Читать книгу Miss Jesmond's Heir - Paula Marshall - Страница 9

The Bowlbys’ fête had been in full swing for some time and still Fitz had not appeared. There was an unexpectedly large number of people present, Georgie conceded, but even so Fitz was such a distinctive figure that she could not have missed seeing him if he were present.

And why in the world, she told herself crossly, should I worry whether His High Mightiness is present or not? Later in the day on which she had gone into the river, the little girl’s father had arrived at the Hall, sent on by Fitz with a short note in his own fair hand saying that Mr Wild was one of his farm workers and had been informed that his daughter owed her life to Mrs Herron’s courage.

Wild’s gratitude to her when she entered the entrance hall where he was waiting for her, the child’s hand in his, was so great that it was embarrassing.

‘I only did what anyone ought to,’ she told him.

‘That’s as may be, but there’s many a fine lady who’d have stood by and let her drown. I shan’t forget what you did, Miss Georgie.’

Nor would Georgie forget Fitz’s kindness in the manner in which he had sent Wild to the Hall in his gig. Yes, that was it. She was in such a lather to see him because she wished to thank him—and for no other reason.

And there he was, cool and confident, not a dandy, but wearing his ordinary clothes after such a fashion that he might as well be one. He was talking to Caro—of course. The Bowlbys had put a chaise-longue out for her and she was reclining on it with her usual airy grace, fluttering her eyelashes and her fan at the handsome man bending over her.

Georgie acknowledged desperately that she would never be able to lie on a sofa and make charming small talk. It was quite beyond her. She had never done such a thing, and now it was too late to learn.

She made her way slowly towards them, using her fan for the day was hot—unlike the one on which she had jumped into the river.

Caro saw her first. ‘Oh, there you are, Georgie. I thought that you might have gone home. This kind of affair always bores her, Mr Fitzroy. Is not that true, my dear?’