Chapter 13
The Ladies’ Auxiliary’s final Harvest Festival meeting was not going well.
Out of long habit, Georgie toyed with the ends of her red thread bracelet as Mrs. Dinsdale and Mrs. Moxon bickered over the placement of the booth where ale would be sold.
“It must be close to the dance floor,” Mrs. Moxon insisted. “People will be thirsty.”
“It’s a dreadful idea,” Mrs. Dinsdale said with equal force. “It will only encourage drunkenness and riotousness.”
Mrs. Kilvington and Miss Welburn merely watched as though it was a tennis match, making no move to agree with either side. More women than usual crowded the room as they entered the final stages of the planning, murmuring to each other as the argument continued.
At last, Mrs. Moxon turned to Georgie. “You agree with me, do you not, Lady Peter?”
“Well, I …”
Georgie heard them coming before she saw them, and she froze.
The half-open French doors pushed wider and her otters charged through, chittering in triumph as they spotted her.
Chaos exploded in the room as shrieking women jumped onto chairs, backed into corners, or simply fled. Startled, the otters streaked to Georgie, darting under her skirts as the tea tray overturned onto the carpet.
One biscuit landed perfectly centered on top of Mrs. Kilvington’s satin slipper.
Georgie didn't know if she should laugh or cry at the sight. The otters twined themselves around her ankles beneath the cover of her skirts until she could not have gotten up if she had wanted to.
The room fell silent, with even the otters' squeaking ceasing as they sensed the precarious mood. To Georgie, it felt like the stillness before a thunderstorm erupted.
Mrs. Kilvington rose majestically from her chair, where she had remained seated as the chaos unfolded.
"Is this some sort of joke, Lady Peter?"
"Not at all," Georgie said weakly. "I assure you, I had no idea this was going to happen."
She stumbled through her explanation. “We have been keeping them in the old chicken coop, but they were accustomed to live inside at my father’s home. They have been very puzzled why they were no longer allowed inside the house.”
Gasps rose all around the room, and the ladies who had fled the room peered around the doorjamb, frowning.
Mrs. Kilvington’s frown was the most thunderous of all. "This is not at all the thing for a clergyman. Or a clergyman's wife. Those animals must go."
Georgie drew herself up as her temper flared. “Go where, Mrs. Kilvington? They were entrusted to my family by the Prince Regent himself. They are not mine to give away."
She could see in their faces that a mention of the vastly unpopular Prince was not winning them over, and she sighed.
"May I introduce you to them? I promise many of your fears will lessen when you meet them."
There was a buzz in the room as the women conferred under their breath, but at long last, Mrs. Kilvington gave a small nod. Perhaps mentioning they were royal pets had helped improve their status after all.
Taking a deep breath, Georgie bent to rummage under her skirts.
She grasped the furry body that wiggled least and pulled it out triumphantly.
As she had suspected, it was Buttercup, who was the most placid of the three otters.
Even as she did so, Bonny's head poked out from beneath her hem, suspicious of Georgie's motives in removing one of her sisters from her direct sight.
Georgie set Buttercup on her knee, holding her still with one hand on her tiny chest whilst Georgie stroked her head and back with the other hand.
"These are exotic otters from the continent of Asia—Lutra cinerea is their Latin name. These are most likely from eastern India, but there are also some in the Malay states."
As Georgie continued her lecture, Bonny slowly crept out from under her skirts and into Georgie’s lap, crawling on top of Buttercup and eying the guests distrustfully. Betsy remained under Georgie's skirts, wrapping herself more securely around Georgie’s ankles after her sister’s abandonment.
As Georgie spoke and as the ladies were able to see more of the otters, they began to relax, becoming more animated with the questions they asked about the otters' diet, their personalities, and more.
Only Mrs. Kilvington remained aloof, hands balanced atop her cane as she continued to frown. Georgie's flow of words began to falter.
"That is all well and good, Lady Peter, but I do not believe wild animals have any place in a respectable rectory."
"I agree with you, Mrs. Kilvington.” Peter's voice came from the open doorway, and he nodded affably to the ladies when they turned to look at him. Georgie had been so absorbed in her lecture and her desire to win them over that she had not seen him there.
Peter crossed to her and bent to brush a kiss across her cheek, followed by a small scritch for each of the otters in Georgie's lap.
Betsy peeped out from beneath Georgie's hem at the sound of Peter's voice and emerged to drape herself across his boot. He stooped and picked her up, cradling her in his arms like a cat as she chirruped.
"I shall speak to my brother the duke to get his permission to add a conservatory to the rectory. That way, the otters will have a safe place to live while not, er, interrupting social events in this abrupt manner."
Breaths were held around the room as everyone looked to Mrs. Kilvington, who still looked rather sour. After a long moment, she nodded. "Since the animals may not be given away or disposed of as the Prince's property, I suppose that will have to do."
Peter beamed at her, and even Mrs. Kilvington was not immune to the charm of that smile. Her stern face softened.
"I appreciate your flexibility of mind, Mrs. Kilvington.” Peter shifted the otter in his arms, reached his free arm out to Georgie, and said, "If you give me the other two, I shall keep them in my study until your meeting is over."
"Thank you," Georgie said, and lifted the protesting otters to his waiting arms. They squirmed and screeched a bit, but soon settled down once they were all together.
"Good day, ladies." Peter bowed as low as he could with an armload of otters and continued out the door, leaving Georgie to the rest of the meeting.
As the door closed behind him, Mrs. Dinsdale said, “It is most peculiar that the otters know you so well, Lady Peter. Your cousin Mr. Morley was also quite familiar with them.”
Georgie froze, sensing danger in Mrs. Dinsdale’s cold tone. Miss Dinsdale added her own glare from across the room, whispering to her cronies again.
She glanced at Mrs. Clarke across the room, but she looked as frozen as Georgie.
“Er... well... we were all raised together, you see,” Georgie improvised. “My cousin and I. The otters are familiar with both of us, and we researched them together. It is only natural that they should be comfortable with me as well.”
A silence stretched out in the room as everyone held their breath. At last, Mrs. Kilvington rapped the floor with her cane.
“We have very little time and much to review, Mrs. Dinsdale,” the older woman said. “The zoology discussion must wait for a later time. Mrs. Moxon, you have the floor.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Kilvington,” Mrs. Moxon said, with a little bow towards the other woman. “Now, about the ale tent…”
It took some time for Peter to get the otters settled in his study after the commotion, but eventually he was able to get them into their basket. How they had escaped, he did not know, but he would need to examine the coop to see where any gaps were.
It occurred to him too late that he had quite publicly made a commitment to stay on at the rectory for some time to come.
After all, a large project like building a conservatory would take weeks, perhaps months of work for the planning and construction.
And while his brother the duke would need to approve it, the money to pay for it would come from Peter’s pocket, not his brother’s.
One of the otters chirped sleepily, and Peter bent to stroke her head until she settled back into her nap.
He had not only taken on responsibility for Georgie with his decision to marry her. He was also responsible for keeping her pets safe and happy.
He must write to Sir Anthony Hoult again. It seemed odd he still had not received an answer to his earlier inquiry. It would be best to settle the matter of the otters sooner rather than later if he and Georgie were to shift to London.
His thought process stuttered to a halt.
Even if Sir Anthony allowed them to keep the otters, where would they be able to house them in London?
It was yet another detail he had not considered, but it must be thought of.
A new rector might be delighted to have a conservatory, but not so delighted if it came with three resident, and very demanding, exotic otters into the bargain.
And that assumed Georgie would be willing to part with them.
With a sigh, he rose to his feet to tiptoe out of the room without disturbing the sleeping otters so he could once again reinforce the chicken coop against their mischief.
The consequences of his impulsive marriage seemed to double and redouble by the day.
He must resolve all these issues before he made the announcement to his family. They would view any open questions as an opportunity to berate and lecture him for once again not consulting them or listening to their advice.
He had learned long ago that it was best to solve things himself rather than allow his family to meddle in his life, and his marriage could be no exception to that. He would find his own solution, as he always did, and they would have nothing to say to it.