Chapter 11
Georgie knew their surprise wedding was being gossiped about all over the village, but they were allowed a few days of treacle moon before Sunday.
Mrs. Barwick indulged them by being as absent as she could, and they retired quickly after supper every evening to continue discovering the pleasures married life could hold.
During the daylight hours, they talked at luncheon and supper and cared for the otters and went on long walks, Peter adjusting his stride to Georgie’s as she became used to wearing skirts again.
They planned what to say to the villagers when they emerged from their seclusion so they could keep the secret of Georgie’s original identity for as long as possible.
She and “Mr. Morley” would be said to be cousins, to explain the resemblance.
But neither of them spoke of love.
When Sunday arrived, Georgie was aware all eyes were on her as Peter escorted her to the pew traditionally reserved for the rector’s family.
It had become one reserved for the elderly ever since Mr. Sloane’s children had grown to adulthood, but the widows seated there slid over to make room for her.
They nodded and smiled at her, and she did her best not to blush as she took up her prayer book.
She could not deny the little thrill it gave her to watch Peter do what he loved as he began the service. She silently sent up her own prayer to be a good helpmeet to him and the parish now that the opportunity had come to her so unexpectedly.
At the end of the service, Peter cleared his throat and looked endearingly bashful.
“As you may have heard, my bride and I returned from York a few days ago, where we were wed. I would be pleased to introduce everyone in the vestibule afterwards. Now, let us pray.”
Georgie took a deep breath, knowing that all eyes were back on her. The widow sitting closest to her turned to beam at her.
“My dear! Very well done. We are all very fond of Lord Peter.”
“Thank you,” Georgie mumbled. “So am I.”
The other woman laughed, and Georgie resigned herself to a permanent blush for the rest of the morning.
She already knew many of the villagers by sight even if she had not formally met them, but she had to pretend that everyone was new to her as she nodded and smiled and returned curtsies. If she felt an urge to bow a few times, she was able to repress it.
She turned to find herself facing Mrs. Moxon from the Ladies’ Auxiliary, who frowned at her with a puzzled expression. Georgie pasted a bright smile on her face as Peter introduced them before turning away to answer a question.
“It is a remarkable resemblance. To your cousin, I mean.”
“Everyone has always said so,” Georgie agreed. She resisted an urge to fiddle with the small curls she had drawn from under her bonnet to frame her face, hoping to create a more feminine appearance.
“How long had you and Lord Peter been betrothed?”
Peter came up behind them, and Georgie turned to him gratefully.
He squeezed her hand before placing it on his forearm.
“There was an understanding between us, but the betrothal itself was quite short. But once G—Lady Peter recovered from her illness, we did not wish to wait any longer. Life is too precious for that.”
Georgie smiled up at Peter before glancing at Miss Dinsdale, who was furiously whispering to her cronies, casting glances at them.
She realized with a shock that she need not concern herself with them.
She was a matron now, not a miss, and jealousy from the unmarried girls would not have nearly as much of an effect on her socially as winning their mamas over would be.
She turned back to Mrs. Moxon and gave her a dazzling smile. “Lord Peter has told me so much about your work with the ladies’ committee, Mrs. Moxon. He said you are the glue that holds it together.”
What Peter had actually said was that Mrs. Moxon insisted on having a finger in every pie, but the older woman preened under the praise. “How kind of him, Lady Peter. I do my best for the parish and for our little village.”
“I will certainly need your guidance and the guidance of the other ladies as I take over my duties with the parish,” Georgie said.
Mrs. Moxon's smile dimmed a little. “Oh. Yes, I suppose that’s true.”
“I will need plenty of help, of course. I am continuing my work… my family’s work with the otters, and helping Lord Peter organize his sermon notes. Perhaps the committee can meet this week to discuss what has already been planned for the harvest festival?”
Mrs. Moxon brightened again. “Yes, of course, Lady Peter. I look forward to it.”
Georgie turned to the next well-wisher, but out of the corner of her eye, she could see Mrs. Moxon, Mrs. Dinsdale, and Mrs. Kilvington putting their heads together in a way that seemed a little… ominous.
By the end, Georgie was exhausted, but Peter seemed pleased at her reception. As they walked home, he said, “That was the main hurdle—getting everyone to accept you as my new bride. It should be smooth sailing from now on.”
“I hope so,” Georgie said. She could only hope the whispers were temporary.
The harvest festival now held at Michaelmas had been a tradition in Kilbythorpe since before Christianity had arrived. There was a mop fair, of course, for anyone looking for a new position, but also games and music and a fair with handicrafts and seasonal dishes.
In days gone past, the festival could become quite riotous, but the Ladies’ Auxiliary had taken over the planning after the previous rector’s wife passed away, and it had become far more decorous since then.
When Georgie realized her hands were clutching at the skirt of her muslin gown, she consciously relaxed them, only to have her fingers start drumming nervously on her legs.
It was her first meeting with the Ladies’ Auxiliary in her new position as Peter’s wife, and she could not have felt more exposed. Everything was prepared, with the tea tray already waiting, but knowing that did not alleviate her anxiety.
Mrs. Clarke patted her on the hand, stilling her nervous motions. “You mustn’t fret, my dear. I am here with you, and we have concocted a story that covers all, so everything will be fine.”
Georgie gave her a grateful, if tight, smile. “Yes, of course.”
A firm knock on the front door echoed through the hallway to the drawing room, and Georgie sprang to her feet, wringing her hands. “They’re here.”
“Remember the plan,” Mrs. Clarke said, and the door to the drawing room swung open to reveal three frowning members of the St. Alcuin’s Ladies’ Auxiliary. Mrs. Moxon was not among them.
Hastily, Georgie bobbed a curtsey to the group, which they icily returned.
“Good afternoon, ladies,” Mrs. Clarke said from beside her. “Please, come in and allow me to formally introduce Lord Peter’s new bride.”
Georgie feigned ignorance as she greeted Miss Welburn, Mrs. Dinsdale, and Mrs. Kilvington.
Miss Welburn was a fussy spinster of indeterminate age whose dress had been turned at least twice.
Mrs. Dinsdale remained aloof, clearly miffed that Lord Peter had married someone who was not her daughter.
Georgie hoped the older woman would be able to get past her pique.
The one who made her the most nervous was Mrs. Kilvington, with her shrewd eyes and imperious manner. As the wife of the second-largest landowner in the county, she was clearly accustomed to being the social leader locally, and not best pleased to have the temporary rector’s wife outrank her.
“Shall we sit down?” Georgie said. She placed herself in the chair behind the tea tray as the other ladies arrayed themselves on the long settee. “I so look forward to getting to know all of you.”
After a long, silent moment, Miss Welburn said, “Your hair is so short, Lady Peter. Is that the fashion in Sussex now?”
Georgie successfully prevented her hand from shooting up to touch the cap that covered her shorn hair, and smiled instead. “I’m afraid it is a remainder of my recent illness, ma’am. My hair had to be cut during my fever and it has not yet grown back.”
The other ladies murmured sympathetically, but Mrs. Kilvington’s eyes only sharpened. “And that was the illness that delayed your wedding to Lord Peter?”
“Yes. Would you like tea?”
The other ladies nodded, and Georgie carefully added hot tea to each cup, hoping her hands would not shake. Mrs. Clarke broke into a cheery description of her latest embroidery project, but Georgie could still feel Mrs. Kilvington’s skeptical gaze on her.
“It is quite odd that Lord Peter did not mention he was betrothed when he took the position,” Mrs. Kilvington said abruptly. “Quite odd.”
“Not at all.” Georgie set the teapot down and met the older woman’s eyes with her chin up.
“My life was despaired of at the time. Dear Peter did not want to mar his first weeks here with sad news if he could help it. Fortunately, I made a full recovery and we were able to have a quiet wedding after all.”
“And where did the wedding take place?”
Georgie smiled, knowing she was about to throw a bomb into the drawing room. “His grace the Archbishop of York was kind enough to allow us to be married in the chapel at Bishopthorpe.”
The other ladies murmured among themselves, but Mrs. Kilvington remained skeptical. “A romantic story indeed.”
“Mrs. Clarke can tell you all about it,” Georgie said airily. “She was one of our witnesses.”
The ladies exclaimed and turned to Mrs. Clarke, who related the story with relish, but Georgie could still feel Mrs. Kilvington’s eyes on her.
She must start the meeting before anyone could ask questions about where her “cousin” Mr. Morley had gone.
“Shall we begin the meeting, ladies? I look forward to hearing all of the plans that have been set so far.”
“Indeed, Lady Peter.” Mrs. Kilvington raked her with one more look, and then balanced her hands on top of her cane. “Let us commence.”