Chapter 15 #2
"We did," Peter said steadily, and the crowd gasped. "But many of those here already knows that my wife first came to the village in disguise."
Whispers shot through the crowd but, to Georgie's astonishment, some of the men began to nod in reply to the others. Who had Peter told, and how fast had that gossip traveled through the village?
"I doubt anyone here did not realize my wife first came to Kilbythorpe claiming to be a young man calling himself Mr. Morley."
"I didn't," someone said from the back of the crowd, but he was quickly hushed by his friends eager to hear the rest of the developing scandal.
Peter took a deep breath and turned to face the crowd instead of Sir John, his hand still in Georgie’s.
"I realize that, as your spiritual leader, I ought to have avoided the appearance of sin even when no sin had occurred, but I was fooled as well.
And when I realized the situation and that Georgie—Lady Peter—had been driven from her home by this man, who as her cousin ought to have protected her, I of course asked her to marry me. "
Peter paused to smile down at her, and Georgie could not help being warmed despite her fear. "I am a fortunate man that such an intrepid woman was willing to say yes to me."
Georgie looked back at the crowd to see that many of them were softening, but Mrs. Kilvington still stood at the front of it, face stern, hands folded on the handle of her cane.
With a nervous glance at Mrs. Kilvington, Peter continued. "We were wed by the Archbishop of York himself, who absolved us of sin for the poor start to our betrothal."
Whispers shot through the crowd again, but Georgie could see the mood had shifted towards herself and Peter, and away from her cousin.
John could see the same, and raised his voice again. "When my cousin ran from her home—a home where I had fed and clothed her—she took valuable property with her that does not belong to her."
"Neither do they belong to you, cousin," Georgie snapped before she could stop herself. Peter squeezed her hand in warning and she subsided again.
"The otters remain the property of the crown," Peter said, "since they came from the Royal Menagerie. We are only the guardians of them."
"My uncle was their guardian, and now that has passed to me."
With one last squeeze, Peter let go of her hand and reached into an inner pocket of his jacket.
"From what little Georgie had told me of you, sir, I suspected you might attempt to shame her like this to force her to give you the otters.
" He unfolded a closely-written sheet of paper and held it up to show the crowd.
"That is why I made sure to bring the letter Sir Anthony Hoult sent that transfers custody of the otters to my wife, and therefore to me. "
Stunned, Georgie turned to look at Peter, who smiled down at her with a rather irritating look of smugness.
"Why did you not tell me?” she hissed. “I have been desperately worried about them."
"I was planning to tell you this evening once the Harvest Festival was over."
Georgie wanted to argue the point—after all, she was his wife and ought to be told important news as soon as possible—but Mrs. Kilvington cleared her throat.
"Am I to understand from this exhibition that this man is telling the truth?"
Georgie’s stomach turned. If the Ladies' Auxiliary turned against her, she would never accomplish anything in the village again even if Peter was able to keep his position.
"I... he is telling a partial truth," she said at last.
Sensing a potential ally, Sir John turned to Mrs. Kilvington. "Of course I am telling the truth, ma'am. I gave my cousin a home after her father died, and she repaid me by stealing the animals that are rightfully mine and running away."
Mrs. Kilvington's long, gnarled fingers tapped rhythmically on the head of her cane. "The letter from Sir Anthony seems to have settled the matter of the otters."
"How do we know Lord Peter is telling the truth about that letter?" Sir John glared at Peter.
"You wound me, Sir John." Carefully, Peter folded the letter back up and tucked it into his jacket.
"Peter would not lie about such a thing," Georgie said stoutly, though she rather suspected at this moment that he had. Why else would he put the letter away?
Sir John seemed to have the same notion, for he immediately said, "Allow me to examine the letter, if you please, sir."
Peter looked at him for a long moment. "No."
A titter came from the back of the crowd, and soon became general laughter. Sir John glared at them and all but stamped his foot like a petulant child.
"Silence, please," Mrs. Kilvington said, and the crowd hushed immediately.
The older woman fixed Georgie with a gimlet eye, the force of which went right through Georgie’s spine.
“So this gentleman is, in fact, your cousin.”
“Yes,” Georgie said miserably.
“And you ran away and came here in disguise as Mr. Morley. And you lived at the rectory for several weeks whilst pretending to be a young man.”
“Yes.”
“And when Lord Peter discovered you were, in fact, a young woman, he married you.”
“Yes.”
“Well. At least someone in this recitation had some sense.”
Mrs. Kilvington’s fingernails rapped against the handle of her cane as she thought, creating a rhythm that mesmerized Georgie. It was the kind of drumming that led the condemned to their execution.
“And the Archbishop personally performed the ceremony knowing your true identity?”
“Yes.” Peter said when Georgie’s voice failed her. His hand gripped hers strongly, and would have been comforting had it not been so icy with nerves.
Mrs. Kilvington continued to frown, but her fingers ceased their tapping.
“I despise bullies,” she said, and Georgie’s heart skipped a beat as she began to hope again. She clung to Peter’s hand, and he squeezed back.
At last, Mrs. Kilvington turned to face Sir John, who flinched away from what he saw in her expression.
“You have aired Kilbythorpe’s dirty laundry for the whole county, sir. Now you may go.”
“But…” Sir John looked around the crowd for sympathy. If anyone was on his side, they were not willing to show it in front of their friends and family.
“This won’t be the last of this,” he snarled, and stalked away as the crowd parted for him.
Peter’s relief at Mrs. Kilvington’s routing of Sir John crashed as he caught the eye of a man standing towards the back of the crowd.
It was Medforth. Paul’s steward.
And he was frowning.
Sensing his mood, Georgie put a supportive hand on his back. “Peter? Is something wrong?”
“Nothing,” he said, forcing himself to look away from the other man.
The entire village had witnessed the drama.
Including Medforth.
Who would certainly send a messenger to Paul.
Who would then find out his scapegrace brother had married without telling anyone.
As he and Georgie stepped down from the stage, someone spoke to him from his other side. He turned and smiled at them, scarcely knowing what he said.
He had waited too long to write, and now time had run out. It would have been bad enough for them to arrive on a quiet day in the village as he had anticipated. Now they would land in the middle of yet another Avondale scandal.
One that was all his own fault.
The back of his throat burned even as he tried to laugh and joke with the villagers who came up to congratulate him and Georgie. He wanted his family to love Georgie as he did, but introducing her as the center of a scandal would only convince them to reject her, and him.
Paul had said this was his last chance, and now his own negligence had ruined it.
He must speak to Paul, not just write to him. Immediately. He must intercept his brother on the road and explain himself in person rather than having Paul arrive at Kilbythorpe with only Medford’s letter as explanation.
If he did not, his family would never accept Georgie.