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“I can’t sell a turnip.” Georgina shook back her hair as she did up the final button. “The estate remains in trust until my twenty-fifth birthday. I will rot before then.”

“You’re four and twenty now. You won’t rot in less than a year.”

“I’m four and twenty in June.”

“You won’t rot in thirteen months either.”

“Thirteen months doesn’t seem long to you, does it?” Georgina smiled thinly. “You measure time in centuries. The rest of us measure time in seasons. It’s the Season right now in London. Plays are opening and closing. Dorothy Templeton is usurping my favorite chair at Miss Scarborough’s salon. My friends are gossiping about goings-on I know nothing about. And eating pineapple mousse at Gunter’s. And watching puppet shows at Bartholomew Fair. And going to the waxworks. And getting their fortunes told. And learning how to ride velocipedes. And I’m here, stuck in amber, like a beetle.” She paused. “Like you.” Her smile had faded, and her cheekbones had a faint flush.

Elfreda swallowed. “I am not stuck in amber.”

Georgina shrugged. “And I don’t fritter. I suppose it’s a matter of perspective.”

Elfreda was in danger of losing all perspective. She’d approached Georgina after forbidding her to do the same, and provoked an argument, instead of smoothing things over. And now, instead of gathering her wits, she was scrutinizing Georgina’s face, particularly the shape of her mouth, the peaks of her upper lip and the rounded plushness of the lower.

“I wish I didn’t say what I said. About frittering. And you never coming near me ever again.” This was scrupulously honest, and as close to an apology as she could get. “I propose a truce.” She hesitated. “And ask that you permit me free access to your land. You should, you know, to make amends for the amulet. I won’t dig any holes. I’ll stay out of your way. You’ll hardly notice me.”

The scattered sunlight played over Georgina’s eyes, creating the illusion of emotion in their depths.

Elfreda braced herself for refusal.

“This is for your father?” Georgina asked. “Druid business?”

“I assume by druid business you mean antiquarian investigation.” Elfreda worked to school her temper. An angry outburst would hurt her cause. “I am an antiquary too. An archaeologist. This isn’t for my father’s research. It’s for mine. And also for my grandmother’s.”

“Your grandmother.” Georgina fiddled with her dripping hair while Elfreda maintained a tense silence, tracking a bead of water rolling from her hairline down to her cheek to the corner of her mouth.

“Your grandmother,” repeated Georgina, and sighed. “My mother held her in high esteem.”

This was completely unexpected.

“Did she?” Elfreda gawked. “I had no idea they ever spoke. Grandmama never mentioned her.”

She noticed that the skin around Georgina’s eyes tightened and that her irises seemed frostier. Had her remark partaken of that superiority Georgina loathed? She hadn’t meant to imply that Georgina’s mother was beneath mention. She’d simply stated the truth.

Bother.

“They spoke.” Georgina’s voice was also frosty. “Often. When they met riding.”

That sparked a memory, and Elfreda responded without thinking.

“Your mother rode like the goddess of horses! I used to watch for her from the tower. She wore that red habit.”

“Horses have a goddess?” Georgina scrunched her brow.

“Epona,” Elfreda muttered. She felt silly, but Georgina had tipped her head thoughtfully, the silver frost in her eyes melting into richer blue. Perhaps she was also picturing her mother on horseback. Margaret Redmayne had died young, swept into the North Sea. A tragedy that everyone in the neighborhood had discussed in horrified tones. Unlike her own mother’s death, which happened in such slow stages, no one seemed to register the final event.

“They’d ride together,” said Georgina, “but only in the woods, where no one would see. And they never spoke elsewhere. A Marsden and a Redmayne. They couldn’t call on each other.”

Georgina’s wry smile summoned her own. A Marsden call on a Redmayne. A Redmayne call on a Marsden. Unthinkable.

The discord between their families had never seemed funny. Sharing this bizarrely conspiratorial grin with Georgina suddenly made her want to laugh at all of it.

“My mother always said that the best knowledge is to know yourself.” Georgina’s eyes became unfathomable. “And she said something similar about your grandmother. That she knew herself.”

“Oh.” Elfreda lowered her gaze as a lump formed in her throat. She was moved by the fact of Georgina’s mother’s regard, by the reverberations of her grandmother’s presence. A moment later, she shook her head. Georgina’s mother had overlooked what made Grandmama so extraordinary, just like everyone else.

“Grandmama knew many other things as well.”