Chapter 18
Peter woke abruptly shortly before dawn, his neck stiff from falling asleep in the armchair in his study.
He had been unable to bring himself to sleep upstairs knowing Georgie would not be in the bed with him.
He had formed a habit over their first few weeks of marriage of awakening at dawn to curl himself around her and hear her purr in her sleep as she cuddled closer, trusting him completely.
Finding her side of the bed empty when he reached out would have broken his heart all over again.
His cock ached for her, but his heart ached even more. The knowledge that she could barely bring herself to look at him after the way he’d hurt her still lay heavy in his chest, and he wondered how he could persuade her to come home and forgive him.
Rubbing his neck, he sat up, trying to determine what had awakened him. He listened closely as the unexpected sound came again, clear even through the closed window in the still air of early morning.
It was the sound of a hand rattling a lock, not too far distant from the rectory.
Perhaps from the coop where they kept the otters.
Leaping to his feet, Peter dashed through the house and out the French doors that opened to the kitchen garden from the drawing room.
From the garden, he looked from the stables on the right to the coop on the left, trying to see through the early morning gloom.
The light was still dim, but he spotted a shadow running towards the road from the direction of the coop, already too far ahead for him to think of catching up.
Instead, he walked to examine the coop. Bootprints at the gate were easy to see in the soft earth.
He crouched down to get a closer look. Neither he nor Georgie had been out to the coop since he had left on his thrice-damned fool’s errand to intercept his family, so they could not be either of theirs.
These marks were new.
Peter rose to his feet. He should have realized a man as desperate as Sir John would not leave quietly. Not when he thought he could steal the otters and salvage his standing with the Prince Regent.
With a sigh, he rubbed his hands over his face. Georgie could not stay with Mrs. Clarke now. She and the otters would be better protected here at the rectory. Much as he wanted to give her more time to forgive him, he could not put her and the animals she loved at risk.
He needed a way to persuade her to come home, and the only one he could think of was the one he dreaded most: apologize to her.
Apologize and explain actions even he was not completely certain he understood. And hope she was willing to soften enough to allow him to bring her home and prove he would never hurt her the same way again.
By lunchtime, it was clear that Mrs. Clarke was thoroughly exasperated.
As they entered the drawing room after their meal, Georgie found herself on the receiving end of an uncharacteristically irate glare from her friend when the otters pushed their way through the door as the two women tried to enter, nearly knocking Mrs. Clarke from her feet.
“My dear Lady Peter, you of course may stay for as long as you wish. However, these animals of yours…”
Georgie sighed. “Yes, of course.” Unfortunately, Mrs. Clarke’s cottage was far smaller than the rectory, so one found oneself tripping over another otter just as one recovered from the first near-accident.
Unsettled by their relocation, the otters swarmed Georgie whenever she moved from place to place, putting herself, the otters, and everyone around them in peril.
The otters must return home even if she herself was not ready to. After Peter’s careless rejection of her, Georgie was unsure she could ever return to the rectory and the memories it held.
Though she hadn’t much choice in that. She had nowhere else she could go. Her friends were kind, but if Peter decided to demand her return, they would not be able to help her without facing legal consequences.
Not that he would demand such a thing. If she insisted they must separate, he would let her go out of kindness.
That perhaps hurt most of all.
Pushing the dark thoughts away, Georgie nodded. “I shall write a note to... to Lord Peter and request that he come get them today.”
Mrs. Clarke relaxed and smiled at her. “Perhaps it would be a good opportunity for you to speak with Lord Peter.”
Georgie’s heart stuttered to a stop. She could not face him yet. She couldn’t.
“Oh, my dear! It was merely a suggestion. Quickly, sit down before you faint.”
She all but fell onto the nearest settee, the otters immediately leaping from the floor into her lap.
Betsy leaned against Georgie’s chest, paws reaching up to her face as she chirped.
Georgie stroked the animal’s head until Betsy settled back down, curling up in Georgie’s lap with her sisters, who were already half-asleep.
Mrs. Clarke sat across from her and sighed. “Once again, my dear, I feel I must stand in place of your own mama.”
Georgie had not fully felt that raw ache of needing her mother’s advice until Mrs. Clarke said the words. She would give anything—even her otters—to have Mama here to counsel her.
Mrs. Clarke reached out and squeezed Georgie’s hand where it lay on the arm of the settee. Bonny half-opened a suspicious eye and then settled herself more firmly into sleep atop her sisters.
“I shall not make any excuses for him. He is a grown man and must do that himself. But I have seen how you are together, and I sincerely believe this was a foolish mistake on his part, not a malicious act. If you can discuss it like adults, I hope and pray you can repair the damage.”
Georgie’s head remained bowed, but the knowledge that the older woman cared enough to advise her warmed her heart. Having Mrs. Clarke was not the same as having her own mother, but that lack made her appreciate her friend all the more.
She swallowed hard and looked up with a wobbly smile on her face. “Thank you, Mrs. Clarke. I will consider your advice.”
The older woman beamed at her, though still with an edge of worry. “Mind you, this is not advice to swallow your feelings down and accept his treatment of you. If he still doesn’t understand his error even after you discuss it, well… Well, then we shall figure something out, yes?”
There was a sharp rap on the drawing room door before Molly opened it. “Lord Peter is here, ma’am. Do you want to see him?” Her look and tone aptly conveyed she thought Peter ought to be sent away with a flea in his ear.
Mrs. Clarke looked at Georgie. “Well, my dear?”
Georgie took a deep breath and said, “You may show him in, Molly.”
With a scowl, Molly stepped back and said over her shoulder, “She’ll see you, I suppose.”
Peter appeared in the doorway so promptly that he must have been hovering nearby for the answer.
He had clearly taken pains with his appearance that morning, dressed in a superfine dark green morning coat with fawn trousers and boots so polished, Georgie could faintly see the reflection of the ceiling in them.
He could have been making a morning call in London, and his magnificence only made her feel the divide between them with a sharper pain.
When he saw Georgie, his beloved face blazed with hope for a moment before he swept her a low, respectful bow. “Good afternoon, Georgie.” He held his hand out to her, but dropped it again when she did not react. His shoulders drooped a little, and she hardened her heart.
Mrs. Clarke looked from one to the other of them and rose from her seat. “I’ll let you talk, shall I? Lady Peter, I will be in the kitchen should you need me. The stillroom needs attention.”
She exited the room, closing the door behind herself with an audible thump.
They remained in silence for a long moment, Peter still standing, twiddling with the hat in his hands. He looked so anxious that Georgie’s heart ached for him despite her anger.
“Oh, sit down,” she snapped at last. “There is no need to loom over me.”
Peter looked at the empty seat next to her on the settee and, with a deliberate motion, Georgie picked up the empty otter basket and placed it in that spot. With a sigh, he instead took the seat across from her and set his hat on a small side table.
“Molly refused to take my hat,” he said. “I believe she thought you would send me away without seeing me.”
“Mrs. Clarke asked me to allow you to speak to me.”
“Georgie…” He reached for her hands, but she pulled them back. He sighed. Instead, he braced his elbows on his knees so he could lean in as close as possible. A waft of his scent—soap, bay rum, and a little hint of his own natural musk—teased at her nose and rippled down her spine.
“I am sorry,” he said with apparent sincerity. “I did not mean to hurt you, or to make you feel I regretted our marriage. I… you may have gleaned that my mother can be quite overbearing.”
“That is the impression I get, yes.”
He looked down at his hands twisting against each other and laughed, a short, unamused sound. “I realize I am a grown man, but she can still make me feel like a child, and I am most often the child who disappoints her. I… I was afraid of disappointing her again.”
Georgie nodded heavily. It was as she had suspected. “So you feared she would be disappointed when she met me as your wife.”
“No!” Peter reached out for her again, and she avoided his grasp as the otters stirred in her lap at the motion.
“I don’t know if I can make you understand.
I scarcely understand it myself. But these last few weeks…
I have felt like myself. More than myself.
The best version of myself. And I feared having her find out unexpectedly about our marriage would ruin that and I would revert back to the child who always disappointed her.
” He ran a hand through his hair, making it stand on end.
“I know it sounds foolish. I never thought I could be so foolish as to hurt you. I can only ask you to forgive me.”