have enlisted on his own.
Suspicion, once admitted, grows quickly. Hunger to know the truth about that night and the day after took hold deep in her gut. The past stood in the way of Andrew’s cooperation with her translations, and she wanted his help, wanted it badly. She needed him.
She stopped pacing and forced herself to be at ease. He would come to Mrs. Potter’s on Sunday. Then she would see him.
Chapter 7
“See, Geoff, one of our guests has arrived,” Mrs. Potter chirped when Georgiana presented herself for dinner.
One? Georgiana raised an eyebrow in question. Mrs. Potter gave a slight shake of her head in answer. Andrew hadn’t come.
“This is my grandson, Geoffrey Dunning,” the old woman went on.
A large man, tall and broad shouldered, stood to greet Georgiana. He wore a modest gray suit, a simply knotted neck cloth, and a stern expression. Mrs. Potter’s grandson looked very ill at ease, but he bowed over her hand. “Honored to make your acquaintance, my lady.”
His formality felt oddly out of place in his grandmother’s parlor. Any other time Georgiana might have sought to put him at ease, but preoccupation with Andrew absorbed her.
No one mentioned him. Georgiana looked around the tiny parlor as if by doing so she could conjure him up, flesh and blood, sipping sherry on Mrs. Potter’s pink flowered settee, but he wasn’t there.
“Shall we sit for a while?” Mrs. Potter said. “Geoff is a Fellow, you know.” The forced sound of her cheer began to grate on Georgiana’s nerves.
Georgiana’s eyes strayed to the door. It would be better, she thought, if he didn’t come. She forced a stiff smile and made a stiffer reply. “Have you been at the University long, Mr. Dunning?”
There would be no confrontation with Andrew tonight. Even if he came, she couldn’t ask the man about something so personal in front of an audience.
Dunning’s answer was monosyllabic. Georgiana wondered if he knew of her unfortunate encounter with Watterson and disapproved. Georgiana tried to dismiss the thought that Dunning might be as big a fool as Watterson because it seemed unworthy in her hostess’s sitting room, especially since Dunning was Mrs. Potter’s grandson. She tried frantically to find polite conversation.
Mrs. Potter leapt into the breach. “Geoff has lived in or near Cambridge his entire life. Do you remember, my dear, that my darling Henry was a canon at Great Saint Mary’s?”
“Yes, yes, of course!” Georgiana grabbed on to the gambit. “What was it like, as a boy, in this wonderful town?”
The opening was broad enough. Dunning and his grandmother began to toss humorous anecdotes at one another while Georgiana stared into her teacup. Her thoughts strayed back to Andrew. Ideas planted by her visit with Jamie had fermented for three days. They created a heady brew of self-doubt and anger. She wanted nothing so much as to confront Andrew and demand the facts.
What could I say if Andrew did come? Pardon me, Mrs. Potter, while Mr. Mallet and I reminisce about an intimate moment.
Mrs. Potter asked Georgiana to pour tea. Georgiana stretched her lips in an attempt at a smile and held it out to the old woman. Her eyes continued to move to the door, which remained firmly closed.
Georgiana envisioned Andrew in that door, black cape billowing and dark eyes. Perhaps I would simply confront him with, “Tell, me, Andrew, did you care at all, or did lust and moonlight intoxicate you?” That, she knew, wouldn’t do at all.
Georgiana regretted coming. She knew she couldn’t ask the question that preyed on her mind, not in company anyway. Who sent you away Andrew? I demand to know.
They passed an hour in awkward conversation, guided by the old woman, until Georgiana and Dunning found common ground in conversation about Socrates. Dunning, she suspected, hid surprise at her knowledge behind well-developed manners.
The knock came while they finished a final glass of sherry, one more than was
Suspicion, once admitted, grows quickly. Hunger to know the truth about that night and the day after took hold deep in her gut. The past stood in the way of Andrew’s cooperation with her translations, and she wanted his help, wanted it badly. She needed him.
She stopped pacing and forced herself to be at ease. He would come to Mrs. Potter’s on Sunday. Then she would see him.
Chapter 7
“See, Geoff, one of our guests has arrived,” Mrs. Potter chirped when Georgiana presented herself for dinner.
One? Georgiana raised an eyebrow in question. Mrs. Potter gave a slight shake of her head in answer. Andrew hadn’t come.
“This is my grandson, Geoffrey Dunning,” the old woman went on.
A large man, tall and broad shouldered, stood to greet Georgiana. He wore a modest gray suit, a simply knotted neck cloth, and a stern expression. Mrs. Potter’s grandson looked very ill at ease, but he bowed over her hand. “Honored to make your acquaintance, my lady.”
His formality felt oddly out of place in his grandmother’s parlor. Any other time Georgiana might have sought to put him at ease, but preoccupation with Andrew absorbed her.
No one mentioned him. Georgiana looked around the tiny parlor as if by doing so she could conjure him up, flesh and blood, sipping sherry on Mrs. Potter’s pink flowered settee, but he wasn’t there.
“Shall we sit for a while?” Mrs. Potter said. “Geoff is a Fellow, you know.” The forced sound of her cheer began to grate on Georgiana’s nerves.
Georgiana’s eyes strayed to the door. It would be better, she thought, if he didn’t come. She forced a stiff smile and made a stiffer reply. “Have you been at the University long, Mr. Dunning?”
There would be no confrontation with Andrew tonight. Even if he came, she couldn’t ask the man about something so personal in front of an audience.
Dunning’s answer was monosyllabic. Georgiana wondered if he knew of her unfortunate encounter with Watterson and disapproved. Georgiana tried to dismiss the thought that Dunning might be as big a fool as Watterson because it seemed unworthy in her hostess’s sitting room, especially since Dunning was Mrs. Potter’s grandson. She tried frantically to find polite conversation.
Mrs. Potter leapt into the breach. “Geoff has lived in or near Cambridge his entire life. Do you remember, my dear, that my darling Henry was a canon at Great Saint Mary’s?”
“Yes, yes, of course!” Georgiana grabbed on to the gambit. “What was it like, as a boy, in this wonderful town?”
The opening was broad enough. Dunning and his grandmother began to toss humorous anecdotes at one another while Georgiana stared into her teacup. Her thoughts strayed back to Andrew. Ideas planted by her visit with Jamie had fermented for three days. They created a heady brew of self-doubt and anger. She wanted nothing so much as to confront Andrew and demand the facts.
What could I say if Andrew did come? Pardon me, Mrs. Potter, while Mr. Mallet and I reminisce about an intimate moment.
Mrs. Potter asked Georgiana to pour tea. Georgiana stretched her lips in an attempt at a smile and held it out to the old woman. Her eyes continued to move to the door, which remained firmly closed.
Georgiana envisioned Andrew in that door, black cape billowing and dark eyes. Perhaps I would simply confront him with, “Tell, me, Andrew, did you care at all, or did lust and moonlight intoxicate you?” That, she knew, wouldn’t do at all.
Georgiana regretted coming. She knew she couldn’t ask the question that preyed on her mind, not in company anyway. Who sent you away Andrew? I demand to know.
They passed an hour in awkward conversation, guided by the old woman, until Georgiana and Dunning found common ground in conversation about Socrates. Dunning, she suspected, hid surprise at her knowledge behind well-developed manners.
The knock came while they finished a final glass of sherry, one more than was
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