“I have decided to follow the lead of Mr. Hutton here and purchase cologne for my father and perfume for my stepmother.”
“How nice.”
“And how will you celebrate the holidays?” Colin asked Eliza.
“Oh, just a quiet observance with my father and stepmother. Church, a good dinner, and a few gifts.”
He smiled. “That does sound ... pleasant, although quiet indeed. We have all been invited to Sea View. There’s to be an evening party on Christmas Eve and a party on Twelfth Night as well. You ought to join us. Your family would not mind, would they, Miss Georgiana? I know it’s not my place to extend an invitation, but they have made me feel like almost one of the family.”
“I could not,” Eliza demurred. “I would not wish to intrude.”
“Your feelings do you credit. Leave it with me. I will talk to Mrs. Summers and fix it up. Temple Cottage, you said? If you will allow me, I shall pay a call soon.”
“Very well. Now I had better rejoin my stepmother. Good day, Mr. Hutton. Georgiana.” She turned and entered the shop.
When the door closed behind her, Colin sent Georgiana a sidelong glance. “I hope you don’t think that was terribly presumptuous of me. But your lovely friend looks like she could use some enjoyment in her life.”
It was on the tip of Georgiana’s tongue to retort that Miss Marriott was not her friend, but she resisted. That would be pettyof her, quite unlike herself, and not completely true. What was wrong with her?
When Georgiana returned home, she went looking for her mother and found her belowstairs with their cook. Mrs. Besley was sitting in a chair, soaking her gouty foot in a tub of warm Epsom-salt water while Mamma sagged against the worktable, displaying none of her usual excellent posture.
Georgie told them what she’d learned about Cora.
Mamma turned to Mrs. Besley to explain who Cora was, and the woman nodded and said, “Oh yes, I’ve heard Miss Georgie speak of her. And I sent chicken soup for the girl’s grandmother, remember? God rest her.”
Mamma turned back to Georgie. “How very sad, my dear. And how kind of you to take an interest.”
“I wish there was more we could do.”
Mrs. Besley clucked her tongue in sympathy. “Has she no other family?”
“Apparently not.”
“Where is she now?” Mamma asked. “I do hate the thought of a girl like her, so recently bereaved, spending Christmas on her own.”
“Mr. Ward said the governors will have to decide whether to send her to the Exeter orphanage. Otherwise, Mr. Jenkins has offered her a situation as scullery maid.”
Mamma frowned and straightened. “A scullery maid! Esther Limbrick’s daughter? I think not.”
Mrs. Besley said, “I don’t like to speak ill of anyone, missus, and the vicar and his wife seem kindly enough, but their cook?” She adamantly shook her head. “I’d not send a sweet little girl into Beulah Browland’s kitchen for worlds.”
“Good heavens. As bad as that? We can do better for the girl, I hope.” Mamma turned back to Georgie. “When are the governors meeting?”
“I’m not certain,” she replied. “But I will find out tomorrow.”
“Be sure you do,” Mamma said sharply.
Georgiana reared her head back in surprise. It wasn’t like her mother to be snappish.
Noticing her reaction, Mamma said more gently, “Sorry, my dear. It’s only that I am anxious for her.”
“I understand.”
Sarah came in, followed by Mr. Henshall.
She looked from Georgie to their mother and said, “Ah, good. Reinforcements. You will both help us prepare dinner, I trust?”
After dinner that evening, Sarah overheard Effie and Georgiana talking—arguing, really—and crossed the hall to the parlour to see what was wrong.
