Hopeless Heart

Her steps grew faster the closer she got to her room until she ran through the door when she finally reached sanctuary. When the door closed behind her, she leaned back against it while she struggled for breath. She had only ever experienced pain like this once before, and that had been the time she had attempted to copy her brothers and had fallen out of a tree at eight years old. That tumble had stolen her breath with equal force and left her dazed and unsure of where she was in the world as well.

She slumped into a dejected heap on the floor, drew her legs up, and wrapped her arms around them while she willed the ache in her heart to subside. Tears slid slowly down her cheeks but she didn’t try to touch them. They marked the end of her childhood dreams. The invisible veil o

f youthful fantasy, which had shielded her from painful truth all of her life, had just been swept away and its loss left her reeling. She was suddenly swamped with truth for the first time. It was awful.

The longer she contemplated her childhood the more she was aware that every dream, fantasy, hope, and wish, timidly flickered and slowly died. In its wake left a raging anger, a helpless denial, she struggled to comprehend. She wasn’t angry at Will. To this day he had no idea she was in love with him because she had never told him–and for that she could only be extremely grateful. Right now, she was furious at herself for being ridiculous enough to even consider that Will would find her worthy enough to be his wife.

“You fool,” she whispered tearfully. “Georgiana, you are an utter and complete idiot.”

Her chest heaved. She rose on trembling legs and took a few steps into the room only to stare blankly out at the garden. Her eyes couldn’t focus on any of the lush landscape which rolled gracefully into the horizon like an emerald carpet because of her tears. She saw nothing of the small orchard, heavily laden with tempting autumnal fruits. Neither did she see the small cluster of rooftops nestled in the valley that had been her childhood haunt and the village she had lived in all of her life. Everything–every fibre of her being, every feeling and thought, was locked on the devastating realisation that she had spent the majority of her life desperately in love with a man who didn’t want her.

“Damn you, Will,” she whispered tearfully but without heat. “Damn you.”

As far as she was concerned, her Fate had been sealed since she had first set eyes on him at eight years old. He had stolen her heart when, during one of her many attempts to play with him and her brothers, she had fallen and he had been the one to scrape her up off the floor. He had been her handsome hero even then and had earned her devotion time and again when he had saved her from many scrapes over the years. It was a strong devotion which had grown as she matured. It had developed into a deep and abiding love for him that was now an intrinsic part of her.

She swiped her hands across her cheeks and drew in a deep, fortifying breath. “I have to stop somehow. I must stop loving him.”

If only it was as easy as saying the words, she sighed sadly.

It wouldn’t be because she couldn’t contemplate living and not loving him. It was impossible to forget all about him. No matter where she went or what she did there would always be a part of her that would love Will and always wonder about him. To not have him in her life was equivalent to being thrown outside and sent on her way with no idea which way she should go and no means to go anywhere. She was completely lost; washed away on a wave of emotion that stole all trace of logic and reason.

“For my sanity I need to find a way,” she whispered with more determination. “I need to live a life without him in it. He sees me as nothing more than his friends’ sister; a pesky child. You are someone who has been endured, especially if he wanted to play with my brothers. That is all you can ever be. It is time you realise it, and move on with your life, Georgiana.”

Her monologue did little to help, though, because she had no idea what she should do, where she should go, to avoid ever having to see him again. Talking to him was inevitable if she remained in Cranbury, but what could she do to avoid it?

Once again, a wave of hurt welled over and brought forth a fresh surge of tears. Misery settled its dark cloak over her shoulders. Far from keeping her warm, it stole all trace of heat from every ounce of her being. She was cold, inside and out, and helpless to do anything other than wallow in it.

“Well, while you have been sitting in your castle waiting for him to notice you are even here, he has been with Penelope Smedgrove. So much so that he is going to-” Her breath hitched. She couldn’t say anything else–words failed her.

As the silence within the room thickened, her ears tuned into the noise coming from downstairs. Even with the door closed her mother was twittering on about weddings, ribbons, and shoes. Georgiana clutched her hands over her ears, silently praying that it would stop but her treacherous mind worried the worst issue she must contend with. It positively burned an effigy in front of her, demanding she consider at it from all directions and then decide whether or not she could survive.

“The wedding,” she whispered amid a fresh wave of tears. “I can’t go.”

Not only could she not bear to sit in the church and watch him marry someone else, but she wouldn’t spend the next few weeks of her life being forced into a world whereupon nothing existed beyond outfits, shoes, gloves, and the perfect wedding ensemble befitting the highest aristocratic social gathering. Georgiana knew her mother would expect her to be just as enthusiastic–or a miserable accomplice who daren’t raise an objection to being pinned, measured, and dragged hither and thither while hours were spent perusing ribbons, laces, materials and gossip. Either way her life would be insufferable.

“I can’t stand it,” she whispered. “I have to get out of here.”

For the last several months restlessness had accompanied her acute boredom. Life was passing her by and she couldn’t stop it. While most people her age were going to London for a season, due to lack of funds and Georgiana’s determination not to marry anyone other than Will, Georgiana wasn’t going anywhere. She was stuck; condemned to her Fate–if there wasn’t any way out her current situation. Now that Will was marrying, her life seemed almost stagnant. She realised that if she wanted to avoid the misery she had to take matters into her own hands.

“I have to leave and try to find a life,” she whispered.

Determined to do just that, Georgiana slid her packing trunk out from under her bed and began to sort through her possessions.

“If you want to know how much in control of your own life you are you only need to look at that pitifully small pile of clothing you have chosen for yourself,” she murmured with a frown several minutes later.

She wasn’t sure whether she should be angry at Cecily for being so controlling, or herself for being so weak and dutiful that she allowed her mother to get away with arranging so much of her life.

“Two dresses, a shawl, two pairs of gloves, and a day dress; that is all you have chosen for yourself in one and twenty years. Cecily has ordered the rest for you and told you what to wear.” Even the rattle of pots downstairs taunted her that the food she ate was chosen for her as well. “Face it, Georgiana, you have no life, and no backbone to get a life.”

Eager to change all of that, Georgiana began to sort through her undergarments. When she pulled out the last of her petticoats, she spotted a packet of parchment neatly tied together with ribbon nestled in the bottom of the drawer and realised then that her prayers were answered.

“Ruth.”

CHAPTER TWO

Carefully lifting the parchment out of the drawer, Georgiana perched on the edge of her bed and tugged at the ribbon. The letters had been kept a secret from her mother because of Cecily’s intolerance for anyone outside of her circle, especially the ‘black sheep’ of the family, Aunt Ruth. Georgiana knew that if Cecily had any inclination her daughter regularly corresponded with Ruth, she would demand it stop at once and harangue until she got what she wanted. But Georgiana would never do that; she would never stop writing to her aunt. She shared too many common interests and opinions with her. In contrast, Georgiana and Cecily had very little connection whatsoever.

“I need to go to Ruth’s,” Georgiana whispered as she stared blankly at her aunt’s neat script. “She will let me stay with her for a while. At least until after the wedding.”