Simeon surprised everyone that afternoon by casually announcing he was the sole beneficiary of a distant great-aunt’s will.
“A gold mine? In Wales?” Mother echoed, almost dropping her teacup in astonishment.
Simeon, unaware of the magnitude of the grenade he’d so casually exploded in the drawing room, gave an absent-minded smile and gazed soulfully at Juliet. “Hmm? Oh, yes. Great-Aunt Wilhemina. I was always a favorite of hers. I used to send her a poem every year on her birthday. Hard name to rhyme, Wilhemina. Anyway, it turns out she’s left the whole thing to me. Lock, stock, and barrel, as they say. She said I was the only one in the family who would appreciate the romance of the place.”
“What’s it like?” Juliet breathed, at the same time as Mother said, “Does it produce any income?”
Simeon answered Mother first. “Oh, yes. Around five thousand a year, by all accounts. There’s a house and some land and whatnot too.” His wispy mustache twitched as he took Juliet’s hand. “Actually, when I say ‘house,’ it’s really more of a castle. It has turrets. And a moat.”
Juliet looked as though she could scarcely breathe for excitement. “A castle?” she sighed. “You own an honest-to-goodness castle?”
“Near Carmarthen. Built in the 1200s, parts of it. Legend has it there’s even a cave nearby with a dragon.”
“There aren’t any dragons in England,” Juliet whispered.
“This is Wales,” Simeon said. “They have a dragon on their flag. Who knows what we’ll find?”
“That is excellent news, Mr. Pettigrew.” Mother helped herself to another biscuit in delight. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am that you will have the means to support Juliet in the manner she deserves. I only wish you might have told me of your improved financial status earlier.”
Simeon gave her a perplexed look. “Oh, but Juliet loves me for who I am, not what I own.”
Mother snapped her mouth closed, and Georgie stifled a smile at how neatly she’d been put in her place. By Simeon, of all people. A bittersweet ache coiled in her chest. Simeon had articulated her own desire—and problem—perfectly.
What should she do about Wylde? Was it just too foolish to hope that he might grow to love her? For all her money, she couldn’t buy the thing she desired most: his love.
As predicted, the announcement of Juliet’s engagement to Simeon caused a minor sensation and successfully overshadowed the potentially scandalous gossip that she and her beau had been seen alone together in a traveling chaise. Always desperate for entertainment, the ton had whispered, but had turned an indulgent eye to this lapse in behavior since it had resulted in a betrothal. It was generally supposed that the couple had anticipated their vows; a baby, eight months after the wedding, was the gossips’ consensus.
A few high sticklers tutted at the lax morals of the modern youth, and several disappointed suitors had declared themselves heartbroken that the divine Juliet was off the marriage mart, but all in all, everyone was looking forward to the wedding. Society had been thrilled to learn that Juliet had insisted upon the fashionable St. George’s, Hanover Square, and banns were to be called for the next three successive weeks before a mid-May wedding.
Georgie had smiled until her cheeks ached as she accepted well-meaning felicitations on her sister’s happiness and endured some less-than-subtle digs at her own still-unmarried state. She’d been sorely tempted to tell all those snide busybodies that she was, in fact, also engaged to be married, but since she and Benedict hadn’t discussed when, precisely, they would make their own announcement, she held her tongue. Doubtless their betrothal would create even more of a stir than Juliet’s, and she didn’t want to overshadow her sister’s moment of glory.
She hadn’t seen Benedict all week. He hadn’t made an appearance at any of the events she’d attended, and she’d found herself desperate for even a glimpse of him. His note, telling her to meet him at the coffeehouse on Ore Street that very evening, had been delivered six days ago, and Georgie could barely contain her excitement. This was the adventure she’d always craved, the chance to test her skills and help with something truly important.
“Pieter, I need to disguise myself as a boy.”
It was a testament to the old Dutchman’s years of service that not a whisper of surprise showed on his weather-beaten face. “Of course you do. May I ask why? I can only assume it’s because you’re about to involve yourself in some scheme that is—”
“—a terrible idea?” Georgie finished fondly. “Yes, quite probably.” She reached up and kissed his whiskered cheek. “But you’ll help me, won’t you? I promise I’ll be careful.”
The old Dutchman sighed. “Ah, you’re yer father’s daughter, Georgiana Caversteed. Ever one for a lark, he was. An adventurous spirit who could never be contained.” He gave a suspiciously watery sniff and blinked hard. “Of course I’ll help you. But tell that Wylde, I’ll wring his neck if anything happens to you. What do you need?”
“Breeches will be fine. And a jacket. Something rough and inconspicuous. Oh, and a cap, to disguise my hair. I need to look like a powder monkey or a chimney sweep.”
“And what exactly will you be doing, dressed up like that?”
“Helping deliver an important cargo to the navy shipyards in Woolwich.”
Pieter grunted, but went to do her bidding and returned a few minutes later with a bundle of clothes. “Here you go. What time do you need to be at Ore Street?”
Georgie turned her mind to the task at hand. “Since Woolwich is downstream from Limehouse, we’ll need an outgoing tide to draw the vessel along. Tonight’s high tide is just after midnight, so we’ll have to wait until then. I’ve arranged to meet Benedict at eleven.”
“I’ll have the carriage ready at ten thirty, then. What have you told your mother?”
“She and Juliet are attending the opera. I’ve said I hate Don Giovanni and I’ll see them in the morning.”
Pieter nodded. “So, you’ll be sailing a boat, eh? Remember what I taught you. The Thames is a completely different kettle of fish to that pond you have back home. Stay away from the mud banks and watch out for the currents. At low tide, the water’s only around three to four feet deep, but high tide is twenty-two feet or so.”
“I’ll be careful, I promise.”
Along with his note, Benedict had sent her the tube of rolled plans, and she’d studied them again just in case she needed to know how to operate the strange vessel. She eventually decided there would be no need to submerge it fully; they only needed to sail down the river, after all, which could be achieved by steering with the rudder and using the conventional sail and the power of the outgoing tide to propel them.
As darkness fell, excitement coiled in her belly. The breeches fitted snugly over her hips—clearly meant for someone without feminine curves. She donned the clean shirt and shapeless jacket Pieter had provided, then tied her hair in a pigtail like a sailor and stuffed it under the squashy cap. She tied a red spotted handkerchief around her neck as a jaunty final flourish. A glance in the mirror confirmed she looked a perfect urchin, and she practiced hunching her shoulders forward to hide the telltale lumps of her breasts.
Pieter smiled when she met him in the stables and cuffed her playfully on the shoulder. She’d seen him do the same thing to the cabin boys and younger crew members onboard ship; it was the highest form of masculine affection.
“All right, Georgie Porgie,” he said, referencing the nursery rhyme he’d often hummed to her as a child. “Let’s go. And no kissing the boys to make them cry, you hear me?”
Georgie shot him a wide-eyed look of devilry. “Who, me? I wouldn’t dream of it.”