Page 92 of Every Rake Has A Silver Lining

A laugh flew from her lips at the ludicrous idea.

“Charlotte?” a feminine voice called. Frannie stood before her, a basket of flowers clutched in her hands. “It appears we hadthe same idea. Although I like your choices more than my own. Where in the world did you find a remaining daffodil? I thought they had all died off.”

Charlotte’s gaze darted to the yellow bloom clutched in her hand, ready to make an apology that wasn’t quite an apology. “Hiding among some tall grass over by that oak.” She pointed in the direction she had come. “It reminded me of Simon, so I couldn’t resist.”

Frannie’s eyebrow hitched. “Oh? Because of the Greek myth?”

No wonder Charlotte liked the girl. “Precisely. I hope you don’t mind that I plucked it.”

“Pfft.” Frannie waved the apology away. “You may as well take it and enjoy it while you can. I’m surprised it survived this long.” She held out an arm. “Why don’t you come inside, and we’ll put your selections in some water to keep them fresh. Mama is teaching Georgie to embroider, and I’m sure Mama could use some intelligent conversation, and Georgie would love the distraction.”

Ah, things Charlotte excelled at—both intelligent conversation and embroidery. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“Nonsense. And considering you’re out here by yourself, I suspect Simon is off doing goodness knows what. It’s rude of him to leave you alone on your honeymoon. Mama will have his head.”

“Well, in that case.” Charlotte drew an unhealthy satisfaction from the thought of Mrs. Beckham giving Simon a dressing down for neglecting his new wife. Not that Charlotte minded. She followed Frannie back to the main house, surprised how closely she had wandered to it on her own.

As Frannie predicted, Mrs. Beckham raged in indignation on Charlotte’s behalf as she rang for tea and water for Charlotte’s bouquet. “That boy! He’s usually so considerate, my dear. Ireared him to be better than that. But I will have a firm word with him. Have no fear.”

Frannie shot Charlotte anI told youlook, then excused herself, saying she had some writing to attend to.

Odd, but Charlotte found herself defending her husband. “He did mention something about a favorite fishing spot. And with the favorable weather...”

“He’s probably still trying to catch Big Gus,” Georgie said, poking a needle through a tortured piece of fabric.

“Big Gus? Who, or should I say what, is Big Gus?”

“He’s a brown trout. About as big as me,” Georgie said, not looking up from her tangle of thread.

Charlotte huffed a laugh. “I’m sure you exaggerate.”

“She does,” Mrs. Beckham said. “But only because she’s grown since the last time Gus got away from Mr. Beckham and Simon. It was right before Simon left for the military. Not one to give up on things, Simon is obsessed with catching that fish. So there’s no telling how big Gus is now.”

“If the fish is still alive. Didn’t Simon meet the Duke of Burwood in the military? Honoria said His Grace had been in India for eight years. That is an extraordinarily long life for a fish.”

A maid arrived with a tea tray. Mrs. Beckham poured a cup for Charlotte. “Indeed. Simon enlisted seven years ago.” Mrs. Beckham cast a glance toward Georgie. But Georgie’s attention remained glued to her embroidery. “He met Drake—I mean His Grace—later.”

Curiosity niggled at Charlotte’s mind. Was there something about Simon’s military service she wished to hide from Georgie?

Charlotte sipped the tea, mulling over the possibilities.

“But”—Mrs. Beckham’s attention returned to Charlotte, her smile open and genuine—“I’m sure you are correct, and Gus has gone to the great river beyond.”

Georgie snorted. “Simon says Gus is too mean to die.”

Such ridiculous conversation normally annoyed Charlotte. But at the moment, she found herself enjoying it immensely.

Beth rushed into the room. “Mama! Frannie has taken all my ink and paper. She says her silly novel is more important than my letter to Mr. Thorpe.”

Mrs. Beckham uttered a long-suffering sigh. “Can’t the two of you work something out? I’m trying to help Georgie with her embroidery.”

Beth shook her head. “She’s locked herself in her room and won’t answer me.”

Exhaling another sigh, Mrs. Beckham gave Charlotte an apologetic smile. “These girls will be the death of me. If you will excuse me, Lady Charlotte.”

“If you wish, I can assist Georgie. I’m skilled at embroidery.” Anger flashed through her remembering her father’s overheard words.All women are good for are bedding and embroidery.

“Thank you, my dear.” Mrs. Beckham flashed an appreciative smile, then rushed from the room.

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