Georgia's face fell—her mouth dropped open, and for a moment, she was utterly speechless.
“Lord Emsworth? Oh no! Amelia! How could he?”
“It seems that Lord Emsworth felt himself owed a marriage. He threatened Papa privately and Papa offered me. I refused, and... one day I was bundled into a carriage and sent to Lord Emsworth's house where you found me. I was to remain there until the banns had been read and the date finalised.”
“A prisoner!”
Amelia nodded miserably, tears filling her eyes now.
“I have so enjoyed being here at Westvale, not having to worry about life with that beast of a man. But, like you, I fear going back. Unlike you, though, I do not think I can simply stand my ground and refuse.”
Georgia seized her cousin's arms fiercely. “Youcanand youwill! You are not property to be disposed of. You have agency and free will!”
Amelia laughed. “I am supposed to be the naive one, Georgia. I have no inheritance coming to me. I am entirely dependent on my father.”
“I do not either, Amelia. I will be a pauper before I...” Georgia stopped, suddenly hearing Amelia's words, “What inheritance?” she asked.
Amelia clapped a hand to her forehead. “Oh my! I was so caught up in my own dilemma that I quite forgot. I was to write to you. Outside of some businesses that were left to Elias, your father left you quite nearlyeverything. Papa has his will. I was in Papa’s office trying to divine how long I had left with this marriage business, how far it had progressed. I found the will in his bureau.”
Georgia reeled. Her past unraveled like the threads from a carpet being unpicked before her. Her time at Silverton had been as a ward to her uncle, a dependent on his household. Reliant on his charity, such as it was.
And all this time, there was an inheritance? All this time, I could have had a house of my own. My brother's house. My parents' house! North Roseton Manor. Uncle Benjamin kept it from me!
“Have I set the cat among the pigeons?” Amelia asked, anxiously, “I did think that this was the kind of thing you must have known about.”
“Known about yet chose to live in the servant's wing at Silverton since I turned eighteen?” Georgia asked archly.
She instantly regretted it. It was not Amelia's fault. She hugged her cousin tightly.
“Do not fret, Amelia. You are safe here under the Duke's protection. And my own. You do not have to marry anyone you do not wish to.”
Keaton sat at a wrought iron table upon the lawn, a cane in his hand and a folded bundle before him. He turned his head as Georgia approached as quietly as she could.
“Your scent rides ahead of you on the breeze. You cannot sneak up on me,” he reminded.
Georgia stopped beside him and kissed his cheek.
“I have linen to dry myself with and a change of clothes in case of wetness. Shall we cross another item from my list?”
Keaton stood, gathering his own bundle and offering his arm. He strode across the lawn towards the woods, cane quartering the ground before him.
“Oh, and did you set the ring aside for Mr. Thorne?” Georgia asked.
“I could not find the wretched thing,” he muttered, “I have tasked the servants with locating it. After all these years, I will not misplace it just when it is needed.”
“I'm sure it fell from a shelf and is sitting in the middle of the floor,” she shrugged.
“I hope so.”
When they reached the trackless depths of the copse that harbored the mere, Keaton hesitated. His cane clacked against an upthrust root and then a stone. Georgia placed his hand upon her shoulder and stepped from the path. It felt warming and reassuring to have his hand upon her like that. Her own lingered atop his, fingers stroking his gently, giving him reassurance as he trusted her to guide him into the unknown.
She called out obstacles, telling him where to put his feet, step up, down, or one side or the other. Their fingers never left each other. Keaton stood close behind her as they moved slowly among the trees, the house becoming lost to sight behind them. She heard the cane fall softly to the ground, and the hand that had held it touched her waist, slipping around her to splay out on her stomach.
Georgia slowed, letting his body touch hers. He held her to him, and she put her hand over his, savoring the embrace. Her head fell back, and she felt him nuzzle into her hair. The air beneath the canopy of leaves was warm, suddenly unbearably so. She closed her eyes, enjoying the heat rising within her and the warmth of the air that held them close.
“We are not at the mere yet,” she reminded him softly.
“Hang the mere,” he retorted, kissing her neck.
