Page 11 of A Daring Pursuit (The Clandestine Sapphire Society #2)

D read throbbed against Geneva’s head that didn’t just have to do with the pins stabbing her in multiple places. It was also the clopping hooves of Mr. Oshea’s retreating carriage. The wind might also have been a contributing factor. And seeing as how it blew dark clouds over a full moon—with the briny sea air and impending rain—she was quite ready to pull her hair out along with the pins.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Miss Hale’s tone was almost strident. If anything, it put the pain of the prickling pins from her mind. Miss Hale stood in the open doorframe with a hand on her hip. “Lady Abra will be furious if you ruin that gown. I happen to have been in the shop when she ordered it. The madame was quite rude to her for obvious reasons.” Miss Hale slipped off her cloak and hung it on a peg.

Geneva whipped up her skirts and followed her inside. She was spoiling for a fight. “And what might those reasons have been?” she said, her voice low and even.

Her host’s brows pinched in, as if confused. “Madame did not believe that Lady Abra was one of the peerage. I enlightened her. I may not have cared much for your friend, but her father is a marquess and he would have run the woman from town. No one wanted that—she is extremely skilled—so I let her know what she was up against if she mistreated Lady Abra in any way. Take that abhorrent cloak off and come along.”

With compressed lips, Geneva flexed her fingers and surveyed the spacious entry hall, giving herself time to rein in the temptation of letting her tongue rule freely. No one greeted them and Miss Hale was already halfway up the stairs.

“We don’t have much time,” she said with an impatience that did not seem out of character. “Noah will return in the morning at eight and it’s already ten-thirty.”

Geneva doffed her bonnet and ratty cloak then hung it next to Miss Hale’s. “Is this really necessary?” she mumbled.

“You saw how the duke reacted when he saw you. And there will be much more than him to contend with before the week is through.”

Swallowing a groan, Geneva followed Miss Hale up the stairs to a roomy chamber. “Where’s the butler? And the housekeeper?”

“Oh, I pensioned them off years ago.” Her muffled voice came from inside the wardrobe.

Geneva gasped. “You live here alone? Where are your parents?”

Miss Hale reappeared, her arms ladened down with an array of brightly colored gowns. “I’m one and thirty. I daresay, no one cares if I live alone or not. Besides, the only time it’s a real issue is when my cousin visits. And those occasions are as rare as seeing a full moon in a London night sky.”

A quick burst of laughter erupted from Geneva, acknowledging the irony. “So, never.” London’s night sky was notoriously obliterated with coal smoke in winter.

“Exactly.” Miss Hale moved to the bed and dropped the load of them.

The mounds of fabric caught Geneva by surprise and she blinked.

“We don’t have all night, you know. Strip.”

Startled, Geneva jerked then shook her head. “What the devil?”

“That is an impolite word,” Miss Hale chastised her. “Are you completely uncouth?”

Geneva chuckled, surprised she could manage it. “Is it? I suppose it is.” She eyed the stack of gowns. “Why so many? We’re not attending a ball.”

Miss Hale lifted one shoulder. “Ha! Even if there were, there wouldn’t be any dancing. Sander and Verda don’t allow it.”

“Ah, Miss Isabelle.” The words came out before she could swallow them.

Miss Hale paused in her sorting and turned, facing Geneva, her gaze intense and speculative. “Surely, you didn’t say anything to Noah. He’s quite sensitive regarding the subject.”

“Oh?”

But Miss Hale did not deign to answer. A long silence ensued and Geneva shifted under her scrutiny.

“He showed me his laboratory,” she said, feeling a tad defensive. “I saw the bones.”

Miss Hale shuddered. “I hate that place. He spends all his time in that horrid hovel. I vow, I can hardly breathe when I enter that chamber of torture.”

“Truly? Hmm. I thought it fascinating.” Geneva clenched her fingers until her knuckles showed white, refusing to touch the lovely silks her ink-stained fingers would likely mar.

“You would.” Another tremor, delicate, rippled over Miss Hale. “In any event, you’re right. Isabelle is a sweet girl. Vastly independent, though, without a care for her own well-being. Hence that deplorable limp. Or how she looks to the unsuspecting public.”

“So altruistic you are,” Geneva said dryly. It took a second for the impact of Miss Hale’s words. “‘Deplorable limp’? What do you mean? I thought she was born with the infirmity.” In fact, she was almost certain it was Mr. Oshea who’d used the word ‘deformity.’

Miss Hale didn’t bother with an answer and turned back to the gowns she’d piled on the bed. “How do you know Lady Abra?” Apparently, that line of conversation was not to be.

But Geneva knew the answers would be forthcoming at some point and opted to let the matter slide. “We attended school together.”

“You?” Miss Hale’s amazement grated over her skin.

“Subtle, aren’t you?” Geneva was heartily sick of the insinuations. She rubbed her forehead with the heel of her hand. And tired. She was fatigued beyond words and just wanted to lie down. The possibility of sneaking away occurred to her and she eyed the huge pile of gowns then glanced at the door.

“Your friend wasn’t at all well received.” The nonchalance with which Miss Hale spoke nearly impaled Geneva with a searing blaze of fury.

Her attention abruptly fired back to her host. “Stow it, Miss Hale. Abra is my friend and I shan’t listen to any untoward regarding her.”

But once again, Miss Hale acted as if Geneva hadn’t spoken. “I attended her debut. It was appalling.”

As Geneva well knew. “So she mentioned,” she gritted out through clenched teeth.

“I mean…” Her voice lowered as if the entirety of the ton had their ears to the door. “Her mother was… was from… the West Indies—”

“You’re an idiot,” Geneva snapped. “Her mother was from Jamaica. A fact that does not shame her father, else he’d never have married her. I swear to you, if you say another dreadful thing about my friend, I shall walk all the way back to Stonemare. Tonight.”

Miss Hale stopped and turned, her jaw dropped, red dotting spots on her high cheekbones. Over her arm was a lovely lavender gown. “I-I’m sorry. I… suppose I envy your relationship. I have no friends. Not among ladies.” Her brows furrowed and her voice softened. “Or among gentlemen, for that matter. I’m quite self-centered. I suppose it’s from living on my own so long.”

Geneva drew in a breath. If anything, she was a fool for a self-deprecating tale. She considered Miss Hale for the longest time before her shoulders caved with acceptance. Geneva believed her. “I’ll let it go this time, but no more. Abra is one of my dearest friends and she’s been snubbed and cut for the most awful of reasons. Her stepmother is downright hostile and I won’t stand for someone like you disparaging her.”

A small smile touched Miss Hale’s face, transforming it into awe-inspiring beauty. “‘Someone like me.’” She shook her head. “I supposed I deserved that set-down. All right, Miss Wimbley. I apologize. I shall treat her as good a friend as you do.”

That was doubtful, but that was the best Geneva was likely to receive from the annoying, over-aged debutante, she thought with a stab of vindictiveness. “So, you never see your cousin?”

“When my father… disappeared, he petitioned for the viscountcy. It was granted, of course. And no, I don’t see him. I hate him. And he hates me. It’s a mutual hate.” Miss Hale punctuated the statements with a sharp nod as if that settled the matter. The discussion was obviously over. She held up the lavender gown. “Here, try this one.” She assisted Geneva out of Abra’s bronze gown and donned the new one. “It’s perfect. I knew it would be.” She led Geneva to a tall, free-standing mirror in the corner. “Look.”

Geneva couldn’t believe her eyes. With her hair pulled up in its similar style and, despite the contrast in color, they could pass for sisters, but for Miss Hale’s rounded chin. Geneva’s was more pointed, stubborn—not an attractive trait and certainly off-putting to others. Focusing on her flaws, however, was not her way and she shoved away the unwanted introspection. “Why were you so upset to hear that Meredith, I, er, mean, Lady Pender is with child?”

“W-What?”

Geneva’s gaze shot up. The red flush had drained, leaving Miss Hale’s countenance positively pallid. Her lips trembled, but true to her nature, she rallied, lifting her chin in more reminiscent defiance.

Excellent. It was past time being at the mercy of Miss Hale’s indirect hostility. Her show of good faith, while nice, seemed less than genuine.

Geneva pounced. “Earlier. When Rathbourne announced his forthcoming grandchild. You were beyond shocked.” She watched the woman’s reflection in the mirror. Yes, Geneva had heard the duke’s announcement just before entering the library and she didn’t believe a word of it. According to Meredith, her husband hadn’t returned to Cornwall once since abandoning her there three years before. While Meredith hadn’t put actual words to paper the wedding had not been consummated, she had intimated it by writing: their connection had stopped at the altar . And the duke was cunning, not above using crafty methods for means to an end. His own.

Miss Hale’s face remained the same ashen pallor it had that afternoon and Geneva almost felt bad for her, just not enough to take back her words. She couldn’t squelch the notion that Miss Hale meant Meredith harm. No one hurt Geneva’s friends. Not if she could help it.

Her eyes took on flecks of ice, her expression coy, her voice nonchalant. “I told Noah he should consider you, you know.” The underlying steel sent waves of chill swirling down her spine.

Geneva’s head snapped from the mirror to face her. “For marriage ?” Her squeal could have shattered glass.

“Certainly not. That would never do.” Her eyes flashed and Geneva caught the glint of malevolence. “I suggested he take you as his mistress.”

The words coiled about her like a serpent, swift, constricting, and spreading through her chest—a dark tide pulling her under, only to release her and batter her against a rocky shore. “You—” she choked out. But Geneva drew in a harsh breath, remembering she’d learned more at Miss Greensley’s than academics. She was the epitome of survival tactics. “You’ve made it abundantly clear why you’ve no friends, Miss Hale,” she said gently. “And I, for one, am sorry for you.”