Page 69 of The Runner
CHAPTER29
Willow Manor, York - Georgiana
George was nothis usual self—he was in a dark place, and everyone knew it. There were whispers throughout the estate, as no one would risk being overheard talking about the master of the great house.
But as gossip has a way of doing, it soon made its way to Willow Wick and it wasn’t long before Ralph Knight heard George was in a bad way. Depending on where you heard it and who you heard it from, some said his lady love had jilted him at court, while others said he’d taken a fancy to the governess, and she had rejected him and broken his heart.
Only tiny fragments of these whispers reached the ears of the countess and Olivia, but they spoke of him in worried snatches of conversation.
‘Mother, what do you think ails George? He isn’t himself since his return—he said it’s over between him and Charlotte, and I fear he has taken it badly, has he not?’
The countess paused in her needlework, which was a pastime she had reluctantly resumed since Caroline vacated her role and Olivia had no one with whom to pass the long October days. The weather took a sharp winter turn and Willow Manor lost its summer sheen and was shrouded in gloom, as though reflecting the state of its devastated master.
‘I must confess I know not what troubles George. He said he had made the decision not to go ahead with the betrothal, so I do not understand why he is in such low spirits,’ said the countess. ‘We must do our utmost to rally round and cheer him for I have never seen the dear boy in such a sorry state.’
‘He drinks at all hours of the day, and has taken to gambling in the village, you know,’ whispered Olivia, feeling traitorous. The need to tell her mother what was on her mind outweighed her fierce loyalty to her beloved brother. ‘Just yesterday, I mentioned I was missing Caroline, seeking to divert his mind from thoughts of Charlotte, but he fair snapped my head off,’ continued Olivia, close to tears at the memory of George’s scolding.
The whispers reachedRalph as he worked on the farm early one morning, when his brother came to break the news.
‘Word has it that Caroline—the governess—has left the manor and gone to London.’
Ralph replayed the conversation in his mind all day, and his anger smouldered at the memory of the smug look on his brother’s face when he mocked him by referring to Caroline as the governess. He could not bear to be ridiculed and had given his brother a short, sharp punch in the stomach.
He was in a black mood and thunderous that Caroline had escaped his grasp without having the decency to tell him she was leaving. Ralph still saw her as his fiancé, no matter how many times she told him they would not be man and wife.
He blamed George for the rift that had arisen between him and his childhood sweetheart, and for her leaving. He was determined to get her back, and his mind turned over possible courses of action continuously. Caroline and George dominated his thoughts, and a desire for vengeance on them both consumed him. Something deep within told him that George’s sour mood was nothing to do with some fancy courtier, but was because of Caroline. The noble earl was in love with her. Ralph had seen it on his face when he had come to her defence, and he was damned if he would allow her to get away with spurning him, and George to get away with stealing his woman from under his nose. The fires of injustice blazed within him and plagued him day and night.
And then one day, an opportunity presented itself.
Early one morning when he and his brother were cleaning out the horses, he heard about an upcoming card game.
‘The earl has been leaving heaps of silver around the village, playing cards like a fool possessed,’ said his brother as he scattered the dirty hay loose from the prongs of the sharp fork. ‘You are lucky at cards. I was of a mind that you might want to take him on and win some coin… we need a new roof on the outhouse.’
Ralph raised his head and stared at his brother; his blue eyes gleaming. ‘Luck has nothing to do with it,’ he said, arrogant as ever.
They chatted a while longer and his brother told him all he knew as Ralph questioned him. ‘The next game is set for tonight at The Lion’s Heart.’
‘Is that so?’ said Ralph, already envisioning himself stripping George of his wealth and showing him up to be the drunken fop he was. He would rip out his heart at The Lion’s Heart—how fitting.
The earl had ruined his life, and he meant to make him pay. This would be the perfect way, and a plan formed in his mind.
George satat the corner table in the tavern, waiting for the other players. He continued his dissolute habit of playing cards deep into the night and drinking until he could barely stand. Even by court standards, his behaviour was reckless, so he had decided to return home to nurse his heartache away from the scrutiny of the strait-laced king and queen. It wouldn’t do for them to see him spiral downwards, and he couldn’t seem to get a grip on himself no matter how he tried.
Each day stretched before him, and he felt Caroline’s loss so keenly he struggled to breathe. It was as though there was a hole where his heart used to be, and he had lost all enthusiasm for living.
Knowing she was safe at Willow Manor had made their parting bearable, but when he learned she had left and subsequently disappeared in London and he could not track her down, he blamed himself and a gloomy cloud darkened his every thought and movement. Life didn’t seem worth living any longer, and if he didn’t have a glimmer of hope that she might return soon, he would leave England and take a trip to the continent to escape his sorrows. Everything about Willow Manor reminded him of her, and even in sleep he knew no peace, for his dreams were filled with her sweet face.
He questioned the meaning of it all. What was the point of having a grand estate and title, and all the riches bestowed on him by his heritage, if he were to spend his days pining for his true love whom he could never have?
He did his best to pretend all was well, but there was no joy in his heart, and it was plain for all to see.
He warmed his cold hands by the blazing, popping fire and clicked the heels of his boots on the hard floor, impatient for the game to begin. Playing cards was the only pastime which held his attention long enough for him to not dwell on thoughts of Caroline, which gave respite to his aching soul. Drinking only deepened his melancholy, but he sought oblivion and consumed copious amounts of whisky.
He heard the harsh winds beating against the tavern walls, and cold air whistled into the room as the door banged and George turned to see who would play across from him this evening.
‘Good evening, my lord. Is lord the right term or should I call you earl?’ Ralph mock bowed and spat on the floor near to George’s boots, before removing his heavy cloak and sneering. ‘I hope you are ready to be beaten today.’
George, who was already in his cups, rose to the bait, just as Ralph intended.
