Chapter 16
Georgie realized Peter was in a most peculiar mood.
As they walked back to the rectory in the gloaming, he seemed abstracted, as though something was on his mind, but he denied it when she asked. Their joyous connection at the fair had faded, and Georgie felt distant from him in a way that frightened her.
The rectory was empty when they arrived.
Mrs. Barwick and the new housemaid had stayed at the Harvest Festival to enjoy the rest of the evening—which Georgie had thought she and Peter would do as well—so they assembled a cold collation for themselves from the leftover meats and cheeses in the pantry and ate it in silence.
When they repaired to the drawing room, she tried to draw him into conversation, but he was uncharacteristically quiet, answering in monosyllables until she gave up and rose from her chair. Peter looked up at her, brows drawn together.
“I suppose I may as well get ready for bed,” she said.
He smiled at her ruefully, the first real smile he had given her since they left the festival, and extended his hand to her. She took it with ill grace.
“I am sorry, darling,” he said. “I haven’t been very good company tonight.”
“No, you haven’t.” But she was already halfway to forgiving him just from his repentant expression.
“I am trying to decide something,” Peter said. “And it is weighing on my mind.”
“What is it? Perhaps I can help.”
“I don’t want to trouble you.” The words were affectionate, but his tone warned her to drop the matter.
Georgie sighed in frustration. Once again, he was shutting her out, not telling her what was troubling him so she could help him find a solution. They must have a serious discussion about it, but she could see he was in no mood for one tonight.
“Then I may as well go to bed.”
When she leaned down to kiss him goodnight, he instead tugged her into his lap and kissed her breathless. She pulled away with a laugh.
“Peter! What has gotten into you?”
He shook his head and kissed her again until she was twined around him as his hands roamed over her and under her skirts. There was something frantic about his lovemaking tonight. She tried to soothe him with her affection, but it only seemed to redouble his agitation.
At last, he pulled his mouth away from hers, panting a little. “Let’s go upstairs.”
Dizzy with passion, she allowed him to lead her out of the drawing room and up to their room, pausing to kiss her every so often until she was nearly as frantic as he.
Once their bedroom door was locked, Peter all but threw her onto the bed and began rapidly stripping off his clothing as she watched. She was overcome with giggles, and he looked at her with a half-smile.
“What’s so funny?”
“You are,” she said, and crawled to kneel on the edge of the bed so he could more conveniently kiss her as he unbuttoned her dress and pulled it and her petticoats down almost as quickly as he had shed his own clothes. Unlacing her stays took him a little longer, but soon she was as naked as he.
He bore her back onto the bed until they were skin-to-skin, and she gasped.
“I need you, Georgie,” he said, and bent to kiss her again, his hands stroking her to make her ready before he pushed inside, filling her so abruptly that she gasped.
He stopped and looked down at her. “Did I hurt you?”
“No. Don’t stop.” She pulled his head down to kiss him, curling her arms and legs around him, matching his urgency with her own until she shattered around him as he groaned his own release.
Still panting, he rolled to the side and pulled her into his arms, holding her so tightly she was almost unable to breathe.
“My goodness,” she said. “You certainly were inspired by the Harvest Festival.”
“Yes,” he said.
And bent his head to kiss her again, his hands roaming her body until she moaned with pleasure, unable to resist him when he needed her so.
Any thought she had of trying to convince him to tell her what was bothering him so greatly was swept away by their passion.
Tomorrow. They would talk tomorrow.
She woke slowly the next morning, wincing a little at sore muscles and places rubbed raw by Peter’s night beard, but otherwise feeling relaxed and dreamy. It had been a wonderful night, and she could only hope she had helped soothe whatever it was that had been so distressing for Peter.
The light through the window told her it was later in the day than she usually arose, so she got up and washed, lingering at little at places that were still sensitive after the previous night.
He must love her. He could not have made love to her with such intensity if he did not.
Just as she finished dressing, the bedroom door opened and Peter walked in, fully dressed and smelling of the outdoors. He seemed tense and unhappy despite their night of lovemaking, and her euphoria began to fade.
“There you are,” she said. “You can help me with my hooks.”
He walked over and began to hook her dress up in back. She wanted to turn in his arms to kiss him, but the distance she felt from him warned her not to.
When he was done, he turned her and took her hands in his. “Everything is all arranged.”
“I… what?”
“I must leave, but I have spoken to Mrs. Clarke and she will be happy to host you until my return. I dislike the idea of leaving you here with only Mrs. Barwick and Annie for protection.”
“Protection? What is going on, Peter?”
He sighed and led her over to the settee in front of the unlit fireplace. He helped her sit and then knelt to take her hands in his.
“I must leave you for a few days.”
Her heart dropped so abruptly she nearly gasped.
“What? To go where?”
“I must go speak to my brother. Paul. The duke.”
His serious expression frightened her more than any of his strange actions. “But why?”
“Because… because he does not know of our marriage, and I must tell him before the family arrives.”
The words fell like a blow, and she shrank back against the arm of the settee, pulling her hands away. “What? What do you mean you haven’t told him?”
“I merely… I had not gotten around to it. I was trying to find the words. But now Medforth is here, and I must leave.”
Georgie’s head whirled, and she could not decide if she should laugh or cry. “Who on earth is Medforth?”
“My brother’s steward.” Peter shook his head. “There’s no time to explain it all. I must be on the road within the hour, and you must be settled before I can go. Pack a bag, and we will take you to Mrs. Clarke’s before I leave.”
He stood up and walked away, leaving Georgie still in shock on the settee.
Peter opened the door to their dressing room. “What shall you take?”
Slowly, she rose to her feet. If her knees were shaking, she would not let him know.
Every fear she had had since their marriage rushed in upon her, leaving her numbed. He was leaving her behind. He was abandoning her. She could not even stay in their home to wait for him.
He had never told his family they were married.
“The otters,” she said. “They must come with me.”
“Of course. Mrs. Clarke is prepared for them.”
In a daze, she began to pack the same traveling bag she had first arrived with, uncertain how much to bring. She had been flung from happiness to despair so quickly that she scarcely knew what she did. “When will you return?”
“I’m not certain. Three or four days perhaps.”
Three or four days! They had not been separated for any length of time since she had first arrived, and now he would be gone for several days? A hot spurt of anger broke through the ice that surrounded her.
“I should come with you,” she said decisively. “We can meet with your brother together and explain what happened. Mrs. Clarke can care for the otters whilst we are gone.”
Her brave words trailed off as he shook his head.
“No. No, I can’t take that risk. I must speak to Paul alone before I introduce you.”
He was ashamed of her.
The hurt of it struck her chest like a blow, taking her breath away.
Mechanically, she continued packing, able to move only because of his impatience to leave. He was no longer thinking of her, only of himself and his desire to speak to his brother. As she continued packing, he bustled from the room, clearly anxious to be off.
He was leaving her behind in more ways than one.
Desperately, she tried to reassure herself despite the grief rushing upon her in waves. Surely this could only be for a few days and then Peter would return to her. He would speak to his brother and all would be well. He would bring her to meet his family and they would welcome her.
They must, or else Peter might never find his way back to her.
Driven by his frantic need to have Georgie safely settled at Mrs. Clarke’s before he left, Peter threw himself into a whirlwind of activity, gathering up her paints and thrusting the protesting otters into their traveling basket before loading it all into the carriage.
Where was she? He stood at the foot of the stairs and called up.
“Georgie? We must go. I am already late as it is.”
After a wait that made him wonder if he should go back upstairs to fetch her, she at last came trudging down the stairs, head drooping, traveling bag in her hand.
A momentary flash of uncertainty poked at him. Perhaps... she was right. Perhaps it would be better for them to go together so he could introduce her immediately rather than allow his family to construct an image of Georgie in their minds before they met her.
But the anxious drive to explain himself to his brother soon overtook him again, and he plucked the bag from Georgie’s hand as soon as she reached the bottom of the stairs.
“We must hurry,” he said. “Driving to Mrs. Clarke’s will take me away from my route.”
She nodded without looking at him and he escorted her to the traveling carriage he had borrowed from the Livesey estate, complete with a coachman and footman.
The coachman touched his whip to the brim of his hat in salute as Peter handed Georgie into the carriage.
She slid to the furthest corner of the seat, looking down at her gloved hands that gripped the basket full of protesting otters as Peter rapped twice on the ceiling of the carriage, which lurched into motion.
It was a short drive, but the silence was oppressive.
She would understand. He would explain it all to her later—later, after he had spoken with Paul—and then she would understand.
He took the otter basket from Georgie and handed her down from the carriage. Mrs. Clarke came out the front door of her cottage as a footman carried Georgie’s bag inside.
“Don’t worry about a thing, my dear,” Mrs. Clarke said, putting her arm around Georgie’s shoulders without so much as glancing Peter’s way. “We shall be quite comfortable here, all us ladies together with no gentlemen to bother us.”
Peter felt as though he should object to her words, but the urgency that drove him only allowed him enough time to drop a kiss on Georgie’s cold cheek as he pushed the otter basket into her arms and swung back into the carriage to begin his journey.
He would talk to Paul and make him understand, and then all would be well.
After the first hour on the road, Peter’s anxiety about speaking to his brother waned, and he began to feel a qualm. Georgie’s silent distress as he had driven away haunted him.
After the second hour, it occurred to him that he had made a terrible mistake, but he could not turn back now. He must push on.
After the third hour, he rapped on the roof of the coach and called up to the coachman.
“Turn around. We’re going back.”