In Pursuit of Happiness

By Christine McCaffrie

Georgia Sills and Charles Ravenwood are separated on their wedding day. Their lives, instead of being comfortable and privileged as expected, become deprived and perilous. Both struggle to survive in harsh environments in England and Australia during the 1850s and beyond.

In Pursuit of Happiness is a 'riches to rags' saga, where the two protagonists discover they are ill-equipped to cope with the challenges life has set them, yet they persevere through strength of character and willingness to adapt. Eventually they recognise and appreciate the value of the lessons learned, but not before enduring many adventures and hardships. Will they ever be reunited?

Set in England in the ascendancy of the British empire, and in the gold fields of Australia, this novel is a saga of love and longing, deception and intrigue, and is recommended for those who enjoy adventure and romance in a historical background.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christine McCaffrie
• Release date: Mar 29, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476049328

Christine McCaffrie

I was born in Braidwood, NSW Australia. I'm a former teacher and traveler, now living in Canberra. My first novel is The Janus Illusion, published by Sid Harta, Melbourne, Australia. My other novels are available only on the smashwords site

Book preview

Prologue

1849

Georgia Sills had a panoramic view as she sat on the top of a small hill overlooking Melstone Manor. If she was truly honest it would be considered a strategic view. She could see who was arriving or leaving the Manor, but more importantly she had a perfect position to view the young men returning from their morning ride. And they, unless they were blind, would see her.

She'd carefully selected the book she was reading. It was written by the political theorist, Mr John Locke, and was reputedly the basis for much of the political change of the past century. Georgia, in selecting the book, was not making any show of knowledge or intellect; she was genuinely interested in the subject. But she also knew that liberal ideals and the Enlightenment movement of the previous century were of particular interest to Charles Ravenwood, the young man she had met only last year, and who was now, with his cousin Warwick Denborough and his uncle, Sir Bertram Felsten, a guest of her father. They had been at Melstone Manor for a week and would be there for three more weeks; the duration of the duck and pheasant season.

Charles Ravenwood was a young man capable of turning the heads of most women. At twenty, he was tall and lean, but showed all the promise of developing a well proportioned, athletic figure to match his handsome face. His cousin, Warwick, although three years older, bore a strong resemblance to him, but was more solidly built.

Georgia had time during this visit to survey both young men, and in speaking with them, discovered she preferred Charles to Warwick. She had engaged in conversations of world events and politics, and while Warwick smiled indulgently and suggested she should not concern herself with such vulgar male pursuits, Charles seemed genuinely pleased to discuss issues with her. He was surprised at her knowledge, as he'd never seen such interest in a girl, and he found she could also converse on a variety of topics with a wit and warmth he admired.

Their immediate physical attraction was complemented by such a meeting of minds. Charles felt it was as if he'd known her for a long time, so comfortable was he in her presence. Georgia instantly knew she wanted to spend her life with Charles. She had read plenty about 'matches made in heaven', but until now had not thought it possible in real life.

'Well, what do you know, there's the young heiress up on that hill,' called Warwick to Charles as they galloped back towards the Manor.

Charles followed the direction of Warwick's gaze. Immediately he turned his horse towards the young woman. Warwick frowned, and reluctantly followed. Georgia Sills was of no interest to him. She was looking for a suitable husband, it seemed, and he had no intention of being tied down for a long while yet.

'Miss Sills, what brings you up here?' asked Charles as he reined in his black stallion.

Georgia rose to her feet in a lithe, graceful movement, as if she was performing a step in a dance.

'Good morning, Mr Ravenwood, Mr Denborough. I often come here on my morning walk. It's such a fine day, and a delightful place to sit and read. Have you both enjoyed your ride?'

'Very well thank you,' replied Warwick, 'but we must be getting on. Your father is expecting us to meet with him at eleven.'

Charles firmly pursed his lips, and flicked his riding crop against his leg. There was no great rush to be back at the manor. Mr Sills had said they would meet at eleven or thereabouts, and that usually meant at least half an hour later. Irritated, he turned to his cousin.

'Why don't you go back first, Warwick, and I'll catch you up. Zeus, here, will overtake your tired old nag in no time.' Charles patted the neck of his horse, that was matching Warwick's impatience to be away.

Warwick smiled thinly, but didn't rise to the bait. He tipped his hat to Georgia, and took his leave, resigned to proceeding alone. Observing his cousin's determined expression he knew his company ran a poor second to the pretty girl who had so obviously taken Charles' fancy.

'So young and naïve, the pair of them,' he murmured to himself, confident of his own worldly perspective. He shook his head with disdain and spurred his horse towards the manor.

'I don't believe Father will be back from the village until at least noon. He always has the best of intentions, then something delays him,' Georgia said, catching her breath slightly, and smiling up at Charles. He was an impressive sight – seated on his horse, so confident, so assured and so very, very handsome.

He dismounted and joined her, removing his hat and running his fingers through his wavy brown hair. Unknown to Georgia, he was feeling nervous, and anxious to continue their conversation.

'I see you are reading Locke,' he said, gesturing towards the book lying on the mound.

'Ah yes.' She stooped and picked up the volume. 'I find myself amazed that he could produce such simple yet profound principles. I believe much of his treatise has been used in the American Declaration of Independence.

'Indeed, but he mentioned the 'pursuit of property', not 'the pursuit of happiness' I believe.

'He did, but I must say I agree with Mr Jefferson's amendment.'

'So you would say that happiness is more important than property?'

'Of course, what good is property to you if you aren't happy?'

'It is possible to be without property and to be unhappy though. Surely, possessing property is superior to having neither.

'I believe the ownership of property gives a sense of security, nothing more. And along with that it incurs a great deal of responsibility. You, for example, will have your leisure time limited when you inherit your uncle's estate, will you not?'

'No doubt I will, and that will be a cause of regret as I will have little time for such leisure as I am now enjoying,' he gallantly replied.

Georgia blushed slightly, then looked at him directly, her warm brown eyes capturing his, communicating her feelings better than any words. He stared at her in silence, a conscious recognition of the depth of his feelings for her stirring within him. He would always remember this moment. She was more dear to him than any other being.

'Miss Sills – may I call you Georgia,' he asked, breaking free of his reverie.

'Of course. And I will call you Charles if I may.'

They walked together down towards the Manor, he leading the horse with one hand, the other slightly brushing hers as they picked their way along the narrow track.

They didn't speak, both preferring to savour their exquisite happiness.

Chapter 1

June 1850

Georgia

The sun still came up. Just like any other day. Georgia turned her head on the pillow so she would not see the golden finger of light that stealthily crept through the crack where the heavy drapes did not quite meet. It should be raining. It should still be night. She did not want to wake up to face this day, to be greeted by the cheer of the morning sun. She did not want to wake up at all.

How different it was this time yesterday. Then she was thrilled to see the sun and praised God for not sending rain. As Biddy drew the curtains they had both exclaimed at the blue sky and bright sunlight. It would be a perfect day for her wedding. The household had risen earlier than usual, and Georgia, unable to contain her excitement, was barely able to eat the breakfast placed on the table by the window. Biddy too, was excited, for as Georgia's personal maid she would be travelling with her on her wedding journey, and then to her new home, Compton Manor, in Staffordshire. This was a house grander even than Melstone, the estate that had been the country seat of the Sills family for over two hundred years.

The wedding was to be at eleven o'clock. Half an hour before that time, she was ready, dressed in her white satin dress, with the lace veil secured in place by orange blossoms, so carefully tended by the gardeners. Edgar, the chief gardener, had lost much sleep over those blooms, and was grateful that the day had finally arrived, and he could hand them over to young Miss Georgia.

As she surveyed herself in the long oval mirror, she could be forgiven for thinking that she looked well. Yes, she looked very well indeed. Georgia was more than moderately tall, but with delicate features and large brown eyes, that were almost the same shade as her thick curly hair. Her clear skin had a heightened colour today, and with that glow brought on by excitement, and love, she was the epitome of the beautiful, blushing bride.

When she descended the stairs with Catherine and Louisa, her maids of honour, managing the train and fussing and twittering like a pair of nervous birds, she could see through the glass doors into the dining room, set up for the luncheon that would follow the ceremony. The silverware gleamed on crisp white tablecloths; garlands of red roses and ivy festooned the walls. The servants had worked hard to make Miss Georgia's wedding day in every way perfect. I will make sure they are all well rewarded for their endeavours, she thought, as she was met by her smiling father at the bottom of the stairs.

Hedley Sills handed his daughter into the coach after Catherine and Louisa were settled, and mentioned that their butler, Emmers, had seen Charles and his attendants near the inn where they were staying. Emmers reported that they were already dressed in their wedding finery, and were about to take their coach to St Albans. The young men were all in the best of spirits, and Charles was being reproved by his mother for wanting to arrive too early at the church.

Biddy stood on the steps with the other servants, watching the coach as it departed.

'She is so lucky to make a love match,' she confided to Mrs Bridge, the housekeeper.

'She is that, but she deserves it. It's a shame that her dear mother is not here to see her on this of all days, but she will be happy for her, up there in heaven. And it's not only a love match, but he is so rich too. Of course, money marries money.'

'Oh dear, then I don't have much hope of ever being rich,' replied Biddy, sighing, but nevertheless retaining her bright smile.

'You certainly won't ever be rich if you keep chasing young Milner.' Mrs Bridge looked disapprovingly at the pretty Irish girl.

'It's him that's doing the chasing, but I don't mind that. If I can't have money, then I'll at least have love.'

The housekeeper was about to reply, but kept her counsel. She knew from bitter experience how fragile the bond of love could be.

'It's strange the hand fate deals people,' Mrs Bridge confided in Mrs Hoddle, the cook, as they returned to their duties, 'there's Miss Georgia who has everything, and is as happy as anyone could be, and young Biddy, whose life has been so difficult. She's sending money to her family in Ireland. Of course she could do better for herself. Jack Robards, wanted to court her, and he with his own haberdashery. Yet she's throwing her life away on that penniless stable hand. I've tried to make her see sense, but she'll have none of it.'

'She'll live to rue that decision,' agreed Mrs Hoddle, but these young ones won't be told.' The two women nodded knowingly at each other and went their separate ways.

* * *

Charles Ravenwood arrived at the church a full half hour before the ceremony was due to begin. His two attendants, Miles Forth and his cousin, Warwick Denborough, walked with him towards the churchyard, out of sight of the early guests clustering in front of the church door. They were being greeted by the minister who had noticed the arrival of the groom's party, but was unable to catch the eye of any, to speak with them.

Miles expressed the wish to smoke a cigar, so the three sauntered to the rear of the church, where the only person on view was a gardener, who was partly hidden behind a large shrub.

'I'd love to have a cigar, too,' said Charles ruefully, but I think I should spare Georgia cigar breath just this once.'

Warwick puffed ostentatiously on his cigar, casually leaning against a tall headstone. He grinned at the nervous groom.

'So your freedoms are already being curtailed. Still, it wouldn't do for the blushing bride to recoil from your smoky kisses. Dear, dear no! But there's still time to escape, if you don't want to spend the rest of your days under petticoat rule. I know a man who has a fast horse. He'd part with it for a price.'

Charles returned his cousin's grin. 'That's more your style than mine, Warwick. No, I fear I'm lost forever.'

Although they were some distance from the church, their laughter reached the ears of the minister, who was now standing at the side entrance. He beckoned Charles, and waved in a dismissive gesture towards the smokers. Charles turned and signalled his friends to extinguish their cigars, then swiftly walked towards the minister and into the church.

'It would appear we're not needed at present,' said Miles.

'Good, I don't want to waste this cigar,' replied Warwick, slowly exhaling a stream of smoke. 'You know, he's the first I've seen actually happy to be marrying. Do you remember Edwin St Clair? He looked positively miserable.'

'Yes, but did you see his wife? She might have been rich, but I'm sure he could have done better. She looked like a camel and had a laugh of a hyena!' replied Miles, grimacing at the memory.

'And Tom Elder – he just looked resigned to his fate.'

'That marriage was arranged by the families.'

'Well I've no intention of anyone forcing me into marriage,' said Warwick, firmly, taking another puff.

'Nor me, oh, maybe when I'm fifty, and need to be kept warm at night.'

'I hope Charles doesn't live to regret this,'said Warwick in a more serious tone. 'He's impulsive, and very young. He seldom thinks before he acts.'

'And you do, I suppose? laughed Miles.

'Well, you wouldn't catch me tying myself down at twenty-one. He's hardly out of the nursery!'

They laughed heartily and extinguished the stubs of their cigars against the tall headstone, dusted themselves down, and strolled towards the door through which Charles had disappeared, several minutes earlier.

The minister walked towards the apse and called to them.

'Ah, there you are. Where is Charles?'

'He was with you, wasn't he? He came into the church when you beckoned him.'

The minister frowned.

'No, you must be mistaken, I haven't spoken with him at all, and I need to. Time is marching on, and the bride will soon be with us.'

Warwick and Miles looked surprised at his comments, but were unconcerned.

'He must be somewhere around here. Perhaps he is answering a call of nature?' suggested Miles.

'Then he must have gone to the manse. There are no, er, facilities, at the church. Go tell him to hurry, there's a good fellow.' Reverend Ashmore was looking perplexed. Several minutes later Miles returned, but without the groom.

'The gardener, he may have seen him,' suggested Warwick.

'What gardener? The gardener doesn't work on Saturday.' The minister was now looking most put out, and hastily mopped his forehead with a large handkerchief. Had these young men been drinking? The two attendants began searching for Charles in earnest. Reverend Ashmore hurried to the front of the church. The bride's carriage had just arrived. There was a murmur amongst the assembled guests as Warwick and Miles met in mid aisle.

'You don't think he did have second thoughts. You know you were joking about the fast horse …' whispered Miles.

'Not a chance, he was looking forward to it. God in heaven, he could have absconded any time but now,' replied Warwick, disdainfully.

'But he's not here, is he! He must have got cold feet. Perhaps the gardener has seen him.'

'I didn't see the gardener when I went back there. No, he's here, somewhere. It's just his idea of a joke. You know what a prankster he was at Cambridge.'

Reverend Ashmore looked with dismay towards the bride and her father as they walked up the steps of the church. He guided them into a small room off the vestibule.

'There's been a slight delay,' he muttered awkwardly. 'It appears Mr Ravenwood must have been taken ill. He was here earlier, but we can't seem to find him.'

'What?' Hedley Sills' voice boomed through the church. 'He must be found. Ill or not, he must go through with the ceremony.'

'Hush father,' whispered Georgia, blushing deeply. 'Charles will be here. I know him. We must give him time to recover. Poor dear, I hope he's not really ill,' she worried.

As the minutes passed with no sign of Charles, several of the guests joined Miles, Warwick and the Reverend Ashmore searching the church and the surrounds, but to no avail. One by one they returned and sadly shook their heads. Georgia stood still, except for her bouquet of roses that seemed to shake uncontrollably, her hitherto radiant visage replaced by an ashen, haunted look. Her corset had been tightly laced, and now it constricted her breathing. She felt faint, and sought out an old pew that stood against the wall.

The villagers who waited with the floral bower that was traditionally held over the newly weds, knew what had happened. The story passed from one to another, and then back. There were whisperings among them that a young man matching the groom's description was seen riding away from Melstone Village, and on the road to London. Others swore that they had seen him depart in a carriage. Still others had seen him down by the duckpond, or behind the mill.

'If you please,' said a red-faced Reverend Ashmore, his voice echoing through the church, 'we will have to … postpone the ceremony. I would ask you all to leave through the side door of the church, in consideration of Miss Sills.'

So the stricken bride was spared the sympathetic glances and outpourings of her guests. There would be plenty of time for that.

Charles' horrified mother waited inside the church until her carriage arrived to take her directly out of the village. She left her maid to explain her abupt departure, and to pack her belongings. She would contact Georgia and her family once she had composed herself. It was a day's journey to Compton, and she would throw herself on the charity of her cousin who fortuitously lived only three hours from Melstone, until she could reach her own home.

Sitting in the comfort and privacy of her carriage she mulled over the day's events. Not for a minute did she think misfortune had befallen her son. He has merely panicked at the thought of being permanently tied down, she thought, anger overcoming any fear she might have had for his safety. I told him he was far too young to marry, and could do better than the Sills girl, but why wait till now to change his mind? He has no consideration at all of the embarrassment and humiliation brought on his family by such a cowardly act.

Arabella Ravenwood spent the remainder of the journey recounting the list of her son's sins from his childhood. These ranged from taking a bite from a cheese and replacing it in the larder when he was four, to setting a rat free in the drawing room while his parents were entertaining a member of parliament and his entourage. That was mortifying, and made worse by his sending in the cat to catch the animal. This was achieved amid blood and gore and screams from the ladies present. His father had been no use in chastising him, having collapsed in fits of laughter.

Arabella wondered if Charles would have been a more amenable child had his father lived to set some kind of example, but given Richard's reaction to that episode, he would more likely have led him further astray. This latest escapade, however, was no prank. Apart from the mortification, they could be sued for breach of promise. This was considerably worrying.

Chapter 2

Georgia had taken to her bed. She had spent the first twenty four hours recovering from her severe shock and obediently taking the potions prescribed by the doctor. Two days later she was still in a fog from these drugs, and refused to take any more. Then reality and attendant depression overwhelmed her. She cried piteously and ate very little. Her bed was her one refuge. Nothing that Biddy or Mrs Bridge could do or say would console her.

Her father's visits brought little solace. He began by angrily stating he would challenge the scoundrel to a duel when he was found, then suggested methods and means of humiliating him as he had humiliated the Sills family. When he eventually calmed down, he paced the floor, a concerned expression deepening the lines on his face.

'We'll sue the blackguard for breach of promise,' he thundered.

'Please, no, Father,' pleaded the alarmed Georgia, 'such suits only bring more notoriety and ridicule to the plaintiff. I can't bear it!'

'You'll have to bear it. I've already instructed Brownson to commence proceedings.'

'But father, we don't know where Charles is. He well may have been the victim of some terrible misfortune. I cannot believe he would leave me in that way,'she cried.

'Leave you? He jilted you, Miss. Say it for what it is! And there are plenty in the village who will attest to seeing him depart.'

This comment brought forth a further flood of tears from Georgia, whose only respite from this misery was sleep. And sleep she did, for long hours in the day, and then at night, but always when she awoke the grief would return. With the misery of her loss a constant companion, her health was in jeopardy. Sometimes in the early hours of the morning she would wake suddenly, the return of reality intensified by the dark and quiet. Such was the pain then, she considered not waking at all. And it was at this time memories of her former happiness would torment her. Her mind repeated snippets of her time with Charles, mainly the moment when they first realised they loved each other, and then when he had proposed to her in the orchard …

'You have a good crop of apples this year,' he said.

'Yes, it's been a wonderful harvest though Cook complains there is more work in making preserves and jams.' She smiled, the expression lighting her eyes, the glow of the setting sun outlining her slim figure in a golden aura.

'I will spare her one apple,' he said, reaching up and selecting a plump, tawny-red specimen. 'This apple is like my love for you. It is perfect. And you are perfect. Perfection for perfection.' He took her hand and placed the apple in it. 'Georgia, I know we are both young, but I cannot imagine life without you. Would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?'

'Of course, but aren't you supposed to go down on one knee?' she laughed.

'I'm so sorry,' he replied, with irony, ostentatiously taking the required position. 'Miss Sills, far be it for me to ever think myself worthy of you, but would you –'

'Oh please Charles, get up. I think you are perfect too. The answer is definitely yes.'

He stood, grinning broadly, and took her in his arms, kissing her, at first gently, then with greater warmth. 'We must marry soon, for you will drive me insane if we don't,' he murmured as the need to breathe parted them.

Georgia felt her head spin. She had never been kissed like that before, nor had she responded in that way to the flirtatious kisses of ardent youths. She had kissed the man she truly loved, and had never been so completely happy.

'We will have to get permission from Father,' she said, fearing any impediment that might separate them.

'I think he will be pleased. I did have his permission to court you, after all … Let's elope!'

'Absolutely not,' she laughed. ' I will have to take some time to prepare.'

'And I will have to complete my degree at Cambridge, so we will have to part,' he replied, glumly, the real world of responsibilities suddenly intruding.

'Why don't we plan the wedding for June next year. We can enjoy our betrothal with letters. It's only eight months.'

'Eight months is an eternity, but for you I'll do just that.'

Arm in arm they walked back to the house. No two people could have been happier.

Immersed in this memory, Georgia momentarily forgot this happiness was no longer her reality. Then as suddenly as that happy thought had flashed through her mind, the despair and misery of the now, the living instant, assailed her, magnifying her grief by cruelly depicting what she had lost, what should have been. Crying herself to exhaustion, she would finally, and gratefully, sleep.

* * *

A week had now passed, and there was no word of Charles, but Biddy brought a letter from his mother. In her enthusiasm to read it, she almost snatched it from her maid's hand. Her face crumpled in bitter disappointment when she realised there was no news of Charles. Her intended mother-in-law seemed bent only on washing her hands of the whole affair, spending several paragraphs lamenting Charles' behaviour, and the shame he had brought on his august name. His godfather and uncle, Sir Bertram Felsten, had disinherited him. His mother mentioned his numerous misdemeanors. These included childhood mishaps; being rescued from a log while sailing on a flood-swollen river and breaking his arm falling from a tree. She did not mention the rat in the drawing room.

Lady Ravenwood's missive ended with a recommendation to Georgia to consider herself lucky not to be tied for life to so feckless a person. A post-script invited her to stay at Compton Manor. It was so much an afterthought Georgia was stung by its rudeness. She had a strong suspicion Lady Ravenwood invited her only so the neighbourhood could not accuse her, along with her son, of callous and unconscionable behaviour.

So angry was Georgia, that the letter had one positive effect. She stormed from her bed and sat, shivering in her nightgown at her desk, penning a reply. She was forced to partly open the curtains, so the light might be sufficient to allow her to see what she wrote.

Melstone,

June 24th, 1850

My dear Lady Ravenwood,

Thank you for your letter of June 22nd, expressing your sympathy at my recent unfortunate circumstance. Although it must appear your son has treated me contemptuously, and you wish me to receive some comfort from your explanation of his faults and failings, I cannot agree with your description of his character.

While I am, doubtless, most injured by his apparent rejection of me, I nonetheless feel there is some other explanation for his disappearance. Such an action is, in my experience of him, totally inexplicable. You seem to imply that reneging on our marriage represented typical behaviour for him. It might seem to most that you would know your own son better than I, but I feel your summation is most unfair. I hope you will soon be prepared to see his better qualities as I do, despite my piteous situation.

I do not wish to hear any more ill of Charles, and will have to terminate any further correspondence between us if you persist in condemning him.

I remain,

Your obedient servant,

Georgia Sills

Post Script. Thank you for your kind invitation to stay at Compton Manor. I fear that my current poor health will prevent me from accepting.

She blotted the letter, and without any further revision of it, rang the bell and summoned her maid to her room. Biddy was surprised to see her out of bed, and immediately thought this action was in response to good news from Compton Manor, but the expression on Georgia's face told otherwise. She bobbed a curtsy and left the room, and within minutes the letter was on its way to its destination.

Georgia was now exhausted. This small exertion had sapped her energy and she turned towards her bed. She caught sight of herself in the oval mirror, and was horrified at her reflection. Her hair was tangled and unkempt, she looked unhealthily thin, and her skin had a pallor that was accentuated by the dark circles around her swollen, reddened eyes. Immediately she was reminded of the last time she had seen her reflection in this mirror. Then she was beautiful; now she was hideous.

'I would look better after seven days in the grave, than this,' she muttered quietly, then stumbled towards her bed. But she didn't lie in it. Instead she sat on its edge, her bare feet crossed at the ankles. Instinctively she tried to run her fingers through her hair. It was so matted, as she would not let Biddy near her to brush it, that they could not move.

'What's to become of me? Will I stay here until I die? Is there to be no release from this torment?' she cried, and in anger became aware once again of the sunlight, now streaming through the curtains. She rushed to the window to close them, but her eye caught a movement outside. There was a bird's nest in the branch of the tree that grew close to her window. A parent bird sat with two nestlings. Diverted, she moved closer, and stood with her forehead pressed against the window pane, watching the beleagured parent feeding its insatiable young. 'Life does go on,' she said to herself, 'It won't matter a jot if I live or die, it would make no difference at all. Everything would continue with me or without me.'

She slowly moved away from the window, and stood in the centre of the room. It's a choice I'll have to make, she thought. Now. Life or death. If I stay much longer in bed I will soon slip over the edge. I could take extra drafts of the potion the doctor has prescribed. Then I will sleep. A long sleep. I won't have to face the turmoil of life at all. She stared at the silver tray on her bedside table where the bottles of medication were lined up, and walked towards it. She picked up the bottle that had been prescribed when she returned from the church on that terrible day.

Georgia's tired brain had not considered the possibility of the after life; she now saw it as painless oblivion. Once more she glanced outside. If she went on that peaceful journey she would never know what happened to Charles. There were so many other things she would never know either. She was only nineteen years old. Surely that was too young to die. Slowly replacing the bottle on the tray, she stumbled towards the mirror and grasped it with both hands.

'Nineteen, but you look ninety!' she shouted at her stricken reflection. She reached for the hairbrush on her dressing table.

* * *

The servants who were closest to Georgia were delighted at her first faltering steps to recovery. They made every effort to anticipate her slightest wish. She found this attention cloying, and was aware that it was born of pity for her. This was the worst burden she had to bear. Her pride was crushed. She had not been aware she was a proud person, but if not, then why this reaction? It was humiliating having her servants coax her, and treat her as a child. She knew that she must grow strong and take back control of her life, such as it was.

Progress was slow and erratic. There were times when she would refuse to leave her room, and would pass the day in melancholy. Her father, now assuming she had recovered, showed little patience when she relapsed. But she saw very little of him. He was away on business for lengthy periods of time.

Friends first came tentatively, but they found her company at best listless, and at worst, depressing. Even Catherine and Louisa seemed to avoid her for weeks at a time. They found it difficult to converse with her. She could not be told of their beaux and parties, for fear their happiness would remind her of what she had lost. And serious discussion of world events or literature, art and music, were of limited interest to them. They resorted to discussing the latest fashions and their needlework projects, interlaced with some of the village gossip.

Georgia was aware now, even three months after the event, she was still the main topic of local conversation. It would take a disaster or scandal of major proportions to replace her as the village's principal item of interest. So often she came across the servants whispering to each other, only to hush up at her approach. And while she was now partaking in the daily life of Melstone Manor, she still had not ventured past its gates, nor been for so much as a carriage ride within its boundaries.

She hadn't received any further communication from Lady Ravenwood.This was understandable considering the tenor of the reply to her letter. But she realised if anything was heard of Charles, she would not now be privy to it. He seemed to have disappeared from the face of the earth. All of her father's and the lawyer's searching had proved fruitless. Her father even had posters made, with copies of the miniature of himself that Charles had given her on their engagement. He had distributed over fifty of these posters as far away as London. But although there were numerous reported sightings, and people turning up on the doorstep of Melstone expecting a reward for their information, no trace of Charles could be found. One particularly crazy old man insisted he had been taken away to the stars in a flying machine. Inevitably, many of the locals blamed the resident ghost of St Alban's churchyard.

None of this assisted in Georgia's rehabilitation, and although she knew she must, one day, venture into the village, it became more and more difficult to fix a date to do that. She was horrified to overhear Biddy and Mrs Bridge likening her to Edina Wellen, a morose and embittered character in a popular novel. She was surprised they knew of the character, although Georgia was aware of Biddy's ability to read, and read well. She had, after all, sought a maid of some learning and intelligence when she employed her.

Biddy had confided that she had aspirations to become a governess. After some careful questioning, she discovered her maid would read aloud from the newspaper once it had been discarded, and that old copies of newspaper serials were great favourites below stairs. But that particular story, Love and Misfortune by the lady novelist Miss Elspeth Hasselton, had been borrowed from Mr Sills' library some time ago, and was now returned to its normal position on the oaken shelf.

Curious, Georgia sought out the book. She had read it several years earlier, but she had only a sketchy idea of Edina Wellen. Of course she knew that she'd been jilted, and chose to spend her life miserably, wearing black and drinking copious drafts of 'medicinal brandy' while resenting and undermining the happiness of her sisters.

'I'm not that bad!' declared Georgia. She put the book on the table and looked once again out of her window. 'I really must get out of here or I will be considered a recluse, and strange or even vindictive, like that woman, she thought. If I was a man I could escape, like Charles did, perhaps. I could go to the far ends of the earth, even Australia. It'd be lovely to get on a ship and sail away from all of my troubles.'

The idea of escape became a new interest for her, and she would spend hours in a reverie, imagining places she might visit. She thought of the excitement of America, and of the western territories, now increasingly peopled by intrepid settlers. She did not consider the people they had replaced, thinking of them only in the romantic notion of the noble savage and essentially as background to a great adventure. She read books about the wonders of the east, especially India, and saw herself ensconsed in a white marble palace, perhaps the wife of a rajah. She would not love him, of course. Love was not to be considered any more. If she married, she would do so for other reasons. She was not in need of money, her father was one of the richest men in the county, but she wanted to have children, so she would have to endure a loveless marriage to achieve that goal.

'It's lovely weather today, Miss Georgia,' said Biddy, as she watched Georgia aimlessly spinning a globe of the world in the library. 'Should we take a walk in the garden?'

Georgia sighed, but eventually complied. The weather was indeed fine, and she should make the most of it before it closed in. With an effort she readied herself for this minor excursion. She was feeling heartened by the exercise and the fresh air, commenting on the colour and perfume of the roses, when she noticed Biddy was distracted. She was fidgeting with her bonnet and gloves, and hardly concentrating on their conversation. Finally Georgia stopped, and faced her.

'Are you quite well, Biddy? You seem to be ill at ease.'

Biddy started, and blushed, unaware her behaviour was disconcerting.

'Oh Miss Georgia, I'm so sorry. I