Page 2 of Unforeseen Affairs (The Sedleys #6)

It didn’t help that his hair, the deep coppery red of generations of Gearings, made for such a striking image that he was instantly recognizable on the covers of the tawdry yellowbacks containing a trussed-up version of his tale that were sold at railway stations across the country for a few shillings apiece.

But Colin knew that wasn’t who he was. He was no hero. He was just a sailor like any other.

Or, rather, he had been.

He reached up to rub his temple.

The young woman, who still had yet to identify herself, continued to make her way confidently through his house. Colin frowned.

“I beg your pardon, but where are we headed?”

What he really wanted to say was, “Who the dickens are you and what are you doing, wandering about my family’s home at teatime?” But he was still a gentleman.

He glanced sidelong at her, and could’ve sworn he saw the hint of a smile play upon her lips. What a strange girl.

“Do you always ask this many questions?” she asked coldly.

Another non-answer. Colin held back a sigh. They turned right down another hall, heading toward the sunny parlor where his mother usually took her tea. This was becoming ridiculous; he’d better go ahead and get to the point.

“Look, Miss… well. I’m sure you were there, passing by the library, when you had the misfortune to overhear a bit of a…

overhear me give a somewhat ribald toast. I’m aware it was thoroughly coarse and utterly objectionable to the ears of a young lady such as yourself, but please understand, I believed myself to be only in the company of my… ”

His words trailed off as they approached the open doors of the parlor, from which his mother’s conversation spilled out into the hall.

Does no one in this house close a bloody door? Colin thought, suddenly exasperated.

He shook his head, recovered his train of thought, and continued. “That is to say, I apologize for my language. Wholeheartedly.” He paused just before the threshold and allowed her to go ahead, as it seemed this was her intended destination.

She turned and studied his face for what felt an uncomfortably long time.

“Alright,” she finally said, then turned and went into the parlor.

Colin, taken aback once again, stood rooted to the floor for a moment before, against his better judgment, he followed her into the room.

“Ah! Colin,” his mother piped up from her perch upon a settee. “I see you’ve acquainted yourself with Miss Sedley.”

A Sedley? Well then, that explains it all.

“Charlotte Sedley,” the girl added, her dark eyes twinkling with mischief.

Happy to have his incredulity replaced with a simple, easy explanation, Colin bowed gently, feeling far less flustered this time.

The girl was a Sedley. Everyone knew that temperaments ran hot and batty with that lot.

Mad as a Sedley , he’d always heard—always from some white-whiskered gentleman, and always followed by a knowing chuckle.

And sometimes, a reluctant admission that, in spite of it all, Sedley’s Satin Black Boot Polish was a sound product. So said their valets, anyway.

“Come in, Colin, dear. Allow me to introduce Mrs. Stone,” his mother exhorted.

Miss Sedley drifted farther into the room, alighting upon a couch next to a tiny, bird-like woman draped in black lace and veils, whom Colin surmised must be Mrs. Stone. Another seemingly strange creature.

“My son, Sir Colin Gearing.” Mrs. Gearing gestured to the small woman donning what seemed to be widow’s weeds. “Mrs. Elsie Stone.”

He gave another bow as the lady in black nodded.

He really ought to get back to Beaky and Kettlewell; they’d a whole evening of planned merriment before them.

But Colin took a seat, as a dutiful son should.

He spared a brief glance at his mother. That morning she’d been maudlin while recounting the day he was born, but she now seemed in high spirits, her color healthy and her dress tidy.

“Miss Sedley is Mrs. Stone’s assistant,” his mother said. “She was examining the rooms, looking for something suitable.”

“Oh?” Colin said, feeling a pang of apprehension he couldn’t explain.

Miss Sedley watched him eagerly, like a jaguar hiding in the shadows, stalking its prey. Colin tried to avoid looking her in the eye.

“Something suitable for what?” he asked.

It was Mrs. Stone who answered, her voice thin and raspy.

“Why, for the séance.”

Colin turned to his mother, worried. But she seemed perfectly at ease, and apparently of sound mind as she poured another cup for Mrs. Stone.

“A séance, Mama?” he said mildly. “I’d hate for you to—”

“Pah,” she scoffed, waving him off. “Mrs. Stone came very highly recommended! As you can see, she’s nothing like that other medium, the one Captain Pearce engaged. If you’ll recall, I was dubious about her from the start.”

That was the thing, though, wasn’t it? How could one place their trust in any person whose livelihood depended on the believability of their own unverifiable claims? Colin did his best to mask his concern behind what he hoped was a pleasant enough smile.

“Mrs. Stone asks for nothing,” Miss Sedley said. “She wishes only to offer comfort to those who seek her out.”

“Is that so?” Colin asked skeptically.

“Of course,” Miss Sedley replied with confidence. “She’s a true medium.”

Colin heard his mother hum in assent. His heart sank; he knew this path would only lead her to disappointment. And pain.

“And what makes a true medium?” he prodded. His kind, cheerful nature was at odds with his desire to protect his mother.

“A messenger. A vessel. Someone capable of renouncing the self and summoning the immortal human souls of others,” replied Miss Sedley, her voice dropping lower at the words immortal human souls .

Colin thought of how his mother had kept to her rooms for a week after that charlatan of a medium Captain Pearce had engaged had failed to deliver any indication that Bernard could communicate with them.

It had crushed her hope—at least temporarily—that his elder brother was anywhere but decomposing in his watery grave.

“And you believe that a person’s soul could be made to remain at the beck and call of the living?”

“Colin!” his mother admonished.

At that, Miss Sedley’s somber expression softened. But only for a moment.

“Yes,” she replied matter-of-factly.

So she wasn’t peculiar because she was a Sedley. Or at least, not entirely. Rather, she was some sort of spiritualist. In earnest.

For some reason, Colin felt a slight disappointment.

Almost as if she could read his mind, Miss Sedley raised a brow.

Colin looked away, unsettled by the whole situation—and especially by her.