“What’s wrong?” Georgie said.
“Nothing,” Peter replied, suppressing a groan. “Nothing but my inconvenient conscience.”
She frowned as he let go of her and slid back to his own side of the settee. He had a vivid picture of pressing her back into the cushions and kissing her again, this time letting himself rest atop her supple body. He immediately thrust the picture from his mind for his own sanity.
“But we are betrothed now… aren’t we?”
He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss into her warm palm before cradling it against his cheek. “Yes. We’re betrothed now. But there are some things that must wait until we’re actually wed.”
“Oh. Well, how long do we have to wait?”
They must move as quickly as possible. He had put the pieces together, and Mrs. Clarke’s suspicions had been raised. What of Mrs. Barwick? He found it unlikely the shrewd woman had completely missed something so vital about a resident of the same house.
If the two women had made the same connection, one of the villagers would make it as well, and sooner rather than later.
He looked at Georgie, sitting alone with him in a darkened room with perfect confidence. Either she was more naïve than he thought, or… she trusted him to do the right thing.
“Not long,” Peter replied. “Not long at all.”
Or else he might go mad, knowing she was sleeping under the same roof when he was honor-bound not to touch her again until they were safely wed.
9
“Oh, you poor child,” Mrs. Clarke breathed when Georgie reached the end of her tale. “No wonder you were so standoffish. But how providential you would end up under the care of our dear Lord Peter!”
Georgie’s eyes prickled with tears at the unexpected sympathy. She looked down at the sleeve of her jacket and straightened the cuff to compose herself. It felt peculiar to be in male attire while confessing quite the opposite.
Peter cleared his throat from his position by the mantlepiece. “Yes. Quite. But I’m sure you see our dilemma, Mrs. Clarke.”
She gave a firm nod. “Yes, of course. It would be a dreadful scandal if the truth got out. Your friends would know nothing improper had happened, but the gossip would be terrible for both of you.”
Georgie avoided looking at Peter. No one but the two of them needed to know about that kiss and how much she already yearned to repeat it.
He said, “That’s why we need your help. We need to somehow get to York in secret so I can beg a license from the archbishop that will allow us to marry at once, but also, er… “
“Not make the scandal worse?”
“Yes. Exactly.”
Mrs. Clarke sat back in her chair and beamed at each of them in turn. “You have certainly gotten yourselves into quite the scrape. But I believe we can get you back out of it.”
A whirlwind of activity commenced that made Georgie dizzy when she tried to remember it later. Mrs. Barwick was brought into their confidence and sworn to secrecy, though some of her expressions made Georgie think she had at least suspected the truth. Mrs. Clarke produced several dresses to be remade to Georgie’s size. Georgie preferred not to ask where they had come from in case she had inadvertently deprived someone in need of their due from the parish charity basket, but perhaps it was one of Mrs. Clarke’s adult daughters or nieces. A flurry of pinning and sewing got them to the correct size, with time taken to trim Georgie’s hair into a more feminine and fashionable crop. She could not help letting her hand wander to her nape, remembering what she had lost for her masquerade.
With a sigh, Mrs. Clarke sacrificed her own favorite bonnet to the cause, re-trimming it with ribbons and silk flowers to match Georgie’s new traveling dress.
“You must make a good impression on the archbishop’s wife,” she said firmly when Georgie protested. “She will be the deciding factor for if the archbishop decides to grant a bishop’s license.”
Georgie wasn’t sure if she was more nervous for the journey, or for meeting the archbishop’s wife, or for getting married. Peter was perfectly proper at all times, with Mrs. Barwick now joining them in the drawing room after supper to lend a small shred of propriety to their situation even while Georgiemaintained her male disguise. Their free-flowing conversations had to be trimmed back to be more suitable for their chaperone, and there was no more time for long walks in the rush of preparation.
If she sometimes caught him looking at her in a way that made her face grow hot and her skin tingle, he would look away, back to seeming indifference, or change the subject.
In the dark of her silent bedroom, she feared that, despite his promises to continue their friendship, they would fall too comfortably into the expected roles of husband and wife, but she knew it was foolish to only worry about that now that it was too late.
She could still abandon her otters and seek her own fortune. But it seemed too cruel a fate to force herself to give up both Peter and the otters, even if it was for all of their own good.
After what felt like weeks but was really only a matter of two days, Georgie found herself in a hired coach with Mrs. Clarke at her side while Peter rode his horse alongside. Mr. Lumley stayed behind to take care of any parish business that might come up in Peter’s absence, and to begin spreading word that Mr. Morley was returning to school and—more importantly—Lord Peter would return from York with his new bride within a few days. Georgie did spare a small spiteful thought as to what the reaction of Miss Dinsdale might be when she found out her determined pursuit of Peter had come to naught.
After an hour or so of driving, Mrs. Clarke said conversationally, “You know, my dear, I never would have agreed to this scheme if I did not feel that you and Lord Peter were so well suited.”
