The roads were clear, the weather good, the ostlers at the coach houses fast and efficient, and they made good time to Bath. Hawkins secured the horses and let down the carriage steps. Cal, his hand gripping the dog’s collar, waited to let his niece descend first.
“Bring our luggage in, then see to the horses,” he told Hawkins.
“Ourluggage? I don’t have any luggage,” Georgiana said.
“Martha packed you a bag.”
“Et tu, Martha,” she muttered. So, she’d had some sort of education after all.
Cal eased himself past the enormous hound, descended the steps and, before the dog could push past him and jump down, he quickly closed the door, shutting the dog inside the carriage.
“But, Finn—” Georgiana began.
“Will go with Hawkins, who will have him thoroughly washed and dried before springing the beast on Aunt Dottie.”
“You’re the beast,” she muttered.
“How am I goin’ to wash a dawg that size?” Hawkins grumbled. “More to the point,wheream I goin’ to do it?”
Cal flipped him a guinea piece. “How you manage it is your business. This is Bath—there will be somewhere. I want him back clean and fresh and free of fleas. And then you will clean the carriage from top to bottom—and particularly the inside, which now has a distinct stench ofeau de dog.”
Hawkins peered in at the dog, who immediately woofed at him, a big deep sound. “He won’t bite me, will he, Miss George?”
“Not if he likes you.” Then she laughed. “No, he doesn’t usually bite people. Although... he’s never had a bath before. Perhaps I’d better go with—”
Cal caught her by the sleeve. “You’re coming inside with me. Hawkins will manage. You need to meet Great-Aunt Dottie and your aunts.”
***
“Welcome, dear girl, welcome to the family! I’m your aunt—oh, that would be great-aunt, but just call me Aunt Dottie like the others do.” She embraced Georgiana with all the affection and enthusiasm in her soul, as if the girl were a child she’d loved all her life and had dearly missed.
And in a way, she was, Cal thought. Aunt Dottie was such a dear.
Georgiana stood awkwardly in her embrace, uncertain of how to respond. Rose and Lily—whom he was pleased to find at home—stood quietly by, watching curiously.
“Oh, my, but you’re a Rutherford through and through, aren’t you?” Aunt Dottie exclaimed. “It waswickedof Henry not to tell us about you, positively wicked! Not that you look a lot like your father—Henry took after his mother more—but Cal, now!”
All eyes turned to Cal.
“You’re the living image of Cal before he was sent away to be a soldier. Oh, now, now, don’t pull that face, my dear, I don’t mean you’re not pretty—of course you are, very prettyindeed—just as Cal was at sixteen. He was such a pretty boy back then, quite ravishing, I do assure you.”
Cal rolled his eyes.
“Oh, heavens, where are my manners? You haven’t even met your aunts yet, have you, Georgiana, and here am I babbling on like the veriest brook! This is your aunt Rose and her younger sister, Lily. Rose and Lily, come and greet your new niece, Georgiana.”
“George.”
Aunt Dottie blinked. Her gaze dropped to the girl’s neckline, where there was faint but undeniable evidence of femininity. “I beg your pardon.”
“My name. I prefer to be called George.”
“Really?”
“I’ve been called George for as long as I remember.” She shot a defiant glance at Cal. “He’s the only one who calls me Georgiana. I don’t answer to it.”
“You’ll learn to,” Cal growled.
“Of course, my dear, if you wish to be called George—” Aunt Dottie began.
