Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Georgie waited another quarter hour, until the silences between her and Hugh had stretched to the breaking point, but no one else arrived for the meeting, and Mrs. Hallet remained missing as well. Clutching her reticule close, Georgie rose, and he climbed to his feet as propriety demanded.
“I must have mistaken the day or the time,” she apologized. “Thank you for waiting with me. I won’t keep you any longer.”
“I’ll get my coat and escort you back to the manor,” he said, turning for the door. “Just give me a moment to leave a note for my housekeeper.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary!”
He raised a brow. Georgie couldn’t seem to manage a smile. “That is, the manor isn’t far, and I can walk the distance easily.”
“Not knowing who’s stealing and to what purpose, I’d prefer to keep you company,” he explained. “I’m sure His Grace would say it was my duty.”
She wasn’t so certain of that. Max, the latest Duke of Tyneham, came from humbler beginnings and did not seem to stand on ceremony.
He considered Georgie perfectly capable of walking from the village to the manor, which could nearly be seen from here.
But she could understand why Hugh would want to impress his benefactor with his dedication.
Yet if the silence had felt heavy in the sitting room, it tugged at each step down the country lane. The bubbling of the stream that ran alongside came muted. The breeze barely rustled the new leaves on the trees to her left, as if even the wind held its breath.
A red and ginger speck flashed across the road. Georgie laughed. “Oh, a goldfinch! I think that’s the first I’ve seen this year!”
Hugh cocked his head as if trying to spy the bird among the low fields to their right. “I didn’t know you were familiar with the various avian species.”
Her cheeks warmed. “I wasn’t until I met my husband. He was an avid birdwatcher. He knew each species that had ever appeared in Dorset, it seemed.” Just remembering his joy at discovering a rare bird made her smile, but the memory quickly brought tears to her eyes.
“I am very sorry for your loss,” Hugh murmured as if he’d noticed.
She dug in her reticule to find a handkerchief. “Thank you.” The truth behind that loss pushed at the back of her mind, but she couldn’t tell Hugh. No one else knew of her shame.
They continued plodding. The walk to the manor had never seemed so long. She breathed a sigh of relief as Mr. Kinsle opened the door for them.
“Your Grace,” their butler said, inclining his dark head. “Mr. Caddington.”
“Is His Grace available?” Hugh inquired. “I thought to have a word.”
“I’ll let him know you’re here, Vicar,” the butler promised.
Georgie peeled off her gloves. “And is Sophia back yet, Mr. Kinsle?”
She caught sight of his frown before he came around to help her out of her pelisse. “I don’t believe Her Grace went out this morning, Your Grace. Last I saw her, she was in the stillroom.”
How odd! Georgie turned to Hugh and finally brought forth a smile. “Thank you for your escort, Vicar. I look forward to seeing you on Sunday.”
He bowed to her, and she hurried down the corridor before he could say anything more.
She found her friend at the back of the house in one of Sophia’s favorite rooms. The widowed wife of the last duke stood in sunlight filtered through the various bunches of herbs hanging from the ceiling.
An apron covered most of her green wool gown.
She had a mortar tucked in one arm and pestle in the other hand.
The light also gilded her light-brown hair where it curled around her pretty face.
She smiled as she pummeled whatever concoction she was making.
“I’m so sorry,” Georgie said, dropping onto the stool beside her. “Did I mistake the day?”
Sophia cocked her head. “What day?”
“The meeting about the school,” Georgie explained. “I thought you’d told me today at eleven at the vicarage.”
“Oh, that meeting.” Sophia dropped her green gaze. “Mrs. Pritchard was feeling unwell, so we delayed it until tomorrow at the dower house. Did I forget to tell you?”
Georgie sighed. “Apparently so, or perhaps I forgot you had.”
Sophia paused. “Are you well, Georgie? Is something troubling you?”
Nothing she dared confide, even to the woman who had become like the sister Georgie had never had. “Mr. Caddington escorted me back to the manor. It was a bit awkward, that’s all.”
“I’m sure it couldn’t have been that bad,” Sophia commiserated, returning to her grinding. The scent of mint and lavender wafted into the air. “I’ve never known you to treat anyone with less than respect and kindness.”
“Of course not,” Georgie said. She just wasn’t sure what kindness entailed in this situation.
As one of the Dowager Duchesses of Tyneham, she should treat the local vicar with condescension, but that seemed wrong when the vicar was someone she’d known and thought she loved once.
Or would it be kinder to Hugh if she just kept avoiding him?
Sophia dumped her ground herbs into a larger bowl on her sturdy worktable.
“By the way, Mrs. Pritchard isn’t the only one ailing.
Maisy tells me that Mrs. Legg is coughing again.
I made a chamomile rosehip tea blend for her.
Would you feel up to delivering it in a basket with a few other items?
I still have some of my lavender honey from last season. ”
Sophia was the most skilled of them in the stillroom, but for now she struggled a bit with meeting people.
Georgie blamed Sophia’s husband. The last duke had been such a dastard!
Georgie had never met anyone so wicked. She just prayed he’d had a change of heart before he’d perished in that duel and that Sophia would heal from the abuse she’d endured.
“I would be delighted to visit Mrs. Legg,” she told her friend, rising. “I’ll fetch Anastasia and go now.”
Sophia’s basket on her arm, Georgie located her pet in the rear garden. The fat little pug stopped her dashing about the moment she spotted Georgie and trotted happily to meet her, tawny head tipped to one side and pink tongue lolling.
“She’s been ever so good today, Your Grace,” Morrigan reported, copper-colored curls poking out of her white cap as she trailed the dog.
The duke had recently hired the young woman as a maid-of-all-work, but she’d quickly distinguished herself as one of the few who could manage the pug’s mad starts while Georgie was busy elsewhere.
An Anastasia left untended was an Anastasia who got into trouble.
“Thank you, Morrigan,” Georgie said, bending to pat her pet, who promptly licked her chin. “I’ll have her with me until dinner. I’m sure you have other duties.”
“None more important than this sweet girl,” Morrigan promised, patting the pug on the head before handing Georgie the leash. With a curtsey to Georgie, the maid headed for the house.
“You are very fortunate to have such a nice young lady to watch you,” Georgie informed her pet as they turned for the bottom of the garden and the woods beyond. “She is always so cheerful.”
Georgie’s heart tugged at her. Hugh had called her relentlessly cheerful once, admiration in his voice. Somehow, she doubted he’d call her that now.
* * *
“Mr. Caddington, always a pleasure,” the duke said after Hugh had been ushered into his patron’s presence in the library.
The triple windows behind the desk overlooked the gardens, where blooms of delicate pink, deep blue, and yellow spread in profusion this time of year.
As if welcoming the garden inside, the carpet down the center of the room boasted roses and the white plaster ceiling was decorated with massive gold clovers.
But the best part of the library, to Hugh, was the set of glass-fronted bookcases that stood from floor to ceiling opposite the duke’s polished wood desk.
“Your Grace,” Hugh said with a bow, trying not to heed the call to come peruse the titles.
The duke waved him into the chair across from his desk, the gesture more friendly than demanding.
A younger man around Hugh’s age, His Grace did not have the regal bearing or commanding presence of other dukes Hugh had seen from a distance in London, especially in the plain grey coat and simply tied cravat.
The Duke of Tyneham’s smile was subtle and thoughtful, though his russet hair seemed to hint of a fire of conviction inside.
It was only when Hugh looked through the silver-rimmed spectacles into the duke’s clear blue eyes that he knew who held the power in Tyneham.
“How are you getting on?” His Grace asked, leaning back in his chair.
“Quite well,” Hugh acknowledged. “I know the villagers by name and occupation now, if not their specific needs. The church and vicarage are in excellent condition.”
Indeed, some of his parishioners had gone so far as to congratulate Hugh on his easy position. So had his friends in London.
“You won’t have to work now,” the other deacon at Saint Martin-in-the-Fields had said. “You can hire a curate.”
But Hugh hadn’t wanted to hire a more junior clergyman. He hadn’t accepted the offer to move to Tyneham so he could attend parties or write improving novels. He wanted to make a difference: supporting this new school, guiding families to reconcile, and deepening the faith of his parishioners.
“The people in the area have benefitted from the presence of the dukes of Tyneham,” the present title holder agreed in his quiet voice. “Even when those dukes did not take their responsibilities seriously. But, like you, I prefer to know if there’s an issue so I can address it.”