Page 12 of And Then There Was the One
“A bit.” Georgie hesitated, then added. “Quite a bit, actually.”
“Well, how old is he?”
“I’m not any good at estimating those sorts of things,” Georgie said cagily.
“Take a wild guess.” Abigail’s tone was not the sort that would brook any refusal.
“Perhaps… thirty? A bit younger?”
Abigail looked mildly incredulous. “And yet I’m the one who’s at fault for asking Dr. Severin to treat my hay fever?”
“Well,Ihave no romantic designs on Mr. Fletcher-Ford,” Georgie shot back. “Which is more than I can say for you and Dr. Severin.”
“Fletcher-Ford, Fletcher-Ford,” Papa murmured. “Why does that sound familiar…?”
“He went to Cambridge,” Georgie said. “Perhaps you knew his father?”
“I wonder if he’s any relation to Alastair Fletcher-Ford,” Papa said thoughtfully. “He’s a classicist, and if I recall has an interest in radical politics. His wife was a suffragette.”
Georgie considered the man of the blinding smile and expensive knitwear she’d met earlier that day, and shook her head skeptically. “I’m not certain it’s the same family, Papa…”
“Ah, well, we’ll find out soon enough!” Papa said brightly. “If he’s a Cambridge man, then of course he must stay with us—it’s the only decent thing to do! I wonder which college?”
“I couldn’t say,” Georgie said a bit wearily.
“Nothing like a bit of masculine company to liven things up,” Papa said, reaching for the heavily thumbed paperback sitting next to him on the table.
“Unbelievable,” Abigail said, throwing her hands up. “A young man from London with a double-barrel surname is coming to stay at Georgie’s invitation, and that’s that? Does he drive a Rolls-Royce? Is he going to seduce the housemaids?”
“We don’t have any housemaids,” Georgie said, privately reflecting that, given Fletcher-Ford’s charms, that was rather a blessing. “And you can meet him later this evening. Perhapsin the meantime you can consider Aunt Georgiana’s offer some more.” Georgie did not like the stubborn set of her sister’s mouth, though, and suspected she might need to enlist reinforcements in this battle—not, she thought with an internal sigh, that she could expect much help from either Papa or Mrs. Fawcett, who both babied Abigail something dreadful, and would no doubt be appalled by the notion of her being away from home for any duration. She’d need to look farther afield for allies.
“Where are you off to, love?” Papa asked, as Georgie made as if to leave the room. “You just got home.”
“I’m just here to fetch Egg,” Georgie called over her shoulder. “I’m giving Mr. Fletcher-Ford a tour of the village this afternoon.”
“How professional,” Abigail said sweetly, and Georgie shot her a venomous look. “I cannotwaitto meet him, Georgie.”
“Neither can I, love,” Papa added, patting at his head, once again engaged in a futile search for his reading glasses.
And Georgie—who suddenly wanted nothing more than to delay that meeting for as long as humanly possible—decided that Mr. Fletcher-Ford was going to get the world’s most thorough tour.
CHAPTER FIVE
Mr. Fletcher-Ford was waiting for Georgie by the time she and Egg made their way back into the village. He was lounging against the low stone wall outside the Sleepy Hedgehog, which was directly opposite the Scrumptious Scone, his arms crossed over his chest, nodding at passersby and offering flirtatious smiles to every woman he saw, regardless of age.
“Miss Radcliffe,” he called, straightening as she approached. She didn’t know what to make of the fact thatshewas not the recipient of one of these smiles; she should probably be gratified and take it as a sign that he respected her as a colleague and an equal. So she insisted to herself, at least.
“And who is this?” he asked, an expression of unalloyed delight crossing his face at the sight of Egg, who trotted next to Georgie with a spring in her step. Despite her age, Egg enjoyed outings, so long as it wasn’t too rainy… or warm… ormuddy… or snowy… or cold. So, on approximately one day out of every fortnight, she was absolutely overjoyed to be at Georgie’s side. Her tail wagged enthusiastically at the sight of Fletcher-Ford, who crouched down with open arms to make her acquaintance.
“This is Egg,” Georgie said, watching as dog and man greeted each other like long-lost relations. Egg licked Fletcher-Ford’s face. He stroked her ears. She barked once in joyful greeting. He rubbed her side, in just the spot that made her lean against him and seem to temporarily lose all strength in her legs.
So much for loyalty,Georgie thought, watching her dog topple onto her side in the middle of the road, her adoring gaze fixed upon Fletcher-Ford.
“The finest of all breakfast foods,” Fletcher-Ford said, continuing to massage Egg’s side as she stared at him lovingly. “And the finest of all dogs.”
“Aren’t you worried about muddying your trousers?” Georgie asked with some acidity.
“I send my laundry out,” Fletcher-Ford said absently, giving Egg one last hearty pat before rising to his feet. He was a good half foot taller than Georgie, which annoyed her.Everythingabout this man annoyed her.
