Page 7 of Otters and Obstacles
“Thank you again, Lord Peter. I don’t know how I can thank you enough for your kindness.”
Peter began to feel a little uncomfortable with the boy’s gratitude. His impulsive invitation for Morley to stay could come with unpleasant consequences if an irate father or guardian turned up on his doorstep with a writ demanding the boy’s return. The last thing the Avondale family needed was another scandal. “It’s the least I can do. Let’s speak no more of it.”
Morley nodded, and fell into step beside Peter as they walked the short distance to the cottage. His mood was alreadynoticeably lighter as he looked around at the countryside. In the distance, laborers moved through the fields preparing for the approaching harvest as flocks of sheep dashed through the valleys below, distantly baaing as they went.
Something was clearly troubling the boy, Peter knew, but he also was clearly not yet ready to confide his troubles. He would need to tread carefully to get the full story and determine the best course of action for both Morley and the otters.
3
That evening after supper, Georgie hovered irresolutely on the threshold of the study as Lord Peter preceded her into the room. She was unsure about the propriety of spending time alone with him in a darkened room at night, even if he thought her to be a man.
She nearly laughed at her own absurdity. She had left propriety far behind and was thoroughly ruined at this point. She may as well take advantage of her new status as a young gentleman.
Lord Peter crossed to a small table by the fire that held a decanter and two glasses. “Sherry?”
“No, thank you. I don’t drink spirits.”
“Do you mind if I do?”
“Not at all. It was Papa’s habit as well.” She abruptly stopped speaking. To her own ears, her voice was obviously feminine. Had he noticed? Should she do more to disguise it?
As Lord Peter poured a small amount of golden sherry into his glass, he gestured to the armchairs set in front of the gently crackling fireplace and Georgie took one after a final hesitation.Lord Peter settled into the other with a sigh, and they sat in silence for a long moment.
Unexpectedly, Georgie felt tears welling in her eyes. It was so like the evenings at home with Papa, him sipping his brandy while she read the latest responses from his scientific colleagues aloud and helped draft his replies. Some evenings, she would read him a novel. Papa enjoyed Fanny Burney, while Georgie preferred Maria Edgeworth. The only thing missing were the otters lightly snoring in a basket next to the fireplace, exhausted after another day of mischief.
“Are you all right?” Lord Peter said.
Georgie drew a shuddering breath. “I miss my father.”
He set his glass down and leaned forward, his eyes full of sympathy as he propped his elbows comfortably on his knees, hands clasped as he prepared to listen. “How long ago did he die?”
“Nearly six months.” It seemed both far distant, and only a few days ago. It was a small reason to resent her cousin, but she had added it to her list of grievances: she had nearly been ready to discard her blacks for half-mourning when she had been forced into men’s clothing.
But for whom would she have worn it? Her cousin clearly had no interest in finding her a husband since he expected her to be an unpaid nanny and governess for his ever-expanding family. She couldn’t find work on her own as a governess. Her education was too narrow, and unfeminine into the bargain. At best, she might find a girls’ school that needed a German or Latin teacher, but the odds were against her. And she had no references to help her gain that sort of employment in the first place.
A thought she had been pushing away since her reckless flight from Sussex sprang out at her again. A companion—or a teacher—who arrived with three wild animals in tow might wellbe turned away on the spot. Very few such positions would allow an employee to keep any pet, much less an exotic one.
Even if she accepted failure and returned to Sussex, it was no longer home for her, no more than it was for her otters. And none of them would be safe there.
The thought only depressed her more.
“I’m sorry,” Lord Peter said, the deep timbre of his voice soothing her. “I didn’t mean to stir up sad memories.”
She sat up straight, squaring her shoulders. “It’s in the past,” Georgie said with assumed briskness. “There’s nothing left for me there now. I must make my own way in the world.” She meant the words to sound bracing, courageous, but they sounded like bravado even to her own ears.
Lord Peter hesitated, then said, “I don’t understand why you did not inherit your father’s estate. Do you have an elder brother?”
“I…” Georgie frantically wracked her brain for a possible explanation before saying stiffly, “That is none of your business, Lord Peter.”
He regarded her for a long moment with a compassion that both wrung her heart and made it pound with panic. At last, he said, “I hope you will come to trust me. I only want to help.”
“I know,” Georgie said, and clamped her mouth shut. She wanted to pour out all of her fears and worries, to have him soothe and comfort and advise her. She had had no one to confide in since Papa died, and Lord Peter’s gentle concern made her want to crawl into his lap and let him hold her while she told him everything, her whole story. Her whole life.
But picturing his horror at her masquerade stilled her tongue. Even if she did tell him everything, what could he do other than send her away as quickly as possible? She would have to pack her bag that very night and move on… otterless.
After another long pause, Lord Peter said, “Would you like a game of chess?”
“Yes,” she said with relief. “Very much so.”
