Mary shook her head. “Catherine is a terrible grump when she does not get enough sleep. Mother would not be thankful for that.”
Cecelia laughed, after all, she was right.
“She would thank you to listen to me, though,” Mary continued, meeting Cecelia's gaze. “You cannot let this opportunity pass you by.”
“What opportunity?” Cecelia asked, her insides twisting painfully, “Lord Cumberland insisted he was far too busy.”
Mary cocked her head, brow furrowed.
“The two of you have always been stubborn as nails,” she said, glowering at Cecelia as if she were the wise eldest sister and not the youngest, most innocent of them all. “I saw the way Georgie looked at you during the reading of Papa's will. I do not think his decision so set in stone as you believe it to be.”
“I'm tired, Mary,” Cecelia grumbled. It wasn't entirely untrue. She had barely slept a wink, and her head was beginning to throb. “I think we should talk about this another time.”
“There is little time left,” Mary pointed out, but Cecelia was done.
She slunk down in her seat and closed her eyes. “Wake me if you have need of me.”
Mary huffed as if she was not pleased to be brushed off so, yet she said nothing else, and Cecelia was relieved.
Sleep quickly came to Cecelia, though she was still somewhere loosely aware of her surroundings. And as the morning came, she sensed Mary moving, slipping from the room as if to take a break from caring for their mother while the two of them rested.
***
Yet, Mary had no intention of taking a break. She was fed up with the stubbornness, of the lack of her sister's willingness to do anything to help their situation.
And so, she had decided to take matters into her own hands.
With the rest of the household deeply concerned with their mother, she found little trouble in dressing and slipping from the house.
Knowing that one of the grooms in the stable had always been keen upon her, she used that sweet relationship to secure herself a horse.
If Cecelia would not speak to Georgie herself, then she must at least try to make him see reason.
She could not let it rest until she had at least tried to do something about their bullheadedness.
Chapter 8
Sleep was hard to come by these days, and once more George found himself in his study early that morning.
Looking over ledgers and accounts, he felt as if all the words and numbers were melting in on themselves, making it impossible to make heads or tails of anything.
It was high time he found a new estate manager to take care of these things, but with the way the last had left it, he wasn't confident.
Leaning back in his chair, he sighed deeply, ran his fingers through his hair, and considered perhaps taking a break.
All of this would still be here when he returned.
Maybe a ride around the estate might help to clear his mind. Perhaps he might even speak with a few of his tenants to see if that made things clearer.
He was just considering his options when there was a tentative knock on the door.
“Enter,” he called, wondering what someone might want from him now.
Mr Dawling entered with a low bow before he announced, “The lady dowager Cumberland has requested your presence at breakfast, Your Grace.”
George huffed. Of course. His mother had been insisting upon keeping a strict routine ever since he had arrived, bombarding him at every meal with the insistence that his first priority ought to be securing the dukedom for another generation.
What excuse might he give to avoid it this time?
