by Lara Blunte
"You won't have to miss it," Georgiana said. "It will never be far from you."
Three. A Goodbye
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.
Four. On The Path
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."
"Ah!" the Earl laughed. "You are ever your own self. No God or king for you!"
"I suppose I am to learn to follow others now."
The Earl seemed to lighten up as he said, "Yet I think I have seen you following a young lady about the garden?"
"I think you have seen her following me!"
John gave his father a crooked smile and the Earl laughed again, more wholeheartedly this time. "True! Miss Georgiana thinks herself very clev
er by taking such big detours to get to where you are."
John's eyes were twinkling. "And I don't mind it when she gets there."
"Well, her father ought to be glad for her to make a decent match, with so many girls. Blake is a very good man. Have you spoken of marriage?"
"It's understood."
"She loves you, but she is young, and you might be gone a while. Be sure to send her news of all your exploits, and keep her pining. She won't find anything to compare with you around here."
The Earl seemed to be fighting his own emotions, and he finally managed to say, "I want you to know, Johnny, I have provided for you and your mother. When I am gone, she will have everything she needs. That house is hers. She will never want for anything, and neither will you."
"I know, father. But don't be gone."
The Earl had to purse his lips for a second to hide his feelings again, as it touched him that his bastard should love him so much more generously than his other sons, who always seemed to want something from him.
"Will you write?" he finally asked.
"I shall."
The two men stood and the still Earl tried valiantly to keep the tears from his eyes as he said, "You are my true born son, John. You are the son born out of love." He still fought to control himself and added. "Come back, Johnny."
John embraced his father and then made a quick exit, because he knew that the Earl didn't want to be seen crying any more than his mother had.
There was no danger of tears from his half brother Montrose, who met him in the staircase of the great hall.
"Going, are you?" Hugh asked, looking John up and down with a sneer.
"Indeed," John replied.
"Well," Hugh said, as he kept going up the steps. "Be careful with the food. I hear a lot of men don't even make it to battle, for shitting their guts out."
John kept descending. "As elegant as ever, Montrose," he said dryly.
A groom brought his horse to the front of the castle, and Ned came running from the lawn to say goodbye. His cheeks were permanently flushed, and seemed redder than usual as he exclaimed, "I say, John, take care, will you? And bring me something back!"
"What, a Frenchman's skull or an Indian bride?"
Ned spluttered with laughter. "I'd rather have the skull."
John was on his horse already. "Who knows, by the time I return you might like the bride better."
He touched his brother's head and rode off, taking the path through the woods, as he always did, and as a girl knew that he did. And sure enough, there was a horse blocking the road with Miss Georgiana on it, looking as beautiful, in John's opinion, as any creature had any right to.
He dismounted and walked over to her, picking her up by the waist and setting her down in front of him.
"John, you are so magnificent in that uniform, though I hate it more than anything!" she cried.
"You are ever full of contradictions!"
She put her gloved hands on his chest. Her eyes had filled with tears.
"What's this, George? If you weep you'll be made quite ugly, and I shan't want to come back."
But her tears had spilled over in spite of her efforts and John had lied, because he was already holding her close and kissing her.
"If someone should come by..." she said with a small sob after they had kissed for a while.
"They can be hanged."
She laughed. "True! There are many trees here from which to hang them, too!"
Georgiana lifted her face to be kissed some more: this was all she would have of John for months, perhaps years.
"John...Will you write?"
"I think I won't have time to fight, as everyone keeps asking me to write!"
"Good!"
"But I shan't write very long letters to you, as you are no reader. And I am not sure I will understand anything you write to me, with that shocking spelling of yours."
John saw Georgiana's eyes go up and to the right, and he realized that she was trying to spell the word shocking in her head. He began to laugh, and to kiss her face, "It is very hard to leave, when you are so adorable..."
"Then don't leave!" She put her cheek against his neck, not wanting to see the regret on his face. "I can tell you what my letters shall say: that my older sisters are hateful, and my younger ones adorable, that papa is the dearest papa in the world, that I visit your mother often to talk of you and to sneak into your room and look at your things, that I visit the Earl to comfort him and that..."
He waited; he would make her say it.
"...and that I long for nothing but you!"
John rocked her a little. "And my letters to you will always be the same as well. I shall write that I have survived another day, that army food is terrible, that I had a fever or a chill but recovered, that India is very hot. I shall never tell you battle stories because they are the most tedious stories that a man can tell. I shall write that no one has more beautiful eyes than you, or creamier skin, or lips that I long to kiss, and that I want to come back and keep kissing you."
"And be married, please," she asked, like a little girl.
"And be married, please," he agreed, laughing.
He had already defyled her by kissing her on the day of the race, and a few times since then, so Georgiana stood with her arms around his neck and her lips to his until he had to go. Then, unlike his mother, since she hadn't yet lived long enough to disguise her strongest emotions, she stood weeping on the path as he rode away, and this time he didn't look back, because he didn't want to see his girl crying.
Five. A Letter
A letter was dispatched to India two years later. It read:
June 17th, 1760
My Dearest Love,
I hardly know what to write, as there has been so much Heartbreak for everyone, and there will be more.
How can I write these things to you, when you face Death every day? You write so modestly, my love, yet everyone here knows how brave you have been. I know you are promoted liutenant-colonel, and leading a battalion, and I never doubted you would be highly esteemed.
You must still be brave now, reading this, brave for both of us. I feel all my Courage has deserted me, if ever I had any.
My darling, I know you know by now from my letters and others that influenzza took your Father this Spring and that your Mother nursed him, and was struck with it herself two months later. There was nothing on earth that could be done for either of them, or it would have been done.
Your Mama did not want me with her at the end, though I stayd in any case. She was so frightened that I should get sick, but I didn't. John, she dyed smiling when she thought of you, and she sayd this, that she and your Father had true love after all, as they went to Another World within little time of each other. And her only regrett was that she couldn't see you.
Your brothers were spaired, though Ned was a little sick, and became so thin. Our house was spaired too - it was spaired the dizease, but not scandal.
My love, I wrote to you that my sister Virginia, who was meant to marry Mr. St James, married a penny less schoolteacher eight months after you left. She eloped with him, and brought Shame on all of us, and Scorn.
It cut my heart in so many pieces to see my Father in such a state, for so much depended on this marraige for the whole family. You know my Papa, and he is never a distemperate or desperate man, and yet I saw him with his face in his hands, and wondering what he should do.
Then this Spring dizease took so many people around us, and he despaired that he should also suddenly go, and leave his girls in poverty, as my cousin would take the house and the Annuity from the lands, and leave us with nothing.
John, my Dearest Heart, you cannot imagine the great pain I felt at seeing my Father like this, and my sisters crying.
And this is the horrible thing which I must tell you, that your brother Montrose, who is now the Earl, came to the house and locked himself up with my father; and when he came out, my father calld me and told me what had been sayd.<
br />
That your brother wishes to marry me, and that by doing so all my sisters will be saved, because of his great fortune and connections.
Papa sayd that I could not marry him, as I was betrothed to another man, and Montrose, or rather Halford as he must be known now, sayd that he knew Papa meant you, and that I was not betrothed, that he knew there had never been a formal promise on either side between us.
He sayd that it was foolish for me to wait for a man who might not come back from War, and who had no property or livelyhood, and could not help his daughters. That my sisters and I should live in penury, as Servants or Beggars.
He sayd many such things, which made my father weep when he was gone, and his distress was so great I thought I should die of pity.
Papa offered that Halford should pick Bess, but he disdained her, and sayd that he was lowering himself to choose one of us at all, but that it should be me or No One. Bess heard this, as she was listening through the Keyhole, and now hates me beyond what she hated me before.
My sweet love, I cannot marry Halford as I do not love him, or even like him. I think I hate him. I cannot marry any man but you.
John, I must hear from you by the very next post. It will take so long for this letter to reach you, and you must write back the very same day. What shall I do?
I shall find excuses to delay my answer, I shall pretend to be ill and dying. My darling, I think I shall die, I think I would, if I would not cause such terrible grief to my father, and leave my sisters so helpless.
I shall delay this response in the hope that Bess finds a man like Mr. St James, or even Cecily who is now seventeen and very pretty may find a man who will save us.
John, I beg you to write to me, and tell me what I shall do. If only your Mama or Papa were alive, they would help me too, they would not let this happen.
