Page 9 of A Rare Find

Georgie tamped down that train of thought.

Elf was frowning. “Mr. Clutterbuck didn’t mention any ladies.”

“Why else go to Llangollen?” Anne gave a little sigh. It was a rhetorical question, but Elf turned owlish.

“To survey the northern stretch of Offa’s Dyke. The earthwork King Offa built to defend his kingdom from the Welsh.”

“Was this also in the ninth century?” asked Anne brightly, blue eyes slightly glazed.

“The eighth,” corrected Elf.

“King Offa stole his territories from the Welsh.” Georgie smiled. “That makes his earthwork an offense, not a defense.”

A strange look passed across Elf’s face.

“What do you know about King Offa?”

“Nothing,” said Georgie. “But my mother was from Wales, so I know a few things about thieving, murdering Anglo-Saxons and marcher lords.”

Elf’s chin shot up. “I wish there were a dyke between our properties.”

“Let’s build one.” Suddenly, Georgie was laughing. “Why not? I don’t have anything else to do.”

Elf went still.

“I do,” she said. She passed a hand briefly across her eyes. Dirt made lunar eclipses beneath her fingernails.

“I must tell Papa.” She was speaking to herself, gaze turned inward. “An amulet on the bluff. He’ll understand that we need to dig in earnest.”

“I can help.” Georgie offered without thinking first. “You lost the amulet because of me. I’ll find you a new one.”

“A new one.” Elf’s lip curled, and her gaze focused. She stared so hard and long, Georgie’s muscles went rigid.

Five years ago, during their last encounter, they had stared into each other’s eyes. Their faces had come so close that Georgie had smelled the strawberry lemonade on her breath. Their mouths had nearly touched. And then they’d both started in shock.

Another accident. One Georgie hadn’t forgotten.

How did Elf remember that night? That moment?

She was already walking away, arms stiff at her sides, left heel pulling out of her boot with every step.

Georgie gazed at her retreating figure, which seemed so small and fragile, and then up at Marsden Hall—uncountable tons of stone, and the weight of history besides.

God, it was gloomy.

Anne broke the spell. “You could go after her.”

“I don’t want to go after her. I want to go back to London.” Georgie started kicking a new stone down the lane.

“You should go after her.” Anne followed. “It is your fault, about the amulet.”

“It’s Rosalie’s fault.” Georgie sent the stone sailing into the grass. “Where is Rosalie? She was supposed to meet us at the pond. Why aren’t you worried?”

“Because I know where she is. She’s sleeping under the willow. Bedded on the moss like a fairy. Cowslips all around. She looked enchanted, so I didn’t dare to wake her.”

“I dare,” said Georgie darkly, and quickened the pace.

“Yes, you’re very bold.” Anne skipped to catch up. “Soooo.” She drew it out. “Elf.”