Wintersmith

Georgiana Everdale​
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Too enthralled and preoccupied by her own thoughts to bother with pretending to eat any longer, and far too tired to maintain a sense of proper decorum, Georgiana was glad when Mason suggested they prepare for their journey immediately. Pushing her plate back again, she rose to her feet and giving Mason a smile, nodded, "I shall see to packing then, and afterwards, I think I'll rest."

Bending, feeling perhaps more emboldened by their impending nuptials, as well as thoroughly exhausted still, from her prolonged rest these past few days, she pressed a kiss to his cheek, then straightened, nodded to Lizzie, "You should do the same, Dove. I imagine you'll grow more excited by Scotland than you presume to be, now. I've heard lovely things about it, and anyway, we'll be a family when we've arrived. And surely that comes with some excitement, all on it's own."

Turning, she made her way from the room, and back upstairs to her own quarters. It would be strange, leaving Wintersmith - not because it possessed any sense of homeyness to her, anymore. All in all, she was rather put off by it, considering how many tragedies the walls now held, but because it was, in fact, the first real home she'd had. Mason had taken her in, and very rightly shouldn't have, but she had come to love the place, not for the place itself, but the people within it.

Into her room she went, and as she began packing, she considered their next steps on the journey, and how far she had come - a journey she had never actually intended to take. Perhaps for once, she and Mason were due for some goodness in their lives... some peace. Real and genuine happiness... Perhaps.
 
Mason Osment​
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"That is a good idea," Mason agreed readily. He had a full plate for his afternoon and evening, starting with business and ending with wedding planning. At very least, he had maids and servants who could do some, if not most, of the leg work for him. It pleased him all the more that Georgiana wasn't grappling for some big, fancy affair, either. He wasn't sure he had the willpower or time to make something like that happen. They seemed equally unenthused about casual acquaintances, so it worked fine.


Of course, there was bound to more than a little talk about Mr. Osment marrying a servant girl on the sly, but talk would happen whether or not the affair was generous. By the time they returned in Spring again, the gossip would long switch to something new and no one would concern themselves with Mr. and Mrs. Osment. Still, even small affairs required some investment of time and effort. The church had to be reserved, a marriage ticket and license both acquired, and some level of other preparations.


By the time Mason finally retired to the library for a relaxing rest, long after sunset, only half of his list had been completed.


Meanwhile, Lizzie had spent her day fussing about Scotland and her continued discontent with going. She complained all day as she packed, but didn't even try suggesting she wouldn't go a second time, fearing she really would be sent back to a dreadful foreign school, which would be worse than one season in equally dreadful Scotland.

 
Georgiana Everdale​
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Georgina's recovery, it seemed, was spurred into action more than ever, following Mason's suggestion that they would all go to Scotland together. The prospect of traveling, of knowing that she would not be without the man she loved for so long after all was encouraging enough, but to know that she would be making the journey as his wife was all the more. It was only natural that so many changes at once should cause some trepidation, but not even the natural sense of anxiety could lessen her joy, that grew moment by moment.

They had been through so much. Too much, and they were due for some sort of reprieve. It stood then, to think, nothing could possibly go wrong, so naturally when Georgiana was informed by Mary that she had a visitor, she hardy considered to expect anything in the vein of bad news. The severe woman standing, hands clasped in front of her, in the foyer of Wintersmith, however, bode little good for Georgie. Her heart sank as she spied the woman, grateful for her vantage point and without a word, she turned on her heels and made her way up the stairs as fast as her legs would carry her.

It was early yet, and while Mason was generally out and about, she had to hope that with all he had to do to prepare for their momentous journey, and their more momentous union, that he might not be too difficult to find. The back stairs to the servants entrance led right out into the hallway where his study could be found and moving to the door, Georgie knocked softly, her voice carrying through the sturdy oak, tinged with far too much nervous energy to sound perfectly normal, "Mason... It's Georgie. May I come in?"
 
Mason Osment​
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Mason had been busier than ever those passing days. He was hardly home at all and when he was, he rarely took a meal or sat down for more than a few moments. Lizzie often complained of his continued absences, but Mary always told her that there was nothing that could be done about it. A lifestyle like they lived did not come first without gentlemanly work. This meant that the house was left, mostly, to its own devices and things returned to normal quickly. Cleaning was performed, cooking was performed—grates were scraped, linens were beat, and floorboard scrubbed.

If anything at all had happened at Wintersmith, it didn't show.

That particular afternoon, Mason stood over the reaching oak table at the center of his library and weighed down on his hands. He stripped away his heavy overcoat and waistcoat and was left only in his semi-translucent white muslin shirt. Across the table from him stood a short, angular man with a button nose, slit green eyes, and pursed lips. He dressed well, his hands folded politely behind his back as he stood over Mason's shoulder and pointed something out to him on the books spread before them.

"Yes, I see," Mason agreed to some inaudible muttering of the man with full-rim glasses, still standing over him. "It's of no matter, truly. Cover the expenses, then. Ensure only the best is provided."

"Are you certain, Mr. Osment? That will come at quite the fortune."

"Yes, yes," he straightened when a knock came at the door. "What is money if you can't spend it?"

Both sets of eyes turned towards the door, followed by Georgiana's voice seeping in under the crack at the bottom.

"Yes, come in, my dear."
 
As Georgiana opened the door, she started to speak but paused at the sight inside. She had only seen Mason appearing so casual on the rarest of occasions, and in any other circumstances, might have mentioned how appealing he looked a little less buttoned up, but her own mood wasn't quite on that particular level and he wasn't entirely alone.

Her gaze shifted to the man across the desk from Mason, a brow lifted. He wasn't familiar, and in this sort of situation that wasn't necessarily a bad omen, but these days it seemed as though one bad thing followed the next. And considering her own ill-favored news, her expression read concern as she looked between the two men.

"I'm sorry. I thought you were alone. I didn't mean to interrupt." Turning to Mason, she smiled faintly, but it was a strained expression, her eyes far more wary than the tilt of her lips might suggest, "I can return when you're finished here, if that's better for you."
 
"All is well," Mason assured Georgiana with a soft wave of his hand. "Mr. Barnett was on his way out already, weren't you, sir?"

The man, Mr. Barnett, was in possession of a thin face. His bone structure was symmetrical, perhaps too much so, with high cheek bones and a prominent brow. His forehead wrinkled by many peaks and trenches, which could only have been caused by years of consistent scowling. His eyes crowned unflatteringly, permenantly harboring a disdainful glare, shadowing their uniquely beautiful shade of green. His entire face, as he gazed on Georgiana, seemed drained of any sign of joy or amusement, instead, his frumpy cheeks told a tale of regular displeasure.

"Miss Georgiana," he said, bowing his head with a whistle in his voice. "It's a pleasure."

With that, Mason stepped out of the room. "Wait here just a moment," he called to Georgiana, leading Mr. Barnett towards the door, where the footman would see him to the stable, for his carriage and horse.

Mr. Barnett seen off, Mason sauntered back to the library, meeting up with Georgiana. He shut the door behind himself as he entered. "So, what's on your mind?" he asked, looking up to her as he stepped to his desk, beginning to rearrange some papers and idly straighten a few things up, just to keep his hands occupied. "You look a bit concerned. Has something happened?"
 
Georgiana Everdale​
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Watching as the man departed, curious still about who exactly he was, Georgianna turned to Mason and tried to smile, but it was a fickle thing that flickered away after a moment, her gaze lowering as she shook her head, "More than concerned, actually. I... I've just been to the foyer. Well, actually, I rather avoided it... in earnest. My..."

Pausing, trailing off, she sighed. They had so much to look forward to, were so close to the most important occasion of their lives, and it seemed one struggle after the next befell them. If she were superstitious, she might have feared that their union was cursed, but even without that fear, it seemed as though there was something standing in the way of their happiness... something always in the way. She was determined to break the cycle... but she couldn't keep things from Mason... not when they had promised to be honest with one another, no matter the difficulty.

The moment they started keeping secrets was the moment their troubles would truly begin. As long as they had each other's trust, then nothing that went wrong would ever be enough to separate them...

"...My father's wife is here." She finally finished, looking up at Mason with a soft frown, "I've no idea why. I cannot fathom what has brought her all this way, or even how she knows that I'm here, but I cannot imagine she has anything to say that won't be scathing and horrible. I thought it best to warn you, in case the intentions of her visit are to..." Fidgeting a moment, she glanced down again, "In case she means to tarnish your opinion of me in any way."
 

Mason Osment​
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Mason's eyebrows arched up his forehead in surprise at the news. No one told him they had a guest, not even the housemaid, who didn't let a mouse creep around the house without informing him about it. He wondered, then, how long the woman had been in their foyer. His understanding of Georgiana's past was scant, at best, and he had never once considered the possibility that any member of her family may arrive at his doorstep or, for that matter, even know she was at Wintersmith.

Sliding his hands into the pockets of his trousers, he glanced towards the library door in quiet contemplation for a long moment. "I see," he managed to utter while the train of thought rolled about his head. "Well, no matter. We ought not to keep her waiting, I suppose," he said, moving towards the door to pull it open and step out into the hall.

"No matter how scathing or dreadful, she is still a guest and we should prepare her some tea, if she wishes it, and bring her into the parlor." What the woman wanted from them was beyond Mason's scope of understanding, but he didn't have any intentions of being rude to the woman, no matter her past involvements.

"As for the matter of my opinions," he continued, waving a passing maid closer to give instruction. "My opinions are mine, and mine alone to decide. Lucy, would you prepare some tea to be brought into the parlor, please? And tea cakes, as well. Thank you." He saw the scooting maid off and glanced back to Georgiana.

"Well, shall we?"
 
Georgiana Everdale​
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Frowning, Georgiana reached up to touch the scar on her arm where the wicked woman had branded her with the fireplace poker. She had cut off that part of her life, so intentionally... so effectively. And the notion of not only entering back into it willingly, but serving it tea in the parlor... it seemed abhorrent. Yet at the same time, she also knew the only way, sometimes, to exercise one's demons was to kill them with kindness.

If she could not only prove to Mara Everdale that she was unbroken by the woman's treatment of her, but also to herself, then perhaps she could finally bury that part of her life and be done with it. Start anew with her husband to be. If nothing else, she would set an example for Lizzie, and that was something...

Nodding at last, she reached for Mason's hand, curling her fingers through his. Renewed by her ambitions or not, she needed the support... the reassurance, most desperately. His opinion of her might not change, depending on what her father's former wife had to say, but she wasn't entirely sure she wanted him to hear it, either way - and knowing, out loud, that he would stand by her was at least a small comfort.

"...Of course." She answered, with another nod.
 
Mason Osment​
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Anxiety was not an experience Mason often endured. In fact, he felt self-possessed an calm. The expression on his face was one of utter nonchalance, as if he were merely strolling to the library for an afternoon read. As they approached the foyer where the woman was situation by his housemaid, he slipped his hand free of Georgiana's, but only so he could loop his arm around hers and settle her fingers in the nook of his elbow. Through the foyer entrance, they continued, and Mason's expression shifted into something of a smile.
The woman taking residence on one of the several entry way chairs was angular, and that was the only word that came to Mason's mind. She wore the weight of her years, but she wasn't any less beautiful for the soft lines at the edges of her eyes and around her lips. How she developed any laugh lines at all, Mason couldn't fathom. The pulsing sharpness of personality she gave off seemed to leave very little room for things like laughter.

The dark hair, twirled with the occasional streak of silver, twisted back into a severe bun. The tightness of the hairstyle pinched her skin back and slanted her eyes and over-pronounced the apples of her cheeks.

"Mrs…" but as he went to introduce, Mason realized he never took her name before. Or, if he had, it never committed itself to his memory. So, without a proper name, he smiled and left it at her title, but dipped his head politely to her in a proper, but slight, bow. "I've tea prepare for us. Would you care to join us in the parlor, then? I'd hate to see us sitting in this dreadful foyer all morning. Would you care for some cakes? Breads?"

The foyer, for being 'dreadful,' dripped in a wealthy coat of opulence. The chandelier alone was alone worth more than the combined annual incomes of the staff. It dripped with the best cut diamonds and was made from white gold. It was crafted only six months before the great fire, when the true Osment's patriarch had it commissioned on a whim. It had not been lit, and rarely was unless guests were to visit. It was difficult and delicate to work with, and as the woman before him was unexpected, he hadn't the time to arrange lighting it to its proper glory.

He never really liked the look of it, anyhow.

The carpet below their feet was soft and rich, imported from some exotic country (Mason forgot which, precisely), and the paper wall-hangings a deep red, with intricate gold and silver trims.
 
Georgiana Everdale​
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The severity in the woman's expression did not lessen as Mason moved to greet her, her gaze snapping briskly between the master of Wintersmith and the young woman beside him. There was nothing pleasant or warm in her eyes, no sense of welcome... All was icy frost.

"Mrs. Everdale. Thank you, but I won't be staying. I'll be as brief as possible, so you can return to your tea." There was emphatic note of disapproval, as if she turned her nose up at the very idea of such frivolous notions as tea... And in truth, she did.

"I received a letter recently that you've employed a maid here who was a former relative of my late husband." This she spoke as though Georgiana were not even present, her gaze barely shiftly between the two, "I thought it prudent to investigate the matter. And to inform you, Master Osment, that you have most unfortunately been lied to."

Her eyes moved then, slowly, fixed on Georgiana with disdain, Georgiana meeting the gaze, her own watering with emotion, "This girl is a dangerous thief, and if you've any sense at all, you will turn her away, before she poisons your household and robs you blind in the night."
 
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Mason Osment​
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For a split second, the contentment in Mason's face flickered away into something much darker. The expression was fleeting before it shook off and returned to neutral, blinking across his countenance with all the speed and swiftness of a running stag. As she went on to speak, introducing herself and rejecting his offer of tea, something unreadable replaced the darkness, something twisted and contorted, almost strained. While not offended by her declining of tea, as many hosts might have been, a general sense of unease opened through him with all the heat of molten lava.

"I see," he remarked, pausing to clear his throat and avert his eyes towards the stone arch above the door, just to give his eyes something to hone in on as his brain raced to find an answer that was both polite, and giving to his stature. "Mrs Everdale, was it? I did indeed hire a maid who is a relative of your late husband. Of which, please accept my sincerest regret for your loss. I appreciate you coming out here all this way to relay this information, I don't believe it was necessary."

Of course, her words wormed into his thoughts and left him feeling uncertain. His throat went dry and no matter how much he tried to swallow, it kept on scratchy and irritated. He kept secrets from Georgiana, how ridiculous would it be that she kept secrets from him? Mentally shaking those thoughts away, he smiled.

"Thank you for coming and taking the time out of your day. Are you sure I can't interest you in tea? Very well, shall I see you to your carriage?" Naturally, he wanted to ask her to what end he had been lied to, precisely, but decided against it. Trust. It was such a delicate little thing, and so hard for him to hang on to. He didn't like the idea of having to rely on it so heavily, but what choice did he have? Yet it was hard when they were both so tangled up with strings of the past hanging off of them.
 
Georgiana Everdale​
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Georgiana said nothing, as her father's widow spoke, but her cheeks reddened at the woman's words and her jaw tightened, hands balling into fists. Mason was ginger with the woman, and she was, thankfully, brief. She declined his offer again, then waved her hand as he continued, "I'm perfectly capable of making it to my carriage unaided, thank you. I don't care much for common chivalry."

Eyes shifting, she looked to Georgian and shook her head, before spinning on her heels and stalking towards the door. She was gone a moment later, and silence, weighted and heavy filled the foyer as Georgie stared off in the woman's wake. Her mind felt trapped somewhere between an anxiety and anger, crippling fear bringing her, at last, to a seat on the bench that the woman had vacated only a few minutes before. Not surprisingly, it was cold...

"Well..." She said softly, looking up at Mason with expectation in her eyes, "Go on then. Ask me what she means. I'm sure you've questions. They all do. She makes it a point, see, to find anyone I come in contact with... anyone I've hope of being close to. She calls me poison, yet she's the one who had made it her life's ambition to destroy me and my happiness. So what is it you want to know, Mason? Why she calls me a thief?" Looking down, hands clasped in her lap, she shook her head, "When I left, I took nothing but a single drawing of my father and his most precious books. It was all I wanted. All I wanted. And it was the one thing she tried, desperately, to keep me from. She hates me that much."

With a scoff, Georgiana clasped the fabric of her skirt tight enough to whiten her knuckles, "...I'm only glad she doesn't know you intended to marry me. She would never let it happen. Not ever."
 
Mason Osment​
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Mason's eyebrows crept up his forehead, and pushed wrinkles into the otherwise smooth skin below a flop of hair. He was not sure what to make of the woman and her impolite nature, though he didn't dare argue it and let her see herself off with a stiff farewell. His eyes turned next to Georgiana, who took the reins of the conversation in a huffing whirlwind of activity as she slouched into the seat, wringing her hands. Mason's posture relaxed some, his hands sliding into his coat's pockets and his shoulders slouching as the snapping tone in the room transitioned away from Mrs. Everdale to Georgiana.

"I see," he remarked, taking in her demand for questions and marinating his thoughts in it. Did he have questions? He wasn't even entirely sure, himself. Mrs. Everdale had come and gone in such a tumultuous breeze of activity, Mason couldn't even be sure what his thoughts on the matter were yet. All his thoughts hurried through his brain in flashes, a carousel of movement that was neither complete nor understandable. The only thing he was confident in was wondering what she meant by "they all do." He never did like the word 'they.'

"That sounds like a very unfortunate life situation," he mentioned off-handedly, still unsure of what more there was left to say. Like her, the only redeeming fact he found from the incident was that Mrs. Everdale didn't know of their intentions to marry… he wasn't sure he was equipped to handle that woman emotionally.

"Either way, I don't think she could stop it, unless she decided to pick up a knife and kill me in my sleep." His hands slid free of the pockets and he rubbed the sweat clean on the thighs of his trousers. "I could ask questions all I want, but I'm not sure any of the information from those questions will be any good to me now. Whatever lives we lived in in our pasts, and it seems we both did live very different existences than the ones we do now, I'm not sure it matters."

Hell, Mason's name wasn't even Mason. Even if Georgiana did steal from him, it wasn't like she was stealing anything that truly belonged to him. The money, Wintersmith, the other estates… even the marble floors on which he walked… none of it truly ever belonged to him.
 
Georgiana Everdale​
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Blinking, Georgiana dropped her hands to her side, before she plucked up again not a moment later, clutching them together with a near bruising authority. For a moment she had been so sure that he would dismiss her, after all. And really, could she have blamed him? His little sister... a girl who had already endured so much was a ward at Wintersmith, and while she couldn't know Mason's connection to her, he loved her nevertheless, and if he thought Georgie was at all a distraction... a disturbance... or worst yet, a danger to Lizzie? No... she would not have blamed him at all.

Love was not fickle, perhaps, but it could be easily shattered if one's perceptions were altered too far in the other direction. Her father's wife had, on numerous occasions, soured people's opinions of Georgie, and she wouldn't have blamed Mason in the slightest if his own opinion of her had changed - even so quickly. But there he was, standing before her, as severe and stoic as ever, but is words were kind and gentle and warm...

And he meant them. Every one. He wouldn't call off the wedding. He wouldn't send her away. Tears pooled at the rim of her gaze and she blinked again, her eyes falling to the floor, "Whether or not I am who I've always been isn't a matter of consequence, Mason. And who you are now is absolutely all that matters to me. But I want you to know anyway... she's lying. Every word. She hates me. She always has, and for whatever reason, she's determined to see my happiness shattered. I confess, I've never been interested in stopped her because I never much cared. But I care now, Mason. So much, and in fact, I couldn't bear it... the thought of her coming here. Ruining it. Ruining us..."

Sniffing softly, she looked up again and reached out to take his hands, gently in her own, "I should not have worried, so... Please, forgive me."
 
Mason Osment​
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The hum at the back of Mason's throat was deep and low, thoughtful, and his intentions were clear across his face. A smile softened the creases between his eyebrows when his hands were clasped up tight in both of Georgiana's own. While her thanks were appreciated, they were unnecessary. He squeezed her hands once before sliding his own free and turning to continue his path towards the parlor.

"Unfortunately, I don't think there is anything I can do to stop her from coming here, if she pleases." There were things he needed to take into consideration before outright banning a woman of high society from his estate. It would look poorly on her, true enough, but also on him. Business, like it or not, had become a critical part of his life since the fire. While it might be true that a camel couldn't fit through the eye of a needle, wealth had become something he'd come to enjoy. Furthermore, it gave Lizzie life opportunities she otherwise would never have—the prospect of education, refinement, and marrying well. It, too, would solidify Georgiana's future, and his own, and whatever else, or whoever else, would come to join their abode.

So, he had things to consider when it came to Mrs Everdale, and care would have to be taken surrounding her existence in their lives. "Then, what do you intend to do about her, Georgie? Nothing rash, I hope."

Mason proceeded into the parlor and took a seat next to the fire that burned away in the fireplace, crackling happily over thick logs of dried wood. Embers burned hot and cast his face in a pale orange glow that danced over every feature. The room smelled of ash, likely from the freshly scrubbed grates, which gleamed in their places.

"Surely, she'll be of no consequence aside from trying to spread rumors? Everyone knows well that a tongue that spreads such gossip is not a tongue to be believed. What more harm could she do? Burn Wintersmith down by her own hand? We won't even be here long after the wedding, anyhow."
 
Georgiana Everdale​
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Frowning softly, Georgiana shook her head, "I'm not sure anything rash would matter anyways, Mason. But I'm also not convinced she'll stop unless I do something to force her hand"

She wanted to think he was right... That there wasn't anything the woman could do to get in the way of their plans, but unfortunately, she had long since given up hope that she would escape the turmoil that was her former life. She had tried, as hard as she dared, she had tried... and yet she'd never experienced much luck. Not yet. She would try until Georgie was ruined, because in her mind that was the only action that made sense...

"I own my father's home, Mason. And until now, I have chosen to do nothing about it. I think maybe it's time that changed. If she's going to insist on interfering in my life, in my happiness, then I no longer feel as inclined to support her. I hate the thought of it, because even if she hates me, I did everything I could not to feel the same... but if I don't, I dread what she might do. It's not my reputation I'm worried about... It's yours. You can't afford to have it tarnished... and I won't let it happen."

Breathing out, she sank down at his feet, resting her head against his knee with a small, soft sigh, "I'll go home. I'll go back, just this once, and I'll speak to her, myself. I'll inform her that if she doesn't leave us alone and desist with her attempts to interfere here, then I'll be forced to cut her off entirely. It's time I've put the past behind me for good, and this, I think, is the best step..."
 
Mason Osment​
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He would have liked to have been able to say that a reputation was of no consequence to him; however, he could not. A good reputation was business, income, wealth. It allowed him to conduct business and have enterprise. To have that soiled in any regard could ruin commerce, and that meant losing a certain way of living. Lizzie would have to be sent off to boarding school, for he wouldn't be able to care for both her and Georgiana. These thought caused him to tap his fingers at his sides while Georgiana swirled about in her own conversation, eventually dropping her head to his knee to rest.

Perhaps one hit would be survivable, but two? Marrying Georgiana and have her step mother take a hit or two? He sighed at the thought. Paying her to go away seemed viable, and discrete, but if she already had such a lavish lifestyle, he doubted more money would entice her off her path.

Resting his hand against the side of her head as she rested for a moment, Mason stared out to the opposite wall with a furrowed brow. Round and round these thoughts went, to where he very nearly missed what she was saying because he was so entrenched in his own. "Hm?" He roused a bit and glanced down. "If you think that speaking to her will solve the problem, I have no right to try and stop you, nor would I want to stop you, if I could." The decision to go home was Georgie's alone, and one he was trying to avoid swaying.

"Would you like me to accompany you there? Or would you prefer to go alone?" he asked. "We can have a carriage prepared for whenever you think yourself ready." It seemed so much in so few days. Everyone in Wintersmith had problems mounting, though it seemed to be the curse of the house, he mused. "Or perhaps one of the ladies to accompany?"
 
Georgiana Everdale​
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Leaning into his gentle touch, Georgiana closed her eyes. In a few days, they were to marry and then they would go to Scotland for the winter.
There was time, it seemed, to consider their options. And in truth the idea of sullying their new marriage with sich a dismal situation was hardly ideal. But idyllic notions weren't always the best.

For his reputation laid at stake far more than just the obvious. They could be ruined amd they would still have each other... But Lizzie did not deserve a destitute life. And Georgiana would not be so selfish...

"I will go." She sighed softly, and a moment, "It's not a great distance from Wintersmith, and I can meet you up when I've settled matters. It would be better, I think, if you get Lizzie accustomed to the Scotland house. She was so terribly uneasy about going." Looking back at him, her smile brightened her face for a moment, "Though it will impossible, being away from you so soon after we've married. I shall be in a state the entire trip. I suppose it's for the best, as she won't be able to bully me out of my intentions."
 
Mason Osment​
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"You're thinking of traveling to Scotland unaccompanied? In winter?" Mason's tone was not accusatory, though his brow crinkled as his eyebrows drew together towards the bridge of his nose. "It is a time of year where travel is not garaunteed. If the snows are too heavy, the air too cold…"

He recalled then the year he had been stuck in aptly named Wintersmith, for he waited too long to depart his summer home and was stuck behind week after week of torrential snowfall. So deep the snow became that even his tallest horses struggled to muddle through it, and no cart would budge through the drifts no matter how strong the animal pulling it was. Already, he'd delayed his travels beyond the usual timeframe. Upon normal circumstances, he would have been arriving to Scotland, or somewhere else, that very week, having departed Wintersmith the week before.

The air brought with it the tendrils of cooler weather and fickle weather could decide upon snow and ice at any time. "I will not impede you if you wish to go alone, but Lizzie and I shall stay in England until that time. If we are deserted because of weather, than so it shall be, we'll stay in England."

Aside from his general distaste of Wintersmith, Mason had no unrelenting need to leave for Scotland. He preferred the northern territory vastly to the southern one, but he'd survived many winters at Wintersmith, and could rally the strength to survive another. There were worst fates—hunger, cold—and Wintersmith fulfilled his needs of food, shelter, and warmth.
 
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