Chapter 5
Chapter Five
So, Hugh had merely given up?
Georgie forced herself to smile as Oliver and Mrs. Hallet brought in a platter of scones and a tea tray, but inside she churned like the stream in a spring freshet.
Hugh had always been humble. That was one of the things she liked about him.
So many of the men who had thought to pursue her had been entirely too full of themselves.
They would never have thought of serving at the orphanage or helping the less fortunate aside from possibly offering a gift of money so they no longer had to concern themselves.
But to claim to love her and then recuse himself from marrying her? She could not make those facts align.
And how could her father have said such a thing about her?
She could not doubt that that was what Hugh had heard.
The pain and confusion on his face was too obvious.
Nor could she doubt her father taking him aside for a private conversation about her future.
Her father had been a colonel in His Majesty’s Army, after all.
He was used to demanding answers from his staff.
He was also used to directing her steps.
She had been ten when her mother had passed.
He’d been campaigning in the Batavian Republic across the Channel, but he’d promptly sold his commission and come home to raise her.
She’d never heard the least murmur about what he’d sacrificed even though she’d understood more as she grew older.
On the battlefield, he had driven his men to achieve their objective.
In their house, he had driven himself to achieve his: ensuring she would have a happy future.
And happy, to her father, meant at least in part prosperous.
But surely he knew her character well enough not to call it into question!
Hugh spoke with Oliver about the boy’s hopes for the house his father was building them in Grace-by-the-Sea, but her old swain’s gaze kept drifting toward her, as if he wasn’t too sure of her.
She wasn’t too sure of herself at the moment.
She congratulated herself on getting through the meeting with aplomb, thanked Hugh for his suggestions, and headed with Oliver back toward the mansion.
The day had been nice enough that they’d walked the short distance.
Shopkeepers and other villagers waved or called as they passed.
Georgie returned their greetings with smiles and waves of her own.
It wasn’t until they’d crossed the bridge and could see the smoke rising from the manor chimneys that Oliver spoke.
“You’re not happy.”
Georgie nearly missed a step on the road. “I’m sorry?”
“You don’t have to be sorry,” Oliver said. “I can tell you’re unhappy. You’re sighing.”
Goodness! She hadn’t even realized it! She managed a smile for his sake. “I’m fine, Oliver. I just learned something that upset me for the moment. I’ll work it out. Thank you, by the way, for your suggestions about the school. They were very helpful.”
“Good.” He kept trudging along, gaze on the ground.
“Now I wonder if you’re happy,” Georgie said.
He shot her a look. “Why?”
“Generally, you’re keeping an eye out for birds. Today the mud holds your interest.” She wrinkled her nose. “And it’s not particularly interesting mud.”
He cocked his head as if considering. “It’s not bad mud. I don’t hear it sucking at my boots.”
“It’s drying after the recent rains,” she allowed. “Are you concerned about the school? You asked whether all the children would come. Were you afraid some might be kept home?”
“Perhaps a little,” he said. “And I wondered how much noise they’d make, all of them together.”
Ah, of course! “I understand about twenty children the right age to benefit from our school live within easy walking distance from the village,” she said. “Twenty children left to themselves could create a great deal of noise.”
He made a face.
“However,” she continued, “a good teacher can cut that noise to nothing. And any noise that might remain will be one of your good noises—full of happiness and purpose.”
He nodded as if he accepted that. “Who’s going to be the teacher?”
“Excellent question. As of yet, I have no idea.”
He cast her a glance. “Her Grace the First would be a good teacher, but she’s coming with us to Grace-by-the-Sea.”
“Yes, she is,” Georgie agreed. “Perhaps a lady in the village would do.”
“Wouldn’t they need to be with their own children?” He nudged a rock out of his way with his boot. “I’d want my mother close.”
Georgie’s heart melted. “And now you’ll have a new mother,” she reminded him. “And a new teacher at Grace-by-the-Sea.”
Once more his gaze darted her way, like a bird seeking shelter. “You could be the teacher here. You teach me things all the time. Besides, you’re nice, and you want to help people.”
Georgie sighed, then laughed when he frowned.
“Sorry! I’m not unhappy—I promise you! Thank you for your kind words, but I’ve already realized that it wouldn’t be appropriate for the dowager duchess of Tyneham to be teaching school.
Duchesses sponsor benefits and encourage their friends to fund charitable endeavors.
They don’t generally get to work in those endeavors themselves. ”
His frown deepened. “Why not?”
“Another excellent question,” Georgie assured him. “And one that troubles me on occasion. But you see, Society has expectations, and things run more smoothly when we meet them.”
Yet she could not deny the voice inside that urged her to cast all expectations aside and follow her heart.
* * *
He’d upset her. Hugh sighed as he put the cups back onto the tea tray. In truth, he’d upset himself as well. He’d been so sure of his decision five years ago. Georgie deserved the best; it had appeared she’d known that too. The kindest, noblest thing had been to step aside.
It did not feel quite so noble now. It almost felt selfish, as if he’d taken the easy way out rather than speaking to her directly.
Mrs. Hallet poked her head out of the kitchen, then came to join him. She was tall and angular, with brown hair worn back in a bun and a nose that took up a significant portion of her face. But her welcoming smile and unending cheerfulness brightened any room she entered.
“Give me those, Mr. Caddington,” she said, reaching for the tray. “It will only take me a moment to wash up.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Hallet.” He handed her the tray, but she didn’t step away immediately. In fact, she’d bitten her lip.
“Something troubling you?” he asked, wondering with a pang how much she might have heard of his and Georgie’s conversation.
She shook her head. “No, no. Nothing that need concern anyone. I’m sure it was my mistake.”
She seldom made mistakes. “I’d be happy to assist regardless,” Hugh assured her.
She shifted on her feet, setting her navy wool skirts to swinging, then nodded as if she’d made up her mind. “A bit ago, I stepped out of the kitchen to tidy my hair. When I came back, young Mr. Warden was waiting, and there were two fewer scones than I remembered on the platter.”
“And you think he might have taken them?” Hugh asked with a frown.
She held up a hand. “I would never want to accuse the boy. That’s what I meant about making a mistake. Perhaps there were always fewer scones?” She looked at him as if hoping he’d counted them too.
He could not brush the matter aside so easily, not when other things had already gone missing. “I cannot imagine young Oliver as our thief. Nor can I believe you’d miscount your scones.”
She smiled at him. “I certainly do my best to give an accurate accounting, sir.”
She made it sound as if her baking was as secure as the Bank of England. “Just so,” he agreed. “I’ll look further into the matter, considering all the things that have disappeared.”
She bobbed a curtsey and hurried off with the tray.
Hugh returned to his study, but he didn’t glance at his sermon notes.
Oliver had the run of the village. He liked to find quiet, out-of-the-way places to sit and draw.
He could certainly have slipped into and out of the vicarage without being noticed.
And Georgie had mentioned that her footman wondered whether the nest they’d discovered could have been built by a child.
Hugh hated to think poorly of the boy, but he could not condone stealing.
He made sure to lock all the doors after Mrs. Hallet left for the day, and nothing more went missing after he went to bed or the following morning. But he could not be easy in his mind, so he made his way up to the manor that afternoon to see Ben Warden.
“Gone with Her Grace the First to Grace-by-the-Sea for the day, I’m afraid,” Mr. Kinsle informed him when Hugh asked.
“Took young Oliver with them. Sir Winfred offered to teach His Grace how to fish. And Her Grace the Third left with the carriage a while ago. Would you like to speak with Her Grace the Second?”
That’s what they called Georgie. The staff and the villagers identified the duchesses by the order of their widowhood to avoid confusion with so many dowagers in residence.
He had picked up on that early on. He should not be nodding so eagerly at the opportunity to see Georgie, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.
Mr. Kinsle promptly led him toward the sitting room.
Hugh heard her before they entered. The strains of a spritely song, all runs and trills, echoed down the paneled corridor. She was throwing herself into the music, the notes strident, determined. He swallowed.
She didn’t look up as Mr. Kinsle stepped into the room. Indeed, her gaze was focused on the sheet music before her, the V of her brows further marking her concentration. But Hugh blinked.