First Comes Scandal (Rokesbys #4)(77)

She nodded, not quite capable of words. This feeling—this love—it was still too new. She needed to give it time, to see how it felt.

“Can we talk about all this in the morning?” he asked. “The house? The land agent, moving to the city? Can we talk about it all later?”

But they didn’t. Talk about it, that was. They were distracted—delightfully so, Georgie had to allow—but that meant that when Nicholas returned to Edinburgh Sunday night, nothing of import had been discussed or settled. And Georgie found herself looking ahead to another week of very little with which to occupy herself.

“There aren’t even books in this house,” she despaired to Marian two days after Nicholas had departed.

“It’s a hunting lodge,” Marian said. She looked up from the socks she was darning. “Do men read when they hunt? I thought they just went around and shot things.”

“We need books,” Georgie said. “We need books, and we need paper and ink, and honestly, I’d settle for embroidery right now.”

“There’s no thread,” Marian admitted. “None that’s suitable for more than mending. We didn’t bring any up from Kent.”

“Why not?” Georgie asked testily.

“You don’t like to embroider,” Marian reminded her.

“I was starting to like it,” Georgie grumbled. She’d liked when she’d made all those even identical stitches. That had actually been, well, maybe not fun, but certainly rewarding.

“I suppose we could pick flowers,” Marian suggested. “Orrrrrr … We could look for embroidery thread. Mrs. Hibbert found a bolt of muslin in the storeroom the other day. Very fine quality, and never used. Who knows what else is hiding there.”

“I don’t want to embroider,” Georgie said.

“But you just said—”

“That’s it,” Georgie announced, because the last thing she needed to hear was an accounting of all her contradictions. “We’re going shopping. First thing tomorrow.”

“In the village?” Marian gave her a dubious look. They’d been to the village. It was charming. And without shops.

“No. We’ll go to Edinburgh.”

“Us?”

“Why not? We have a carriage. We have a driver.”

“Well …” Marian frowned. “I don’t know. I suppose I thought we were meant to remain here.”

“Meant by whom?” Georgie retorted. “Aren’t I the lady of the house? To whom must I answer?”

“Mr. Rokesby?” Marian said.

“He’s not here.”

Georgie’s volume was such that Marian’s face took on an expression of faint alarm.

“He’s not here,” Georgie repeated, this time with a bit more modulation. “I’m in charge, and I say we are going to Edinburgh.”

“But we’ve never been to Edinburgh. Should we not go for the first time with someone who knows his way?”

“The only person we know who knows his way is Mr. Rokesby, and he’s already there. Cheer up, Marian. This will be exciting.”

But Marian did not look excited, and Georgie supposed this was understandable. Marian liked routine. It was part of the reason she and Georgie were so well suited. Until recently, Georgie’s life had been nothing but routine.

“Tomorrow, you say?” Marian said with a sigh.

“Tomorrow,” Georgie said firmly. She was feeling better already.

THEY LEFT EARLY the following day, and were at the outskirts of the city by ten in the morning.

“Oh, look, it’s the castle!” Georgie exclaimed, pointing at the grand fortress on the hill right in the middle of the city.

Marian scooted along the carriage bench to get a better look. “Oh, my,” she said with surprise. “It’s right here.” She looked over at Georgie. “Can we visit?”

“I don’t know. I think it’s used as a prison now.”

Marian gave a delicate shudder. “Perhaps not, then.”

“It may have other uses,” Georgie said. “We can find out. But we don’t have time today, anyway. We have far too much to do. Our first stop is the land agent.”

Marian turned sharply to face her. “What? You can’t do that. Not without Mr. Rokesby.”

Georgie folded her hands primly in her lap. “He has failed to do it without me, so I must take the reins.”

“Miss Georgiana”—Marian had not quite got used to referring to her as Mrs. Rokesby, and truth be told, Georgie had not quite got used to hearing herself referred to that way—“you cannot go to the land agent by yourself. It is not done.”

“It has not been done,” Georgie said with deliberate obtuseness. “That is true.”

“But—”

“Oh, look, we’re here.”

The carriage came to a halt outside a tidy office front, and Georgie waited while Jameson opened the carriage door and secured the steps.

“I’m going in,” Georgie said with steely resolve. “You may come with me, or you may remain in the carriage. But it will certainly be more proper if you come.”

Marian let out a noise that was probably meant to be a sigh. “You will be the death of me,” she muttered.