Mr. Blake had been, until recently, the great
love of Georgiana's life. At thirteen, however, she had developed
an overwhelming admiration for John Crawford, who was six years her
senior and had not much returned the feeling. John had only begun
to take notice of her in the past year, when she had suddenly grown
into a shapely woman, and a flirting had developed between them
which was so cautious that it could not have been called a
courtship. Yet, as soon as he had been called for service in the
army, their feelings had flourished like a wild vine wrapping
itself around a strong tree and bursting into flower. They had
spoken little of it, but had had eyes only for each other, and then
there had been the kiss by the river, and a note with a ring drawn
on it.
Georgiana knew that love was something that
could be multiplied, and she would be able to include her husband
in her affections without feeling any less for her father, or for
her younger sisters Cecily and Dorothea. There would even be some
sort of exasperated affection left over for Virginia and Bess.
Their mother had died three years before, and
the closeness between Georgiana and her father, which had always
been great, had only increased since then. With her strong
character, her good head for household affairs and her generous
heart, she had been a great consolation to Mr. Blake. And, while
all his other daughters had taken after him with their fair hair
and blue eyes, Georgiana was the spitting image of her beautiful
dark-haired mother -- the black sheep, as Bess called her, when she
wanted to be especially nasty.
Her nickname had become Blackie, but her
father only used it when they were alone, so as not to increase her
older sisters' jealousy.
"There has been a great deal of bell ringing
and feet running up the stairs today," Mr. Blake said in an amused
voice. "And a great deal of smiling from you now. Am I losing my
Blackie to a certain young lieutenant?"
Georgiana's arms tightened around her father.
"How could you ever, ever lose me, when I love you most of
all?"
"You should not marry to love your father
all!" Mr. Blake said, with nevertheless a pleased twinkle in his
eye.
She knew that he was quoting
King
Lear
, as he read Shakespeare to her so often that she could
give him the response as Ophelia, Cordelia, Desdemona and Lady
Macbeth by heart, without looking at the text; it was a game they
loved to play. She felt her throat tighten at the sight of his
white hair, the laugh lines around his kind eyes: he wasn't Lear's
age, but he was getting on in years, and she would certainly be the
best daughter in the world, Cordelia without her pride, even when
she married.
Only John could tempt her two steps away from
her father.
"Papa, we must not speak of marriage yet,
though..."
She stopped and bit her lip.
"Has he asked you?"
"Not in so many...words." She smiled again,
thinking of the drawing of the circle.
"Ah! " Mr. Blake patted her hand. "John has a
hasty head, but also a wisdom to him. I suppose he will not ask you
before he returns?"
She shook her head.
"Well, then I like him even more than I did a
few minutes ago, for he is thoughtful and considerate of you."
"But papa, do you?" she asked eagerly. "Do
you like him?"
"I always have!"
"But do you like him as a husband to me,
when...you know..."
Mr. Blake took his daughter's hand as they
walked under the willow trees. "I have many daughters to marry, and
scarcely any dowry to give them," he said. "I can hardly pick and
choose, but even if I could, John would seem like a good husband
for my Blackie, and you know I wouldn't give you away lightly."
Georgiana put her head on her father's
shoulder, very happy at what he was saying.
"Thankfully Virginia is to marry St James,
and that will be of great help to all of you. At least none of you
will starve! Silly Bess, of course, hopes to entangle Montrose
somehow, but he will marry some Catholic girl with enough pedigree
to be countess. I dare say Bess may also do all right for herself,
if she aims lower, as she is not bad looking."
"If she manages to hide that insufferable
character..."
"Well, Virginia managed!"
They both had a laugh over this.
"I have no doubt that John will make his way
in the world," Mr. Blake continued. "He will rise in the army, I am
sure. He has discipline, though I suspect obedience to be a hard
thing for him. But he has something in him which will command
respect even from his superiors. I think that he will make a
splendid officer, if only he learns that a little fear is sometimes
a good thing."
Georgiana smiled still, pleased with her
father's praise of the man she loved, as Mr. Blake went on, "He
will have a good living, between his career and what his father
will certainly leave him. I imagine the Earl has breakfast and
supper every day wishing John had been born in wedlock and Montrose
right out of it!"
"Can you blame him?"
"It's still too bad that John is not the sort
of man to go for the church – as a father I would rather wish you
married to a vicar than to a soldier..."
"John, a vicar!" Georgiana laughed out loud
at the thought.
"I know, as impossible to imagine as you
playing the vicar's wife. But the army..." Mr. Blake stopped and
took Georgiana by the shoulders. "Be cautioned against too much
fondness. John is not asking for your hand because he knows..."
Georgiana raised her hand and placed it
softly over her father's lips. "Papa, let's not talk of this. I am
too fond of him already!"
Mr. Blake sighed, then took his daughter's
hand, tucked it under his arm, and kept walking. "All right, my
dear. We won't talk of anything sad. When John comes back and asks
me, he shall have this little hand, though I shall sorely miss
it."
"You won't have to miss it," Georgiana said.
"It will never be far from you."
John's mother had packed his things,
including many items in his trunk which she had made with her own
hands because she thought that he might need them. She was even now
folding a woolen scarf, though he was hardly going to need it in
India.
But a mother's love often knew no logic, even
when the mother was a reasonable woman.
Amelia Crawford had also tucked a letter to
her son among his things, a letter he would only find when he was
far away. She couldn't speak of the things she wanted to tell him:
how much she loved him, how proud she was of him, how terribly she
feared for him, how she longed to get him back. She wanted to seem
calm when he left.
Like Georgiana, she was not the weeping kind,
but she thought that she might weep if she tried to say any of
these things to her John, and if she did she would upset him.
Their bond was the mirror image of the one
between Georgiana and her father. John loved nothing in the world
as well as his mother, except that lovely girl who lived not a mile
away, and whom he meant to marry.
Mrs. Crawford was a tradesman's daughter, and
the only foolish thing she had ever done had been to love a married
man, and one far above her station. She had been disgraced by her
passion for Edward Stowe, the Earl of Halford, and thrown out of
her family. In spite of her mistake, and of having a small son, a
Mr. Crawford had been taken enough by her beauty to marry her, and
then had died five months later. It had been as if Mr. Crawford had
decided to do a favor to the Earl by dying so quickly, as the
nobleman's affections for Amelia had been true, passionate, and
lasting. The Earl had even wanted to brave society and marry her
when his own wife had died five years ago.
Amelia's pride had made her refuse his offer,
much to his consternation. She liked her life as it was, with a few
good friends and in the bosom of the Anglican church rather than in
the more extravagant Catholic faith she might have to join if
she were to become the Countess. She did not need to deal with life
at court, where the Earl was often called, or among London society,
and she certainly did not want to be a stepmother to the arrogant
Viscount Montrose or his younger brother, who was kind but would
nevertheless have been shocked at this replacement of his
mother.
John had not wanted that life either: it was
too late, he loved his independence and despised high society,
though he would not have objected to anything his mother had
decided to do with her life.
Yet, in spite of the Earl's love for Amelia,
the sting of his seduction remained: he had dishonored a beautiful
young woman, and had determined her fate and their son's. She could
not be as much to blame as he because of her youth, and because she
had succumbed to him out of love, never out of greed or
interest.
John loved his father in spite of the injury
to his mother, knowing that the Earl had been sincere in his deep
desire to make reparation. It was the destiny of every bastard to
resent his father a little, to think of how his mother had been
used. Every bastard thought of the insults and injuries sustained
because of a state which he had not chosen, or been able to
avoid.
Birth sealed people's lives for better or
worse, but what Mrs. Crawford knew was that her son didn't lack
courage or character. It had been a long while since anyone had
called him a bastard to his face. She knew that John would be
especially merciless to anyone who made an allusion to his birth
because, above all, he would be protecting her.
Mrs. Crawford caressed the red jacket of the
uniform that John would be wearing as he left today. The Earl, in a
fit of superstitious fear, had begged her to sew the medals of St
Christopher and St George inside the jacket, at the level of John's
heart, to keep him safe, but she didn't believe in the power of
amulets. She did believe in prayer, and she believed in John.
The servants walked into the room to close
the trunk which she had just inspected, and the groom showed her
John's saber and his boots, both of which he had polished to a high
sheen. Mrs. Crawford nodded her approval and went down to the
drawing room with the red jacket over her arm.
The Earl had done handsomely by them, as
handsomely as she would allow, and they lived in a spacious and
elegant two story house of light stone within his estate, but far
enough from the castle. He spent a lot of his time here with Amelia
and John, and would not have allowed them to have less comfort than
this.
Mrs. Crawford found John in the drawing room
writing a few notes. His horse was already saddled outside. She
clutched the jacket, feeling an icy pang in her chest at his
imminent departure, but smiled as John turned to look at her.
What mother would not be proud of John? He
was so tall, handsome and brave. His faults -- pride, a hot head
and the incapacity to bear any insult -- had been
her
fault,
after all. She knew she had not done right by him, and yet, had she
not loved the Earl, John would not have existed. There would have
been a respectable marriage to some man like Mr. Crawford, other
children would have been born, but they would not have been John --
and she could not wish any other son than the one she loved with
all her heart.
She held out his coat, knowing he was to
leave soon. He turned and put his arms through the sleeves, and
turned again so she could pat the jacket into place, adjust the
gold braid on it and his black cravat .
"I took a long time sewing these buttons and
the braid," she told him calmly. "And I expect the coat back
without a stain, and you in no lesser state."
"It's the least I can do to repay your
trouble," he smiled.
He kissed her forehead, but Mrs. Crawford
would not linger in an embrace which would soon make her eyes fill
with tears. She needed him to be gone, so that she could compose
herself in private. The Earl would come later, and his worries
would make her feel like the stronger parent, and that would be a
good thing.
"Be sure to write," she said, walking John to
the door.
She watched as he moved towards his horse.
His trunk was being taken separately on the back of a cart,
straight to the army quarters. John would move more swiftly without
it.
"I wonder why there is not a certain pretty
girl here to see you off," his mother said, cocking her head.
"There is a pretty girl who never does things
exactly as she ought to," John replied as he got onto the
saddle.
"Then she is the girl for you!" Mrs. Crawford
smiled. She wagged her finger." Remember that you are in the army
now, and be obedient to your superiors!"
"As long as they make sense!" John said.
Mrs. Crawford laughed out loud as he rode
off, and stayed by the gate long enough to see him look back and
wave at her again.
"God keep you safe, my darling," she
whispered.
John went to Halford Castle to say goodbye to
his father.
The Earl's eyes shone with unshed tears when
he saw his fine son in uniform. He limped forward with a grimace,
as his knee was paining him, and took John by both cheeks. The boy
cut a wonderful figure in his red coat, but just as Mrs. Crawford
and Mr. Blake, his father couldn't help but wish that John had
chosen a less dangerous career than the army. They sat down next to
each other.
"You'll not see pretty things, Johnny," the
Earl said. "But I think you know that. I wish..."
The Earl sighed. John knew he was going to
say he wished he could wholly own him as his son, give him all the
privileges his half brothers had. He squeezed his father's hand. "I
shouldn't be safer than other men who go to war, but I will be,
because of the commission you procured for me. I shan't die, as
India is not of more importance to me than coming back."