Chapter 14
His family would not arrive in time for the Harvest Festival after all.
Peter briefly closed his eyes and gave thanks before re-reading the letter from Paul.
His sister-in-law Olivia was with child again—this would be their second one—but being on the road for the early days of her pregnancy had made her ill, so the whole entourage would rest for a few days at another of the family’s estates before continuing on.
In the letter, his brother charged him with informing the various village committees that the traditional feast sponsored by the Duke would be delayed a few days until the family could arrive with provisions and the army of cooks required to prepare the food.
Everyone would be disappointed, Peter knew, but a postponement was better than a cancellation...
Without warning, the door to Peter’s study burst open, and he looked up from the letter, startled.
“Where are they?”
Peter slowly rose from his chair and contemplated the unfamiliar man standing before him. Mrs. Barwick peered through the open door, but he waved her off.
“I do not know you, sir,” Peter said.
“I am Sir John Morland.” Seemingly recalled to his manners, the intruder gave a stiff bow.
If he had never met Georgie and heard her story of how she had been treated, Peter might have assumed her cousin was an ordinary man. He was of average height, with unremarkable brown hair and hazel eyes. Only the riding crop beating against the side of his boot gave away his volatile temper.
Peter returned the bow with only the barest courtesy. “Lord Peter Avondale. The Reverend Lord Peter Avondale.”
“Avondale?” Peter could all but see gears whirring in the other man’s head. “Are you related to…?”
“The Duke of Livesey is my elder brother. This living serves his estate nearby.”
When Morland swallowed, Peter smiled. The other man’s aggression visibly decreased a few notches, and a placating smile replaced his fierce expression.
“May I sit?”
Peter nodded and gestured to one of the chairs in front of his desk as he took his own seat.
“I am here on the matter of some… stolen otters.”
“Stolen?” Peter said, doing his best to act confused. He had rarely prayed so hard as he prayed now that Mrs. Barwick would be able to intercept Georgie and prevent her from returning at the worst possible time.
“Yes, stolen,” Sir John said, his voice growing more confident with the lie. “They were given to my late uncle by the Prince Regent himself, and I must have them back. The Regent’s man is inquiring about them.”
“Who stole the otters?”
Sir John hesitated, and Peter could all but see him sort through the possible falsehoods he could tell. “One of the stableboys. He thought he could sell them to the previous vicar here. He has been dismissed without a character, of course.”
Peter raised an eyebrow at the flimsiness of this story, but decided to allow the other man to dig himself in even deeper. “No payment was demanded when they were left with me.”
“So they are here! Return them at once.”
“I cannot return them without proper documentation that they belong to you.”
With an edged smile, Sir John reached into his coat and pulled out a letter. “I have here a letter from Sir Anthony Hoult, the keeper of the Regent’s menagerie. He is inquiring about the otters that were entrusted to my late uncle, Sir George Morland.”
Peter held out his hand and Sir John reluctantly handed over the letter.
Peter read it quickly, trying to think at the same time.
Sir Anthony was certainly inquiring after the otters, and Peter suspected his own inquiry several weeks ago had led to this exchange and to Sir John’s sudden appearance.
However, upon reading the letter over again, Peter felt Sir Anthony did not imply that Sir John was the rightful guardian of the otters after his uncle’s death.
It was a mere inquiry into their whereabouts.
It was none of Peter’s concern if Sir John got into deep water with the Prince Regent, while Georgie’s happiness was entirely his concern. She would be miserable if the otters were given to Sir John, even if the man was forced to treat them better than he had.
“I do not have the otters any longer,” Peter lied. He handed the letter back to Sir John.
“What?”
“A young gentleman arrived a few days after they did and claimed they were his. He showed me a letter to prove his claim. I had no use for them, so I allowed him to take them.”
Rage flared in Sir John’s face as a dark flush. “You let him leave?”
“Of course. What reason would I have to keep him here?”
“But where did he go?”
“He did not tell me.”
“But I must have them back! Sir Anthony is coming to Sussex in two weeks to inspect them and their living circumstances!”
“I do not feel that is any concern of mine, Sir John.”
The other man stewed in that for a few moments before he said, “What did this… this young gentleman look like?”
“I don’t recall. It’s been more than a month.” Peter stood up from behind his desk, forcing Sir John to do the same. “You must excuse me, Sir John. I am a busy man, and my next appointment…”
Visibly fuming, the other man bowed. “If I find you have been harboring a thief, it will go very hard for you, duke’s son or not.”
Peter looked the other man straight in the eye. “I have no idea what you are talking about.” Georgie had done nothing wrong. Nor had she done anything illegal since the otters belonged to her. As far as Peter was concerned, it was not even a lie.
Sir John stormed from the room, pushing his way past a startled Mrs. Barwick as the front door slammed behind him.
“Where is Lady Peter, Mrs. Barwick?” Peter was surprised his voice was as steady as it was. The encounter with Georgie’s cousin had shaken him more than he expected.
He was suddenly, fiercely glad he had persuaded Georgie to marry him, impulse or no.
Imagining her under that man’s thumb for the rest of her life was the stuff of nightmares.
No wonder she had been so reluctant to write to her cousin to inform him of their marriage, or to allow Peter to do so.
Now he was glad he had acceded to her wishes.
“Lady Peter is out visiting Mrs. Clarke, my lord.” Mrs. Barwick frowned. “Did that man come to take the otters away?”
“I will not allow him to.”
Mrs. Barwick sniffed. “I won’t say I like the creatures, because I don’t. But I don’t wish Lady Peter to be hurt.”
“No more do I, Mrs. Barwick. So let’s not trouble her, shall we?”
After a moment, she shook her head slowly. “If you think it best, Lord Peter.”
“I do,” Peter said, quashing his sudden qualm. After all, it wasn’t as though her cousin would accost her in public even if he did see her. No gentleman would do such a thing.
As Georgie exited Mr. Banner’s shop, an all-too familiar voice stopped her in her tracks.
“Good afternoon, cousin.”
Georgie froze for a moment, then turned with a smile pasted onto her face. “Do I know you, sir?”
Eyes blazing, Cousin John shot a hand out to grasp her arm, but she leapt back out of his reach, her gaze steady on his.
“Here now! What do you think you’re about?” Moustache waving with indignation, Mr. Banner stormed out of his shop, closely followed by his oldest son. From the other side of the street, the butcher came to stand in his doorway, a cleaver in his large right hand.
With a nervous glance at the butcher, Cousin John said, “No cause for alarm, gentlemen. This is my cousin, whom I have not seen in an age. Is that not right, Cousin Georgiana?”
Georgie was torn. On the one hand, she had no desire at all for private conversation with her cousin. On the other, there was no way to know what he might tell the villagers out of spite.
“It’s quite all right, Mr. Banner,” she said at last. “I did not recognize my cousin at first as I did not realize he was in Yorkshire. What brings you here, sir?”
Mr. Banner withdrew back to his shop, his son trailing along behind after a final suspicious stare at Sir John, but the butcher remained watching from his doorway. Cousin John glanced nervously in his direction as he lowered his voice.
“I’ve come for my otters.”
“Your otters?” Georgie could not help her voice rising. “They are not, and never have been, your otters.”
“Of course they’re my otters. By the terms of the entailment, I inherited all of the livestock on your father’s estate.”
“My otters are not livestock. They were entrusted to my father by the Prince Regent himself.”
“They were entrusted to the estate. The estate has passed to me. Therefore, they are my otters now. Sir Anthony Hoult has said so.”
Georgie shook her head. “I do not believe you. In any case, send a solicitor with your demands and speak to my husband about it.”
“Yes, your husband,” Cousin John purred in a way that sent ice down her spine. “Remarkably fast work on your part given that no one in the village had ever laid eyes on you until a week ago.”
He cleared his throat and continued with obvious relish as she grew colder and colder despite the heat of the day.
“It appears there was a young man living at the rectory for over a month who conveniently disappeared a few days before you returned from York as Lord Peter’s bride. And that young man arrived with his pet otters in tow.”
At her expression, he said, “The publican was remarkably informative about Lord Peter’s houseguest when we spoke not more than an hour ago. It was easy for me to put the pieces together once I had them, though it seems everyone else has not.”
Despite herself, Georgie was shaken, but she stood firm. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He smiled one of the most unpleasant smiles Georgie had seen from him yet. “No need to look so stricken, Cousin. All I want is the otters. In fact, I shall make you a bargain. Give them over to me, and no one ever need know where ‘George Morley’ disappeared to.”
Georgie turned on her heel and stalked away towards the rectory to the echo of her cousin’s laughter.
She must tell Peter that Sir John was in the village. If nothing else, he would need to be warned in case her cousin tried to call on him.
She would tell him that very night.
Once they were ensconced in their respective chairs by the fireplace after supper, Georgie delicately cleared her throat, and Peter looked up from his book with a smile.
“Is there something you would like to speak to me about?”
“Yes. I was in the village today, and my cousin Sir John Morland approached me.”
The smile dropped from Peter’s face, replaced by a fierce scowl. “I ought to have known he would not give up so easily.”
“You ought… do you mean you knew he was in Kilbythorpe?”
“Why, yes. He came to call on me this morning. I sent him away with a flea in his ear.”
His nonchalance made Georgie want to shake him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Peter frowned at her tone. “Mrs. Barwick said you were out with Mrs. Clark. Besides, I didn’t think you would ever need to know. I did not imagine the scoundrel would approach you.”
Georgie could not decide what she was more irritated about: that Peter had concealed the fact that her cousin had called on him, or that he seemed to not understand why she would find that irritating.
Just because she was acting as a submissive wife did not mean he should be concealing facts from her.
“There is very little he can do,” Peter continued. “I have already written to Sir Anthony Hoult to explain the situation and get his permission for us to keep the otters.”
Her irritation at his high-handedness was turning into anger. “You did not tell me that, either.”
“I did not wish to worry you.”
“Peter, I am not a child who needs to be coddled. I am your wife. Your helpmeet. I cannot help you if you conceal things from me!”
“Of course. You are right.” He smiled crookedly at her. “I was only trying to protect you.”
Georgie’s heart melted a little at his sheepish expression, but she was not quite over her anger.
Peter’s conviction that he always knew best was already difficult to live with, and would only become more so as time went on.
Still, she nodded her forgiveness and, after a moment’s pause, he returned to reading his book.
She had known marrying him so impulsively was folly even as she had done it, but she had allowed herself to be carried away by the romance of the moment and by her love for him.
She had thought she knew him well enough to marry after their weeks together, but perhaps it was different knowing a man as a friend and knowing him as a husband.
Perhaps marrying a man who had not said he loved her when he proposed had been a mistake.
It bothered her sometimes, deep in the night, that he still had not said he loved her.
She feared saying it first in case he did not return her love.
He would be kind, she knew, when he told her he did not share her feelings, and that very kindness would make her want to curl up and die. So she had not dared to say it.
And now, thanks to Peter’s silence on the matter, she had a new worry. What if Sir John convinced Hoult that he ought to be the one to keep the otters? He would not have the slightest idea how to care for them, and would not bother to learn.
They would be dead before the new year. Sooner.
Georgie set her jaw. She would not allow it. She would keep her otters safe, no matter what occurred. And no matter what her husband thought about it.