Chapter 15
Almost before Georgie knew it, the Harvest Festival arrived in a final flurry of preparation, with the ladies of the village gathering to complete the decorations just in time. She could not help but be proud of their work and made sure to praise them lavishly, especially the Ladies’ Auxiliary.
Now she breathed a sigh of relief as she and Peter joined the crowd flowing onto the village green.
The festival drew people from miles around, and the booths were doing brisk business while job seekers waved mops and other implements of their various trades.
With Michaelmas and the end of the quarter nearly here, it was the season to find new employment and new employees.
She leaned a little on Peter’s arm as they walked, and he drew her near as a boisterous crowd of young men pushed past them on their way to the fair.
“Stay close,” Peter said. “I don’t wish us to become separated in the crowd.”
“All right,” she murmured, warmed by his protectiveness and his strong arm.
It was easy to believe on such a beautiful day that her gloomy thoughts about Peter’s feelings for her had been nothing but a passing fancy.
He might not be ready to say the words yet, but his affectionate touches and warm glances gave her hope that he might do so soon.
“Corn dolly for your lady?”
Georgie turned her head to see a boy carrying a basket filled with intricately woven corn dollies made from the last sheaves of wheat harvested from the fields.
Peter grinned at her and rummaged briskly through the basket with his free hand, seeming to know what he was looking for. He pulled one out and presented it to her with a flourish and a wink, bowing low. She could not help the flutter her heart gave at his mischievous expression.
“Lady Peter. If you will.”
Blushing at the attention starting to be directed at them from the festival’s passers-by, she accepted the dolly with as much dignity as she could.
It was about the size of her gloved palm, in the shape of two hearts woven together, the strands at the edge of each heart woven together so they could not be separated.
Stalks of wheat crowned the top of each heart, bobbing gently in the breeze as Georgie tilted the dolly to look more closely at it.
Peter flipped a shilling to the boy, who doffed his cap and winked at them.
“The extra stalks are for fertility, parson,” he said, and darted away into the crowd before Georgie could do more than blush.
Surely the extra luck would not be needed.
It was only a matter of time considering how they spent nearly every evening before falling into a blissful sleep.
“Insolent puppy.” Peter’s voice was a little strangled, as though he, too, was embarrassed. “Where is the pin?”
“Why would there be a pin?” Georgie asked even as her gloved fingers found one stuck into the top of one of the hearts.
“So I can pin it to your pelisse, of course.”
“Oh, Peter, no.” The blush came full force now, her face feeling hot in her embarrassment.
“We must. Otherwise the luck will not stay.”
She knew what everyone must be thinking, with her as a new bride, but she could see no way around it. Too many people had smiled indulgently as Peter made the purchase, and she did not want to seem to be at outs with him despite her continued irritation over his high-handedness about her cousin.
She turned the dolly over in her hands again. It was charmingly made. Someone must have labored long into the night to create it.
“Very well,” she said with a sigh, and handed the dolly to Peter for pinning.
He moved close to her, her skirts foaming around his ankles as he bent slightly to pin the dolly to her pelisse. His warm cheek nearly brushed hers, and she discreetly inhaled a little of his delicious scent of bay rum and warm husband.
Peter’s hands fumbled about until he finally grasped a pinch of the fabric, holding it away from her skin so she would not be pricked by the pin as he carefully inserted it and then let go.
“There you have it,” he crowed. He took both of her hands in his and swung them. “And it looks fine indeed.”
She looked up at him and he went still for a moment, gazing at her so warmly that she hoped this was it. This was finally the moment when he would say—
Then one of the fairgoers bumped Peter from behind and the spell was broken. Peter laughed a little and placed her hand back on his arm.
“We shall show everyone that we found the best corn dolly.” He looked down at her again, his eyes still filled with that warmth that had made her heart stutter. “And that I have the prettiest wife of all.”
She ducked her head and blushed, but allowed him to lead her further into the festival.
Exhilarated, Peter guided Georgie through the crowd, occasionally stopping to chat for a moment or two, but quickly moving on so his wife would be able to see the whole event.
He loved being able to see the fair through her eyes, her enthusiasm as she applauded Punch and Judy and gasped at the acrobats, clutching his arm as they leapt from impossible heights and safely landed again.
He loved her.
The realization struck him like a bolt from the blue, like a cannonball to the chest, taking his breath away in a great rush.
He loved her.
He looked down at her, only able to see the brim of her bonnet until she tilted her head up, her face bright with laughter that faded a little with the intensity of his look.
“What is it?”
“Nothing,” he said. This was neither the time nor the place for such a declaration, here in public surrounded by a crowd.
But tonight, when they returned home. He would tell her tonight.
Greatly daring, he bent and brushed his lips against her soft cheek, right there in the middle of the whole village, and all the surrounding villages as well. She laughed and put her hand to her cheek.
“Really, Peter!”
“Come,” he said, slipping his arm around her waist to guide her through a particularly dense part of the crowd. “We must have some of Mr. Jordison’s apple turnovers. He only makes them for the Harvest Festival.”
He would tell her of his feelings tonight. And hope she returned them.
Georgie had never been happier in her life.
As he guided her through the crowds, the casual atmosphere and her gentle questions encouraged him to open up to her more than he ever had before, sharing the story of the Harvest Festival-related feud among the church elders that was causing the delay in repairing the church roof.
Georgie frowned. “Poor Miss Dinsdale. No wonder she was throwing herself at you. Being jilted so publicly would make her desperate for an even better match.”
Peter shrugged. “She is a nice enough girl, I suppose. But so young.”
“I know both of them from the Ladies’ Auxiliary. Perhaps I could speak with them and see if we can encourage them to end the feud from their side.”
Peter grinned down at her. “Thank you for wanting to help, but there’s no need. I’m sure everything will be fine once Miss Dinsdale gets over her pique.”
That stung a bit, but Georgie shrugged it off. The Harvest Festival was not the place to get into a brangle about her role in the parish. She would concentrate on enjoying herself and worry about the Dinsdales later.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a splendid whirl as they explored the booths and tried out the games of chance. They shared pork pasties and a mug of ale and wandered arm-in-arm until the setting sun alerted Peter it was time for his speech.
He cleared his throat as he stepped onto the small stage where the musicians were beginning to tune their instruments to start the dancing.
Georgie stood at the front and a little off to the side so she could watch him speak.
She could not help a little surge of pride as he faced the villagers with a smile on his face, knowing this was her husband that so many watched with respect and even affection.
He raised his hands for quiet before he began to speak.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I do apologize, but I come with disappointing news. The Harvest Supper that was to have taken place tomorrow has been delayed by a few more days.”
As a murmur spread through the crowd, Peter held up his hand.
“I understand how unwelcome this news is. The duke—my brother—is on his way with the rest of the household, and the foodstuffs will arrive with them. The supper will take place two days after they arrive, to give the cooks enough time to prepare.”
Even as Peter took a deep breath to continue his speech, a voice cut through the gathering.
"Are we not to denounce sinners, vicar?"
To Georgie's horror, her cousin pushed his way through the crowd, walking towards them. Peter bent to help Georgie step onto the stage out of her cousin’s reach. The villagers crowded closer, clearly eager to hear any breath of scandal.
Peter laced his fingers with Georgie's and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze before he spoke. "Do you have something to say, Sir John?"
"Oho! The sinner speaks! How do you face your congregation every week, sir? They should be booing you every time you step up to the pulpit." His words were a little slurred, and his high color and rumpled appearance made Georgie fear he had been drinking.
Even worse, Georgie saw the crowd part as the Ladies' Auxiliary made their way to the stage, headed by Mrs. Kilvington.
She felt suddenly cold. If the ladies believed John's story, she and Peter would both be outcasts in the village.
They would have no choice but to decamp to London and hope the scandal did not follow them.
If it did follow them, their situation would be even more desperate, forcing Peter out of the Church altogether.
Even the poorest parish would be unwilling to have him lead them.
"Say what you have to say and be done with it," Peter said in a bored tone, but his hand was going icy in hers.
Sir John looked around the crowd, making sure all eyes were on him. "Did you or did you not live together under the same roof before your marriage?"