Page 40 of A Rare Find

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“I was an ass,” said Georgina, sitting down in the chair beside her. “With you, and with the sheep. I’m sorry for what happened.”

She gave a small shrug. Was it really that much more Georgina’s fault than her own? She’d howled too. She’d felt for an instant like a wolf, like Miss Poskitt’s version of a wolf. A wild, free, beautiful creature. She’d understood, too, for an instant, the glory of the pack, her hand in Georgina’s, Miss Poskitt and Miss Mahomed grinning fiercely on either side, their hearts all beating as one.

Her heart was beating now, faster than it should be.

She cleared her throat. “I was glad to hear that Miss Poskitt will make a full recovery.”

An understatement. She’d been haunted by the image of Miss Poskitt lying so still in the grass, her face that deathly shade of white. Her face stayed pale and set, and her eyes closed, even as the farmer had hoisted her into his arms. Elfreda hadn’t followed him as Georgina and Miss Mahomed had; there was nothing she could do, and she had papers to chase. But the blood crashing in her ears had mimicked Miss Mahomed’s agonized cries.

Anne! Oh, please no, Anne!

Yesterday, she’d almost called at Redmayne Manor, but Papa’s prohibition, and the thought of facing Georgina, held her back.

Georgina exhaled, their own relief plain. “There’s only a small fracture.”

“I’m glad.” Elfreda repeated herself, and colored slightly at her inanity. “Miss Mahomed feared she’d lose her leg.”

“Rosalie is quick to predict amputation. She grew up playing with her father’s bone saws. He is the proprietor of the Patna Public House, but he was once a surgeon in the Bengal Army. And also”—Georgina hesitated—“she’s in love with Anne. Being in love makes a person go to extremes.”

Were they speaking from personal experience? Had Georgina ever been in love?

Maybe she looked at them too searchingly. Their pale eyes seemed to flicker, and they plucked their reticule from the soup bowl and untied the drawstrings.

“For you,” they said, withdrawing a wad of folded paper. “Five pages. A little worse for wear.” They pushed away their place setting, unfolded the papers, and pressed them flat on the table.

Grandmama’s familiar handwriting soothed her like a friendly face.

She reached for the papers. “Thank you.”

Georgina slid the papers away. “This one.” They rearranged the order. “I am interested in this one here.”

She frowned at their long fingers moving capably and possessively through papers that didn’t belong to them. When they showed her the page they meant, her frown faded, and she sighed with resignation.

“That’s from the section on the heathen men,” she said. “Which I told you about.”

“You didn’t mention treasure.”

Of course it was that very page.

“The story of the hoard is relevant in the context of the army making camp in Twynham. The camp is the priority.” Not that she hadn’t daydreamed about a heavy coffer, lid swung open to reveal a great cache of precious objects.

Georgina nodded. “And you require the assistance of the Barrow Prince to uncover it. Which he will happily provide.”

He wouldn’t. She’d all but reconciled herself to the missed opportunity. And she knew better than to entertain Georgina’s flippant remarks. But she couldn’t help but ask. “And why, pray tell, is that?”

“Because I will share my own passionate support for the endeavor.” They grinned. “I am irresistible when I choose to be.”

She let this pass. “How? He is bypassing Twynham.”

“I’ll go with you to the Peak.” Georgina said it like it was the most reasonable thing in the world. “Is there room in the carriage?”

There would be, with Papa, Sir Graham, and herself, room for one.

“Not for you,” she said. “Papa would never…”

Georgina cocked a brow. Their smugness was such that they thought it adequate to say nothing, to let her draw her own conclusion.