Page 123 of A Rare Find

For their part, Georgie was sauntering as though they hadn’t a care in the world. But the moment the tree stood between the two of them and the house, they kissed her, pressing her into the trunk, holding her face, their touch light, their mouth barely there. A kiss like their very first. It was a beginning. The first of many more. Fire licked through her. It was eating all her oxygen. She felt lightheaded.

“I asked Roscoe to act the part of my brother.” They separated from her but took her hands, squeezing them tight. “He dressed in a naval uniform and sacked Mr. Fletcher using the most martial terms.”

“Isn’t Major Redmayne in the army?”

“Roscoe would have made a better Admiral Nelson, in truth.” They shrugged. “But it worked.”

“That was your pressing business? Sacking Mr. Fletcher?”

They grinned. “And persuading Phipps and Peach to accept the positions of chief steward and resident steward. They’ll have to work together closely. Late hours in the steward’s house.”

She laughed. “You’re very persuasive. But I doubt persuasion was necessary.”

“They seemed keen.” Georgie’s grin widened. “Harry will find out eventually. He’ll shout about the subterfuge. But once he sees that the ends justify the means, he’ll come around.” They paused. “I think.” They gave their head a shake. “Anyway, too late now. At least he’ll appreciate that I’m staying out of trouble.”

She raised her brows. “Staying out of trouble?”

“Staying out of London, at least. And when I’m five and twenty, you and I can go together. You should experience Vauxhall at least once. We won’t stop at London, though. We’ll travel the whole world. Provided I’ve got my estate in order, and your dig has concluded.”

Her dig.

She gripped their hands tighter.

“We could go to Denmark,” they suggested. “Or Norway. Whichever was the home of the Northmen. You’ll be an authority on their nails and buckles by then, and their taste in pillage. You can hobnob with the modern Northmen and get them to take you to their archaeological sites. Meanwhile, I’ll learn how to build one of those dragon boats, so we can sail it back to England. At the very least, we should—”

“I love you.” She kissed them.

“You do?” They looked as dizzy as she felt. “How manifestly unreasonable of you.” They pulled her into another kiss. “It happens I love you too.”

She was on the verge of confessing more, that she had no dig, that it was Papa’s, that it was the Albion Society’s, that she’d travel the world with them right now, if it weren’t for her sisters, and their estate, and Papa’s voice.

She started. Papa’s voice. He was calling her.

Further confessions would have to wait.

But so would Papa. Because Georgie was kissing her again behind the tree, and she preferred to take her time.

—

Papa was so confused by Georgie’s sudden appearance, he forgot to scold Elfreda for her disappearance. And he was so pleased in general, his usually stamping footfalls barely whispered on the ground as he led them both into the house. He was practically floating.

The house was a flurry of activity, antiquaries preparing for the journey south, except for Mr. Incledon, who’d opted to drive to Twynham in the morning, and the Barrow Prince, who wasn’t going south at all. After speaking with Georgie, Nicholas Fluff decided to delay his own departure by a day and ride Georgie’s horse, thereby allowing the animal to rest, and Georgie to join Elfreda and Mrs. Alderwalsey in the carriage.

The return took longer than Elfreda expected. Those spots of dirty weather had grouped together into something filthy, and the night grew filthier near Twynham. It was midnight when they arrived at Marsden Hall, Sir Graham’s carriage a minute behind.

Agnes was awake and must have been listening for the sound of wheels, for she threw open the door before anyone reached it. Mrs. Pegg was also awake, and the twins. Awake and too uproarious to make the reason for the uproar immediately known.

“Talk sense, someone,” demanded Papa, standing in the entranceway, rain dripping from his hat.

Soon, though, it was Mrs. Alderwalsey making demands, and denouncing Papa’s senseless negligence.

Because the ceiling of the blue room had completely collapsed.

33

Over the next week, a great deal happened very quickly. Antiquaries flocked to Twynham from all over England to pore over the hoard and jockey for position vis-à-vis the impending excavation. And Mrs. Alderwalsey drove back up to Marsden Hall, this time with visitors from Surrey: Aunt Susan and her ringleted stepdaughter, Cassandra.

“It does have to be seen to be believed,” said Aunt Susan, pale with horror, as Mrs. Alderwalsey toured her past the wreckage of the blue room, Elfreda and Cassandra trailing behind.