It tooksome time for Peter to get the otters settled in his study after the commotion, but eventually he was able to get them into their basket. How they had escaped, he did not know, but he would need to examine the coop to see where any gaps were.
It occurred to him too late that he had quite publicly made a commitment to stay on at the rectory for some timeto come. After all, a large project like building a conservatory would take weeks, perhaps months of work for the planning and construction. And while his brother the duke would need to approve it, the money to pay for it would come from Peter’s pocket, not his brother’s.
One of the otters chirped sleepily, and Peter bent to stroke her head until she settled back into her nap.
He had not only taken on responsibility for Georgie with his decision to marry her. He was also responsible for keeping her pets safe and happy.
He must write to Sir Anthony Hoult again. It seemed odd he still had not received an answer to his earlier inquiry. It would be best to settle the matter of the otters sooner rather than later if he and Georgie were to shift to London.
His thought process stuttered to a halt. Even if Sir Anthony allowed them to keep the otters, where would they be able to house them inLondon? It was yet another detail he had not considered, but it must be thought of. A new rector might be delighted to have a conservatory, but not so delighted if it came with three resident, and very demanding, exotic otters into the bargain. And that assumed Georgie would be willing to part with them.
With a sigh, he rose to his feet to tiptoe out of the room without disturbing the sleeping otters so he could once again reinforce the chicken coop against their mischief.
The consequences of his impulsive marriage seemed to double and redouble by the day.
He must resolve all these issues before he made the announcement to his family. They would view any open questions as an opportunity to berate and lecture him for once again not consulting them or listening to their advice.
He had learned long ago that it was best to solve things himself rather than allow his family to meddle in his life, and hismarriage could be no exception to that. He would find his own solution, as he always did, and they would have nothing to say to it.
14
His family would not arrive in time for the Harvest Festival after all.
Peter briefly closed his eyes and gave thanks before re-reading the letter from Paul. His sister-in-law Olivia was with child again—this would be their second one—but being on the road for the early days of her pregnancy had made her ill, so the whole entourage would rest for a few days at another of the family’s estates before continuing on.
In the letter, his brother charged him with informing the various village committees that the traditional feast sponsored by the Duke would be delayed a few days until the family could arrive with provisions and the army of cooks required to prepare the food. Everyone would be disappointed, Peter knew, but a postponement was better than a cancellation...
Without warning, the door to Peter’s study burst open, and he looked up from the letter, startled.
“Where are they?”
Peter slowly rose from his chair and contemplated the unfamiliar man standing before him. Mrs. Barwick peered through the open door, but he waved her off.
“I do not know you, sir,” Peter said.
“I am Sir John Morland.” Seemingly recalled to his manners, the intruder gave a stiff bow.
If he had never met Georgie and heard her story of how she had been treated, Peter might have assumed her cousin was an ordinary man. He was of average height, with unremarkable brown hair and hazel eyes. Only the riding crop beating against the side of his boot gave away his volatile temper.
Peter returned the bow with only the barest courtesy. “Lord Peter Avondale. TheReverendLord Peter Avondale.”
“Avondale?” Peter could all but see gears whirring in the other man’s head. “Are you related to…?”
“The Duke of Livesey is my elder brother. This living serves his estate nearby.”
When Morland swallowed, Peter smiled. The other man’s aggression visibly decreased a few notches, and a placating smile replaced his fierce expression.
“May I sit?”
Peter nodded and gestured to one of the chairs in front of his desk as he took his own seat.
“I am here on the matter of some… stolen otters.”
“Stolen?” Peter said, doing his best to act confused. He had rarely prayed so hard as he prayed now that Mrs. Barwick would be able to intercept Georgie and prevent her from returning at the worst possible time.
“Yes, stolen,” Sir John said, his voice growing more confident with the lie. “They were given to my late uncle by the Prince Regent himself, and I must have them back. The Regent’s man is inquiring about them.”
“Who stole the otters?”
