Page 5 of A Daring Pursuit (The Clandestine Sapphire Society #2)

M iss Geneva Wimbley’s blood-drained features had Noah taking a step forward, if only to catch her from a dead faint. But Uncle Sander and Aunt Verda’s entrance amid Lucius’s untimely arrival blocked his effort. Miss Wimbley had moved into the shadows and was clutching her companion’s hand. She had her own pillar of strength, it seemed. Her white-knuckled grip deepened the contrast in the pigment of the two women’s skin. The rich, amber tone of her friend’s complexion and striking hazel eyes that leaned toward green was an arresting combination that spoke of an interesting heritage.

Not quite as interesting as Miss Wimbley from London, however, with her deep, dark-chestnut shade of hastily gathered curls at her nape. The quaint, upturned nose, and stubborn chin teased him with an interwoven thread of discomfort. He was a bastard for the relief plowing through him at her sudden appearance. Not in the literal sense, of course. He was definitely the son of the former Earl of Pender and his countess. And they had been legally wed.

No, the sense of liberation solidified Noah’s earlier misgivings that a union with Docia would have led to catastrophic failure. Of course, he would have to deal with the fact that he’d promised his hand to his childhood nemesis. But there was plenty of time for that later. First and foremost was handling the nature of his father’s demise. Elaborating on the nature of his death in a letter had been out of the question.

Aunt Verda rushed forward and hugged him. “Oh, darling, how awful for you”—she turned to Lucius, including him—“both, regarding your father. We decided not to stay the night in London after all and rushed home.” Her voice boomed against freshly waxed floors that resembled nothing of the dilapidation of 1827 when she’d entered their lives nineteen years ago. The echo startled him into action.

His Uncle Sander appeared next. “Are we to gather in the doorway all day, Noah?”

“Sorry,” he mumbled then looking around, he frowned. “Where’s Julius?” After all these years, the protectiveness over his younger brother hadn’t waned in the least.

“Here.” Julius appeared in the door with a scraggly ragdoll on his shoulders.

“Me, too.” Said ragdoll was fourteen and much too old for such antics. Her bright-red hair matched her mother’s, but her gray eyes were Oshea through and through.

Noah shook his head. “Honestly, Isabelle.” He strode forward and lifted his fragile cousin from Julius’s shoulders, set her carefully to her feet, and held her until she balanced herself. An infected snake bite at the age of four had left her foot in a condition no specialty doctor could fix, at least to Sander and Verda’s satisfaction. Not in a manner that outweighed the risks involved. The imp’s vastly independent nature would have them all bound for Bedlam by the time the chit married.

Isabelle wrapped her arms around Noah’s waist and hugged him tightly. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, poppet.”

“It’s starting to rain,” Julius said, urging everyone inside. He stopped, coming face to face with Miss Wimbley and her companion. “Oh, who have we here?”

The entire family stopped and all eyes turned to the newcomers.

Noah picked up the introductions. “This is Miss Geneva Wimbley of London and…” His voice trailed off.

“Er, yes.” Miss Wimbley recovered and color returned to her cheeks in an engaging blush. Something he suspected didn’t happen often. “This is my friend, Lady Abra Washington.”

Washington . English, then. The name was familiar, but Noah rarely moved through society and instead tucked the information away.

“The library, then,” Noah said. “Father is laid out in the parlor for viewing. I expect the next few days will be quite hectic. The castle will be overrun with visitors.”

The family filed down the hall, leaving Noah with Miss Wimbley, Lady Abra, and their maid.

Baldric’s shadow darkened the entry. He tossed three valises inside. “The ladies’ baggage,” he rasped out, then faded like the apparition Noah always believed him to be.

“We had no notion Lord Pender…” Lady Abra’s voice faded. “Of course, we shall remove ourselves to an inn in Alnmouth immediately. This will be a trying time for your family.”

Miss Wimbley’s spine straightened and her jaw tightened. She met Noah’s gaze with a direct one of her own and he couldn’t tear his eyes from eyes so deep a blue, he expected to see stars reflected from a night sky.

Winfield emitted a small cough. “Master Noah?”

Noah started, but his gaze remained captive. “Inform Mrs. Knagg to have their bags brought to the Blue Suite in the west tower.” He was not about to turn them away. There were too many questions surrounding the women’s sudden appearance. Perhaps it was the determination in Miss Wimbley’s stance. Certainly, it was not the color of her eyes—navy eyes that didn’t belong in Northumberland’s rare, sun-filled days. Eyes that color were indeed out of the ordinary. “If you don’t mind a visit with the family?”

A wrinkled creased Miss Wimbley’s forehead, as if she hadn’t comprehended the question.

Her friend cut her gaze to Miss Wimbley then answered for them. “Truly, we don’t wish to intrude. Perhaps a quick freshening up? That’s all we require if it’s not too much bother, of course.”

Noah caught the swift squeeze of Miss Wimbley’s fingers on her friend’s. A silent thank you. There was definitely more to their visit than met his eyes. He sensed a challenge, and it fired his blood as nothing had in some time. Smiling, he said, “Nonsense, Lady Abra. I insist you stay. Many of the ton will be arriving soon. I expect you’ll know most everyone. Winfield, where is Mrs. Knagg?”

“The kitchens, sir. I’ll retrieve her—”

“No. No, Winfield. Don’t bother. Have Hicks retrieve their bags. I’ll show the ladies up myself. Ladies?” He led the way up the grand staircase that gleamed under Verda’s care over the years, pointedly ignoring his aunt’s, uncle’s, and both brothers’ raised brows. Thankfully, Isabelle hadn’t learned that intricate and annoying move as of yet.

Once on the landing, the walk was short down the main corridor to the back portion of the west tower.

Now that his father was gone, the earl’s suite would naturally go to Lucius and his bride if Lucius ever saw fit to release her from another Pender holding—the Cornwall property’s Perlsea Keep—imprisonment. Ah, well. No one held a grudge more effectively than his eldest brother. Noah took another sharp turn to the right.

At one time, long ago, the Blue Suite had belonged to Uncle Sander, but after he and Verda had wed some twenty-three years now, they’d adopted the eastern wing of the castle, which had initially housed Aunt Verda, as their main residence. It allowed for plenty of privacy.

After the difficulties of a horrid event when Isabelle had been but four, she too, had rooms near her parents rather than residing in the nursery above stairs. Even after a decade, guilt still gripped him with the capacity of the teeth of an iron trap.

Noah was wildly curious as he considered the friends and their maid from a covert gaze. He pushed open the door to the sitting room and ushered them in.

“The suite holds three bedchambers,” he explained as they strolled down a wide corridor. He opened the door to the renovated sitting room that was more than suitable for his unexpected guests.

He indicated two doors to his right, meeting Lady Abra’s hazel eyes. “The larger one and a smaller one, convenient for your maid.”

She indicated her thanks with an incline of her head.

Miss Wimbley strode across the chamber to another door and peered in. “Ah, this shall do nicely for me.” Pure excitement gleamed from her dark eyes. For the first time since learning of his father’s passing, something hard, and… and large, odd, shifted in Noah’s chest. He couldn’t seem to pull his gaze from hers.

A long pause ensued until the air was fraught with an undeniable awkwardness.

“Sir?” Miss Wimbley’s voice seemed to echo through a long tunnel, startling him.

He cleared his throat. “My apologies.” His hand swept out. “Your bags should arrive soon. I’ll have hot water sent up immediately. We keep country hours at Stonemare. Luncheon is served at one, and dinner at seven.” He backed from the chamber, closing the door on his exit, pausing momentarily, and contemplating what had just happened.

An explosion of muffled feminine laughter sounded from behind.

Chuckling to himself, Noah found one of Stonemare’s two footmen, Fletcher, and ordered water for his guests, then made for the library to face the multitude of questions with which his family was surely bursting.

*

At the door, Noah forced himself to enter the library. The chaotic scene was both familiar and annoying. Julius teasing Isabelle; Aunt Verda standing back but watching with hawkeyed alertness; Lucius, with his typical broody aura, staring out at the sudden downpour; and Uncle Sander? He pierced Noah with a steady gaze. “Where’s Docia? It isn’t like her to not be in the thick of Pender business. Her carriage nearly ran us to ground.”

The chaos around him shifted to avid curiosity.

“Are you going to marry her?” Isabelle’s question was a gut punch worthy of an opponent from Mantons.

Resentment colored Lucius’s hard expression, with a tightened jaw and sneer curling his lip. “Why wouldn’t he, Issie? She’s his for the taking.” He stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

Verda turned shrewd green eyes on him. “Are you?”

Noah hedged. “We’ve talked about it.”

His aunt shook her head but refrained from saying anything. She didn’t have to. As governess to Docia and Noah, his aunt hadn’t been a fan of Docia’s. However, over the years, they’d come to a tolerable understanding, and Aunt Verda would never allow harm to come to her. Nor would Docia harm her. He was almost positive.

“Who is Miss Wimbley?” Isabelle asked. “Her friend is quite interesting.”

“ Lady Abra is the distinguished daughter of Westbridge. He’s a marquess and quite powerful,” Aunt Verda said, surprising him.

“How knowledgeable of you, Aunt. In any event, I expect you all to respect their presence.” Noah was adamant. Also intrigued.

“But what are they doing here?” Isabelle insisted.

Since Noah had witnessed Miss Wimbley’s shock at hearing of his father’s death, the same questions nagged him. “Father’s services, of course. What other reason could there be?”

“Noah,” Uncle Sander said. “A word, please.” He glanced at Isabelle. “Run along, my dear. I have business to discuss with your cousin.”

Aunt Verda’s brows lifted, but she didn’t say anything, just took Isabelle’s hand and left the room. The door latched softly behind them.

“All right, Noah. Let’s have it,” Sander said. “The truth. What happened to Damien?”

Noah took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. There was no way to soften a blow with a blunt object. “He was stabbed. In the heart.” Saying the words aloud still wounded Noah to the core. Such a shocking end to an earl of Father’s rank.

“Gads,” Sander breathed. “I suppose his notoriety’s finally done him in.”

“There’ll be no keeping the facts from the gossips,” Noah told him. “I didn’t dare relay details in a letter. I wanted to warn you before word got about. The parish constable has cooperated thus far. You may as well prepare yourself. We’ll be descended upon within days, if not hours.”