“Goodness me,” Georgiana said, shivering. “I hate thunder and lightning.”
James nodded. “I am not fond of it either. The thunder reminds me of the war. Let’s go upstairs. I fear it may be difficult to get you back to the village if this keeps up.”
“Yes, my lord. Good idea.” She really hoped it wasn’t as bad as it sounded from down here.
*
By the timethey reached the main floor, sheets of rain crashed against the windows, turning the drive to soup and the garden paths to rivers. Cecily stood in the front hall, looking worried and pale.
“How will we get back to the village in this?” Cecily asked. “And the lightning’s terrifying.”
Georgiana’s stomach clenched. Since Robert’s death, Cecily had been frightened of storms. It was no mystery as to why. If the storm had not come that day, Robert would not have fallen from the scaffolding. That day had changed everything for Georgiana and Cecily. They’d thought they were safe but Robert’s death had been just another sad twist of fate in their lives. Now, it was up to Georgiana to make sure her baby sister was well taken care of. Doing well on this project was important in so many ways. Creating a reputation as being one of the best in her field was the only way she could continue working. There were only so many times she could trick a client into thinking he was signing with a male architect.
James stepped back from the window. “I don’t want you out in this. It won’t be safe. You’ll have to stay the night. I’ll find cots and set them up for you in the study. I have bread and cheese from the shops in town and ale. We’ll make it a party.”
“I don’t know,” Georgiana said. “We hate to put you out.”
“It would put me out worse to have you perish in a carriage accident,” James said.
A sudden, sharp knock echoed through the manor.
Then a louder one.
“Who could that be?” James crossed the hall to the front door, brow furrowed. “No carriage could make it up that road in this mess.” His voice was tight, wary. “It may be trouble. Stand aside until I assess the situation.”
Another knock thumped—this time with a string of muttered curses audible behind it, colorful enough to make a sailor blush. But if she weren’t mistaken, the voice belonged to a woman.
James opened the door, one hand resting near the small of his back where Georgiana suspected a pistol might be concealed. “Mrs. Honeycutt? What in God’s name are you doing out in this weather?”
“Took you long enough to open the door, young man. I could catch my death out there.” In stepped a woman shaped like a pot-bellied stove, round in the middle with twiggy limbs. Her soaked cloak clung to her like seaweed, unruly copper-red curls escaping from a dozen metal pins, cheeks bright red from the wind. Water pooled instantly around her mismatched, mud-caked boots, creating a small lake on the once-fine marble floor.
“I’ve come to save you from starvation and by the looks of you, I’ve come too late. You look awful.” The woman’s voice was like a market bell, booming yet musical, as if she were always halfway through a story worth hearing. She sniffed the air. “This place is a wreck. I hope the architect you’ve hired knows what he’s doing.”
James tugged at the collar of his shirt, making him look momentarily boyish. “Mrs. Honeycutt, this is Mrs. Fairfax, my architect, and her assistant, Miss Cecily.”
Mrs. Honeycutt turned her attention toward them, her sharp blue eyes taking in every detail as laugh lines crinkled at their corners. Sheseemed not to have realized they were in the room until just that moment. “She’s a she?”
“Correct.” James’s tone left little room for further questioning. “You’re not supposed to arrive until tomorrow.”
Mrs. Honeycutt scowled for a second, her broad shoulders squaring beneath her patterned gown—at least two decades out of fashion and looking suspiciously like repurposed tavern drapery. Then she grinned, transforming her round, ruddy face. “Well, I’ll be. A woman architect. I never knew such a thing was possible.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Georgiana said, catching the distinct scent of rosemary, roasted garlic, and rain that seemed to emanate from the woman’s very being.
Cecily stepped forward to greet the robust woman. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Honeycutt.”
“Mrs. Fairfax. Miss Cecily. The pleasure’s mine,” Mrs. Honeycutt said.
“Why are you here a day early?” James asked, holding out his hands for her drenched cloak.
Mrs. Honeycutt dropped her basket with a dramatic thump. “I had a little trouble back home that made the need for my departure somewhat hasty.” Her sharp eyes turned to Georgiana, then Cecily, assessing them with the practiced gaze of someone who had spent decades determining who needed feeding and how much.
“You’re both as skinny as one of those whippet dogs. You need some meat on your bones. Thank goodness I’m here. I may not look fancy but I know how to cook.” She smirked and crossed her arms over her ample chest. “I’ll say it’s a real step up in the world to be cooking for a Lord. I won’t miss kicking drunks out of the tavern, now will I?”
“Why are you on foot?” James asked, his tone a mixture of disbelief and admiration.
“Well, let me tell you, I’m lucky to be alive.” Mrs. Honeycuttshook out her skirts, sending droplets flying across the entryway like a dog after a swim. “Carriage went sideways on our way here and I told the useless driver I would find my own way on foot.” She paused to catch her breath, wild wisps of silver and copper hair dancing around her face. “I’m not afraid of much, but the man was reckless and incompetent. Not a good combination, if you know what I mean? I could’ve been killed.”
Cecily coughed behind her hand, clearly trying to contain her laughter.
