an inn to overnight. You had better take only old John, for we cannot spare Mary, can we Eliza? I am sure you can manage Julia on your own, Georgie.’
‘Yes, indeed. Come, Julia, we had better pack our trunks!’
Their mother concurred with the predictions for the possibility of bad weather, and the day for their departure was set for early the following morning so as to depart before the snow arrived.
~~*~~
Georgiana, quite relieved at being given a reprieve from the burden of her choices, eagerly closed the carriage door after an early breakfast, and nodded to the driver to be off. Old John, wrapped warmly against the cold, uttered one or two oaths against the chill air, and otherwise was silent and morose at having been forced from the kitchen so early, and on so cheerless an errand.
Julia was wrapped up in her own thick shawl and boots, and Georgiana blew misty breaths into the cold morning air as she rubbed her hands and stuffed them into her old muff. They had not travelled five and thirty miles before the horses were forced through a muddy lane, and Georgiana wondered if it might snow sooner than they had planned. It would be a very poor journey if they were forced to take the carriage through snow banks.
Beauty and the Beast of Thornleigh Page 12