Page 64 of A Rare Find

“There’s no scandalizing me. I’ve tumbled half the House of Commons. Oh, no.” He paused, wearing an expression of concern. “Did I scandalize you? When I say tumbled half the House of Commons, I don’t mean all at once. It was one by one, for the most part. The work of several years.”

He said it modestly.

She couldn’t think how to respond. “Congratulations?”

“Thank you.” He bowed. With his square jaw and mop of curls, he looked a bit like Antinous, the handsome young lover of Emperor Hadrian. But perhaps she was imposing a family resemblance on men who desired men. She’d never met one in the flesh. Or she had and hadn’t known. People didn’t speak of such things. People rarely wrote of such things, not directly.

Years ago, she’d read the story of Ruth and Naomi and felt a thrill. Whither thou goest, I will go. The poetry of it had moved her. But until she’d glimpsed Miss Poskitt and Miss Mahomed entwined in the bower of bliss, she hadn’t fathomed all the possibilities. All the ways devotion between women might manifest.

You’re in love, Lord Phillip had said, pointing at her, at Georgie.

And Georgie hadn’t contradicted him.

She risked a glance. Georgie stood with their arms crossed, looking at her. The morning was cloudless, and their eyes should have shone, but instead, they smoldered, dark with emotion.

Because she had contradicted him?

But she wasn’t in love. Georgie wasn’t in love. Someone had needed to correct the misapprehension.

“Miss Marsden—it’s Marsden, isn’t it?” Lord Phillip interrupted her thoughts. “Let’s elope.”

Her head whipped around. “Pardon?”

He was smiling even more charmingly than before. “Separate bedrooms. No relations. No relations with each other, that is. Anyone else is fair game. Unfortunately, Georgie can’t pose as your lady’s maid. Everyone knows them in town.” He tapped his chin. “If Georgie would elope, you could pose as their lady’s maid. That would simplify things.”

“Georgie will not elope,” said Georgie. “Georgie could have married you at St. James but decided death first.”

“I know I was bossing you.” Lord Phillip looked contrite. “I promise, as my wife, you can dress however you want—in private. You can go about the house in trousers. You can go about naked. Just draw the curtains. You can even act. Not in England, because my father might catch wind of it. On holiday, though. We can spend the winter in Italy! They must want English actors. It’s so hard to understand Italian.”

“No.” Georgie’s arms remained firmly crossed. “Be grateful I haven’t turned you out of my home. I will, if you bring this up again. And don’t pester Elf about eloping either. Unless…” They tipped their head. “Elf, do you want to marry Phipps? It’s not for me to decline on your behalf.”

Elfreda’s ears were ringing. Nothing in her life had prepared her for a proposal from a stranger, let alone a future viscount with a swan-murdering father and male paramours in Parliament.

She didn’t feel scandalized so much as saturated. She couldn’t absorb anything else.

“I want to take a walk,” she said, and hurtled down the path. By the time she’d reached the river, she’d slowed her pace, and Georgie and Lord Phillip had drawn up alongside her, bickering.

She passed out of the woodland, into the sun, and followed the gleaming river through the meadows.

“Blast!” Georgie gripped her arm. By Lord Phillip’s yelp, they’d gripped his too. “Did he see us?”

Elfreda looked. The enormous farmer with the cart, who’d come to Miss Poskitt’s aid—he was cutting across the pasture toward the river.

The two trajectories—hers and the farmer’s—were going to intersect by the packhorse bridge.

“La!” Lord Phillip craned his neck. “He’s strapping.”

“He’s my tenant.” Georgie’s hand was still tight around Elfreda’s arm, and they were walking faster. “He wants to feed me to his cows.”

“Why? Are you beastly to the tenantry?” Lord Phillip tutted. “I wouldn’t have suspected.”

“I didn’t know I was.”

“Oh, you’re one of those.”

“Maybe.” Georgie’s hand released. “What defines one of those?”

“You own the land. But blame the mismanagement on the steward.”