Political intrigue, fantasy, futuristic, sci fi lite, superheroes, historical fiction, alternate universes. Smittings of romance, but only as side plot.
Georgiana laughed softly, as Lizzie began parading her purchases for Mason to see. There were quite a lot, and while she hardly needed most of it, considering her wardrobe back in Wintersmith, it was hard not to feel as though she deserved them, and there was a certain appeal to seeing her so very happy.
Stepping into the room, she wound an arm gently around Mason's waist, ever mindful of his shoulder as she watched Lizzie, "Oh, don't worry..." She murmured up to him, with a sly smile, "I'm sure she'll find plenty more for you to buy her. She's quite the adept shopper, that one." Georgiana, meanwhile, had been content with her sole purchase, enjoying all the more the idea of spoiling Lizzie silly. It wouldn't happen often, even if they had the means, for there was a difference in spoiling once in a while and generally -spoiling- a child, but for the time it had made Georige's day, entirely.
"She was a gem..." She continued, and her eyes turned up to him as her smile softened, "Perfectly well behaved, and manners to boot. She even remembered you, and suggested the tea cakes. She's really coming along." Leaning gingerly against his side, Georgiana sighed, feeling, for the first time in days, generally relaxed...
"I've no doubt, however, that I'll sleep tonight. She's worn me out. How are you feeling, love?"
Giving Lizzie her due, Mason didn't look to Georgiana much except to smile to her politely in greeting. That moment belonged to Lizzie and he did everything in his power to give her all of his attention, though he cared little for the fritz and the glamour. She saw to it to show him every little detail of every dress, down to the perfect hem stitch all the way around each skirt. He smiled and nodded, pretending he had any sort of understanding of what he was looking at. A prickle of contentment grabbed him by the spine when he felt two sly arms wind around his middle.
In an instant, his healthy arm wound around her shoulders, still holding on to the tea cup though having no interest in it any longer. She whispered tenderly towards his ear and he smiled, swiftly taking a moment to gaze down at his fiancée as Lizzie kept on and on about the pair of slippers currently in her hands. "Oh, I know it," he replied back in a whisper of his own, "She will impoverish us both, I am sure. It's why I only let her out to the world every now and again." In between comments Georgiana was making, Mason leaned down and pressed a soft peck to her lips.
Pleased to hear that Lizzie at least some manners about her, Mason hummed after the kiss. "That is fine then," he replied, watching Lizzie as she switched from slippers to a cloak, still prattling on without any idea that Mason wasn't entirely and truly engrossed in everything she was saying. "Yes, the tea cakes. They arrived at my room, thank you. I would thank her as well, but I fear interrupting her may send her spiraling out of control," he continued on, motioning to Lizzie, who must have believed she was speaking to the entire world about her new possessions.
His eyes, however, ended up fixed on Georgiana as she leaned into him. It was so easy to forget all his woes and troubles with her arms about him; she made it impossible to worry, to fret, and the stoic tartness that usually claimed his expression had relaxed into a very pleasant one… with a warm half-smile and all. "You look exhausted," he agreed, "But how about you? Any luck in London today?"
Political intrigue, fantasy, futuristic, sci fi lite, superheroes, historical fiction, alternate universes. Smittings of romance, but only as side plot.
The kiss came unexpectedly, but not at all unwelcome and with a murmur of appreciation, she shook her head. Lizzie might bankrupt them, but she would never leave them impoverished... She was, in so many ways, what had brought them together to begin with, and whether they wound up with nothing or lived long and healthy lives off both of their wealth, it was the affection for one another, and for Lizzie, herself, that would make their lives rich.
"Exhausted is the word for it..." She finally mused, "But I was very successful, and you, Mason Osment, as an incredibly lucky man." Laughing softly, she straightened so she could see him better, "I've had it sent home to Wintersmith. I wasn't sure if you could resist taking a peek, and I won't have you ruining the surprise." A wedding dress. It hardly seemed real to her, still. It felt like only days ago she had accosted him in the bakery for bumping ahead of the line.
That evening, with Collins dismissing her, she had been so sure that she would be alone forever... that she would never find someone who could tolerate or even grow to love her odd behavior and her sense of honesty. Her boldness. Her willfulness. Yet here he was, and she was so grateful for him. Biting the edge of her lip, she smiling, before turning her attention back to Lizzie.
"I love you..." She whispered, because in the moment, in just felt right to say.
"Ah, it seems you have learned of me all too well, and so quickly," he mentioned when she suggested he might not have been able to resist peeking. In that, she was right. He likely would have been unable to resist the temptation of taking even the smallest glimpse of the gown that his wife would be wed in come only a few day's time. He mused softly when she explained it would simply not do for him to ruin his own surprise and he conceded with a small nod of his head in acknowledgement. If she wished for the surprise not to be spoilt, then it wouldn't be.
Though he didn't respond verbally to her expression of love, the ready softening of his features and the deepening of his smile was a very suitable replacement. He hadn't needed to say it, truly, and he watched Lizzie instead as those words lingered in his heart. He was in need of hearing them a hundred, a thousand, times over before he departed for Scotland to bide him through the cold and unwelcome winter months without her, without Lizzie. It would be a dreary, lonely affair, but it had been well decided in his mind that after their winter apart, he'd never leave either of them for long thereafter. He would show her every estate he owned and let her select her favorite, whichever that may be, and that would make a home.
In his mind, he could already hear the words 'the end' scrolling across the literature page, yet he could not forget the darkness that still yet lurked ahead of them. He had never concerned himself with it before, as it had only been his own wellbeing at risk. Now, however, he had more than just his own neck to care for… he had Georgiana's and, to a lesser extent, even Lizzie's. He had always deemed her safe from harm, as not many would consider a ward a justifiable way of getting at a proprietor. At these darkening thoughts, his expression fell back into coldness.
"That is all very nice, miss Elizabeth," Mason concluded when she had finished, "You have done very well for yourself, I see. Why don't you begin packing them away in you room?"
"Can't a maid do that for me?" she whined, unwilling to do the chore given to her, but the disapproving look from Mason was enough to make her whine once more and give in.
"Yes," he said, "A maid could, but will not. You are not incompetent, little girl."
She began to gather up her things in her arms to begin packing them away in her room and trunk. With Lizzie gone, Mason could turn more entirely to Georgiana. "I fear I never answered your question from earlier," he said, "I am well, thank you. Still a bit weak, perhaps, but well. It is my wish to travel back to Wintersmith in about two days."
Political intrigue, fantasy, futuristic, sci fi lite, superheroes, historical fiction, alternate universes. Smittings of romance, but only as side plot.
She had learned him well enough, and for that, Georgiana was glad. Mason wasn't an easy man to read, but she had come to understand his quirks and quips to an extent, at least, and that would undoubtedly make their relationship a little easier to comprehend, down the line. Still, there were aspects to him that were as mysterious as always, but rather than frustrating her as they once had, she found herself fascinated by them, drawn in... She enjoyed the idea of studying him over time, learning him. Perhaps because he seemed more open, now... more willing to let down his walls.
There was a brief moment, however, where his expression shifted and she could see him retreating into that place of solitude, and while she wondered what might have driven him there, she said nothing, her arm tightening only so slightly around his waist, a reminder that she was there, even if it was just as a physical comfort.
Smiling dryly, as he chastised Lizzie with a gentle air of affection, Georgiana nodded in agreement, before she turned her eyes back up to him with a bright smile. "Two days? That's wonderful. I want you as well as possible before we head back, but I'll confess, I'm anxious to return. I never thought I would miss Wintersmith as much as I do, but I find myself thinking about it far more than I ever expected. It lingers, doesn't it...?"
"Mm," Mason's reply came, less than forthcoming with information at first, but he relaxed once again after a few more moments of internal contemplation. "I have said it before and I shall say it again, Wintersmith is a prison and I fear you too will succumb to its ways. Eventually, you'll be unable to escape it for long." He didn't hate Wintersmith for what it stood for, he supposed. It was a lovely estate for its size, with splendor and luxuries aplenty, but it was also quite easy to understand why he loathed it so. It brought him back to times of great darkness, regret, and unwitting gain. It brought him to moments where he had been at his weakest.
He was, however, ready to be out of Warway. He didn't dislike Warway in any way, in fact, he found it rather charming and appeasing, but the sooner they departed, the sooner he'd leave for Scotland… thus, the sooner he would return anew. He looked down to Georgiana, setting his tea cup down on a side table so he could run his one good hand down her shoulder. His other arm, still bandaged, remained strung up in a cloth sling so as to discourage its use. The wound had slowed him considerably, of that there was no argue, but he had begun to make a speedy and promising recovery. His arm would remain painful and injured for some time, but he was well enough to be out of bed, to walk around… soon, he'd be able to do so for the entire day without exhaustion.
"But yes, it does linger," he agreed with a sly smile, "As you say." He supposed he may not have to take her around to all of his dwellings, perhaps she had already selected her favorite. "So," he cleared his throat to mark a new conversation, "You know all about my past yet I know decidedly little of yours. I think I have to sit, I'm getting tired, but why don't you tell me about yourself. You mentioned once you come from money?" It wasn't an inquiry made to see if he could sniff out and extort money from her family. He cared little for the wealth her parents had for he had far too much of his own, as it was.
Political intrigue, fantasy, futuristic, sci fi lite, superheroes, historical fiction, alternate universes. Smittings of romance, but only as side plot.
She said nothing more on Wintersmith, for while she loved it, she also understood why Mason did not. For all the reasons she was attached to the old home, he was not - he had lost everything there, but she... she had found it. She had found a home, a family, love... Yet if she were ever forced to return to Derringer Hall? If she had to walk through those doors, day after day , reminded of the horrible things that had happened there...?
Shivering, she forced the thoughts from her mind and smiled gently. She knew once, that he had told her he intended to have Miss Archer select their future home together, when he had been set upon marrying her. If he offered Georgiana the same choice, she knew, inevitable, Wintersmith would not be where she chose to live. It had so many wonderful memories for her, but there was too much darkness for Mason, and for their life together, she wanted so much more... She wanted joy.
Mason continued, and Georgiana nodded, gently leading him back to the bed so he could sit again. With him settled, she sank down on the edge of it. He had never inquired much about her past, and for that she was glad... for it wasn't something she enjoyed talking about, but in the end she imagined he didn't desire a wife he hardly knew, and she had never made it a habit to be dishonest with him... would not start, now.
"My father was an incredibly intellectual man. He could see things differently than most... He could look at a clock and visualize the way the cogs ran inside of it. He would see... inventions in the stars, and dream of the most incredible machines. Sometimes, he would make them work, and those he sold. I never fully understood how much he had, but I know it was quite a great sum. But his mind made him eccentric and cold. The only person I think he ever really loved was my mother."
Frowning, she rubbed her hands up and down her arms, chilled by the distant recollection, "He met her on a business venture in Kensington. She was the daughter of one of his partners. He had been married already, but theirs was... well, I'm told it was quite a romance, however brief, and she fell pregnant. She died, giving birth to me. Her pregnancy was difficult, and she had been sure she would not survive, so she had written a letter, beforehand... explaining who my father was. I was delivered to him, and I suppose he felt as though I might somehow replace his loss of her. But I suspect I only reminded him more of it..."
Lowering her gaze, she shrugged, as her palm came to rest over her scar, "The rest, I think you know..."
Mason strolled languidly over to the bed and sat down. He managed to peel off his shoes by hooking his toes against the back of the ankle and pushing them off, instead of more properly untying the laces and tugging them off. Down an arm at the time, he didn't have many options at his disposal. He did try and wiggle his fingers once or twice, as the physician had prescribed, and found even the smallest of motions brought with it a searing pain. He stopped the motion in his hand and inhaled sharply, trying to reduce the feeling of heat building in his injured shoulder.
He leaned back into the pillows and got comfortable once more, his eyes closing as the throbbing pain reached new and higher peaks than before. A few breaths later and it had begun to come down again, relaxing, allowing him to relax more entirely. Just in time for Georgiana to have collected her thoughts and begin explaining. There wasn't nearly as much to her story as he thought there might have been, but that didn't mean he didn't listen to every word. Somehow, the story that got told did not surprise him. It suited her—the scandal, the affair—all the things that seemed to revolve around her.
Such a patch job marriage between her parents was surely scorned, especially the news that he had been married before. It was quite unusual, quite scandalous, and it did go on to explain a lot. "What a tragedy, that," he concluded when she had finished, "But I have decided that through tragedy comes the most interesting of individuals, don't you think?"
He looked up to her, "Yes, I suppose I do. You forsake your fiancé, ran away, found employment in Wintersmith. What of your father then? Is he still alive?" Mason didn't mean to prying, but he couldn't quite help his own curiosity, either.
Political intrigue, fantasy, futuristic, sci fi lite, superheroes, historical fiction, alternate universes. Smittings of romance, but only as side plot.
"Hm..." Shaking her head, she lowered her hand again, "I might have mentioned before, he passed when I was young. I was left with his wife... She hated me enough, as I'm sure you can imagine, but all the more so after he died. I'm..." Looking down at her hands, she sighed, "I'm to inherit it all, at the close of a year. Upon my twenty-first birthday, Derringer Hall and my father's wealth will belong to me. Whatever remains of it, at least."
Chuckling dryly, she shrugged, "I don't want any part of it, but it is his legacy. To let it fall to waste, I feel like it would dishonor him. He... he wasn't a bad man, he was just lost after my mother died. I intend to sell Derringer. I will give my father's widow a healthy sum to live on, and the rest, I suppose... I suppose it will become a part of your estate."
Looking to him, she smiled faintly, "If I can do anything good with it, it's to know that I'll be able to leave it to our children some day, and to our Lizzie." For all the pain it had caused, and for all she had resisted it, it wouldn't matter if she could take that darkness and turn it into something better, into a light for the future of her family...
Family. How strange that contrary to the story she told, Mason and Lizzie felt like the only family she'd ever had...
M"Ah yes, this you did mention." His mind had been nothing short of in a haze the last few hours… days… and it had slipped his memory, but came recoiling immediately at the mention. "The one who burned you, yes." He listened on as she spoke of her inheritance and hummed pensively but offered no immediate comment on the matter. The money she brought, or did not bring, to their marriage meant decidedly little to him. He had proposed to her under the belief she had nothing and his sentiments towards her did not change with more or less monetary value.
His own funds brought more than enough to the table in terms of comfortable living for them and whoever did end up joining their family. "Whatever remains indeed," he ghosted her comment, glancing off at the window, "it is no matter. It is yours to do with it as you please. Derringer Hall… I've never heard of it, nor am I familiar with it, as such. Whatever her father's wealth and status, he seemed to have operated on a different sphere or level than Mason, as the Everdale surname had never meant a pence to him up until the time of his meeting with Georgiana. Collins, as well, had never been on his list of distant acquaintances. From an early age, he had understood the influence his exemplary wealth and the surname Osment had given to him. His influence far exceeded even others considered vastly wealthy.
Smiling, he let the thoughts go to the wind tapping at his window and looked back to Georgiana. "It seems neither of us are truly as we say, is that so?" Georgiana's hiding had been less shifty than his own, but she was certainly not the person she often explained to be. His smile broadened after only a moment, eventually dissolving into a soft and warm laugh. "Whatever you wish to do to it, Georgiana," he began, "You father's estate, consider yourself in possession of any and all resources I can provide. I shall place into it ten thousand—twenty thousand pound for its splendor, if that's what you wish."
"Anything you wish it to be, to be used for, we can make it happen, I assure you."
Political intrigue, fantasy, futuristic, sci fi lite, superheroes, historical fiction, alternate universes. Smittings of romance, but only as side plot.
"My father wasn't one to spend much time in society. His fortunes made him fit enough for it, but he was far too reclusive. In truth, I don't even fully known the extent of his wealth. He never spoke of it, but it was extensive..." Whether or not it still was, she couldn't say. She hadn't visited for some time, and while it seemed Meredith had enough yet, to attend a party like Collins's, that didn't entirely mean she hadn't spent what she could get away with.
She smiled gingerly at his question, and shook her head, "I never bothered much to hide being an Everdale... Not for any noble or ignoble reasons, but it's a name that carries a lot of sadness for me, and sometimes it's easier to just be Georgiana. I'll much prefer Osment, as it is..." Her smile brightened and she leaned back a little, to get a better view of him.
"As for the house, I don't much care for it, either way. It will sell... It's decent enough, and the land is good. I'd like to see the staff is well placed, but otherwise, I'm perfectly content leaving it in my past, where it belongs." A small sigh escaped and she straightened, rising to her feet, "Ah, my Love. I hate to leave you, but I am thoroughly exhausted, and not likely to make it through dinner if I don't get some rest. You should rest, too." Reaching for his hand, she gave it a gentle squeeze, "...Soon enough, my darling, I won't have to leave your side, for anything..."
He considered everything she said and gave a nod. "Well, at the time, we shall figure out how best to deal with it, together," not that he planned to sway her decision on how to handle it in any regard, but they'd be married by that time and everything would be collective—from her father's estate to all of Mason's. Nothing would be anything but owned by the two of them. Once the matter came about, they would figure out what to do with the estate, but Mason was too tired to converse or think about it for the time being. He sighed and laid back deeper, his head resting to the side and his eyes already half-way closed. A sleepy smile crossed his lips—happy, but very tired.
"And an Osment you shall be," he said, "Georgiana Osment. I do very much enjoy the sound of it." Whether or not he was born to the surname, it didn't matter. It was the fact that she shared something in common with himself—a name, a title, a life. It meant everything and more to him, and he couldn't have been more thrilled or excited, at least, he wouldn't be if he wasn't so tired. "No matter," he replied, "I think I am on the verge of sleep myself. Get some rest, my pearl, I'll see you tomorrow. Thank you for taking out Lizzie today. She had a good time, clearly."
Mason wasn't sure he'd get up again that day. Perhaps he'd rouse for a short while to eat a small bite for dinner, but he had been so tired since the accident it felt like all he did was sleep and sleep some more. Today appeared to be no exception. As soon as she had gone, Mason sat back and allowed his eyes to close. Exhaustion washed over him thoroughly and entirely, his mind receding quickly into sleep.
Political intrigue, fantasy, futuristic, sci fi lite, superheroes, historical fiction, alternate universes. Smittings of romance, but only as side plot.
The remainder of their time in London was, to all intents and purposes, surprisingly restful, but Georgiana was ultimately all too glad when it was decided they would return. The weather had turned sour over their last day, but the snow held off, and their journey ran as smoothly as possible, for the time of year. It hardly seemed possible that less than a week prior, she had made the same journey there, almost entirely convinced it would be to say goodbye to Mason forever.
Her heart could not have been more exceedingly glad, then, when Wintersmith, at long last, came into view. She had never been so glad to see the stone facade as they drove up the cobbled path. The leaves had begun to shed their trees and the ground appeared aflame, oranges and reds scattered across her. It was a beautiful sight, and her warmed to it, as she tightened her grip on Mason's hand, smiling brightly.
The carriages slowed and the door was opened for them, Georgiana keeping hold of Mason as they climbed out. It had been some time since he had been home - nearly two weeks, and he had been through quite an ordeal. He was well loved by his staff, and undoubtedly, they would be all too thrilled to have him returned to him, but it could very well overwhelm... Looking up at him, she gave his hand another squeeze, "Welcome home, Master Osment. Are you ready?"
The trip home was decidedly uneventful. A low grade headache had crept up on him through the duration of their travel, so he was all too glad when Lizzie remained quiet—watching out the window of their carriage. Cold air leeched into the space, reminding them of the upcoming winter and his departure to Scotland. Their wedding would have to be a quick, patch-work affair if it truly were to occur before Mason head out for the next season, but money could buy certain luxuries and among those luxuries was haste. They'd hardly need much, anyhow. It was not going to be some big, elaborate affair. Instead, it would be rather small. Neat, but small. The weather seemed to be obliging, though barely.
Seeing Wintersmith did not drum up some contentment in him as it did Georgiana, still he smiled idly when Georgiana welcomed him home. "I am," he agreed. He stepped out and on to the stoop, receding quickly into the main foyer to escape the wind. At his heels was Lizzie, who had crawled out in his pursuit. The footman had already begun to drag their trunks into the foyer to be carried up and organized in their respective rooms, but Mason seemed to be paying it no mind. Mary, instead, had emerged. She had left a few days after her arrival in London to return and run the house and she seemed genuinely pleased to see him. A smile pinched the wrinkled in her cheeks, which was a pleasant change from her usual frown.
"Master Osment," she curtsied to him, "It is great to see you. A sculptor was here a day or two back. He says you to be familiar? Theodore Tubicalus was his name, he wishes to make your sculpture. He had made your brother's, after all."
"Very well," Mason idly replied, "Write a letter to him, would you? Tell him to meet me in Scotland. Preparations, Mary?"
Before she had departed, he had sent her home with instructions to prepare Wintersmith for the wedding. She nodded eagerly. "All going well, sir," she replied, "The church and pastor have been obliged and a seamstress is to fit you."
Mason listened, but had looked back to Georgiana.
"Sir," Mary interrupted, "I do not mean to be bad-mannered, but it is general propriety for a man to seek permission from any kindred his love possesses. Do you not wish me to write a letter on your behalf to her kindred? You ought to meet with them, sir."
Political intrigue, fantasy, futuristic, sci fi lite, superheroes, historical fiction, alternate universes. Smittings of romance, but only as side plot.
Even before leaving, Georgiana had grown to appreciate Mary on a whole different level than she had when she'd first come to Wintersmith. The woman was harsh and shrewd, and her honesty was at time, grating, but Georgiana had determined that so much of it came from her love for Mason and for Wintersmith - and all of that had been confirmed, when Mason had been injured. The way that she had rushed to him, without a thought, without a moment's hesitation... She was a gem, and a true treasure to Wintersmith.
And Georgiana never thought that she would be glad to see the woman, but she was... she was so glad to see her. She seemed to have taken to the idea of Georgiana and Mason with far less ire than Georgie had expected. It was refreshing to know that she wasn't opposed to the idea, that she was even willing to see to the preparations. Her question to Mason, did not escape Georgiana's attention, and moving closer to Mason, her arm sliding through his to rest against his arm, she shook her head, gently.
"It's very kind of you to think of, Mary. But unfortunately, I have no kin to speak of. My family... all of it, is here at Wintersmith. I suppose though, if the propriety of it seems unusual, he could ask permission of you. You have been the closest thing I've ever had to a mother, afterall. I've never admired or respected anyone quite so much."
"Oh, oh---" there wasn't really any coming back from what she had just said. A curstey possessed her and she looked away, about to return hastily to her work when the conversation continued. "Uhm," she began again, unsure of how to approach the subject that had just been opened. "Well," she stuttered again, clearing her threat and looking not uncomfortable, but lacking confidence. "I feel if I should be giving permission to anyone, it should be Mr. Osment. I clean up after him enough," a soft teasing tone was made, followed by a touch of a smile.
This commentary made Mason soften with a smile, wrapping his arm about Georgiana's shoulders. "She is right, I believe," he mentioned off-handedly, leaning over and pressing a kiss to her forehead. "For now, however, I have to work on some letters in the library. I shall see you for supper?"
"Oh, miss Georgiana, your dress arrived. I had it taken to your room. The seamstress will be by later to help Mr. Osment with his dress, if you need her to hem anything, let me know and I shall have it arrange." Mary curtsied politely to her new mistress and turned off more finally, hurrying off hurriedly. Life seemed to swarm about Wintersmith, all readying it for the upcoming wedding. Cleaning was being done, furniture pulled away from the walls to be deep cleaned and scrubbed.
Political intrigue, fantasy, futuristic, sci fi lite, superheroes, historical fiction, alternate universes. Smittings of romance, but only as side plot.
It hadn't been Georgiana's intentions to make the woman so flustered, but she could hardly be disappointed with Mary's response. There was something so heartwarming about it, particularly since she was ordinarily so stern and severe. Watching her face twist into a smile made the comments worthwhile, and the gentle embrace and the warmth of the kiss to her forehead from Mason were only all the more welcome.
"Thank you, Mary." She noted, when the older woman mentioned her dress had arrived. She smiled warmly, all too excited to see it, again. Idly, she wondered if it would be as beautiful as she had remembered - perhaps even more so. It wasn't extravagant or gaudy, but it was easily the most elegant thing she had ever owned... Though to marry Mason, she would have worn burlap and thread. It hardly mattered either way to her.
"Well, that's that. I suppose...Hmm, yes..." She turned to Mason with a smile, after Mary had gone, "I will go and find Jane. I've an important question to ask her, after all, and there won't be much time to over the next few days." Leaning onto her toes, she pressed a kiss to his cheek, "Shall I see you to your study? Or do you prefer to rest upstairs in your room?" He was recovering, well, but it had been made quite clear by the doctors that he was to continue resting, and Georgie had no intentions of being a bad nurse, even if there was so much to be done in preparation for their wedding.
It would hardly be the event she was hoping, after all, if he wasn't well enough to attend...
"That is that," he rejoined after only a moment's pause. They had returned to Wintersmith and it would be many days of work and routine until their wedding and Mason's untimely departure to Scotland. Some things could simply not be avoided, and his business ventures were one. It was his full intention to provide Lizzie and Georgiana—and whoever else entered their family—with a comfortable means of wealth and living. Whether or not Georgiana ever decided to take up her own wealth, it mattered little. His money meant nothing to him if he hadn't love to spend it upon, so business would be an unfortunate and unsavory side-effect.
The exhaustion that crept through him, and the pain that followed, from his injury did not escape his attention, however. Though he had been well enough to make the day's travel from Warway to Wintersmith, it was quite evident he was not his usual, strong self. The wound still took its heavy toll on him. He grew dizzy if he stood too long, his appetite still hadn't returned in its full force, and he'd still experience moments of extreme strain and discomfort. He'd never voice them, but they were evident enough on his visage.
"My study," he replied, closing his eyes as Georgie reared up and kissed his cheek, "Meet me in my study for coffee this evening, would you? I have some letters to write," he reiterated. The study would be a nice medium: it was quiet and allowed him restful repose without forcing him back in bed. "Go find Jane then," he scooted her off playfully and with a smile. As he made his way towards his study, he stopped Elizabeth—the poor maid who dreaded sharing a name with little Lizzie—and asked her to bring his supper to the study.
Political intrigue, fantasy, futuristic, sci fi lite, superheroes, historical fiction, alternate universes. Smittings of romance, but only as side plot.
"Of course, my love." She noted, to his request for joining him, later, "I'll see you, soon." Turning, with a small wave, she bounded off, towards the stairway.
After leaving Mason, Georgiana made her way up to her room to check on the dress. It wasn't just pretty... it was stunning, as stunning as she remembered, and it renewed her sense of excitement to a degree she could hardly fathom. She had never imagined feeling such joy, particularly about her own wedding. Back when she had been engaged to Collins, she had been so sure that it was her destiny to be miserable forever, and she had made due. She had found a way to cope with that...
But to think she was actually thrilled by the prospect? That there was any feelings other than indifference and disappointment? That in a few days, she would pledge herself to another man, and not feel as though it was the end of her independence, the end of her happiness...? It seemed a dream, and she was, frankly, a bit afraid to find herself waking to the bitter truth, instead. To discover she had fantasized it all to escape her true fate.
But it wasn't a dream... It was happening, and she could scarcely contain her happiness. She had no real need to. The smile wouldn't leave her face, and she didn't entirely want for it to. Touching the dress, she shook her head, before turning away and out of her room, downstairs, to seek out Jane.
Jane seemed in a slightly sourer mood. Her eyes had darkened and she did her work gravely, systematically. She wasn't unpleasant, per say, but she wasn't her usual, upbeat self. Instead, she wore the sulky tones of a querulous child. She had struggled all day to feel with anemic emotions that had no substance, they were flat and drained, like a used tea bag. She walked with her head bent through the corridors, averting her eyes to the floor, but yet not wanting to look distressed. Her aim was to be invisible, blend. Any social interaction would just be annoying, and blend she did a very good job of doing.
No one seemed to pay her any mind, though once or twice she glanced up and managed to find the image of Georgiana whisking towards her. She seemed to soften in some regard, though not entirely. "Miss Georgiana," she said in a stiff, but not unfriendly, greeting. "I figured after your day of travels and all the stress, you could use a bath?" she suggested earnestly, sounding a bit more friendly then, "I already drew it for you… heated the water… when I saw your carriage up the drive," she continued, "I even scented the water with rose petals and lemongrass. Doesn't that sound just lovely? A woman must be relaxed for her wedding day," she continued on, her lips barely managing to make it around the word 'wedding.'
"Yes, a woman must be relaxed and at her best beauty for her wedding day. A bath would do just the trick, don't you think?" she put on a smile, though it was as if her lips didn't wish to make the shape. Something had eaten away at her, but her desperation to hide these ill feelings was admirable. The glint in her eye told those in Wintersmith she didn't wish to speak of what troubled her, or to be asked of it, either.
"I think tomorrow, Master Osment ought to take one himself. The doctor always says it does a world of good… a hot bath with oils and scents. Come, let me show you."
