Page 10

She went redder and redder, unable to emit a peep.

As a result, Georgina kept paddling in the pond, unaware of her presence, limbs stroking lazily through the water, water that seemed suddenly far less turbid, far more transparent, than memory allowed.

Every now and then she dove, and Elfreda caught sight of her shining back, her rounded rear, and her two bare legs, kicking powerfully to propel her into the depths.

Her head broke the surface, and her bent arms, as she pushed back her hair.

Suddenly, she was standing, and the water was only waist deep.

Elfreda was staring at her biceps, and then at her clavicles, and then at her nipples, small and tightly budded with cold.

A sparkling droplet fell from the one on the left.

“Well met. Or perhaps not in this particular instance.”

Elfreda willed herself to expire on the spot. When that didn’t happen, she looked up, because the only alternative to conversing with Georgina Redmayne was conversing with Georgina Redmayne’s nipples.

Georgina was staring right at her. Her black lashes were spiky with moisture, and her pale irises held a terrible light.

“Per your request, I won’t come near you.

” She slid effortlessly backward, water slipping over her shoulders like a silken cape.

After she’d traveled a few yards, she let her legs sink and treaded water to stay in place.

“However, I can’t stay in here indefinitely.

I’m half-frozen as it is. What’s the solution? ”

Sweat was beading along Elfreda’s hairline. Her breathing sawed. It was like a river-crossing problem from a mathematics text. How can the farmer row his goat and his cabbage to the opposite bank without the goat eating the cabbage and a wolf eating the goat?

This was less complicated. Or was it?

If she walked away, Georgina could exit the water, but she wouldn’t get to ask for her permission to survey the property. If she didn’t walk away, she could ask for permission, but by the time she’d finished begging, Georgina might have turned to ice.

The begging would take a good long while. After all those insults she’d lobbed, Georgina was certain to make her squirm.

She could put her back to the pond. Put her back to it and start the begging now. Georgina could exit the water while she spoke.

Naked.

“I’d swim to the other side,” said Georgina, the patience in her voice drawing attention to the length of the pause. “But my clothing is on that log.”

Clothing was indeed piled on a nearby log. A white muslin gown. A blue spencer. A chemise. Stockings.

“Here’s a solution,” said Georgina, her voice slightly less patient. “I swim to the other side, and you carry over my clothing, depositing it somewhere in the vicinity. You return to the willow and read to your heart’s content. I dress and leave without disturbing you. Agreed?”

Words emerged, finally, from Elfreda’s throat. Not the intended words. “How do you know? About the willow?”

She’d been slipping inside its great green cavern of trailing branches to read since long before Georgina’s final departure to London made it entirely safe.

If Georgina had known, it meant she’d said nothing, done nothing, left her in peace.

But that indicated restraint and consideration. Georgina possessed neither.

“I see you don’t have a book.” Georgina bobbed, weary perhaps of the relentless motion required to keep her chin above the surface. “Why are you here, if not to read?”

She’d avoided answering the question. It was unsettling, irking, and goaded Elfreda to respond in kind.

“Why are you here?” She folded her arms. “Are you really looking for my amulet?”

“Anne.” Georgina tilted back her head and skimmed her hand over the water, sending up an arc of spray.

“Anne Chatterbox Poskitt. Anne told you. It’s always Anne.

How did it come about? She’s been hoping for a tour of Marsden Hall, but I discouraged her from calling. She didn’t attempt to climb the tower?”

“I went to your house.”

Georgina laughed, then sputtered as her chin dipped. “You went to my house? The abhorrent house of your abhorrent neighbor whom you abhor? How droll. Elf, for the love of God. I can’t feel my toes. Either move my clothing or move yourself. I’m getting out.”

Elfreda had failed to cause her own expiry, and now she failed to budge her body an inch. She was trapped by the enormity of another problem some part of her mind had been days at solving without success.

Something interests you . Georgina had made that inscrutable claim in the orchard, after Elfreda had gone lightheaded at her touch, looked Georgina up and down, lost her breath, lost her bearings.

And not an hour ago, she’d witnessed girls beneath a pergola clinging lip to lip, and the tingles she’d felt then were back now, a confused awareness of her own skin, the fast hot blood beneath.

It was all related, connected by a missing piece.

But no. How could it be?

She wanted to kiss Georgina Redmayne.

“I’m counting to ten!”

At Georgina’s shout, she whirled, and the world lagged, as though she’d spun herself out of time and space. She was facing away from the pond, but she could still see Georgina coming toward her, rising from the water.

A moment later, the willow caught up. She was looking at the willow, a mercy. The willow made her heart rate slow. The wind riffled its leaflets and a few showered down. Beautiful willow. A melody of shade played by the sun’s green harp. That’s how Grandmama had described it in a poem.

Kiss Georgina? The desire seemed more distant, more impossible, by the second.

“You do have to tell me why you’re here.” Georgina had reached the log. Elfreda could hear the whisper of fabric as she dressed. “I have a right. This is my land.”

The arrogance in Georgina’s tone had the same irritating effect as always, and that was a relief. Kiss Georgina? Preposterous.

She succumbed to the irritation, gratefully.

“The land is your brother’s. Only he has the right.”

It occurred to her that she should write to the Major, beg permission of him . He could command Georgina’s compliance.

“False,” said Georgina. “My father practiced share and share alike. Harry inherited London, and Kent. I inherited Derbyshire.”

Elfreda’s surprise carried her one hundred and eighty degrees. Thank God Georgina had managed to make herself decent. She was buttoning her spencer, pointed locks of water-darkened hair hanging over her eyes.

“How can he keep you here if you have independent means?” Elfreda glanced at the pond, the ferns, the surrounding trees.

She loved this tranquil clearing, and Grandmama had loved it too, and written poems under the willow, back when it wasn’t an act of trespass.

“You should sell a few acres and settle yourself back in London.”

She wondered at the price of a few acres. Could Georgina be persuaded to sell the land back to Papa, piece by piece? Did Papa have the money to buy?

“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.”