Page 27 of A Rare Find

That was Rosalie, so Georgie turned their magnified gaze.

“Irrelevant. I can’t let her disregard our agreement. She must join in the fun. So far, she has avoided us whenever possible. And refused croquet, shuttlecock and battledore, vingt-et-un, levitation, and now bowls.”

Rosalie’s long lashes swept up and down. “Who were we going to levitate?”

“Bagshaw. The butler. He’s heaviest.” Georgie stopped blinking, hypnotized by the dark facets of her iris, and let the quizzing glass slip from their fingers. Rosalie’s eyes shrank back down to normal.

“You can’t understand.” Georgie began to circle Rosalie and Anne. “The two of you are returning to London. And I’ll be left behind. I’ll probably start keeping a diary where I meditate on my digestion. Oh God.” They stopped short, one hand on their stomach, the other on their mouth. “That truly might happen. I’ll start voicing opinions on poultry breeding. And waking at the cock’s crow.” They shuddered.

“It is unimaginable,” said Rosalie. “Burning every bridge in town then getting sent to one’s very own estate to cool one’s heels.” Rosalie smiled, not a nice smile.

The atmosphere was suddenly icy.

Georgie blinked. A moment later, they got the point.

“I’m rather fortunate, I see that,” they said. “How do matters stand with your father’s restaurant? You had that letter the other day, and I meant to ask.”

“Not now,” said Rosalie. “You’re making it so much worse.”

“Inestimably worse,” said Anne, moving closer to Rosalie with a head toss that set her ribbons fluttering.

The look Rosalie shot her was noticeably unappreciative.

“I’m going to be left behind too,” she said to Georgie. “Just as soon as Anne absconds to Tuscany.”

Anne gasped. “What? How can you even think it? You’re coming with me!”

“I’ve told you a hundred times that I’m not.”

“Because we haven’t finished working out the details.”

“Because I’m not.”

This fight was ever present, usually at a low smolder, but when it flared it caught on with wildfire swiftness. Georgie was recalled to themself. They often put their foot in it, but they did have a knack for restoring the mood. They swooped to the picnic basket and extracted two bottles.

“Lemonade won’t help.” Anne was ashen faced, hugging herself. Her desolate expression paired well with the vast, hazy backdrop of checkered countryside and windswept clouds.

“It’s champagne.” Georgie hefted the bottles higher. “I emptied out the lemonade.”

Anne contemplated the bottles. “Champagne might help. I hope you weren’t obvious about it. Mrs. Herridge has a suspicious mind.”

“Her suspicions are always correct, though. Doesn’t that make her mind…something else? Formidable? Accurate?”

This musing was obviously not restorative, so Georgie desisted.

“Well,” they said, “she suspected nothing. I worked a perfect sleight of hand with these bottles. And I presented this outing to her in the most unobjectionably wholesome terms, while emphasizing the grueling, character-building length of the walk. We’re unchaperoned thanks to my magical fingers and silver tongue.”

“Lots of girls thank your magical fingers and silver tongue.” Anne wrinkled her nose. “I won’t add to the number. As much as I appreciate walking about without having to worry if I slouch or perspire or take off my gloves.”

“You won’t have to worry in Italy either,” muttered Rosalie. “No one will be there to dictate your behavior. I hope it’s worth it.”

Anne faced off with her. “Freedom is always worth it.”

“Freedom without love?” Rosalie was staring at Anne so intensely that Georgie had to glance away.

“There’s no love without freedom.” Anne’s voice trembled. “Georgie agrees. That’s why they broke things off with Phipps. The compromise was too great.”

Georgie felt the weight of two pairs of eyes. The wind was cool on the plateau but sweat formed on their brow as the expectancy thickened.