by Julia Quinn
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.
“Heavens, Marian. We’re not going into a brothel.”
Marian’s mouth pinched into a line as she looked up at the sign hanging over the door. “Is Mr. McDiarmid expecting us?”
“Likely not,” Georgie admitted. “But he will know who I am. Lord Manston has been in contact, I believe.”
“You believe.”
“I’m sure,” Georgie said, looking over her shoulder as she stepped out into the street. “It was a figure of speech.”
Marian still did not look convinced.
“He’s probably wondering what has been taking us so long,” Georgie said, giving the edges of her gloves a little tug so they fit smoothly over her fingers. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already found a house.”
“That would be exciting,” Marian allowed. “Although you wouldn’t want to try to take up residence today, would you?”
“No, no, that would be quite impossible,” Georgie said briskly. Tempting, but impossible. For now, she simply had to focus on securing a lease. Everything else would follow.
With one last look at Marian, she marched up the steps and pushed open the door. “Let’s get this done.”
“Oh, that was brilliant!” Georgie exclaimed several hours later. She and Marian had settled into a table at the White Hart—practically around the corner from the anatomical theater where Nicholas sat for his lectures—and were sharing a pot of tea. “Wasn’t it brilliant?”
Marian opened her mouth, but before she could say a word, Georgie answered herself. “It was brilliant.”
Georgie faced the nearby open window and grinned up at the sky, which rewarded her with clear blue bliss. “We have a home!”
“We have a home at Scotsby,” Marian pointed out.
“Yes, but now we have one in Edinburgh. Which makes so much more sense. Mr. Rokesby can’t be riding back and forth every day.”
“He wasn’t riding back and forth every day,” Marian said.
Georgie rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. Scotsby is beautiful, but it’s dreadfully inconvenient.” She laid a hand on her breast. “I’m a newlywed. My place is with my husband.”
“That is true,” Marian allowed. Georgie watched as she fanned herself, still trying to calm her nerves. Georgie wasn’t sure why the maid had been so overcome at the prospect of two women entering the land agent’s office; she had found it exhilarating.
Mr. McDiarmid had not wanted to lease a house to her. He hadn’t even wanted to show her a property. She needed her husband, he said. Or her father. Or her brother. Or someone who could make a decision.
“I assure you,” Georgie had said with all the ice in her veins, “I am fully capable of making a decision.”
Not that Georgie had much ice in her veins, but she’d seen her mother and Lady Manston in action. She knew how to fake it.
“Your husband will need
to sign,” Mr. McDiarmid had replied, his voice as mincy as pie.
“Of course,” Georgie had sniffed. “But he is a very busy man. He has entrusted me to do all of the preliminary viewings so that he might weigh in only when truly necessary.”
Marian had almost gone and ruined the whole thing right then, coughing until her eyes watered. Fortunately Mr. McDiarmid had been distracted enough getting her something to drink that he didn’t hear Georgie when she hissed, “Stop that right now!”
Or when Marian said helplessly, “But Mr. Rokesby hasn’t entrusted you do anything.”
Honestly, Marian was the worst liar.
After another ten minutes of hemming and hawing, Mr. McDiarmid admitted that he had indeed received the request from Lord Manston, and he did have two properties in mind that might do for the young couple. But he absolutely, positively put his foot down at the idea of showing them to a lady without her husband. He absolutely, positively could not even entertain the idea until—
Georgie stood right up and announced that she would find a different agent.
It was remarkable how quickly they’d gone to see the first house after that.
Georgie had known instantly that it would not do. The floor was crooked, and it was painfully short on windows. But the second house—in the New Town Georgie had heard so much about—was perfect. Light, and airy, and ready to be leased fully furnished. The décor was not quite what Georgie would have chosen herself, but it was close enough. And if it meant she could move in sooner rather than later . . .
Blue was just as good as green for a sitting room. Honestly, she did not care.
“Have you had enough tea?” Georgie asked Marian, even though they’d barely been sitting for five minutes. “I want to go find Nicholas. Mr. McDiarmid said he can sign the lease today.”
“He’s going to be very surprised to see you,” Marian said.
“But good surprised,” Georgie said with more certitude than she actually felt. She didn’t think Nicholas would be angry that she’d taken care of the house on her own. But he might not like her coming to Edinburgh without informing him ahead of time. Men were funny that way. Still, what was done was done, and she was eager to share her news.
Mr. McDiarmid had inadvertently shown her the location of the medical school, boasting of its proximity to the houses he was showing her, and so Georgie was confident she knew where she was going as she, Marian, and Jameson made their way to Teviot Place.
Nicholas had told her about the grand anatomical theater, about the steeply tiered seats looking down at the small stage at the bottom. He’d told her that sometimes the lecturer just spoke, but sometimes there was a dead body down there, cut open for all to see.
Georgie wasn’t sure she wanted to see that, but she was eager to see the room where her husband spent so much of his time.
It wasn’t difficult to find the anatomical theater, but as it had well over a hundred men in it, all facing away from her as she peeked through the door, finding Nicholas from among the many was. Georgie was wearing a deep green day dress and a hat that wouldn’t be called fancy in any drawing room, but in this place she was decidedly out of place.
And conspicuous.
But luck was on her side. The bench just outside the door was positioned such that if she leaned over the armrest she could hear almost everything. She didn’t recognize half the words, but the context was helpful, and she was riveted.
“Did you hear that?” she whispered to Marian. Something about blood, and how much of it was in the human body.
Marian closed her eyes. “I’m trying not to.”
Georgie leaned further. Now the lecturer was talking about why blood was red, and how bloodletting was frequently essential to restore balance to the nervous system.
“The body is an animated machine!”
Georgie looked down at her hands. “I suppose,” she murmured.
“What are you doing?” Marian whispered.
Georgie shushed her, tipping her ear back to the open door. Drat, she’d missed something.
“. . . perform a variety of motions . . .”
Georgie opened and closed her hands. All right. She could accept that.
“. . . and to communicate and interact with external bodies.”
Well now, that just made her think of Nicholas.
“We’re leaving,” Marian declared.
“What? No.”
“You’re flushed. I don’t know what they are talking about in there, but I know it is not appropriate.” Marian stood up with alacrity, exchanged a few quick words with Jameson, who had been waiting on the other side of the hallway, and then ushered Georgie right out the building’s door and into the courtyard.
Chapter 21
“Georgiana?”
Nicholas’s heart had nearly stopped when he exited the lecture hall and saw Jameson waiting for him in the corridor. There was no reason why the footman should be here in Edinburgh, much less on the grounds of the medical school.
No reason except an emergency.
Jameson must have seen the panic on his employer’s face, because before Nicholas could get out anything more than, “What are you—” Jameson blurted, “Nothing’s wrong, sir!”
Still blinking with surprise—and yes, concern, even though he’d been assured there was no reason for it—Nicholas let the footman lead him out into the sunny courtyard where his wife waited.
“Georgiana?” he said again. She was chatting with her maid and must not have heard him the first time. “What are you doing here?”
“Nicholas!” she cried with clear delight. She jumped to her feet to greet him. “I have splendid news!”
His first thought was—she’s pregnant.
Except that it was too soon. Not for it to have happened—their recent behavior was of the sort that pretty much guaranteed it would happen. But it seemed too soon for her to know. Maybe suspect, but not know.
And besides, it wasn’t the sort of thing she’d tell him right in the middle of a busy academic courtyard.
He took her outstretched hands, still somewhat suspicious of the joy on her face. “What is it?” he asked.
“Oh, don’t look so concerned,” she said. “I promise, it’s nothing but good news.”
“I am concerned,” he told her. “I can’t help it. I was not expecting to see you here.”
Not to mention that she’d never been to Edinburgh before. She didn’t know her way around the city, and there were many areas that were not safe for a lady. Hell, there were many areas that weren’t safe for him.
“I spoke with Mr. McDiarmid,” she said.
“Who?”
Something impatient flashed across her face, but then she seemed to shake it away. “Mr. McDiarmid. The land agent.”
“Oh, yes.” Damn it, he’d been meaning to go see the man for over a week. It was just so difficult to find time with all of his academic commitments. “My father’s man.”
“No, he’s been in touch with your father’s man,” Georgie corrected. She gave his hands a tiny squeeze before tugging her own away. “I assure you, he’s never met your father in person. If he had—Well, that’s hardly here nor there.”
Nicholas stared at her for a moment, but no, she didn’t seem to have any intention of illuminating that cryptic remark. “Would you please just tell me what is going on,” he said. Honestly, he didn’t have the energy to guess.
“I found us a house!” she exclaimed.
“Why, that’s won—”
But she was far too excited to listen to his congratulations. “He didn’t want to show me anything at first,” she said, probably not even aware that she’d cut him off. “He insisted that you be there, even though I told him that you were terribly busy, and if he wanted our business he was going to need to deal with me.” She paused, rolling her eyes. “He’s really not a nice man, but I put up with him since I just wanted to find a house.”
“You leased a house?” Nicholas asked.
“I haven’t signed anything of course. You need to do that. But I told him that you’d entrusted the search to me and that you would go along with whatever I chose.” Her eyes narrowed a bit, and her lips pressed together before she added, “You’d better like what I picked out, because if you don’t I’m going to look a fool and worse, that awful man will never do business with another woman again.”
“It sounds as if women shouldn’t want to do business with him,” Nicholas said.
“I hadn’t much choice, not if I wanted something right away. Besides”—she flipped her hand in the air in a this-ought-to-be-obvious sort of motion. “I don’t know how to find another land agent.”
They’d likely all be the same way, Nicholas thought. Most men would be willing to do business with a widow, who could sign her own contracts, but not a married lady. Not when her husband could so easily gainsay her.
“How did you get him to show you the properties?” he asked her.
She gave him a cheeky grin. “I told him I’d find another land agent.”
He laughed out loud at that. “Brava,” he told her. “I am impressed.”
“You should be,” she said pertly. She was clearly impressed with herself, and it was stunning how much Nicholas liked seeing that expression on her face.
“Can we go to his office now?” she continued, all brisk determination. “He said you could tour the property this afternoon. I’ve been crossing my fingers that you would be free.”
“I am free, but I don’t need to see it.” Nicholas reached out and hooked her pinkie finger with his. “If you think it’s suitable, I trust you.”
She looked at him as if she could not quite believe his words. “You do?”
“Of course.” He shrugged. “Regardless, it ought to be more your decision than mine. You’ll be there more than I will.”
“Then can we go sign the lease?” she asked, her face lighting with excitement. “He said he’d have it prepared, but I’ll be honest—I’m not sure he meant it. I think he’s half-expecting you to swoop in and give me a tongue-lashing for my impertinence.”
“A tongue-lashing for your impertinence?” Nicholas murmured. “Intriguing.”
