Page 35 of Otters and Obstacles
But neither had she.
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Georgie knew their surprise wedding was being gossiped about all over the village, but they were allowed a few days of treacle moon before Sunday. Mrs. Barwick indulged them by being as absent as she could, and they retired quickly after supper every evening to continue discovering the pleasures married life could hold.
During the daylight hours, they talked at luncheon and supper and cared for the otters and went on long walks, Peter adjusting his stride to Georgie’s as she became used to wearing skirts again. They planned what to say to the villagers when they emerged from their seclusion so they could keep the secret of Georgie’s original identity for as long as possible. She and “Mr. Morley” would be said to be cousins, to explain the resemblance.
But neither of them spoke of love.
When Sunday arrived, Georgie was aware all eyes were on her as Peter escorted her to the pew traditionally reserved for the rector’s family. It had become one reserved for the elderly ever since Mr. Sloane’s children had grown to adulthood, but the widows seated there slid over to make room for her. Theynodded and smiled at her, and she did her best not to blush as she took up her prayer book.
She could not deny the little thrill it gave her to watch Peter do what he loved as he began the service. She silently sent up her own prayer to be a good helpmeet to him and the parish now that the opportunity had come to her so unexpectedly.
At the end of the service, Peter cleared his throat and looked endearingly bashful.
“As you may have heard, my bride and I returned from York a few days ago, where we were wed. I would be pleased to introduce everyone in the vestibule afterwards. Now, let us pray.”
Georgie took a deep breath, knowing that all eyes were back on her. The widow sitting closest to her turned to beam at her.
“My dear! Very well done. We are all very fond of Lord Peter.”
“Thank you,” Georgie mumbled. “So am I.”
The other woman laughed, and Georgie resigned herself to a permanent blush for the rest of the morning.
She already knew many of the villagers by sight even if she had not formally met them, but she had to pretend that everyone was new to her as she nodded and smiled and returned curtsies. If she felt an urge to bow a few times, she was able to repress it.
She turned to find herself facing Mrs. Moxon from the Ladies’ Auxiliary, who frowned at her with a puzzled expression. Georgie pasted a bright smile on her face as Peter introduced them before turning away to answer a question.
“It is a remarkable resemblance. To your cousin, I mean.”
“Everyone has always said so,” Georgie agreed. She resisted an urge to fiddle with the small curls she had drawn from under her bonnet to frame her face, hoping to create a more feminine appearance.
“How long had you and Lord Peter been betrothed?”
Peter came up behind them, and Georgie turned to him gratefully. He squeezed her hand before placing it on his forearm. “There was an understanding between us, but the betrothal itself was quite short. But once G—Lady Peter recovered from her illness, we did not wish to wait any longer. Life is too precious for that.”
Georgie smiled up at Peter before glancing at Miss Dinsdale, who was furiously whispering to her cronies, casting glances at them. She realized with a shock that she need not concern herself with them. She was a matron now, not a miss, and jealousy from the unmarried girls would not have nearly as much of an effect on her socially as winning their mamas over would be.
She turned back to Mrs. Moxon and gave her a dazzling smile. “Lord Peter has told me so much about your work with the ladies’ committee, Mrs. Moxon. He said you are the glue that holds it together.”
What Peter had actually said was that Mrs. Moxon insisted on having a finger in every pie, but the older woman preened under the praise. “How kind of him, Lady Peter. I do my best for the parish and for our little village.”
“I will certainly need your guidance and the guidance of the other ladies as I take over my duties with the parish,” Georgie said.
Mrs. Moxon's smile dimmed a little. “Oh. Yes, I suppose that’s true.”
“I will need plenty of help, of course. I am continuing my work… my family’s work with the otters, and helping Lord Peter organize his sermon notes. Perhaps the committee can meet this week to discuss what has already been planned for the harvest festival?”
Mrs. Moxon brightened again. “Yes, of course, Lady Peter. I look forward to it.”
Georgie turned to the next well-wisher, but out of the corner of her eye, she could see Mrs. Moxon, Mrs. Dinsdale, and Mrs. Kilvington putting their heads together in a way that seemed a little… ominous.
By the end, Georgie was exhausted, but Peter seemed pleased at her reception. As they walked home, he said, “That was the main hurdle—getting everyone to accept you as my new bride. It should be smooth sailing from now on.”
“I hope so,” Georgie said. She could only hope the whispers were temporary.
The harvest festivalnow held at Michaelmas had been a tradition in Kilbythorpe since before Christianity had arrived. There was a mop fair, of course, for anyone looking for a new position, but also games and music and a fair with handicrafts and seasonal dishes.
