Page 4 of A Rare Find

“Georgina,” she croaked. “Damn you.”

She’d imagined uttering those words on innumerable occasions.

Saying them now brought no comfort.

Georgina Redmayne gave her a dazzling smile. “I’ve certainly been trying.”

Elfreda stifled a scream. She punched the pond instead, dredging up another handful of mud.

“Oh,” murmured the young lady, looking between them. “You are acquainted. Georgie, you tried to drown someone you know?”

“I thought she was Rosalie.” Georgina waved a hand. “Something about the hair. From behind.”

“You tried to drown Rosalie.” The young lady sounded outraged. “Your dearest friend. You are a monster.”

“Dunk, not drown.” Georgina sat and tugged off a boot. “She knocked me out of the boat the other day. You weren’t decrying attempted murder then.”

The young lady ignored this.

“Lucky for Rosalie, she escaped,” she said. “Most unlucky for poor…” She trailed off as she picked her way along the bank, her ribboned slippers disappearing in the rushes at the verge. “Should I call you Elf?” she asked Elfreda, bending down, as one did when addressing a child. “I gather you and Georgie grew up together? I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you in town.”

“She doesn’t go to town.” Georgina tugged the second boot, more sharply. “She molders in Marsden Hall. The pile on the hill.”

“The pile on the hill!” The young lady beamed. “I adore it. So picturesque. I’m delighted to meet you, although I understand if you don’t return the sentiment at present. I hope we can renew our acquaintance when we both have dry feet.”

Elfreda didn’t offer her response.

I would rather dry my feet in the fires of hell.

She let the mud in her hands plop into the water.

“I’m Anne,” continued the young lady, undeterred, “Anne Poskitt, of the Halifax Poskitts. Did you lose a ring? A fish might have swallowed it. Fish are always swallowing rings, in fairy tales anyway, which usually have some truth to them. Did you know Bluebeard was a real person? And apples can poison you if you eat the seeds.”

Elfreda made a choking sound as she clawed up more mud. More pebbles. Her head was hot, and her toes were nubs of ice.

“Why were you wearing a ring?” Georgina splashed barefoot into the pond. “Don’t tell me you’re married.”

“I’m not telling you anything.” Elfreda rose to standing, rivulets streaming down her legs.

“Good Lord, you are married. How can that be?”

Elfreda pushed past her.

“Who is he?” Georgina followed. “Did he dress in sprinkled calfskin and trick you into thinking he’s a book?”

Elfreda spun. “You—” She failed to finish the insult. Georgina was an inch away, emanating dryness and warmth, her gaze the blue of woodsmoke. Mesmerizing as a flame.

“Me?” drawled Georgina. “A favorite topic. Go on.”

“Go to the devil,” muttered Elfreda and waded for the bank.

“Not until I find your ring,” called Georgina. “It’s the least I can do.”

“For God’s sake, I haven’t lost a ring.” Elfreda turned back. Georgina stood where she’d been standing, arms crossed.

“You’re not married,” she said, triumphantly smug. “I didn’t think so.”

Elfreda bristled. She was three and twenty, more than old enough for marriage—approaching old maid. All the girls who’d played hoops with Georgina on the village green had been married for years. Certainly, Georgina herself. Whenever she’d been in residence at Redmayne Manor, suitors had arrived from each of the cardinal directions, leaving swathes of flower-denuded meadow in their wake.