Chapter 12 #2
From the other end, the farmer grunted and cursed. Georgie politely pretended as though she did not understand his words as he squeezed his hands inside the cow and pulled until the messy, unpleasant, beautiful process was done.
“There you are, your ladyship.” The tiny calf wobbled until its dam staggered to her feet and began to lick it clean in long strokes. He briefly lifted the calf’s tail and peered under. “A fine heifer, I’ll judge.”
“Georgie!”
She turned to see Peter winding his way across the meadow. The farmer chortled at the expression on her husband’s face.
“Can’t shake hands right now, vicar. But your lady is a game one.”
Georgie’s heart sank at Peter’s frown. “Is something the matter?”
Her husband removed his hat and ran a gloved hand through his hair. “I was worried about you. Mrs. Barwick said you ought to have returned hours ago.”
“I was helping, as I ought to.”
He glared at her. “A rector’s wife is supposed to help with… with dispensing charity and perhaps reading a few Bible verses to the sick. Not by birthing a cow!”
Georgie blinked, taken aback by his sudden anger. It was very unlike him. “It was necessary that I be the one to help. Robby needed to hold the horse, and no one else was around.”
“Yes, about that. Where is Mrs. Clarke?”
“She wasn’t feeling well today, so she sent me off on my own.” At his look, she said, “I have Robby. And a map.”
“I will have a discussion with Mrs. Clarke.” He glanced over at Knaggs, who appeared to be giving his full attention to the cow and her calf, though Georgie thought she could see a small smirk on the man’s face as he turned away from her fiercely whispered argument with Peter.
“It’s nearly time for supper. Come along now.” He extended an arm to her and she placed her own gloved hand on it, leaving a trail of white hairs along his black sleeve. He grimaced and shook his head before tipping his hat to the farmer.
“A good day to you, sir.”
“A good day to you, parson.” Knaggs removed his hat and bowed his head to her. “And to tha, Lady Peter.”
Georgie nodded in return as Peter swept her away towards his waiting cabriolet, calling sharply for Robby to return Mrs. Clarke’s gig to the village stables.
Despite Peter’s anger, she could not be sorry. She had helped when help was needed, even in a small way.
Her pretty calico dress was likely ruined from sitting on the ground for so long, though. She was a bit sorry about that.
Peter handed her into the cabriolet and took up the reins. “Really, Georgie. You must be more careful.”
“Careful of what? I had Robby with me. I was perfectly safe.”
“You… you could have been trampled by the cow.”
“Unlikely. Animals like me.”
“It was undignified.”
“Life in the country is not always dignified.” She slanted a glance at his stern profile. “Perhaps you did not know that until now since you spent so much time in London.”
“I… ” Peter opened his mouth as if to make another retort, and closed it again.
Georgie sat back in her seat as he urged the horse into a trot. She had not imagined their first quarrel would be over a cow, but so it was.
Peter’s anger made her heart sink. She had never imagined he would object to her doing her duties, or that he would proscribe what she could and could not do.
He had every right to do so as her husband, of course, but until now she had felt they acted in tandem, each of them carrying out their own duties in their own way.
She would never dream of telling Peter how to preach a sermon, but he seemed to have firm ideas about what her duties should be in the parish.
Her fears from their wedding day crept back into her mind. She was not suitable to be his wife. She was too far beneath him. Too uncouth, too countrified, not sophisticated enough.
A woman of his own rank would not have been caught dead sitting in a pasture soothing a laboring cow. She likely would have no idea where her milk and cheese even came from other than the kitchen.
She must make a better effort to be the wife Peter wanted.
As he paced his office after returning to the rectory with a silent Georgie, Peter came to an unpleasant realization.
She would never be able to live in London.
She would be miserable amidst the dirt and the noise and the people.
She might be able to make a place for herself—she seemed to have a knack for winning people over—but the strain of that life would slowly crush the light out of her eyes.
She was clearly at her happiest in the country.
For the first time, he wondered if perhaps he had been... selfish when he had impulsively decided to marry Georgie. Self-centered. Thought of himself and what he wanted rather than what his new wife might want.
When he had thought of marriage, he had assumed any wife he chose would want the same kind of life he did. It had not occurred to him a wife might have her own ideas about how they should live or what duties she would carry out as his wife.
Even after they had married, he had not thought of what Georgie might want for their life together, only what he wanted.
It was not a pleasant realization.
Now he was uncertain if he wanted to return to London, either, knowing how unhappy Georgie would be there. And after his reflections of the morning, he could no longer be sure his desire to return to London was his own desire and not his mother’s.
Had he allowed himself to be so... so seduced by the idea of being seen to do good by his peers that he had thought he could only work in London?
To feel there was no point in doing this work unless he could be seen doing it by the men he'd gone to school with and the women he'd danced with?
Had he felt a need to prove to them that his choices were worthy by doing his work on a stage where they would be likely to see it?
Abruptly, he collapsed into his chair, head spinning.
Though he knew he was respected by the people of Kilbythorpe, he could not help but feel they kept him at arms’ length. He could not imagine any of the farmers inviting him into a meadow to help deliver a calf, and could not imagine himself accepting even if they did.
He had put that distance down to him being an aristocrat and far above them socially, but... had he been the one to keep them at arms' length because he never planned to stay? And had they sensed that and kept their distance in turn?
The door opened, and Georgie peered diffidently around the edge, still seeming a little subdued. She brought the fresh scent of late summer wildflowers into the room with her.
"I must feed the otters. Would you like to come along?"
He looked at her for a long moment, feeling almost as though he was seeing her for the first time, and a becoming flush rose under her skin.
"What is it?"
"Nothing." He rose from his chair and walked to her. He bent to brush his lips across hers, pulling her a little closer as she sighed and leaned into him.
“I apologize for snapping at you earlier,” he said.
She nodded against his chest. “I never realized you would be worried about me. I shall make certain you know my route next time.”
She tilted her head back and he kissed her again, relieved their quarrel could be resolved so easily.
She trusted him so much. He must be careful never to betray that trust.