Page 41 of A Daring Pursuit

Miss Wimbley set her hand atop Julius’s and squeezed gently. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I would have done had I not known my mother. She was sickly from the time I was five, but I was fortunate to have her another decade.”

“You were indeed,” Noah murmured. “Julius, perhaps you wouldn’t mind fetching Miss Wimbley and me each a glass of wine?”

“Certainly.” He pushed from the table.

There was no time to waste. Noah leaned in and lowered his voice. “Why does the duke appear to disdain you so much? Miss Wimbley,” he added on the off chance she would give him the same leave in calling her by her given name as well.

“I was friends with his daughter at school,” she said with the hint of teasing in her voice. “And, we, er, were caught in a couple of scrapes.”

Noah’s lips twitched. “Of which you were not the instigator, I take it?”

She didn’t speak for a long moment, eyes lowered. “Of course I was. You couldn’t possibly believe the daughter of a duke would be caught writing suggestive text on a chalkboard, could you?”

“Like what?” he challenged.

“Hmm.” She cleared her throat. “‘If she be black, and thereto have a wit / She’ll find a white that shall her blackness fit.’”

Noah was hit with a violent fit of coughing. “She didn’t.”

“She didn’t, it was I.” Her adorable nose wrinkled. “Surely, it’s not difficult to imagine what occurred after that, is it? Abra came after me like a feral cat. A fight ensued.” She lifted a delicate shoulder. “It was quite hateful of me. I was full of anger. Young girls are quite vicious, you know.”

Good God, she’d had no idea what that passage actually meant. Still didn’t, he’d wager.

Julius returned with their wine and took his seat, his mouth gaping. “A fight? Between ladies?”

She grinned at him. “Indeed. Alas, the instructress walked into a classroom of chaos. Our punishment was the three of us sharing a dorm room and taking all our meals together for the remainder of the term. As it turned out, we had much in common.”

Noah looked across the room where Lady Abra sat with her parents and the baron, then turned back to Miss Wimbley and angled his head. “Oh?”

“Abra and I were both outcasts of a sort. Her mother being of foreign ancestry, of course. Her father does not discount her; in fact, he absolutely dotes on her. But there are those who are petty and vindictive.” Again, her nose wrinkled. Self-disgust? “I happened to have been one of them at the time, even though my own background was blatantly more questionable.” She paused and Noah was struck by the contemplation in her dark eyes. “Our punishment created the bonds of a friendship that can’t be severed with mere words.”

Gripped by curiosity, Noah asked her, “What did Rathbourne’s daughter have to do with the situation?”

“Does it matter? Meredith, er, Lady Pender,” she modified quickly, “was in the room when the fight broke out. Shewas actually friends with both me and Abra. Her attempts of intervention lauded her a blackened eye.”

Julius gasped and Noah barely held back his own.

“Needless to say,” she went on, “when the duke learned of the incident, he was not pleased. She begged him not to take her out of school. She very nearly hadn’t escaped that fate.”

With that bit of context, Rathbourne’s reaction to Miss Wimbley made sense.

“But why is your background questionable?” Julius asked her. “Obviously, you belonged. Such a school would not be free, would it?”

Miss Wimbley’s head snapped to him as if the thought had never occurred to her. “How true. And very logical of you,” she said softly.

*

Geneva couldn’t believeshe’d never questioned how she’d been able to attend Miss Greensley’s School of Comportment for Young Women of Quality before. She’d grown up in a flat on Berwick Street. But Mama had talked endlessly of her own school days at Miss Greensley’s and how Geneva would follow in her very footsteps. Her mother’s diligence in teaching her to speak properly, to mind her manners, to carry herself with grace… well, it had never been in question. Not to her, at any rate.

Butwhohad funded her education? And, more importantly… why? Other vague occurrences whispered about her mind—how Mama had grown up in a grand home, then quickly saying, speaking of such around Papa upset him.“So, only speak about it when your father is at sea, darling. It makes him feel as if his providing for us is inadequate…”

Her head hurt, spun with questions and the lack of answers. She pushed away from the table. “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Oshea, Mister Julius. I require a-a moment.” On trembling legs, she willed herself upright, to walk, not run or collapse, as she made her way across the huge ballroom, quite aware that not only were Mr. Oshea’s, Abra’s and Lady Westbridge’s eyes on her, but Miss Hale’s, Lord Chaston’s, and the Duke of Rathbourne’s were as well.

She escaped into the hall but found no solace. There were people everywhere. She snatched a candle from a nearby table and managed to maintain her composure until she reached the privacy of the stairwell to the secret room she’d decided to claim. The perfect isolated sanctuary where no one would witness her crushing humiliation. By the time she’d reached the small chamber, the silent tears coursing down her face were rampant.

She went straight to the sideboard and lifted a pitcher.

Empty.

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