Page 29 of A Daring Pursuit

As Geneva well knew. “So she mentioned,” she gritted out through clenched teeth.

“I mean…” Her voice lowered as if the entirety of thetonhad their ears to the door. “Her mother was… was from… the West Indies—”

“You’re an idiot,” Geneva snapped. “Her mother was from Jamaica. A fact that does not shame her father, else he’d never have married her. I swear to you, if you say another dreadful thing about my friend, I shall walk all the way back to Stonemare. Tonight.”

Miss Hale stopped and turned, her jaw dropped, red dotting spots on her high cheekbones. Over her arm was a lovely lavender gown. “I-I’m sorry. I… suppose I envy your relationship. I have no friends. Not among ladies.” Her brows furrowed and her voice softened. “Or among gentlemen, for that matter. I’m quite self-centered. I suppose it’s from living on my own so long.”

Geneva drew in a breath. If anything, she was a fool for a self-deprecating tale. She considered Miss Hale for the longest time before her shoulders caved with acceptance. Geneva believed her. “I’ll let it go this time, but no more. Abra is one of my dearest friends and she’s been snubbed and cut for the most awful of reasons. Her stepmother is downright hostile and I won’t stand for someone like you disparaging her.”

A small smile touched Miss Hale’s face, transforming it into awe-inspiring beauty. “‘Someone like me.’” She shook her head. “I supposed I deserved that set-down. All right, Miss Wimbley. I apologize. I shall treat her as good a friend as you do.”

That was doubtful, but that was the best Geneva was likely to receive from the annoying, over-aged debutante, she thought with a stab of vindictiveness. “So, you never see your cousin?”

“When my father… disappeared, he petitioned for the viscountcy. It was granted, of course. And no, I don’t see him. I hate him. And he hates me. It’s a mutual hate.” Miss Hale punctuated the statements with a sharp nod as if that settled the matter. The discussion was obviously over. She held up the lavender gown. “Here, try this one.” She assisted Geneva out of Abra’s bronze gown and donned the new one. “It’s perfect. I knew it would be.” She led Geneva to a tall, free-standing mirror in the corner. “Look.”

Geneva couldn’t believe her eyes. With her hair pulled up in its similar style and, despite the contrast in color, they could pass for sisters, but for Miss Hale’s rounded chin. Geneva’s wasmore pointed, stubborn—not an attractive trait and certainly off-putting to others. Focusing on her flaws, however, was not her way and she shoved away the unwanted introspection. “Why were you so upset to hear that Meredith, I, er, mean, Lady Pender is with child?”

“W-What?”

Geneva’s gaze shot up. The red flush had drained, leaving Miss Hale’s countenance positively pallid. Her lips trembled, but true to her nature, she rallied, lifting her chin in more reminiscent defiance.

Excellent. It was past time being at the mercy of Miss Hale’s indirect hostility. Her show of good faith, while nice, seemed less than genuine.

Geneva pounced. “Earlier. When Rathbourne announced his forthcoming grandchild. You were beyond shocked.” She watched the woman’s reflection in the mirror. Yes, Geneva had heard the duke’s announcement just before entering the library and she didn’t believe a word of it. According to Meredith, her husband hadn’t returned to Cornwall once since abandoning her there three years before. While Meredith hadn’t put actual words to paper the wedding had not been consummated, she had intimated it by writing:their connection had stopped at the altar. And the duke was cunning, not above using crafty methods for means to an end. His own.

Miss Hale’s face remained the same ashen pallor it had that afternoon and Geneva almost felt bad for her, just not enough to take back her words. She couldn’t squelch the notion that Miss Hale meant Meredith harm. No one hurt Geneva’s friends. Not if she could help it.

Her eyes took on flecks of ice, her expression coy, her voice nonchalant. “I told Noah he should consider you, you know.” The underlying steel sent waves of chill swirling down her spine.

Geneva’s head snapped from the mirror to face her. “Formarriage?” Her squeal could have shattered glass.

“Certainly not. That wouldneverdo.” Her eyes flashed and Geneva caught the glint of malevolence. “I suggested he take you as his mistress.”

The words coiled about her like a serpent, swift, constricting, and spreading through her chest—a dark tide pulling her under, only to release her and batter her against a rocky shore. “You—” she choked out. But Geneva drew in a harsh breath, remembering she’d learned more at Miss Greensley’s than academics. She was the epitome of survival tactics. “You’ve made it abundantly clear why you’ve no friends, Miss Hale,” she said gently. “And I, for one, am sorry for you.”

Chapter Eleven

The next morning,Noah was wakened by a harsh rain and a fierce wind rattling the windows. He crossed the icy floor to the hearth and stirred the embers before tossing on more fuel, then rang for coffee. The water in the basin was as frigid as the floor, but being the mighty Northumberland man he was, he splashed his face with nary a flinch.

More of London’s elite had appeared at the castle last night, some as late as midnight, and he didn’t expect it to let up throughout the day. Father’s service was scheduled for the church in Alnmouth the next day.

Noah swiped his face with a linen towel and dragged on his clothes. A glance at the mantel clock showed seven and he’d told Docia to be prepared by eight. He had no intention of being late and it hadnothingto do with a desire to see Geneva Wimbley or brushing a fingertip over her plump bottom lip—

The effort to put that image out of his head was futile.

He wrapped his cravat in a simple knot and donned a dark-blue waistcoat that reminded him of a certain pair of navy eyes. On a whim, he picked through his wooden jewel box and located the sapphire stick pin, and with a grim smile, poked it through the starched fabric. Snatching up his coat, he stepped into the corridor, nearly bumping into Julius. Noah frowned. “What are you doing up at this hour?”

“I couldn’t sleep. Are you for Chaston? I thought to accompany you.”

That was the last thing Noah wanted. “Why?”

“Why not?” he drawled with distinct mockery. “I’m awake and desire to accompany you. Is there some reason I shouldn’t?”

Yes.“No.” Noah ran a critical eye over him. “You might consider wearing your boots. The roads will be all muck.” He could only hope they didn’t break a wheel, or worse, an axel. “I’ll meet you in the dining hall.”

With a sharp nod, Julius slipped back into his chamber.

By the time Dermid brought the carriage around, the rain had lessened. The wind, however, remained a stubborn, brutal reminder that spring in the northeast was as unpredictable as a failed chemical experiment. Exhibit A? Fallen turret.

---