Page 19 of The Spinster’s Secret Stake (Ladies of Opportunity #2)

NINETEEN

Fernleigh House gardens

Half-past three that afternoon

After Matilda had collected straw hats to shade them from the sun, she and Roxina stepped into the charming, meticulously tended English garden.

Flowers—roses in shades of blush pink and crimson, foxgloves with their tall spires of speckled white and lavender, and primroses in soft yellows and creamy whites—nestled among well-tended shrubs of lavender with dusky purple blooms, boxwoods’ dense green foliage, and flowering currant adorned with clusters of rosy-red blossoms.

The mingling scents of rosemary, thyme, and lemon balm wove through the gentle afternoon breeze—rosemary’s bold, piney fragrance intertwined with the slightly peppery scent of thyme, while lemon balm’s crisp, citrusy freshness brightened the air with its invigorating zest.

A stone fountain stood at the garden’s center, its weathered gray basin cradling crystal-clear water that rippled with each gentle splash from the sculpted cherub perched at its heart. A chubby, dimpled cherub sat atop a pedestal entwined with carved vines and blooming roses, his rounded cheeks forever frozen in innocent delight. Moss crept along the fountain’s base, lending a velvety green patina to the aged stone, softening its edges with nature’s quiet touch.

A thin stream arced from the smiling cherub’s outstretched hands, cascading down in an endless dance. Its soft burbling filled the air with a tranquil melody. Sunlight dappled through the branches above, glinting off the droplets and casting winking rainbows amid the spray. The shimmering water played over the stone’s worn surface, sprinkled with patches of mossy green, creating a mosaic of light and shadow.

Birds flitted between the hedgerows, their delicate trills and chirps a harmonious accompaniment to the fountain’s gentle melody. A pair of orange-tip butterflies danced above the wild garlic, their white wings flashing with each erratic turn, while a brimstone butterfly glided past, its pale-yellow wings as delicate as a rose petal.

Oh, to be as carefree as the birds and butterflies.

“This is breathtaking.” Roxina bent and brushed her fingertips over a delicate bluebell blossom. “I’ve been tending to the cottage garden, but mine is quite humble compared to this. Is this your doing, Matilda? It is utterly magnificent.”

“It is.” A blush tinted Matilda’s cheeks, but delight and pride danced in her eyes. “Robyn lets me have my way. He’s too protective, but in this, he does not restrict me. Tending the garden keeps me busy.”

Was Matilda also lonely?

Roxina fell in step beside Matilda. They meandered through the garden, pausing here and there to admire a new bloom or breathe in the fragrance of a climbing jasmine vine.

Dash, ever inquisitive, bounded ahead, his nose twitching as he veered toward a copse of hazel and elderberry at the garden’s farthest edge.

“Dash.” Roxina barely had time to call his name before he shot off like a musket ball, his paws kicking up bits of grass. A moment later, a chittering sound erupted from the trees, and a plump squirrel darted across the path, its tail fluffed in outraged alarm.

Matilda laughed. “That dog is utterly incorrigible.”

“He is, but I have grown attached to him.” Roxina forced her lips upward, but her heart remained leaden.

The garden’s tranquility could not erase the gnawing unease coiling in her chest and churning her middle.

Spring’s warmth lingered, the scent of sun-kissed blossoms and freshly turned earth drifting through the garden. For a fleeting moment, as the scent of spring flowers perfumed the air and the soothing sounds of birdsong and the fountain’s trickling water surrounded her, Roxina could almost forget what had brought her here.

Almost .

Squinting at the leaves overhead, she examined her heart.

Did she have feelings for Shelby?

In truth, she did not know what to make of the emotional turmoil consuming her.

The thought of harm befalling him sent an icy dread through her veins. And it was not only Shelby who occupied her thoughts.

Robyn. Mitchel .

They had all become entangled in this treacherous web.

How could she enjoy such beauty and peace when people she cared for faced an unknown threat?

Roxina clenched her hands, fisting them so tight, her knuckles turned white as she dragged her attention from the sun-dappled path. Despite its loveliness, the garden suddenly seemed too tranquil—too removed from the dangers lurking beyond its tidy hedges.

A short while later, excited chatter near the terrace doors drew Roxina’s attention.

Matilda, too, lifted her head and peered in the house’s direction.

They came .

Aubriella, Claire, and Georgine came .

The enthusiastic but muted conversation carried across the late afternoon air, now and then punctuated by a voice raised in concern.

Before she and Matilda could retrace their steps, Aubriella Matherfield, Georgine Thackerly, and Claire Granlund flew down the flagstone pathway, their colorful skirts swirling about them in a feminine dervish of silk and muslin.

Aubriella, ever unapologetic in her disregard for fashion, wore a faded, out-of-date fern green gown with ink smudges on the cuffs—evidence of her latest anatomical sketches, no doubt. Her dark brown curls had half escaped their pins, framing her freckled face in wild disarray, while her hazel eyes gleamed with urgency.

Georgine, effortlessly elegant even in haste, wore the same pretty pink gown she had the day she arrived at the cottage in Blackheath—the very day Roxina had received the last anonymous letter from Shelby.

Unlike Aubriella, she had taken care to smooth her brunette locks into a neat chignon, though a few strands had loosened in the commotion and brushed against her temples. Sapphire- blue eyes snapping with worry, she hurried forward, lovely and composed even in her haste.

Not a golden curl out of place, Claire, the eldest and most poised, moved with long-practiced grace, though concern creased the corners of her whisky-brown eyes. Widowhood had granted her a newfound confidence, and she embraced her freedom wholeheartedly. Her striking claret-and-white striped ensemble suited her daring spirit—a rebellious choice she never would have made under her late husband’s watchful eye.

Concern etched upon their features, the women rushed forward.

Forehead furrowed in an uncharacteristic apprehension, Aubriella reached Roxina first and clutched her hands.

“Whatever has warranted such an urgent summons?” Her voice, though calm, carried an undercurrent of tension. She glanced at the others, her freckles standing out starkly against her flushed cheeks. “And what is this about an abduction ? We were quite frantic with worry.”

Roxina mustered a small, apologetic smile, though her heart still pounded when she recalled the past four and twenty hours. “I am sorry to have alarmed you, but it was imperative that you know I am staying here temporarily. It is no longer safe to hold Ladies of Opportunity meetings in Blackheath.”

Matilda, who had remained silent until now, crossed her arms over her chest as if suddenly chilled. “Roxina was abducted, and if it were not for Shelby Tellinger, only the good Lord knows what would have become of her.”

The three newcomers gasped simultaneously.

Georgine threw a hand to her throat, her sapphire eyes widening. “Good Lord.”

Aubriella’s lips parted as though she had a dozen questions already forming, while Claire’s sharp gaze hardened with quiet intensity.

“ Abducted ?” Georgine’s voice held a slight tremor. “Why?—?”

Wrestling her disgust and anger into submission, Roxina curled her fingers into her skirt. “In short, Mitchel’s misdeeds.”

“What a surprise .” Sarcasm dripped from Claire’s remark.

“Until Mitchel is found, Shelby vows that neither he nor I—or even you—are safe.” Roxina shook her head, the reality of her situation bearing down upon her. “I despair of Mitchel ever doing what is right.”

The women fell silent, the gravity of her words settling over them.

“We should move farther into the gardens to ensure our conversation is not overheard.” Claire shifted her attention toward the terrace before scanning the surrounding hedges. “Please don’t take offense, Mittie, and it is not that we don’t trust your staff, but even the best servants gossip.”

Domestics usually knew exactly what went on in the households they served.

“An excellent suggestion.” Georgine looped her arm through Roxina’s, the gentle pressure offering silent reassurance.

“No offense taken.” Canting her head, Matilda swept her gaze over the garden with practiced caution. “We must proceed with care. If you will follow me.”

She led them to the farthest corner of the garden, where two wrought-iron benches formed an L beneath a honeysuckle-covered arbor. The sweet, heady fragrance hung thick in the air as Matilda cast a brief glance toward the nearby gate to the mews, ensuring it remained firmly closed. Satisfied with their privacy, she gestured for the others to sit.

Beyond the arbor, a tall ivy-covered brick wall separated the garden from the mews behind the house, while an arched gate draped in climbing roses provided quick access to the stables. The air, though warm, carried the faintest promise of a cool evening breeze, rustling the hawthorn tree beside them. The white blossoms bobbed with each movement, casting mottled patterns across the grass.

Roxina sank onto the bench, grateful for the shade offering respite from the afternoon’s warmth. The other women followed suit, murmuring their appreciation as a soft breeze stirred the leaves overhead.

Dash padded to her side and flopped onto the ground, his gaze shifting between the newcomers. He sniffed at Aubriella’s skirt and sneezed, as though unimpressed by the lingering scent of whatever peculiar substances clung to the fabric.

Giving the dog a cursory glance, Aubriella fixed her attention on Roxina with the intensity of a surgeon preparing for a dissection.

“Please, start from the beginning, Roxina.” Keenly intelligent, she would not be satisfied until she knew every detail. “Leave nothing out.”

Matilda straightened, her countenance grave. “Before she does, you should know—Shelby, Robyn, and Quentin Honeybrook are already following a lead on Mitchel’s whereabouts. There’s reason to believe Roxina’s abductor may be there, too.”

“And they went alone ?” Georgine stiffened, her focus trained onto Roxina. Georgine didn’t resemble a typical bluestocking, but Roxina didn’t know anyone who read as much as Georgie.

She possessed a penchant for reading old transcripts and crime reports, often poring over copies of The Proceedings of the Old Bailey or leafing through past editions of The Times and The Morning Chronicle in search of intriguing cases and unsolved mysteries. Ever the bluestocking, Georgine devoured legal treatises and societal essays with equal fervor, her mind as sharp and inquisitive as any scholar’s.

“Why didn’t they contact the authorities?” she demanded.

“Excellent question.” Roxina inhaled sharply, a suffocating tension wrapping around her chest like an iron band. “I suppose they did not want to take the time or wanted to make sure first.”

“Then we cannot afford to waste a single minute.” Pressing her lips together, Claire nodded once. “Tell us everything so we can formulate a plan.”

“Indeed. We need to know what we’re up against.” Georgine exhaled, smoothing a hand over her skirts.

Dash let out a low whine and rested his chin on his paws.

A warm gust of wind stirred the arbor’s vines, rustling the leaves with a whisper-like sigh.

Roxina folded her hands in her lap, steadying herself.

She quickly recounted the same story she had told Matilda a short while ago, her voice steady despite the turmoil within her. Every word seemed more poignant this time, as if speaking them aloud once more brought home the reality of what had happened.

“So, you see, we must make other arrangements for our weekly meetings.” She clasped her hands tightly, willing the slight trembling to stop. “Shelby is concerned that the man who abducted us may be watching your homes as well, hoping I shall seek refuge with one of you. Therefore, we cannot meet at your homes either, nor can I visit you.”

A sharp pang twisted in her chest.

This should not have been their burden to bear. Her friends had nothing to do with the choices that led Roxina here, and yet, because of Mitchel, these women’s lives had also been disrupted.

Mitchel.

Her brother’s name seared Roxina’s mind like molten iron, his thoughtless recklessness leaving ruin in its wake. He had slithered away without consequence, while those left behind suffered for his reprobate choices.

Shelby had suffered too.

Roxina pressed her lips together, a warmth rising in her throat that had nothing to do with anger.

If not for Shelby…

She swallowed hard, not wishing to think of what could have happened yesterday or what could happen today, for that matter.

Shelby had been a steady force when her world spun out of control.

Unshakable. Unrelenting.

And now, because of her, he had set off into the unknown, chasing a man who had no regard for the lives he dismantled.

“With any luck, the lead regarding Mitchel will prove productive, and Shelby, Robyn, and Quentin Honeybrook will track him down.” Roxina tried to convey confidence, though doubts assailed her.

“ Ahem. ” Matilda, ever practical, cleared her throat. “I do not mean to intrude, as I am not a member, but the Ladies of Opportunity are welcome to meet here. You could use the drawing room. I’m positive Robyn would not object.”

Aubriella’s face brightened despite the pregnant tension in the air.

“This may not be the best time for formalities, but we all agree, Mittie.” Aubriella met Roxina’s, Claire’s, and Georgine’s gazes in succession. “We would like to invite you to join the Ladies of Opportunity .”

“Yes!” Eyes twinkling with enthusiasm, Matilda clapped gaily and nodded, her red curls bouncing with the movement. “I would love to.”

“And we would love to have you.” Claire gave her hand a firm but affectionate squeeze. She turned back to Roxina, keen intelligence gleaming in her brown eyes. “Do you truly believe this Desmond fellow presents a threat to us?”

“I fear so.” Removing her bonnet, Roxina nodded, her expression darkening. “The wretch is the very embodiment of wickedness, a soul so blackened and depraved that even the devil himself would recoil. I’ve seen the depths of his villainy firsthand—there’s not a shred of decency left in him. I’ve never met?—”

The gate latch clicked sharply, interrupting their earnest conversation.

As one, Roxina and the other women pivoted, staring mesmerized as the shaded gateway creaked open.

Matilda’s breath caught as the color drained from her face. “Only Robyn and the footmen ever use that gate.”

Robyn?

Or Shelby?

The stableboy?

Please, let it be one of them .

Please, please, please .

A cool breeze wafted through the opening, carrying the mew’s pungent odors: horseflesh, manure, hay… And then, more acrid aromas—unwashed bodies and stale tobacco. Shadows stretched long across the pathway as two ominous figures slipped inside, their movements too smooth, too practiced.

“Oh, dear Lord,” Aubriella murmured, her voice tight. Freckles stark against her pale skin, she half-turned toward Matilda. “I presume you do not know these men?”

“No,” she whispered, eyes round with alarm.

But Roxina did, God help them.

Her pulse pounded in her ears, the frantic rhythm echoing through her chest like a drumbeat against her ribs. She pushed to her feet, her skirts rustling against the wrought-iron bench. Claire and Georgine rose beside her, their movements slow and deliberate.

Teeth bared, Dash released a menacing growl, his posture bristled with barely contained energy—a hound scenting danger.

“Down—quiet.” Roxina spoke calmly despite the fear creeping up her spine. “Stay.”

The dog obeyed but remained alert, his nearly black eyes locked on the intruders.

“Well now, what do we have here?” A tall brute with a thin scar lashing his cheek stepped forward, his lewd grin revealing yellowed teeth. “A gathering of fine ladies?”

“What a pleasant surprise.” His stockier companion chuckled, a rough grating in his throat. “What a pity, we must interrupt.”

Roxina’s abductors.

She had prayed never to set eyes on either scoundrel again.

Terror washed over her, so overpowering, dizziness momentarily swept her.

She closed her eyes for half a dozen heartbeats and counted: one, two, three, four, five.

If these malefactors were here, what did that mean for Shelby and the others?

Had they walked straight into a trap?

Features pinched as if she held her breath, Georgine tilted her head, surveying the men as if they were offal or excrement. “I imagine it’s far less pleasant to go through life reeking of failure, body odor, and sour ale.”

The shorter man’s smirk faltered. He shifted his stance, shoulders tensing as if debating whether to take offense.

Folding her hands before her, Claire heaved in an exaggerated sigh while wrinkling her nose.

“Tragic, really,” she said, her tone bored. “Almost as tragic as the aroma clinging to you. Did you take a plunge into a tanner’s pit or merely roll about in a heap of decaying carcasses for sport?”

The brute’s face darkened, and he fisted his hands at his sides. “I would watch my tongue if I was you, miss.”

“It is missus.” Claire met his glower straight on.

Roxina barely heard their exchange, for another menacing figure stepped through the open gate.

Her pulse stilled.

She knew.

It was him .

Though she had never seen Desmond, she needed no introduction.

The moment his boots scraped against the stone pathway, his presence wound around her like a noose.

Rufus Desmond.

The fragrance of expensive cologne barely masked the sour tang of spirits emanating from him. His dark hair gleamed in the dim light, slicked back with precision, yet the faint creases at his collar hinted at a night spent in places where dignity dared not tread.

Roxina clasped her trembling fingers together.

Every muscle in her body screamed for her to run.

Chin up, shoulders squared, excoriating him with her glare, she stood her ground . “Why are you here?”

As if she didn’t already know.

Desmond bent his mouth into a slow, derisive smile.

“ Hello, Miss Danforth. ”