Page 46 of And Then There Was the One
“Yes,” Abigail said airily, not quite meeting her eyes. “I can’t recall where.” She reached for a slice of toast from the rack before her and began buttering it. A moment later, she frowned. “Papa, have you been using the butter?”
Georgie glanced at their father, whose face was, per usual, hidden behind a newspaper. The top of his head was visible, however, and Georgie could see the skin reddening beneath his thin layer of hair.
Abigail, too, seemed to spot this, and take it as confirmation. “You know Dr. Severin said you should be careful about how much butter you eat!”
Georgie opened her mouth, then shut it again, curious to see how Papa would handle this scolding from his younger daughter.
Papa lowered the newspaper and gave Abigail his best attempt at a stern stare (which, to be clear, was not very stern).
“Dr. Severin is young enough to be my son,” he said. “And he seems prejudiced against the finer things in life. It must be that austere Scottish upbringing.”
“He’s from Hertfordshire,” Abigail said smugly. “He merely studied in Edinburgh.”
“Regardless,” Papa insisted, “a little bit of butter on my toast won’t kill me.”
Abigail’s and Georgie’s gazes dropped to the butter dish—where a substantial quantity of butter appeared to have been hollowed out from Mrs. Fawcett’s carefully crafted medallion—and then to their father’s plate, where a half-eaten piece of toast provided clear evidence on what he considered to be a “little bit of butter.”
Abigail reached out her hand and neatly plucked the remaining half of his toast from his plate without asking.
She took a bite. “Delicious,” she said, smiling at Papa. Papa, for his part, swelled like a bullfrog for a moment before rapidly deflating beneath the force of her smile. Within a few more seconds, he was smiling fondly back at her.
And Georgie had not had to say a word.
Hmm.
She cleared her throat. “I think I’ll take Egg on a walk this morning,” she announced, then immediately winced in regret as there was a sudden, frantic scrabbling beneath the table (where Egg had been lurking in hopes of dropped crumbs), and a moment later her beagle was at her side, her soulful eyes staring pleadingly into Georgie’s own. She should have knownbetter than to utter the word “walk” aloud unless she was ready to immediately slip her shoes on and depart. “In a few minutes,” she informed Egg, then offered her a bit of her namesake on a piece of bacon by way of mollifying her.
“I’ll just go wake Sebastian,” she said reluctantly; she had come to the conclusion that she owed him an apology, after leaving things on such an uncomfortable note the evening before, although it was not an enjoyable prospect.
“He went out already,” Abigail said. “He was finishing breakfast just as Papa and I arrived.”
“He did,” Georgie repeated blankly. She had assumed that a man like Sebastian would like a good lie-in. Why did he insist on not behaving the way she expected him to? “Well, that’s… good,” she managed, ignoring the shameful bit of relief that came with the knowledge that she could avoid him for a while longer.
“You know, Georgie, I quite like Sebastian,” Abigail said.
“Based on five seconds’ acquaintance?” Georgie asked waspishly.
“No,” Abigail said, not rising to the bait, “based on all our midnight chats.”
“Midnightchats?” Georgie asked, incredulous.
Abigail nodded, taking another bite of toast. “He’s fond of a late-night biscuit, it turns out, and you know I love a midnight cup of cocoa. We’ve run into each other in the kitchen the past couple of nights.”
Georgie turned to her father. “Papa, do you hear this?” A sudden thought struck her, and she added cannily, “Don’t you think it would be better for Abigail to be in London with AuntGeorgiana, where she’s not likely to run into unmarried men in the kitchen in the dead of night?”
Papa cocked his head thoughtfully. “Given your aunt’s colorful love life, I don’t know that she’d be any safer from that there than she is here.”
This was undeniably true, and Georgie supposed she should have known better than to expect any help from Papa in her attempts to encourage Abigail to spread her wings.
“Besides,” Abigail added serenely, “Sebastian was a perfect gentleman. We simply talked about baked goods—a mutual interest of ours.” She tilted her head at Georgie. “And I do not think thatIam the Radcliffe sister who is at risk of falling prey to his charms.”
Georgie took that as her cue to leave. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, rising to her feet. “I’m old enough to withstand a bit of flirtation from a bored man with nothing better to do.”
“I’m not being ridiculous,” Abigail called after her as she made her exit, Egg trotting eagerly at her heels. “And Sebastian doesn’t strike me as being the slightest bit bored.”
Georgie did not deign to reply, and instead led Egg down the stairs into the kitchen. A nice long walk with the dog and then a morning spent in the garden were exactly what she needed. It would be good for her—remind her of the important work she had to do around here, which would fill her days after the Sebastian Fletcher-Fords of the world, and all the Murder Tourists, had long since fled back to the bright lights of the capital.
After her life had gone back tonormal, in other words.
