Miss Jesmond's Heir. Paula Marshall
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in the water,’ announced Georgie, who was finding that there was something strangely intimate and pleasant in having Fitz examine her bare foot and ankle. That stroking motion, now, as he tried to assess the damage, was quite delightful and soothing. She was sorry when he stopped.
‘No real harm done,’ he pronounced at last. ‘A light sprain only. But I don’t think that you ought to walk on it. I left my horse tethered on the byway. If you will allow me to carry you there, he may take you the rest of the way home. Gus can lead Tearaway and I’ll carry the child. Have you any notion of who she belongs to?’
‘None. The first time I saw her was when she was falling into the river. And you don’t need to carry me. I’m quite capable of walking.’
‘Contrary infant that you are,’ Jess told her pleasantly, ‘you cannot really wish to make a light sprain worse. You will miss the Bowlbys’ fête and the Assembly Room dance if you do.’
‘Infant! Fitz, I’ll have you know I’m an old married woman, or widow rather. A little respect from you would not come amiss.’
But Georgie was laughing while she spoke, her green eyes shining and dancing and Fitz—dammit, he was already beginning to think that was his name—held her lightly against his heart. She was really no weight at all despite the one boot she was still wearing and her sodden breeches. Now that he was holding her, he could feel her shivering.
He sat her down for a moment and pulled off his coat. ‘Wrap that around you,’ he told her. ‘Unwise for you to get too cold.’
‘No need,’ declared Georgie, staring at his magnificent shirt which covered an equally magnificent torso. ‘I’m so wet that I shall ruin it. Though it’s kind of you to offer it, Fitz.’
‘All the more reason for you to wear it,’ he told her briskly. ‘And come to think of it, no one has ever called me Fitz before. Odd that, for one would normally expect it to be my nickname.’
‘Oh, everyone was too frightened of you to give you a nickname at all, I suppose. Have you always behaved as though you were the Lord of All?’
‘Now that,’ he told her severely, joining in with her light-hearted game, ‘is really unkind. I’ve a good mind to drop you and leave you to the wolves.’
‘There aren’t any wolves round here,’ said Gus glumly, ‘and if you did any such thing I’d tell on you to the village constable.’
‘He doesn’t mean it, Gus,’ Georgie reassured him. ‘He’s only teasing me. He’d never do any such thing.’
‘Really?’ said Jess, raising his perfect eyebrows. ‘Care to twit me again and find out?’
They had reached Tearaway; before Georgie could answer, Jess had lifted her on to him.
‘Your breeches do have some practical use,’ he told her. ‘You can ride astride. We’re not far from Pomfret Hall if my map is correct. Once there, you must take a warm bath, put on some dry clothes and lie down for a little.’
‘Orders, orders, always orders, Fitz. What were you in your previous incarnation? An Army officer?’
Something in his expression gave him away.
Georgie said exultantly, ‘Caught. I knew it! You were.’
‘You are,’ he told her, but his voice was kind, ‘the most knowing minx I have ever had the misfortune to meet.’
He had a sudden memory of an occasion on which Ben Wolfe had said something similar to his future wife Susanna. The thought made him smile. Georgie saw the smile. It transformed a face whose expression was usually a trifle severe.
‘What sort of a soldier, Fitz?’ she asked him.
‘The usual,’ he said drily, ‘but that was long ago and not worth the telling.’
‘Long ago,’ exclaimed Gus, delighted to meet a real live soldier. They had been thin on the ground since Waterloo. ‘You must have been quite a babe then.’
‘Indeed, Master Gus. Older than you, though. And green, very green.’
‘Green, Fitz?’ called Georgie from her perch. ‘I can’t believe that!’
‘Believe it, Mrs Georgie, believe it. I may call you that, may I not?’
‘If you will allow me to call you Fitz—though we must behave ourselves in public. There I propose to be good. You shall be Mr Fitzroy with just the slightest stress on the first syllable. You’re not green now, though. By no means. Was that the Army? Papa always said that being in the Army made a man.’
Jess decided to tell the truth. ‘Partly the Army and partly a friend I made in it. And that is enough of me. Since you have questioned me so thoroughly, I believe that gives me the right to question you. Have you always been so downright, Mrs Georgie?’
Silence. She was not answering him. He shifted the child on his arm. Fortunately for his comfort, fright and tiredness had finally sent her to sleep. He wondered why Georgie had suddenly become shy, for she was looking away from him and by the set of her body for the first time since he had met her, her ready wit had deserted her.
‘The truth, Fitz,’ Georgie said at last. ‘You want the truth? The answer is no. And it wasn’t the Army which changed me.’
She had not known how to reply. The question had brought the past rushing back and Georgie hated the past and had no wish to live in it again.
Unknowingly it was something she shared with the man walking alongside her. Suddenly she felt desperately tired and very cold. The exhilaration which had consumed her from the moment Jess had walked into view had disappeared. She shivered, a long shiver. Even his coat could not warm her.
Jess felt the shiver. He turned to Gus and said, ‘Can I trust you, young shaver? We are not far from your home. Do you think that you could carry the child there on your own if I mount Tearaway and gallop your aunt there before she expires with cold and shock? We are on what passes for a main road here and you should not meet with any danger. I’ll have them send a footman in your direction when I reach Pomfret Hall.’
‘No need,’ said Georgie quietly. ‘I am not about to faint, but I do feel so dreadfully cold.’
‘The warm bath, remember,’ Jess said, ‘The sooner you reach it, the better. I shall ride in front of you. Loose the reins and allow me to mount.’
She did not argue with him, which told him that she was in need of his assistance. Nor did he twit her again, but concentrated on encouraging Tearaway to increase his speed so that they might reach Pomfret Hall the more speedily.
‘How like you, Georgie,’ wailed Caro gently, ‘to throw yourself into the river after a chance-met child. I don’t say that it’s not worthy of you, only that it’s foolish. Could you not have sent Gus for help instead?’
‘By which time the child would have been drowned dead for sure,’ said Georgie sturdily, some of her old fire returning now that she was back home and about to enjoy the warm bath which Jess had demanded and Caro had ordered. ‘You didn’t really expect me to sit on the bank and watch her dying struggles?’
Jess watched, amused, when Caro threw him a helpless look, saying, ‘I never know what to expect from you, Georgie, so I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised at this morning’s adventure. Do either of you have any notion of whose child it is?’
‘It,’ began Georgie belligerently, ‘she’s not an it,’ only for Jess to put a gentle hand on her arm and say soothingly,
‘Time to go upstairs, I think. That must be your maid approaching.’
It was. Georgie’s maid, Madge Honey, was in her fifties and had been her old nurse. She arrived in time to hear Georgie fire at Jess, ‘Orders again, Fitz!’ and to say reprovingly to her, ‘Now, now, Miss Georgie. None of that. You’re soaking wet through and there’s a nice warm bath being prepared