Chapter 12 #2
“It certainly is…” Georgia began to say, but another bump, poorly absorbed by the leather-threaded straps that suspended the body of the carriage on its wheels, caused her teeth to click shut.
“It certainly is not…” She tried again with the same result.
This time, she just laughed, leaning into Keaton and putting her arms about his waist as another lurch almost threw her from the seat. Keaton held tightly to a strap on the roof, using every ounce of his strength to secure them both.
“This would not be…” he began.
Bump.
“Would not be necessary…” he tried again.
Bump. Bump.
“Damn…!” he roared.
Bump.
The only sound he could complete was a bark of laughter, which was echoed by Georgia.
They abandoned conversation entirely. Georgia held onto him tightly, and Keaton found himself relishing the closeness.
He tried to recall the reasons he had wanted to divest himself of her.
The reasons that had driven him to agree with his Uncle.
They seemed hazy now while her presence was a physical reality that he could not deny.
I will not think about it now. This is not the time.
The journey to Silverton was interminable, and Keaton lost all sense of time.
He took out his pocket watch, deftly feeling for the hands which would normally have been protected behind glass.
Such protection would make Keaton's watch unusable.
It had taken the better part of an hour, which meant time was tight for them to deal with the crises, return, and dress for dinner before traveling to Swinthorpe House.
He ground his teeth and then felt Georgia’s hand patting his chest gently. The touch was soothing, and he wondered if she had felt his body tense in annoyance and was trying to calm him.
Very astute and perceptive if she did.
“Silverton Hall, Your Grace!” the driver called out at last.
“We are, of course, most flattered by the visit, but this is also highly irregular. We were about to dine,” Uncle Benjamin said, greeting Georgia and Keaton in the entrance hall of his house.
“Do not worry, Silverton, this is a flying visit,” Keaton replied with a brush of his hand, “we have an engagement of our own for dinner.”
“I would like to speak to Amelia, please, Uncle Benjamin.”
“Lord Silverton is your Uncle’s title, Georgia,” Aunt Clarissa stepped out of the dining room, chin raised.
“And Your Grace is the proper address for a Duchess,” Keaton snapped, eyes leaping to Clarissa with unerring precision.
“Ah, but then this is not a true marriage,” Uncle Benjamin chuckled as his wife joined him, “so I think my wife—”
“Is being unconscionably rude,” Keaton snapped, “and I will overlook it only once. Your niece is my wife in the eyes of the law and God. Your opinions of the marriage’s validity are neither here nor there. I would have you address her correctly.”
His tone was as hard as an Arctic glacier but colder. Georgia schooled her face to stillness and stood by his side, hand on his arm, when she wanted to be running through the house calling for Amelia. She clung to him like he was anchoring her in place.
“…Of course, Your Grace,” Aunt Clarissa muttered stiffly, then said the same to Georgia.
Being addressed in such a respectable way sent a thrill through Georgia.
Aunt Clarissa hasn’t spoken to me in such a polite manner since Elias disappeared. She never dared show her true self when he was around.
Georgia glanced at Keaton. He looked proud and regal, and the Vexleys seemed to shrivel before him. She squeezed his arm, wanting to communicate her gratitude that he had insisted on accompanying her.
“Where is Amelia?” she asked, keeping her voice level.
“She is not here… Your Grace,” Aunt Clarissa murmured.
“Oh, that is a shame. I hoped to be able to speak to her. Where might I find her?” Georgia pressed.
“Your cousin is unwell and we have sent her to a seaside sanatorium to recover. The sea air is said to be medicinal,” Uncle Benjamin explained from a wooden face.
They are lying! They have done something to Amelia, I know it!
“Well then, if she is indeed unwell, I would very much like to visit with her. Where is this sanatorium?” she asked.
“I do not recall the address of the place, though doubtless we can find the correspondence,” Uncle Benjamin said, looking at his wife, who nodded primly. “Not during dinner, though. I’m sure you understand.”
“Oh, I understand completely, Uncle,” Georgia smiled as sweetly as she could.
“We would offer for you to join us, but the kitchens have prepared dinner for two, and, as you have intimated, you already have dinner plans?” Aunt Clarissa sounded hopeful.
“We have. And we have intruded upon your time enough for one evening,” Keaton grumbled.
“But I should like the address. Could you send a messenger with it tomorrow morning?” Georgia requested.
“Why, yes, if we can lay our hands upon it,” Aunt Clarissa replied.
Georgia allowed Keaton to guide her from the house, but one thought rang out in her mind like a bell
They are lying!