Hopeless Heart

The only problem with her plan was that she didn’t have several weeks to wait while she wrote to her aunt to suggest a visit and wait for Ruth to reply. The wedding would be upon them by then, and Georgiana would never be allowed to leave the house for long enough to go anywhere.

“I won’t be allowed to go. Every time I have suggested it before now Cecily has refused to even discuss it,” she sighed.

Once again, she felt the tight

reins of her mother’s control over her life strengthen its claw-like grip. It was so confining that she struggled to breathe. While she went through her drawer, she half expected her mother to screech up the stairs for her. Even in the safe confines of her bed chamber she was controlled and sat waiting for the inevitable. At times, it was as though her mother was afraid to allow her out of sight for more than a few minutes at a time.

“It’s time to get out of here,” Georgiana whispered.

Now that Will was marrying someone else, she had no reason to stay in the village. Cranbury could no longer be her home. Not least because it was glaringly obvious to any fool with a brain in their head that as soon as Will was married he would take over the family seat. Both he and his wife would then be permanent fixtures in the village and visible every time Georgiana stepped outside of the door.

“Worse, Cecily will want to visit the new wife often,” she whispered with a shudder. That forthcoming problem gave her the strength to find a way to get to her Aunt Ruth’s house whatever the cost. As if beckoning her to put her plans into practise, Georgiana read a paragraph of the last letter she had received from her aunt:

Of course, if you did happen to find yourself in this area then you are most welcome to stay with me, sans Cecily, of course. It would be nice to spend time with my niece. I will leave the decision to you.

Yours,

Aunt Ruth

The delicate scent of lavender wafted up from the parchment. It recalled vivid memories of her eccentric relation, the last of which she had seen several years ago. The long, beaded shawls, the slightly wild mop of dark hair liberally sprinkled with grey had been accompanied with a brilliant blue gaze that seemed to see far too many hidden secrets. Her Aunt Ruth had been a delight, and far more of a partner-in-crime than Georgiana had ever expected. As a result, their bond had grown rapidly–much to the disgust of Cecily, who had made her disapproval glaringly obvious to them both. So much so that Ruth had cut her visit short and left under a cloud of snide innuendo and insult from Cecily that had made even her usually placid father angry for a while afterward.

Because of past animosity between her mother and aunt, Georgiana suspected she would be able to stay at Ruth’s for as long as she wanted. Ruth would encourage it. Her father might venture to travel that far to fetch his daughter back but, given his abiding affection for Ruth, his sister, Georgiana couldn’t see even him going to the time and trouble to bother. He liked Ruth and trusted her. The only person they once might have sent was Will, but he would now be busy with his wedding preparations.

“Once I am there, I can ignore all of my mother’s correspondence until I can be definite that the wedding has taken place.”

She stared at the bed chamber she had occupied all of her life. In a way, it had become a veritable prison. It was the one place in the entire house where, like her father, she had the opportunity to get away from her mother’s incessant babble and interference in every aspect of her life. It was her bolt-hole of normality. In another, far more worrying way, it was also her place of confinement.

As if to confirm that thought her gaze was drawn to the faded pink wallpaper. It displayed one thousand four hundred and eighty one flowers between one window and the other. The shutters had twenty four knots in the wood, and there were three holes in the rug beside her bed.

“I need to get my life together,” she whispered, and began to rummage around under the bed.

It took her several minutes before she found what she was after, and wriggled back out to sit on the floor and count the number of coins in her pouch. In addition to the coins there was a large amount of money tucked away at the bank if needed. Now that she was one and twenty she didn’t her father’s permission to withdraw any of it. It was hers to do what she wanted with–thanks to a rather wealthy great-uncle.

“He probably took pity on me because of Cecily,” Georgiana muttered. “He must have suspected I might need it.”

Silently sending a prayer of thanks to her deceased relation, Georgiana slid the coins back into the pouch and tucked it away carefully in the bottom of her travelling trunk. When she considered the collection of belongings she wanted to take with her she realised it was ridiculous to take such a huge trunk for so few items and took everything back out again.

“I can’t get that out of the house without Cecily noticing,” she whispered with a sigh. “I need to find something smaller.”

Moments later, she crept out of the attic and back into her bedroom with a small travelling bag and began to pack.

“Perfect,” she whispered minutes later as she flipped the flap over and tied the laces. With a book to read while travelling, and her cloak and shawl, she was now all set to leave.

“Georgiana!” her mother screeched.

Georgiana closed her eyes and sighed deeply. “If she is going to go on about the wedding again, or mentions to me about getting married myself, I am going to walk out of this house and not come back,” she ground out as she pushed to her feet.

“Yes, Mama,” she called dutifully, all the while digging deep for her patience.

“Come here,” Cecily demanded.

Silently praying for the fortitude to get through the next few hours, Georgiana took a moment to hide her bag and paused beside the door to make sure her room was in order. Eventually, reluctantly, she left the room.

“What?” she asked abruptly when she appeared at the top of the stairs.

“Don’t shout dear,” her mother chastised.

Georgiana sighed but didn’t take her mother to task for the fact she screeched like a banshee herself.