Page 85 of A Daring Pursuit

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Noah had neverfelt so… so sated. So replete. So hungry for more. His entire body hummed with need and longing for a life that his uncle had managed to affect with his aunt. The sentiments felt so close, his fingers tingled with a desire to reach out, grasp, and cling to the possibility of such great happiness and contentment.

Sleep was as far from his reach as crawling in Geneva’s bed tonight. He made his way down the stairs to the library and let himself in.

And stopped.

“Ah, Noah,” Sander said. “Come, join us for a drink before the gentlemen take themselves off to Alnmouth for the night.” Mr. Asher, Lord Martindale, and his uncle stood around the fire, warming themselves with heat and spirits. Sander filled then handed Noah a glass of Pender’s best brandy.

Martindale eyed Noah over his own glass. “How on earth did Miss Wimbley come to land in Northumberland? She has a reputation as a bit of a rabble-rouser in some of the more questionable London areas.”

“Is that so?” Sander said mildly. Dangerously.

Noah’s lips tightened, but he refrained from speaking, seeing as how his uncle had picked up the gist.

Martindale, the daft prick, hadn’t, and went on. “Oh, yes. I believe she’s had a hand in stirring the masses for economic equality for the lower classes.” He snorted. “And women. The idea is preposterous. As if Parliament would ever allow women to run the country.”

“That sounds somewhat blasphemous,” Noah said mildly. “Apparently, you’ve forgotten that Queen Victoria has successfully run the country now for a decade.”

“Bah, that was Melbourne, Peel, and Russell.” He threw out his hand.

Sander frowned. “Her nuptials to Albert in ’40 solidified her position. Don’t you agree?”

“What’s that, Lord Martindale?” Mr. Asher threw in. “Why, Victoria’s support’s been a boon to the country’s progress. Her endorsements to the rail systems will have England lauded as the greatest of technological advancements.”

A notion with which Noah heartily agreed.

Martindale shot Asher a glare. “There have been pamphlets distributed all over London.” His derisive sneer moved about the group. “The last one I read expounded the qualities of education for everyone. For the greater good of England. Absolutely ridiculous. I’ve never been able to prove it was Miss Wimbley, but I’d stake my life on the fact it’sherwho’s putting out all that gibberish. When I catch that little harlot—”

Noah’s hand tightened in a fist and he took a step in the marquess’s direction before his uncle spoke up.

“Just a minute there, Lord Martindale. Miss Wimbley is a guest of ours and there’s been no indication of her involvement in any such antics.” Sander’s mildness calmed Noah. “Perhaps considering what women are expected to give,” he added with athoughtful crease to his forehead, “or how they are expected to conduct themselves warrants a closer look in these matters.”

Noah’s tension may have eased, as Sander had likely intended, and Noah stepped back, flexing his hand. But the tension most assuredly had transferred to Martindale. Noah stifled an eruption of laughter behind a choked cough at the astonishment creasing the scoundrel’s expression.

Asher clapped the marquess on the shoulder. “Best be getting on the road, eh, your lordship?”

Noah waited until Sander returned from seeing their guests to the vestibule and turning them over to Winfield.

“Is it true?” Sander asked him. “About the pamphlets?”

It wasn’t Noah’s place to enlighten his uncle, so he shrugged. “What would it matter?”

Sander speared Noah a contemplative look. As if Noah were as transparent as the brandy he’d finished off. “It matters not to me. In fact, she sounds quite the reformer.”

You’ve no idea.

Noah thought of that bold written essay he’d discovered. Its strong message for women, and men, if he recalled correctly, by women on their right to work, to care for their children. To remember that women were the future of the world because they were the ones who carried the sons and daughters for the future. It was a brilliant, well-articulated, call to action piece of work. How proud he was for his future wife. He would take great pleasure in creating a large, light-filled chamber for her to do her good works in. Whatever she required, he would build it with his own two hands.

Julius entered the library. “Is the bore gone?”

An apt description if Noah had ever heard one. “He is indeed.”

“Docia gave Martindale quite the set down,” Julius said. “Turned Asher on his head too. How is Geneva?”

“I was able to get her away with no incident.” Noah went to the cabinet before his expression exposed that little fabrication. He poured a small measure of brandy for Julius, then, with his composure firmly intact, turned and handed it to him. “The credit with utmost gratitude goes to you and Docia.”

“What do you suppose is triggering those megrims? They seem to strike without warning, don’t they?” Julius took a sip of his brandy.

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