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 workunlesshe 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... hadhebeen 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.
13
The Ladies’ Auxiliary’s final Harvest Festival meeting was not going well.
Out of long habit, Georgie toyed with the ends of her red thread bracelet as Mrs. Dinsdale and Mrs. Moxon bickered over the placement of the booth where ale would be sold.
“It must be close to the dance floor,” Mrs. Moxon insisted. “People will be thirsty.”
“It’s a dreadful idea,” Mrs. Dinsdale said with equal force. “It will only encourage drunkenness and riotousness.”
Mrs. Kilvington and Miss Welburn merely watched as though it was a tennis match, making no move to agree with either side. More women than usual crowded the room as they entered the final stages of the planning, murmuring to each other as the argument continued.
At last, Mrs. Moxon turned to Georgie. “You agree with me, do you not, Lady Peter?”
“Well, I …”
Georgie heard them coming before she saw them, and she froze.
The half-open French doors pushed wider and her otters charged through, chittering in triumph as they spotted her.
Chaos exploded in the room as shrieking women jumped onto chairs, backed into corners, or simply fled. Startled, the otters streaked to Georgie, darting under her skirts as the tea tray overturned onto the carpet.
One biscuit landed perfectly centered on top of Mrs. Kilvington’s satin slipper.
Georgie didn't know if she should laugh or cry at the sight. The otters twined themselves around her ankles beneath the cover of her skirts until she could not have gotten up if she had wanted to.
The room fell silent, with even the otters' squeaking ceasing as they sensed the precarious mood. To Georgie, it felt like the stillness before a thunderstorm erupted.
Mrs. Kilvington rose majestically from her chair, where she had remained seated as the chaos unfolded.
"Is this some sort ofjoke, Lady Peter?"
"Not at all," Georgie said weakly. "I assure you, I had no idea this was going to happen."
