Page 53 of Otters and Obstacles
“Georgie? We must go. I am already late as it is.”
After a wait that made him wonder if he should go back upstairs to fetch her, she at last came trudging down the stairs, head drooping, traveling bag in her hand.
A momentary flash of uncertainty poked at him. Perhaps... she was right. Perhaps itwouldbe better for them to go together so he could introduce her immediately rather than allow his family to construct an image of Georgie in their minds before they met her.
But the anxious drive toexplain himselfto his brother soon overtook him again, and he plucked the bag from Georgie’s hand as soon as she reached the bottom of the stairs.
“We must hurry,” he said. “Driving to Mrs. Clarke’s will take me away from my route.”
She nodded without looking at him and he escorted her to the traveling carriage he had borrowed from the Livesey estate, complete with a coachman and footman. The coachman touched his whip to the brim of his hat in salute as Peter handed Georgie into the carriage. She slid to the furthest corner of the seat, looking down at her gloved hands that gripped the basket full of protesting otters as Peter rapped twice on the ceiling of the carriage, which lurched into motion.
It was a short drive, but the silence was oppressive.
She would understand. He would explain it all to her later—later, after he had spoken with Paul—and then she would understand.
He took the otter basket from Georgie and handed her down from the carriage. Mrs. Clarke came out the front door of her cottage as a footman carried Georgie’s bag inside.
“Don’t worry about a thing, my dear,” Mrs. Clarke said, putting her arm around Georgie’s shoulders without so much as glancing Peter’s way. “We shall be quite comfortable here, all us ladies together with no gentlemen to bother us.”
Peter felt as though he should object to her words, but the urgency that drove him only allowed him enough time to drop a kiss on Georgie’s cold cheek as he pushed the otter basket into her arms and swung back into the carriage to begin his journey.
He would talk to Paul andmakehim understand, and then all would be well.
After the firsthour on the road, Peter’s anxiety about speaking to his brother waned, and he began to feel a qualm. Georgie’s silent distress as he had driven away haunted him.
After the second hour, it occurred to him that he had made a terrible mistake, but he could not turn back now. He must push on.
After the third hour, he rapped on the roof of the coach and called up to the coachman.
“Turn around. We’re going back.”
17
Turning around was not as quick of a process as Peter had hoped. They had been forced to continue on to the next posting house to exchange the horses for fresh ones before they could start back. By the time the process was complete, the sun had crossed the sky and begun to sink. It would be nearly dark by the time they returned to Kilbythorpe.
With every mile, Peter’s stomach clenched more. What would he say to her? How could he explain what impulse had driven him to abandon her? He did not quite understand it himself, except that he now understood that whatever his family made of his unexpected marriage, it no longer mattered to him.
Georgiemattered to him.
In fact, she was the only thing that did matter.
He must tell her that.
The sun sank lower and lower the closer they came to Kilbythorpe, forcing the driver to slow down so the horses could pick their way along the rutted lanes in the gathering dusk. Peter gritted his teeth, knowing that trying to urge the coachman to gofaster could lead to a broken wheel or a lamed horse and delay them even further.
At last, just as the final rays of the sun disappeared over the horizon, they arrived back at Mrs. Clarke’s cottage. Peter sprang from the carriage before the footman could properly secure the steps and flung himself towards the front door, skidding to a halt on the doorstep.
Even as he raised his hand to knock, he hesitated. Would she be angry? Would she refuse to see him? If he could just speak to her, he knew he could persuade her to return home with him.
He could hear women’s voices inside, and it made him quail even more. Gathering his courage, he rapped on the door.
After a long moment, he raised his hand to knock again, only to have the door open abruptly. Mrs. Clarke’s maid peered out, and he put on his most winning smile.
“Good evening. I’ve come to fetch my wife home.”
“I thought you was leaving.”
“I was. Now I am here.”
