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not returning to her.
     

Seven. Hester

    Georgiana was as full of expectation as dread
at John’s return. She had yearned to see him for two long years
before she married Hugh, a yearning that had been felt minute by
minute, and which had never dulled or spent itself until she had
become the Countess of Halford.
    Then it had still been there, but like the
horrible phantom pain of a missing limb, with the memory of its
amputation always fresh in her mind. She could no longer sit like a
girl, reading John’s letters again and again, Kissing the lock of
his hair, weeping over the circle he had drawn to ask her to marry
him, to wait for him. She could no longer smile and tingle all over
remembering his kisses, how his lips had felt, his hair in her
hands, how his eyes had looked at her and promised all sorts of
passionate delights. She could not run to her father to be
comforted when a letter said that he was in the middle of war, or
wait by the gate for another letter to come.
    She had given her life away, and now she
belonged to another man, and would do so until one of them
died.
    What would John say and do, when he saw her?
She could only imagine his fury at what Hugh had done to Mrs.
Crawford. John’s mother had been taken in by Mr. Blake and nursed
by Georgiana herself, with all the love in the world, but then she
had gone on to marry the man who had done this terrible thing.
    John must be pacing the deck of a ship and
summoning the winds so that he could make it to England faster and
kill Hugh.
    And yet, the most important thing of all was
that he was alive. He was alive, and would be in the same soil as
she.
    There was something to distract her from
these thoughts: the arrival of a second cousin of Hugh’s, Hester
Stowe, who had recently lost her father and her home. A rich
widowed aunt of the Earl’s, who had considerable sway over him,
vowed she could not take care of anyone young, did not need
company, and directed Hugh to take Hester in.
    Hugh had consulted Georgiana, hoping that she
would refuse. He had underestimated the sympathy that his wife
could feel for a single girl in need of a family and of
connections.
    The woman, for she was twenty-four years old,
had arrived that day. She was dark-haired, with a high forehead and
eyes that were hooded but had a penetrating look, a long lose and a
secretive mouth. Hester dressed quite simply, and spoke little.
Georgiana could well imagine her as a sorceress in some ancient
tale.
    “I hope you will be happy with us,” she told
Hester, with her usual generosity and open heart.
    “Thank you,” Hester had replied quietly.
    “Do you enjoy the city at all?” Georgiana had
continued, attempting to draw her out.
    Hester had sat with her hands on her lap, the
steaming cup of tea next to her untouched. “I don’t know it,” she
had replied.
    “Oh, had you never come to London?”
    “No.”
    Georgiana might have asked her what sorts of
things she liked to do, whether she enjoyed riding or taking any
other form of exercise, or whether she liked dancing, or reading,
or anything; but Hester gave her little encouragement. She did not
seem to mind sitting there and saying little. She did not seem to
think she needed to ingratiate herself in any way.
    Perhaps it was just as well, Georgiana
thought, sighing. Perhaps she needed to stop thinking that she
would find joy and a measure of salvation in the companionship of
others. She could not help, however, thanking God for her younger
sisters, the only creatures who loved her and showed it, the girls
for whom she did all that she did.

Eight. Mad Jack

    John returned a little before Ned announced
that he would. In this, as in all things, he was impatient.
    Halford House in London was as prepared for
the eventuality that John Crawford might come to have words with
his half brother as it could be. Servants had been briefed, and a
greater number of them stood by the doors, some of them even armed
with cudgels. They had been told