Page 18 of A Daring Pursuit (The Clandestine Sapphire Society #2)

T he next morning, Geneva woke to the tantalizing fragrance of coffee after a hard and not-so-restful sleep. Her body ached from head to toe. She wriggled her toes. Yes, definitely sore.

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” Pasha said from across the chamber. She held up one of Abra’s day dresses in soft peach.

Geneva frowned. “Tell me Abra did not leave half her wardrobe behind.”

“Just a few things she thought you could use,” was the pert reply.

Shaking her head, Geneva struggled to sitting, feeling each and every taut muscle. She crawled out of the huge bed. Her neck cracked, her shoulders, her spine. She wobbled on unstable knees that also cracked. “Did I miss something?”

“Not yet. But you did promise Mister Julius an audience.”

Geneva put a hand to her head and let out a low growl. Or groan. Both seemed right.

“Breakfast just arrived for you. Along with his note. How do you take your coffee?” Pasha asked her.

“Rarely. How do most take it?”

“Lady Westbridge takes a dash of milk, no sugar.”

“I’ll have cream and two sugars, then.”

Grinning, Pasha set the peach frock aside, went to a table near the windows, and poured out a cup for her.

The fragrance of fresh scones had Geneva nearly melting to the floor. She almost tripped hurrying over—she was ravenous. She plopped a spoonful of currents then drizzled clotted cream on the largest one and took a huge bite. “You best have one of these,” she said around a mouthful. “They are delicious.”

“Thank you, I will. The note is on the tray.”

Geneva took it up and skimmed through it, wrinkling her nose. “I think I may need something sturdier than that peach silk. He wishes a walk. Feels the wind has restorative properties.”

“It likely does, miss. ’Tis your great luck my mistress left one of her sturdy walking dresses too. Perfect for a sturdy breeze.”

“Hmm,” she said around another mouthful. She swallowed then took a tentative sip of the coffee. It was strong enough to clear out any lingering cobwebs. “Goodness.” After a second sip, she decided coffee was most invigorating.

“Where is Miss Hale’s black gown?”

Pasha gave a delicate yet disdainful sniff. “I sent it back with the maid who brought your breakfast.”

A shudder rippled over Geneva. “Brilliant. My thanks.”

An hour later, Geneva descended the main staircase in a castle that seemed eerily quiet after all the hubbub of the last three days.

Julius strolled into sight from somewhere, meeting her in the large foyer. Neither said a word. He just opened the heavy, oak door and ushered her out into a brisk, cool wind. The Northumberland weather was as volatile as Parliament’s reaction to allowing women financial independence. She lifted her face to the cool breeze. It felt wonderful after the horrible day before. “Aren’t you concerned there is a killer about?”

He pulled up, frowning, then led her back inside.

She wished she’d kept her mouth shut. But to her surprise, he wound them quietly through the vestibule and down another couple of corridors and out an obscure entrance. “Will this suffice?”

“Yes,” she breathed. Apparently, he’d needed the air as much as she.

The path they took was a different one than she’d traipsed with his brother upon her arrival. This one was much closer to the sea. “You aren’t going to toss me over the cliffs, are you?” She was half-jesting.

He scowled. “That’s not funny.”

“Apologies. Inappropriate words tend to spring forth of their own volition when I’m beset with trepidation.” She let out a breath. “Actually, they tend to emerge regardless. I’m not known for my reticence.”

He grunted. At least she thought he grunted.

“Are you always so gregarious to women you’ve invited on a stroll?” she said in an attempt to keep things on a lighter note.

“Usually more so.” He slowed his steps. There was a long hesitation before the tension seemed to ease from his shoulders. “I hope you’ll forgive me. I suppose I’m treating you as I would a sister with whom I’m vastly annoyed.” He glanced at her. Assessing her reaction?

Geneva allowed a small, peace-offering smile and shrugged. “I’ve no siblings to speak of…” She cut her gaze to him. “That I know of,” she amended. “I’ve no idea how siblings behave toward one another.”

“Don’t you have friends who have brothers or sisters?”

“Yes, but I’ve rarely been invited to their homes. I grew up on Berwick Street in Soho. Some of my neighbors are of, er, questionable character.” She let out a sigh. “Let’s just say I try to reserve judgement, as I feel there are just as many good people about. Despite our humble beginnings.”

“What of your father? You’ve never spoken of him.”

And for very good reason . “Dead.” Almost certainly .

“Oh.”

There was nothing to say to that.

“Will you tell me about your mother?” He sounded tentative. Almost shy.

Geneva’s insides softened. “She was the gentlest person who ever lived.” Wistfulness infiltrated her. Something she always seemed to experience when she thought of her mother. “There was a fragility about her for as long as I could remember.”

He guided her past the fallen turret. “What makes you believe I…” His voice trailed away.

The question was an excellent one. One she wasn’t certain she could answer, but she understood his curiosity. “There are subtle nuances I’ve noticed that remind me inherently of her. The way you tilt your head, perhaps. Mostly, I sense the same sweetness about you. Your consideration and thoughtfulness.”

He turned a sneer on her, which did nothing to dispel her of the notion. She returned it with a smile sweeter than the coffee she’d drunk.

Turning her attention away, she squinted up at the hazy sun that had muted every morning since she’d arrived in Northumberland and breathed in the briny air that tasted of rain. She stared out at the distance, where dark clouds stirred. “I think what I recall most is that swirling greatcoat. As I said, it seemed a dream. But there are details that are just so… so clear. I was standing outside our flat. I heard Mama say, ‘Take me too.’ He didn’t, obviously. And then there was Mrs. Cornett—”

“Mrs. Cornett?” His voice was colored by an inquisitiveness, not censure or doubt.

“The neighbor residing beneath us. She’s quite elderly now. She said something most curious. That I would soon have my own playmate.”

“I still fail to understand,” he said, shaking his head. “I mean, how do you know the figure in the coat was my father?”

“Ah. I found a missive she’d started, but, sadly, it was unfinished. I found it only recently,” she hurried to say. “It was addressed to the previous earl.” A fleeting thought of the ruby locket went through her mind, but she doubted Julius knew anything about that. Why complicate an already complicated situation? It would serve no purpose. Besides, Noah Oshea had already offered to assist her with that little issue.

Julius shook his head. “It all seems so impossible.” He stood at the edge of the cliff looking out to the open sea.

“Would you mind stepping back?” She shivered. “Even if it turns out we are not related, I don’t relish another gruesome event. One was enough, thank you.”

He turned an impish grin on her but did as she asked. “I grew up here, you know. I know these cliffs inside out.”

“Really? This is my first trek out of London. Besides Miss Greensley’s school, of course.”

“It really is spectacular.” He took her hand and tugged her after him to a trail she hadn’t noticed before that led down to the water. “The ocean is an amazing natural phenomenon,” he told her, waving out an arm. “I’d take you down to the beach, but the tide is rising.”

Curiosity gripped her. “How can you tell?”

He indicated a set of jagged rocks that pointed to the stormy sky and the foamy waves crashing against them. She half expected Poseidon himself to lurch from the depths to snatch them both from their perch on the trail. “When the tide is low, you can see the base of the closer rocks where they disappear in the sand.”

The power of the waves left her in awe. “Goodness, it’s quite mesmerizing, isn’t it?”

“Quite.” He turned and led her back up the path toward more stable ground. “So, you’re all alone now?”

Though bristling, she concentrated on her footing for the steep climb. “I have very dear friends.” The words came out defensive. Reminiscent , she thought wryly, of the sneer he just attempted. “You’ve met Lady Abra, but there are others.” They reached the top and she bent over to catch her breath.

“I sense a loyalty about you.”

She came slowly to her full height. “I would do anything for my friends.” She spoke so fiercely, he stopped and looked at her. She lifted her chin and refused to be the first to break eye contact.

A long moment passed, then he turned that impish smile on her again. “I can see that,” he said. “You appeared to be much revered by Lady Abra.”

“Yes.” Her stepmother, not so much. “Lord Westbridge has always treated me—the friendship his daughter and I share—respectfully.”

“How do you—” His face turned red. He started walking again.

His thoughts were not so difficult to discern. “Pay my rent? Buy my food? Keep myself in clothes?”

“Well, er, yes, to be blunt.”

Well, this should be fun , she decided. “I, um, occasionally write articles for the scandal sheets,” she said lightly.

“Never say so!” Genuine surprise had him gaping.

“I can see I’ve shocked your delicate sensibilities,” she teased. “I also write pamphlets for The Chartist Movement and other activist groups. I’m paid for most, but some I do gratuitously. There is a grave injustice in how women are treated. Even for men who are not of significant means and I don’t know where to start when it comes to the children. So many.” The regular biases rippled through her. “I cannot and will not be silenced.”

“I’ve never heard the like,” he said slowly. “How does that work, exactly?”

“Like you mentioned, I must have a way to provide for myself. I do enjoy eating. Frocks and petticoats, while mandatory, are not my priority. I’m teasing, of course. The fact of the matter is, someone must stand up and be heard. And, I warn you,” she said, smiling. “If you are faint of heart, I suggest we table the conversation.”

He returned her smile. “I don’t doubt it.” They walked on in silence for a time until he broke it. “Your passion makes me almost wish to believe our relation familial.”

She stopped. “I do believe that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” she said before a rustle from the trees alerted her instincts. Instincts she’d honed that had served her well in some of the most dire of London neighborhoods.

The glint of a shiny dagger sailed through the air with sharp precision—aiming straight for Julius’s heart.

*

Noah entered the morning room, where a fire blazed in the large hearth, tamping the chill. Even should a heatwave send the temperature to twenty-seven Celsius beyond the castle walls, inside the temperature would likely register at four—in the height of summer.

Winfield entered and oversaw the pouring of strong coffee by a maid he didn’t recognize, reminding him of the loss of Hicks. “Where is Julius?” Noah asked.

“On a walk with Miss Wimbley.”

Panic shot through him, sending his pulse in an erratic fury. “Surely not.” He spun back for the door. “There is a killer about. Have they forgotten and lost their bloody minds?”

“They immediately returned inside,” Winfield said in that stoic manner. “Then meandered through the halls and left by way of the door that faced the cliffs.” He finished mildly with, “I also sent Fletcher to follow. At a distance, of course.”

Noah stopped, his pulse immediately slowing. “Oh. Well, yes, er, my thanks.” He took his seat at the table and drummed his fingers on the heavy oak. “Um, how long have they been gone?”

“Fifteen minutes, perhaps.”

Noah hadn’t slept well through the night. Julius’s normally good-natured features, haunting Noah’s dreams with shock and hurt. There was an imperative need to talk. Confess, actually. Noah had difficult truths with which to enlighten his brother. Now that Father was gone, there was no one who knew the complete story of Julius’s beginnings. But he, Miss Wimbley, Mrs. Knagg, and perhaps Uncle Sander could piece the events together.

There was one thing in particular, however, that still required addressing: that small package that had fallen when Father had laid Julius in Noah’s lap. He preferred knowing exactly what secrets he was up against. One thing of which he was certain, whatever had been in that parcel was surely the ruby locket Miss Wimbley sought.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t seen it since the night Julius had entered their lives. He could only think of two places his father would have stashed it: the master chamber or the safe in the study.

It had been so long ago, Noah could hardly recall any details. His only glimpse had been the chain itself. He didn’t doubt her claim that she wanted it for its sentimentality. Gold was scarcely valued at four pounds per troy ounce on the open market.

He downed the entirety of his coffee. It burned down his throat. He pushed from the table and strode to the door. “Winfield, I’ll return to break my fast.”

This was likely his only opportunity to search the safe undisturbed. Fewer questions. Noah stalked to the study, straight to the portrait of his father and, ignoring the familiar smirk eyeing him, unlatched the painting from the wall. He took the key from the desk and, with much less struggle than before, opened the safe and pulled out all the contents, dropped them on the desk, then slipped on his spectacles.

Noah set aside the ledgers and the stacks of vowels then rifled through a few stacks of private correspondence. It was what he found beneath the sheaf of papers that stopped his breath. With light fingers, he lifted the wrapping he barely recognized from so long ago. A piece of a London Times broadsheet. He smoothed out the yellowed paper and read: 23 January 1828– Duke of Wellington Forms New Tory Government. Noah had been too young at the time to understand the political implications. Three years later, when he’d finally left for Eton—trepidation notwithstanding, in having to leave Julius behind—there was little he recalled on discussions beyond those of cursed Latin lessons, cricket games, and horrid meals.

He glanced inside the wrapped paper and his shoulders fell.

Empty.

It was certainly the original paper. He’d never told a soul what he’d witnessed that night. Hell, the minute Father had set Julius across his knees and told him to name his brother, his focus had become single-minded. Julius had been the pet he’d always wanted.

What a little terror he’d been. A wry smile touched him at the thought. The times he’d badgered the wet nurse who’d turned out to be a sot, then terrifying the nursemaid until Verda had stepped in and put a stop to his juvenile bullying.

Father had never taken to Julius. But then, he’d never taken to any of them. His sporadic visits home had left Noah as both mama and papa to an infant and he would not have given up a single moment.

Noah dropped into the chair and pulled off his spectacles. He rubbed his eyes, then drummed his fingers on the desk. What could have happened to the contents? And… when had they disappeared?

The logical answer was Father. Noah needed to search the master bedchamber.

The sound of uneven steps penetrated and Noah stood as the door crashed back, hitting the wall, rattling the nearest framed artwork.

Tears streamed down Isabelle’s face. “Oh, Noah, it’s horrible.”

Noah strode to her and picked her up. “What is, darling?”

She buried her face in his shoulder, sobbing, but there was no need for her answer.

Fletcher strode into sight with Julius slung over his shoulder and a frantic Miss Wimbley right on Fletcher’s heels. They pounded up the stairs.

“What the devil?” Noah breathed.

Isabelle raised her head and swiped at her face. “Julius has been stabbed.”