“So Bonny is the matriarch, and watches over her sisters while they play.”
“Exactly,” Morley said in a pleased voice, and Peter felt a small rush of satisfaction at having remembered.
Her snack finished, Bonny slid over to Morley and climbed out of the tub to perch on his knee while Morley stroked her head and back. The otter continued to look around, scanning for danger as her sisters frolicked.
“They’re fascinating little creatures,” Peter admitted. “I can see why you enjoy them so.”
“When you save something’s life, you can’t help but become attached to it,” Morley said. “Papa and I saved them, and they saved us in return. They gave us a purpose in our grief.”
“Everyone needs a purpose.”
“Perhaps that’s a subject for your next sermon.”
“Perhaps so.”
A call from Mrs. Barwick echoed across the yard, and Peter rose to his feet. “Mr. Patterson must be here. Shall I see you at supper? And then we can continue organizing my sermons after that.”
“Of course,” Morley said, and gathered up the otters so Peter could exit without having them dart out the door.
As Peter returned to the house, he realized they were settling into quite a routine, he and Morley. Almost like an old married couple. They had begun the project of organizing his sermons, with Morley making quick, neat notes in the margins of the dates(when Peter remembered them) and the occasions when the sermons had been given. Morley had shown him more sketches of the otters as well as a few small watercolors he had completed, and Peter genuinely thought Morley could have a career in nature illustration if he could expand his interest beyond otters.
The more time they spent together, the less Peter thought Morley could be a mere boy. He might appear young, but his interests and conversation seemed closer to Peter’s own age of eight-and-twenty than Peter had first feared.
If Morley was at or past his majority of twenty-one years, it was unlikely an angry guardian would appear on Peter’s doorstep, but what about the otters? Exotic animals could be quite valuable, and it seemed peculiar no one had come in search of them since it must be clear by now that they had gone astray from their intended destination. He also had not received an answer from either Mr. Sloane or Sir Anthony Hoult about the otters.
Perhaps it was time to bring in additional assistance and invite Mr. Lumley and his sister to supper. If anyone would be able to winkle the truth from Morley while also keeping her own counsel, it would be Mrs. Clarke.
Guests for supper,Lord Peter had said at breakfast that morning with a smile.Very informal, only Mr. Lumley and his sister.
Georgie gazed into her mirror, the single candle next to it flickering as the light outside her window rapidly dimmed. Her hair was already beginning to grow out after Mrs. Barwick had trimmed it into a more masculine style, and she found it hard to believe she had kept up her masquerade all this time. Peoplemust truly see only what they wanted to see for her to not have raised anyone’s suspicions.
But she must do even better tonight. This would be her first sustained conversation with anyone outside of Lord Peter and Mrs. Barwick, and shemustkeep her story straight. The consequences would be dreadful if she slipped.
“Shropshire… parents gone… ” She muttered to herself beneath her breath as she descended the stairs and turned her steps towards the main drawing room at the back of the house. Lord Peter had convinced her to show some of her work to Lumley and Mrs. Clarke, and Georgie had only been a little reluctant. She was quite proud of what she had done in only a matter of a few weeks. Her old drawing-master would be delighted to see how far she had advanced her skills.
Lord Peter was already in the room, examining the most recent watercolors she had left out to dry. Feeling her face grow hot, she bustled forward to collect them. He stopped her with a gesture.
“There is no need for such modesty, Morley. Your work is exceptional. You should be proud to show it to our guests.”
“Of course,” Georgie said, a peculiar flutter in her stomach at his words.Our guests. Notmy guests.
Our guests.
She shook the feeling away as Lord Peter continued examining her work.
At last, he looked up at her, and the admiration in his eyes caused another flutter. He said, “Have you considered trying to sell some of your illustrations, or publish your own book with them?”
Georgie moved to stand next to him, their sleeves nearly touching. She could not help the peculiar quiver that ran through her at his nearness. “I am not certain I have the will to begin again after so much of the work Papa and I did was lost. Iwould need to reconstruct what we had done from memory since his notebooks are gone.”
Lord Peter nodded his understanding. “Perhaps you should reconsider. I think it would be a useful contribution to the world of zoology as well as a tribute to your father’s work.”
“Perhaps,” Georgie said. It was not a bad notion, especially if Caroline was unable to find anyone who needed a companion in Bath. It was at least an alternative path to making some money, and one that could be done by correspondence that need not reveal her true sex.
And if she did follow that path… it might mean she could stay here with Peter a little longer.
A sharp rap on the drawing room door startled them both, and they looked over as Mrs. Clarke bustled into the room, closely followed by her more diffident brother.
Lord Peter bowed low to her, and Georgie quickly followed suit.
