Page 54 of Otters and Obstacles
She glared at him until he found himself shifting from foot to foot under her ire. “May I come in?”
“Who is it, Molly?” Mrs. Clarke called from the other room.
“It’s the parson,” Molly called in return, still glaring at him.
“He’s back?”
“Yes, missus.”
Peter could faintly hear a buzz of conversation, but when he made a move towards the door, Molly frowned even more fiercely and put her shoulder against it, ready to deny him entry.
After another long moment and buzz of conversation, Mrs. Clarke said, “You may let him in, Molly.”
“Yes, missus.” With a final glare, Molly stepped back from the door and grudgingly opened it wider. Peter slipped through and removed his hat.
Molly made a gesture to take the hat from him, but he held onto it. “I should only be a minute. I’m only here to bring my wife home.”
“Aye, that’s what you said, all right,” Molly replied sourly, but led him to the open drawing room door. The women inside the room stopped talking and turned as one to glare at him as he stood in the doorway, fidgeting with his hat.
All except one. Georgie sat on a worn sofa in the middle of the group, flanked by Mrs. Clarke and Miss Welburn. Her eyes remained downcast. The basket that contained her otters was in her lap with the lid off, and the animals peered over the edge as the room went silent.
Instinctively, Peter bowed, realizing as he did so that they were all members of the Ladies’ Auxiliary. “Good evening, ladies.”
As a group, they nodded, but did not speak. The temperature in the room dropped several more degrees, and his stomach clenched even more.
“I… I have decided not to leave after all. I am here to take Georgie—Lady Peter—home.”
“I’m afraid not, Lord Peter.” He had never heard that icy tone from Mrs. Clarke before. “We are quite settled now and looking forward to Lady Peter’s visit. You should return to the rectory and come back tomorrow. If she is willing to speak to you.”
“But…” Peter looked around the circle of hard-faced women. Not an iota of sympathy came from them as they formed a semicircle around Georgie, clearly intending to shelter her from him. Even the otters placed their paws on the basket’s edge in a belligerent manner and frowned at him.
Until this moment, he had not realized he could feel even more of a heartless monster than he already did. His need to prove he did not need anyone’s help had wounded his wife, and he had no idea how to repair the damage.
His eyes went to where Georgie sat with her back ramrod straight. She glanced at him only once before she looked away, but her eyes glittered with tears.
“Georgie. Please.”
She said nothing. She only shook her head. The glow of happiness that had rested on her since their marriage was gone.
Would he ever see it again?
With a sigh, Peter slowly returned his hat to his head. “May I return tomorrow?”
Georgie looked to Mrs. Clarke, who pursed her lips. “We shall send word if you may. Good evening, Lord Peter.”
Mechanically, he bowed to each lady in turn, reserving his last, lowest bow for Georgie.
Not that she saw it. She could not even bring herself to look at him.
Outside, the coachman looked at him from his seat on the box as the footman jumped down to open the door.
Peter sighed. “She’s not returning with me. Take the coach back to the house. I’ll walk to the rectory.”
“Very good, Lord Peter,” the footman said. He closed the carriage door and leapt up to his seat. The coachman’s whip cracked, and the coach trundled its way back to the manor house.
The walk from the village back to the rectory had never seemed longer. Peter drew the collar of his greatcoat more tightly around his throat as the wind whistled down the lane. Wispy clouds raced over the half-full moon, making the light flicker as he walked, and he realized after the second time he stumbled over a rut in the lane that he ought to have brought a lantern from the coach with him.
It was of no matter. He had hurt Georgie, and he could not think how to repair the wound.
