Page 30 of Ladies in Hating (Belvoir’s Library Trilogy #3)
“Acquainted with the owner,” Cat finished. “Oh my God. ”
“This explains… Sweet merciful heavens, this explains everything. ” Georgiana leapt to her feet and started to pace. “Our electricity books—he was working with a client to patent an electric rotor.”
“He was always talking about it,” Cat said dazedly. “He even showed me an engraving…”
“And Alba Margherita.” Georgiana completed her circuit of the room and collapsed back into her chair. “Alba is the brand of ink he uses—I always see the bottle on his desk.”
Selina had been watching the proceedings with interest. “And Margherita?”
“Margherita,” Cat said hoarsely, “is the name of his dog. Peg, for short.”
Georgiana’s pale lashes fluttered wildly for a moment as she appeared to rein herself in. “Selina,” she said finally, “you knew that Mr. Yorke was employed by both of us, and you are only just now saying so?”
Selina’s brows shot up. “I assumed you both already knew. He never mentioned it?”
No, Cat realized with a strange, cold shock. He never had. Not even when she had brought her concerns about Geneva Desrosiers—Georgiana—to him directly. Her accusations do not signify, he’d said.
Not: I am confident she will not bring a suit against you because I am her legal counsel.
“Perhaps,” Cat said hesitantly, “he did not mention it because the nature of our work is anonymous. Perhaps he did not want to be indiscreet.”
“Or,” Georgiana said, her voice sharp as a knife, “perhaps he orchestrated this whole thing. Perhaps he sent us to Renwick House and then dispatched Rogers after us.”
Cat could not make sense of Georgiana’s words. “What? Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know,” Georgiana said grimly, “but I find all of this suspicious in the extreme. We were locked inside the house, Catriona. And Yorke knew we both were there.”
Cat shook her head. “It doesn’t make sense. We employ him. He only benefits if we continue to work and publish. Why in the world would he seek to harm us? And, for that matter—I trust him, Georgie. He took my brother on as a clerk. No one else would have taken such a chance on the son of a butler.”
Georgiana’s lips pressed tightly together.
“I understand why you want to believe in his innocence. But we must face the facts—Martin Yorke arranged for us both to visit Renwick House at the exact same time. And despite numerous opportunities to inform us of our impending cohabitation, he kept that information to himself.”
“There must be some reasonable explanation,” Cat said stubbornly.
She worried the carved wooden arm of her chair, trying to ground herself in what was true, what was real.
She knew Martin Yorke. She had worked with him for years—had trusted him with the knowledge of her identity, of her past. She knew his wry practicality, his blunt pragmatic avarice. His affection for his dog and—
And for her, and for Jem.
She felt cold, her fingers a little numb. Was it possible? That Yorke had somehow tricked her into believing that he had their best interests at heart?
How many times, these last years, had she missed her father? His calm, his confidence? The indentations on his nose left by his spectacles, and the way his hand always came to rest upon the back of her head, firm and gentle too.
And sometimes, when she had been seated across from Yorke at his desk, listening to his unvarnished advice, she had felt an echo of that same sense of safety. Of being cared for.
Was it possible that she was so starved for fatherly affection that she had invented it whole cloth?
No. She gritted her teeth against the doubt that tightened her throat. She did not believe it.
“We should speak to him,” she said. “We ought to go to his office. I’m certain he can explain everything.”
Georgiana was nodding, but Selina drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair and spoke first. “Would it not be wise to gather some information before you interrogate him? If you truly think it possible that he arranged some of the more bizarre aspects of your visit to Renwick House, then a confrontation may not be the most prudent course of action.”
“I don’t believe he arranged it,” Cat said stoutly. And then she hesitated, her teeth digging into her bottom lip. “But perhaps I should at least speak to Jem about our concerns.”
“And I can put some of my connections to work as well,” Selina said. “At the very least, I suspect one of the Stanhope solicitors can ascertain the identity of Renwick’s owner.”
“Thank you, Selina,” Georgiana said. Her voice was still all clipped precision, and by now Cat knew that meant she was afraid.
She reached out and covered Georgiana’s fingers with her own, and to her perhaps unreasonable surprise, Georgiana turned her hand over and squeezed back.
It was no declaration. Even had they been in public, linked hands between two women would be nothing to remark upon.
But it felt significant anyway. Cat had offered something—gentleness, affection—and Georgiana had accepted it immediately. Instinctively.
Something about the gesture made Cat’s eyes sting.
“Do not mention it,” Selina said, flicking her fingers dismissively.
“I regret that I did not inform you of your shared legal counsel earlier, although in truth, I do not understand how the two of you were not aware of the situation already. What on earth did you talk about for the last fortnight at Renwick House?” She paused.
“Actually, no. Never mind. You may keep that to yourselves.”
Cat did not have to look at Georgiana to know that she was blushing. Even her fingers seemed to grow hotter. “We were very busy writing,” she said in a slightly strangled tone.
Selina appeared to be smothering her amusement.
“Indeed. I would expect nothing less from my two most profitable novelists.” Her gaze upon them suddenly sharpened.
“That is another avenue of inquiry I can pursue, now that I think of it. I shall look into the state of Mr. Yorke’s finances.
It does seem unlikely that he would threaten the security of his own livelihood—which is to say, the two of you. ”
“Illogical,” Cat agreed. “And Yorke is nothing if not pragmatic.”
Selina drummed her fingers on the chair again. “I shall enlist the help of my brother. I fear he is somewhat at loose ends since his return to London.”
A small crash made them turn to the desk where Iris was immersed in her work.
Or—had been immersed. She appeared to have knocked over a stack of books.
“Your brother?” she said. Her voice sounded very odd. “Lord William has come back to England?”
Selina blinked. “Yes. Will crossed the Channel nearly a fortnight ago, though he has not yet made his rounds in society.” She frowned. “Despite my encouragement.”
“Oh,” Iris said faintly. Her hair had fallen down around her shoulders, and ink was dripping from her upraised pen onto the paper in front of her.
“Dearest,” Selina said, “are you quite all right?”
Iris swallowed. “Quite will. Well, that is. Quite—quite well.”
“That’s very reassuring.”
Iris finally appeared to notice her pen and hastily returned it to the inkwell. “I have made some progress on your papers,” she said, “but I shall need more time. May I take them home with me?”
“Of course,” Georgiana said, and then she glanced down at Cat. “That is, if you do not mind?”
Cat felt her lips tug up, and had the immense pleasure of watching a small return smile transform Georgiana’s serious mouth. “I don’t mind at all,” she said, “but thank you for asking.”
She thought about that smile as they rose and took their leave. About the way Georgiana’s hand had turned instinctively into her own. It was as though here, surrounded by her friends, Georgiana found it easier to trust—to take what was freely offered and not to push it away.
Cat could understand that. The loyalty of Georgiana’s friends was palpable, their affection for Georgiana as bright and certain as the dawn. Vulnerability was not so fearsome a thing when one knew oneself to be loved.
On the stairs, she put her hand on Georgiana’s elbow.
Georgiana paused and looked down at her, and though there was worry in her expression, there was something else too. Softness. Intimacy.
“Georgie mine,” Cat said, “would you like to come meet my family?”