Chapter 9 #2
The archbishop’s eyes closed briefly, as if in pain, before re-opening to fix Peter with a single look. “Will this be a long story, Avondale?”
“No, your grace.” Confession was proving harder than he had realized it would be. “You see, Miss Morland… Miss Morland has been living at the Kilbythorpe rectory for the past five weeks. With me.”
As the archbishop turned an alarming shade of scarlet, Peter realized his mistake.
“Perfectly respectably, your grace! There has not been one moment of impropriety between us.” The kiss in his shadowed study suddenly impressed itself on his memory. “Well, perhaps one moment. But now, of course, we must marry as quickly and discreetly as possible.”
Peter launched into the explanation he had rehearsed all the way to York—the unexpected arrival of the otters, Georgie’s even more unexpected arrival, their budding friendship, his realization both that she was a woman and that they must marry—and ended with an attempt at a winning smile.
The archbishop removed his spectacles to rub his forehead and then replaced them. He looked as though he very much wanted to say some of the phrases he now used only whilst on the hunting-grounds.
“Did you come prepared?”
“Of course, your grace.” Peter reached into his pocket to bring out the papers he had carefully folded away.
“I have everything needed for a bishop’s license.
I have her sworn statement witnessed by my curate, Mr. Lumley, that she is over the age of twenty-one and a spinster.
I have my own statement here as well, attesting to my age and bachelorhood.
And, of course, I have brought the fee for your clerk. ”
The archbishop held out his hand, and Peter gave him the documents. He watched, heart in his mouth, as the archbishop paged through them, seeming to examine them for any small flaw he could use to deny Peter’s request.
“And her guardian?”
“She is well past the age to have a guardian—she turned three-and-twenty in February. Her cousin holds the baronetcy, but he is… I do not feel she would be safe with him.”
“Is that why she ran away?”
“She went in search of her otters—or, rather, the Regent’s otters, originally given to her father. Fortunately, they were sent to me in error and… here we are.”
“Indeed.” The archbishop looked as though he was torn between asking for more details and not wanting to be delayed any longer than necessary.
He removed his spectacles and gazed at Peter for a long moment before he spoke again.
“Marriage is a serious business, Avondale. Your faults have mostly been born of your desire to help coupled with an impulsive nature. Be sure your desire to rescue a lady in distress does not mislead your heart in this matter, or you will be in for an unhappy future.”
Dutifully, Peter took a moment to reflect.
To his own surprise, he had no doubts. Oh, he was concerned about his own future actions—about his ability to provide for her, about the best way to break the news of his marriage to his family, about where they would live when he was freed of Kilbythorpe to return to his work in London—but he had no doubts about making Georgie his wife.
In truth, he felt it would be the wisest thing he had ever done.
He raised his head and looked the archbishop in the eye. “It does not, your grace,” Peter said firmly. “I know both her faults and her virtues after spending these weeks in her company. I have no doubts about marrying her.”
The archbishop gazed at him for a long moment before nodding with a grunt. “Very well.”
Peter puffed out the breath he had not realized he had been holding. “Thank you, your grace.” Gathering his courage once more, Peter said, “I have one more hope, your grace.”
“Well, what is it?”
“Miss Morland is here at Bishopthorpe. I am hoping you would be so kind as to perform the ceremony yourself rather than us returning to St. Alcuin’s.”
The archbishop’s eyebrows shot up nearly to his hairline. “You do have audacity on your side, Lord Peter.”
“We are trying to be as discreet as possible, your grace, for the sake of our reputations.”
“Very discreet indeed, to expect to be wed by an archbishop.”
“If you cannot see your way clear, then of course we must accept your decision, your grace. But I feel—we both feel—that it would be best to return to the village already safely wed rather than try to have a secret wedding in the village church.”
“You traveled to York with her?”
“With my curate’s widowed sister as chaperone,” Peter hastened to say. “I rode alongside the carriage. It was completely proper.”
“Yes, of course, everything proper, except for you living under the same roof for weeks,” the archbishop murmured. “Where is she now?”
“She and Mrs. Clarke are having tea with the Dean’s wife while they wait for us. If… if I may be permitted to make an introduction?”
“Yes. I cannot make the final decision until you do.”
Peter bowed as they rose from their chairs, hiding his inner trepidation, and allowed the archbishop to lead the way to the drawing room.
There were now four women inside, but Peter only had eyes for Georgie, who was still wearing the new bonnet he had bought her in York that morning before proceeding to Bishopthorpe.
“Really, my dear, the men may well natter on for another hour,” the archbishop’s wife drawled. “You may as well make yourself comfortable and remove your bonnet.”
“Thank you, Lady Anne,” Georgie said, her voice a little breathless. “I am perfectly comfortable.”
Georgie caught sight of him, and the anxious expression on her face made him cross to her side immediately and take her hand.
He stopped himself from kissing it as he wanted, instead squeezing it and seating himself on the arm of the settee next to her, still keeping her hand in his.
Mrs. Clarke sat on Georgie’s other side, uncharacteristically quiet in the distinguished company.
“We have been having the loveliest chat,” the dean’s wife said. “I had no idea otters were so fascinating.”
“Georgie—Miss Morland—has made quite a study of them, assisting her late father,” Peter said. “They were given to him by the Prince Regent himself.”
“And what else does Miss Morland spend her time doing?” The archbishop’s wife was starchy, as befit her position, but Peter had always suspected her of having a secret sense of humor.
“She is a fine illustrator of nature as well,” Peter said, as Georgie squirmed and blushed. “She has been helping me organize my notes to potentially publish a book of my sermons. And, of course, she is prepared to do her duties in the parish as my wife.”
“Yes,” Georgie said, her hand clutching at his although her voice was perfectly steady. “I look forward to them. I was used to helping the vicar’s wife in Sussex.”
There was silence as the archbishop and his wife studied Peter and Georgie, and then looked at each other in silent communication. Peter squeezed Georgie’s hand, and she clung to him with a social smile on her face.
“I think they should be wed right away,” the archbishop’s wife said decisively. “The last thing the Avondale family needs is another scandal.”
“Thank you, your grace.” Peter lifted Georgie’s hand to his lips and kissed it despite her blushes. “Above all things, I would like to avoid a scandal, for Georgie’s sake.”
“Very well,” the archbishop said. “You shall stay here at the castle tonight—with your chaperone, Miss Morland—and be wed in the morning.”
Peter briefly closed his eyes and gave thanks before looking down at Georgie. As he watched the smile bloom on her face, he knew whatever obstacles they would need to surmount would be worth it to keep Georgie in his life. To have her as his wife, for every day going forward.
Keeping his gaze on hers, he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it, watching the blush come and go in her cheeks before standing to bow to the archbishop and his wife.
“Thank you, your grace,” he said. “We are honored.”