“Well, there it is, then. My brother has said it, and so it is.”
And so it was.
A Letter From Georgiana
Dearest brother,
I know that I have not written much since your return to London. I apologize. The days have been busy with friends calling to offer condolences on Father’s passing. Shortly after the funeral, I felt terribly lonely, but the company has done much to remedy that.
Even so, Mother and I still miss you terribly. If it is not uncouth to say, I believe that none of us fully got to appreciate each other when Father was around. Not that he was here at the house much. Only that when he was, we all tiptoed around each other like scared animals, afraid to set off another…well, you were here. You know.
And now, when he is gone and we might finally be able to enjoy one another’s presence to the fullest, life has split us all up once again. Mother is so busy taking over the estate duties, and you are in London, and I am with friends. It is both beautiful and awful, in the way that all great changes are beautiful and awful.
I do not wish to guilt you on your newfound freedom, of course. I know that you had a lot on your shoulders here in Derbyshire. I only wish you to know that you are greatly missed, and that seeing you again will be a great boon for both Mother and myself.
I do not have much else to report. Mother is doing well with the estate and the servants. I daresay that being mistress of the house truly suits her disposition. She is so much more confident in herself since Father’s passing.
She did mention that she has been unable to find the financial reports for the home, however. Would you happen to know where she might find them? I know that you typically take care of such things, but she is eager to do whatever she can to unburden you whilst you are handling the rest of Father’s properties down in the city.
If you happen to know of the location of the documents, do write back quickly. I shall gladly pass the message along to Mother.
I hope you are doing well. Please write about all the grand things of London that I am to experience next year.
Your beloved sister,
Georgiana
Chapter Eight
Many of the things that Sebastian had done to court Miss Browning had, thus far, made him feel only a little bit like a snake in the grass.
What he decided to do after receiving Georgiana’s letter? That was full-out villainy, and he knew it.
After a quick trip to Gurnsey and Co, a bookshop near Bond Street, then a trip to the chocolate shop, he took his carriage to the Browning home and knocked on the door. The day was overcast, but it had not begun to rain yet, which made him feel that their walk in Hyde Park would not be cut short.
The butler showed him to the drawing room before going to fetch Miss Browning. Sebastian stood near the window, watching passersby on the street below as he thought about the rest of the day, and all he planned to do. All of it, of course, dependent upon Miss Browning herself.
Should she arrive in a sour mood, the stack of books and small box of chocolates in his hands would be sure to please. It had been Browning who had put him up to the idea, initially.
“My sister does not enjoy bouquets,” he’d quietly told Sebastian the evening before, on his way out of the visit in their drawing room. “She does, however, greatly admire sweet treats as gifts. She is fond of truffles.”
He’d left Sebastian to figure out the rest.
Of course, he’d known right away that he would take the bait. Time was running out. His family may not know how in need they were of him yet, but if he did not attend to pursuing Miss Browning with complete singularity, then they would all be harmed by his carelessness.
So there he stood, running a thumb along one of the books in his hands as he kept his foot from tapping.
After what felt to be a terribly long time, the drawing room door opened. In stepped Miss Browning with her lady’s maid at her heels.
“Good afternoon, Lord Brightwater,” she said with deferent nod. “Still hoping for a walk, then?”
Her dress was fine, a deep blue jacket top with bustled skirts that swished as she crossed over to him. A pity, he thought; he had come to enjoy the low necklines of her evening wear.
The thought made him stand up straighter.
“Yes, although I have a few things for you, first.” He handed her the box of chocolates.
After shooting him a look of suspicion, her long, delicate fingers undid the ribbon around the box. She took the lid off and peeked inside, then halted. The tiniest tug at the corner of her mouth was all that he received as a smile, and yet it felt to him a great victory all the same.
