Page 46 of The Runner
The line fizzed and crackled and the connection died before they could hear his reply. George called back several times, but the line refused to connect, and they heard a beeping noise.
‘Damn it!’ he said, and they jumped into George’s pride and joy; his olive-green Porsche and hit the road back to Willow Manor.
CHAPTER20
Willow Manor, York - Georgiana
The days fellinto a predictable rhythm after George’s return and the house hummed with the news of the imminent arrival of the house party.
When Caroline entered the warm, homely kitchen for breakfast, she noticed an air of excitement amongst the servants.
‘Harriet and Ruth, all the chambers must shine and look as gleaming as a royal palace,’ said Mrs Burton, the housekeeper. ‘I won’t have Willow Manor falling short in the estimations of these grand folk. They shall return to London with only fine things to say of us… and needless to say that goes for the fayre at table, too, Cook.’
Cook glanced up from stirring her huge pot of broth. ‘Have no fear, we shall feed them so well they will roll all the way back to London!’
‘Good to hear. This is our first chance in many a year to show off Willow Manor in all its glory, what with the late earl, God rest his soul, confined to bed and unable to entertain in his final years,’ said Mrs Burton.
Caroline could see the housekeeper relished the challenge of impressing the visitors, and wished she were as excited at the prospect of the peaceful house being invaded by upper-class strangers. She turned her attention to her porridge, idly letting the servant’s chit-chat wash over her as she thought about the upcoming intrusion and wished there was a way for her to avoid it.
‘Prepare the blue chamber with the view of the river for Mistress Charlotte,’ continued Mrs Burton, instructing the chambermaids.
‘It’s such a beautiful room, perfect for a future countess,’ said Cook, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she seated her heavy frame at the table with a sigh.
‘Aye,’ said the housekeeper, ‘and if the rumours are true, we shall have a new mistress soon enough.’
Giggles rose from the end of the table.
‘What tickles you silly lasses?’ asked Cook.
‘We were just saying that the blue room is near his lordship’s,’ said Harriet, bursting into another fit of uncontrollable giggles.
‘And you two don’t have the sense you were born with,’ said Cook, rolling her eyes.
Mrs Burton chastised them for being inappropriate and dispatched them to their labours instead of making idle chatter and bringing shame on their God-fearing household.
Caroline’s porridge had lodged in her throat, and she found she now had no appetite. Her stomach churned, and she wanted to cry out, but she did her best to appear unconcerned by the romantic revelations concerning George’s soon-to-be-bride.
‘What’s eating you, lassie?’ said Cook, who Caroline noticed was more astute than most. ‘You’re awfully quiet this morn and have a sour face, most unlike you. What’s troubling you?’
Caroline assured her she was merely a little under the weather and quickly excused herself to prepare for lessons.
Her thoughts were spinning, and she wondered what she had done to deserve such unhappiness and to find herself in this impossible situation. There seemed no way out of this bind, short of resigning her post, but then she would have to leave Olivia and never see George again. She did not want to return to Willow Wick, but where could she go?
She entered the library and sank into a velvet-covered chair near the window through which the morning sunshine streamed. This was such a beautiful room, but she did not see or appreciate it today. Her mind kept repeating the name: Charlotte, Charlotte, Charlotte. Who was this Charlotte, who the servants seemed certain would be the next Countess Cavendish? And how had she missed the nuance of it when they were talking about the house party arriving?
Her stomach lurched again, and she let her head fall into her hands, and her elbows slump onto her knees. Tears pricked at her eyes, and she sniffed and groped for her handkerchief. It wouldn’t do to fall apart when Olivia may enter at any moment. No, this was her secret to bear, and she must take her feelings for George to the grave. That was that—she would be a governess-spinster and when Olivia had no need for her any longer, she would seek a new post far from Willow Manor. No man would be a match for George Cavendish in her tender, bruised heart—of that much she was certain.
‘Good day, Caroline,’ boomed a familiar voice from the opposite side of the room. She lifted her head and started; nervous needles prickled her skin when she saw George rise from a chair in the corner, brushing his hand down his breeches, as if to remove a piece of fluff.
Caroline had noticed that was a habit of his, and she stared at him, her heart racing. He had been there all along, and the knowledge he had witnessed her emotional collapse crushed her further.
‘Are you quite well, Caroline? I must apologise for startling you. I did not wish to disturb you and then it was too late to make my presence known,’ he said. His dark eyes showed concern, and it took every drop of Caroline’s willpower not to fall apart and let her tears flow. She found it somehow more difficult to keep her feelings from him when he was gentle and kind.
He continued, ‘I have not had the good fortune to see you alone since my return, and I therefore haven’t had the chance to thank you for your letter. I want you to know how much I appreciated your correspondence, and I apologise if I seemed ungrateful when I mentioned it to Olivia.’ He dropped his head and avoided her eyes and then met them again swiftly, as if he’d made a decision. ‘I was homesick, you see. Rather silly for a grown man, I know, but I much prefer York to London life, and your account of your days with Olivia cheered me.’
‘I am pleased of it, my lord,’ said Caroline, inclining her head slightly and then looking away. His dark-eyed intensity overwhelmed her, and she knew that for him it meant nothing, but to her his words were everything. He was waiting for his beloved Charlotte while she was in danger of reading what wasn’t there into his polite address.
‘I wondered if perhaps you are a little homesick, and that’s what ails you? I couldn’t help but notice your distress,’ he said. ‘Please do not take my comments about you dilly dallying in Willow Wick to heart—they were fuelled only by my distaste for the Knight fellow, and my concern that he harbours ill intentions.’
