Page 63 of A Rare Find

“Ahoy!” he called. “I understand you’re the captain of this outing.”

He jumped down, demonstrating significantly more dexterity than he had the previous day and managing to hold on to his hat.

“I offer myself as boatswain. Harpooner? Yeoman of the sheets!” He was clean-shaven and gave her a lopsided, unconscionably charming smile.

“Yeoman of…?” She blinked at him, then turned to Georgie. “A word.” She dragged them by the elbow several yards down the path toward the woodland.

She stopped, still holding their elbow. Sometimes she held Agnes by the elbow, or one of the twins. This was different. Georgie’s elbow attached to Georgie’s arm, and their shoulder, and neck, and chin, and mouth. Their mouth—it seemed very close.

She let go. “What’s he doing here?”

“He’s staying with me for the time being. Hiding out.” Georgie cupped their elbow absently, their palm where her palm had been, and watched as Lord Phillip climbed back up Holywell Rock. He posed, hands on his hips. Anyone driving down the lane would see his head and shoulders rising above the hedges.

“Hiding from his father,” Georgie amended. “Lord Hartcliffe. If you’re going to cross a viscount, it shouldn’t be him. A swan once had the temerity to defecate near his foot at a garden party and he wrung its neck with his bare hands.”

“That’s horrible.” She tried not to picture it. “But what is he doing here—right now? You didn’t tell him?”

“About the hoard?”

“Shhhh.” She glared.

Georgie lowered their voice. “All I said was that you were keen on historical remains and wanted to take me along on a ramble. I thought historical remains would deter him from joining, but he’s also keen on the stuff. Has an arrowhead collection and everything. I should have remembered that.”

“What a view!” Lord Phillip jumped once more to earth and jogged over. “That pile on the hill—it’s deliciously dilapidated. No one lives there?”

She stiffened.

“Phipps.” Georgie was wincing, on her behalf, which was either mollifying or mortifying, she couldn’t quite tell. “We’d better part ways. You go see about the pile, and we’ll go see about…something else.”

“Something else?” Lord Phillip raised a quizzical brow.

“Something of interest only to us.”

Lord Phillip chuckled. “So! That’s how it is.”

“How it is?” Elfreda inquired. “How is it?”

“You’re in love,” he announced, his index finger waggling from her to Georgie and back to her. “Historical remains, my foot! You want to ramble to some secluded dell so you can have your wicked way with each other in the roses.”

Elfreda went hot from head to toe. She couldn’t look at Georgie. She heard their low laugh.

“I’d never,” they said. “Roses have spikes.”

“Posies, then,” said Lord Phillip.

“Buttercups,” suggested Georgie.

“Violets,” countered Lord Phillip.

Elfreda cleared her throat. “We are not in love.”

Her voice had a strange pitch.

She could feel Georgie’s gaze heating the side of her face.

Lord Phillip shook his head. “You don’t have to lie.”

“I’m not—” she began, but he interrupted with another knowing chuckle.