by Nichole Van
What amateurs!
With a faint frown, Georgiana opened the door to her bedroom and shined the light down the hallway.
Empty.
Honestly, how was it possible for so many people to have access to the house at night? Quite appalling.
She closed her bedroom door, pondering what to do next.
The whole situation was absurd. The sort of debacle she and Sebastian would laugh themselves silly over, were they not its principle players.
Which only emphasized the ridiculousness of anyone sending her intimidating notes about Sebastian. It was almost worth being cozy with him just to annoy whoever had sent it.
Which begged the next question: Who had sent it?
Pondering, she tapped the note against her lips. Perhaps one of the Miss Burbanks, though Lady Ambrosia was also a likely suspect.
If so, they could definitely use a few lessons on clandestine subterfuge. Honestly, Mr. Snickers in his little sweaters was more fierce than this note.
She had been back almost five days, and the ladies continued to visit with shocking regularity, finding endless reasons to flaunt their charms. Sebastian took it all in good-natured stride, remaining courteous even when Miss Mica insisted he help her glue quilled paper circles to a picture frame.
And he had not renewed his offer of marriage. Had he given up on that too? If so, the man was easy-going to a fault.
Tapping the note against her lips, she leaned against her bedroom door, the wood chilly against her back. Mentally, she compared Shatner and Sebastian, so vastly different from each other.
Shatner with his penetrating gray eyes—the focused intensity when he talked about his interests and work, the sound of his voice sending shivers up her spine. He was a man of action, of purpose.
When his partner had called about flooding in their orphanage in Honduras, Shatner had hopped a plane the next morning and gone himself to fill sand bags and repair the damage. He had texted her every couple of hours with updates, going on endlessly about how much he loved his work. It had melted her heart to see his steadfast devotion. And along with all his charity work, Shatner could rival Sir Henry when it came to discussing gooseberries.
Well, Sebastian had his own gooseberry woes too, she supposed. Why did everything seem to come down to gooseberries with her? Was it proof that the universe had a sense of humor?
But, in the end, Sebastian was . . . just Sebastian.
She remembered the shooting contest that Lord Stratton had hosted every year. Sebastian had practiced for months, shooting targets behind the vicarage with his Baker rifle. It had been a different side of Sebastian, focused and determined. He had talked incessantly about the prize: ten guineas and a new pistol.
However, the day before the competition, Sebastian got into a terrible fight with Jack Carpenter who had taunted Sebastian about participating in a man’s competition. Sebastian had come home sporting a fierce black eye. And then, the next day, he had shown up at Lyndenbrooke instead of going to the competition. Georgiana herself had taken a severe chill and had been forced to stay home. Abandoning the competition, Sebastian sat with her throughout the day, keeping her company.
“Seb, you should go,” she’d said between coughs, voice hoarse. “I am well-enough and a maid will check on me every hour or so.”
“Nonsense, Georgie. You can barely speak above a whisper.”
“Truly, I will be well soon enough.” She tried to lift her head off the pillow, with little success. The room kept spinning.
“You shouldn’t worry, dear friend. The competition means nothing compared to your—”
“But, you have practiced so diligently and ‘tis such a shame—”
“Hush, Georgie. You will tire yourself. Think nothing more of it. Get some rest.”
Georgiana had found the entire incident disheartening. How could he abandon a dream over a little teasing from dumb Jack Carpenter?
Just look at his decision to marry her! She was convenient and comfortable, and so he had sought her out. The path of least resistance. That had always been his way. No hidden depths or passion.
She pondered it for a few minutes longer. She needed to be fair to Sebastian. He had been extremely kind listening to Sir Henry rambling on and on about gooseberries. She would give him that much. He took patience to new levels. It was ridiculous and yet, somehow, oddly endearing.
Standing in her nightgown and bare feet, she shivered and read the note again. Perhaps whoever had sent it was still around.
With a smile, Georgiana threw on a dressing gown and stole out of her room. Turning off the light from her phone, she tucked it into the pocket of her dressing gown. She knew Haldon Manor well enough to move around without a light. Besides, the moonlight streaming through the windows was sufficient to light the way.
She crept down the stairs and across the great hall, jumping when her bare feet hit the cold flagstones of the large room.
Shoes! Why did she always forget to put on shoes? Though barely September, the stone floor was freezing.
Grimacing, she continued across the great hall. Glancing inside the drawing room, she noticed the french doors leading to the back terrace were slightly ajar. Creeping quietly into the room, she peered around. Empty.
Puzzled, she walked over to the doors, intent on closing and latching them firmly. Really, someone needed to speak with the butler about ensuring the house was better locked each evening.
But as she swung the doors closed, she saw something glowing. The terrace led to the garden surrounded by a medieval wall and there, on the old wall, something stuttered and winked at her.
She squinted. Why it looked like . . .
She paused. Surely it couldn’t be what she thought it was. It must be some simple trick of the moonlight.
And her mind, always yearning to see something fantastical.
Cautiously, Georgiana crept out of the door and darted across the (cold) terrace for a closer look. Just to put her overactive imagination to rest. But as she drew near, she realized it was indeed what she had first suspected.
The Jupiter sign. Glowing. On the wall.
The electrical thrill started at her scalp and then cascaded downward, twitching arms, hands, legs, toes in its wake.
The whole sensation was utterly delicious.
She clamped a hand over her mouth, stifling a giggle. She darted looks left and right.
No one.
And yet, here was the sign, clearly drawn on the wall with a green luminescent chalk of some sort, looking like a loopy, undecided number four.
The glow wavered slightly and started to fade. Obviously, it was not meant to last. Quickly, she pulled out her phone and snapped a photo of the sign, if only to prove to herself this wasn’t just a hallucination.
A scent reached her, a smell similar to a struck matchstick, slightly acrid. She frowned for a moment. It was odd.
First a threatening note and then the Jupiter symbol on the garden wall.
Now she did giggle, loving the way excitement zoomed up and down her spine.
Ah, it was just so magnificent.
But who was responsible for it all? And were they one and the same person?
Despite her cold toes, Georgiana made a circuit of the garden, but saw no one and nothing else suspicious. When she returned to the garden wall, the Jupiter sign had faded entirely away.
She slipped back to her bedroom and collapsed on her bed with a contented sigh.
Grabbing her tablet, she made another entry:
Saw glowing Jupiter symbol on garden wall tonight. Could it be a signal of some sort? And for whom?
Sinking back into her bed pillows, she shook her head. Again, how was she supposed to sleep with so many ideas chasing each other around her head?
Too many more nights like this would make her a zombie.
Now wouldn’t that be delicious.
Georgiana woke several hours later to sun streaming and birds quarreling loudly outside her window.
/> Had she only imagined the events of last night?
Rubbing sleep out of her eyes, she reached for her phone under her pillow. There was the photo with the Jupiter sign, clear as could be.
An electrical zing shot down her spine again. Gooseflesh pebbled her arms.
Who had drawn it? Why that symbol? What did it mean?
And why here?
Haldon Manor was tucked on the border of Wales in rural Herefordshire, for heaven’s sake.
Rural Herefordshire.
It was like saying one lived in the section of Seven Dials that even those from Seven Dials considered a slum.
It was the backwater of nowhere. Nothing ever happened in Herefordshire, particularly the rural parts.
She pondered all the possibilities again.
Pirates?
Unlikely. The ocean was over fifty miles away in any direction.
French spies? They were at war with Napoleon after all.
No. That also seemed unlikely, per her first point. She was in Herefordshire.
Smugglers?
No. Again, that needed the ocean.
Thieves?
Not likely. If they were merely thieves, they would have robbed the house instead of leaving the sign.
Georgiana tapped a finger against her lips. Think, think, think.
Well, such things were nearly always messages. In this case, it could hardly be a warning as the symbol had been painted to disappear. So it had to be a directive of some kind to someone else.
She could deduce that the symbol was related to the note she had intercepted in the flower planter. The references to lightning and eagles definitely called up Jupiter. It seemed logical that both messages had been intended for the same person.
But who? And why?
What did the sign of a large planet and the king of the Roman gods have to do with Haldon Manor?
Fizzling glee skittered through her again as she buried back under the counterpane. How wonderful to have such a mystery to solve!
Fanny, her maid, opened the door and backed into the room carrying a breakfast tray with a pot of hot chocolate and fresh scones. Again. Just as she had every morning for the past week. Georgiana had been torn between the guilt of another person waiting upon her and delight at being so pampered. After doing for herself for so long, it was nice to be taken care of.
As Fanny set the tray down on the bedside table, Georgiana noticed a small, square package next to the pot of chocolate. Reaching for the package, Georgiana bid Fanny a cheerful good morning as the girl curtsied and left.
Georgiana hefted the parcel in her hand. Though, really, it seemed to be more of a present, tied with pretty ribbon and a bouquet of delicate wildflowers secured in the center. She inhaled the delicious scent of small forget-me-nots and lavender.
Inside, she discovered a small box—the kind one used for trinkets or pins. The box had been constructed with a recessed top and sides and was now covered in paper filigree. The quilling was simple, merely twisted circles of paper, but different colors had been used, resulting in a design. The top featured a red heart set into a pink background, while the sides had butterflies and flowers.
Well . . . maybe.
She examined the box more closely. It was hard to tell what the sides were meant to be. The quilling was quite sloppy and haphazardly done. Puzzled, she opened the box.
A note lay curled inside.
Dearest Georgiana,
Look to what you have reduced me. As a devotee and admirer of the finer arts of paper working, I beg of you to stop this horror. Please agree to be my wife, and I promise you a life free from quilling and its abuses against good taste everywhere.
Yours in this dire hour of need,
Sebastian
Georgiana laughed. She couldn’t help it. Trust him to always make her smile.
She studied the box again, imagining poor Sebastian affixing all the little circles. How utterly ridiculous.
And did a paper filigree marriage proposal even count? Assuming that multiple proposals from the same person counted.
Which they most certainly should. A proposal was a proposal, right?
That said, quilling and serious marriage proposals should never go hand-in-hand. Talk about abuses against good taste.
She pondered, tapping a finger against her lips. No, she would count it, even if Sebastian meant it more as a silly jest. So, this made proposal number seven.
But why did men find it so hard to phrase a proposal of marriage as a question? Why did they always try to just slip it in?
She saw Sebastian again in her mind’s eye, standing in the drawing room of Haldon Manor. Buckskins tucked into polished Hessian boots, shoulders broad in his immaculately cut coat. Giving her that wry grin that said he never took the world or himself too seriously. Lifting her hand to his lips, soft and warm against her knuckles. Briefly, she wondered if his lips would feel as soft against her own . . .
She blinked. Where had that thought come from? Georgiana shook her head.
It was just the clothes. Every man was more swoon-worthy in buckskin. She really needed to convince Shatner to be more serious about attending her Bosom Companions of the English Society meetings. Seeing him regularly in a tight coat and breeches would probably be enough to send her over the edge into full-blown love.
Shatner. Drat.
Shouldn’t she be thinking about him more? What kind of a girlfriend was she anyway? Shatner was still very much part of her heart.
Home was nice, seeing Arthur, being a lady again. But without James, the nineteenth century wasn’t the same. She didn’t feel tethered to it anymore.
They say ‘home is where the heart is,’ and her heart was most definitely not in 1813. She would solve this little mystery and then return to 2013 and James and Emme and, yes, Shatner. It was the only solution she could see.
Chapter 10
Haldon Manor
September 1, 1813
Birthday in minus 38 days
Sebastian waited all morning for Georgiana to make an appearance. He was not at all confident his poor paper filigree proposal would be effective. But after nearly five days of saying nothing, he needed to broach the subject again, desperate to continue his argument for marriage.
She held his heart more than ever. Every glance, every touch, every look drew him deeper under her spell.
Lady Michael and her daughters had come calling, followed shortly by Lady Ambrosia. They were all now ensconced in the drawing room of Haldon Manor, oohing and aahing over bonnet ribbons and paper filigree designs. Lady Ambrosia considered herself to be something of an artist and was decidedly not circumspect in asserting her opinions.
Sebastian was quite sure there existed other unmarried women who were not so vain and silly. He just had yet to encounter them. It was like there was a fortress about him, staked all round with signs which read ‘All Those with Sense Keep Out’ and ‘Intellect Not Allowed.’
Honestly, even his good-humor had its limits.
Listening to Miss Michelle argue about the vagaries of coral-colored versus peach ribbons with Miss Micayla brought him nearly to the breaking point.
Begging leave to attend to correspondence, he had quit the drawing room and gone in search of his true quarry: Georgiana.
Which was fortunate, in the end, as Georgiana had collected flowers from the garden and then taken a gig and driven into Marfield. He finally ran her to ground in the parish churchyard.
Tethering his horse next to her gig along the low stone wall, he studied her as he walked up the gravel path. She knelt on the ground in the graveyard, back to him, carefully arranging flowers on the grave before her. A sage green pelisse hugged her shoulders, and she had removed her straw chip bonnet with its matching green ribbon, resting it on the ground. The overcast day hinted at the chill of approaching autumn but somehow made the colors of the green grass and flowers in her hand more vibrant.
Coming closer, Sebastian noted the grave marker:
&
nbsp; In loving memory of
James Richard Knight
Born May 23, 1781
Died Oct 15, 1812
Aged 31 years
Beloved son and brother
Ah.
Sebastian paused. The scene encompassed a world of sadness and loss.
“Oh, Seb, there you are. He has come! Just as he said he would.” He looked up from his spot under the willow tree to see Georgiana beckoning eagerly, her face lit like a beacon. In her excitement, she grasped his hand, dragging him along.
Reaching the gate of the kitchen garden at Lyndenbrooke, she released him and dashed through. Sebastian watched a blond man in his early twenties walk around the vegetable beds, a huge smile on his face.
“James!” Squealing with delight, Georgiana hurled herself into the man’s arms. Chuckling, he swung her around. Half laughing, half crying, she covered her brother’s face in exuberant kisses.
Darling Georgie. Sebastian knew she had been waiting weeks for this moment.
“Have mercy, Georgie,” James cried.
“It is what you deserve.” She emphasized the point with one last noisy kiss. “Don’t you dare leave me again.”
Still chuckling, he hugged her close. “Never, dearest little sister. That I promise.”
Georgiana lifted her head as Sebastian drew near. She gave him a barely-there smile, swiping at the tears on her cheeks with gloved hands. Wordlessly, Sebastian dug into his overcoat pocket and handed her a handkerchief.
“Thank you,” she whispered, wiping her eyes.
Her pain gutted him, made him ache to sweep her into his arms and soothe it all away.
As if grief were so easily dismissed. As a soldier, he had been on a first-name basis with Death for far too long.
One never got used to it.
He offered her a hand and helped her stand, her fingers reassuringly warm in his. She dabbed her face a few more times and handed him back his handkerchief.
“I am so sorry,” he murmured, pocketing the square of linen. “I know how close you were to him.”
She smiled again. That sad travesty of a smile that didn’t touch her eyes. Nodded.