Despair of some fifteen stone weighed on her shoulders. She’d cried more in the last two days than the last six years—since her mother’s death. “Oh, Mama,” she whispered to the room at large. “Wheredidyou get the blunt to send me to Miss Greensley’s?”
Drawing in a deep, unsteady breath, she plunked the pitcher back on the sidebar and took up the candle. Minutes later, she entered her chamber in the Blue Suite. She set the candle on the escritoire and dug out the case with her mother’s letter to the previous Lord Pender and read it again. Unnecessary, since every word was indelibly imprinted on her brain.
Lord Pender,
I beg of you, please. Things have turned most dire. My husband… is a violent man. You must do something tosave my Gen… All that is precious to me is in your hands. Everything in my posse—
Who had funded her education? The only name she’d come across was Pender’s, so it seemed the most plausible explanation, except for the question of why. It would behoove Geneva to remember that the note she held hadn’t been sent. Perhaps her mother had entertained others. But a picture of Mama having taken to her bed—the great, swirling, black greatcoat—from the year since in bouts of darkness left her doubting that notion.
Everything eddied and churned in Geneva’s head. Around that time she’d been five years of age and the imposing figure wearing that bellowing, black greatcoat. How the memories dominated her in this grand castle with its secrets and gothic undertones.
She went to slip out of the lovely, dark-blue gown but groaned, realizing she required assistance.
There had been no other men in Mama’s life but Geneva’s own bastard drunkard of a father who, in retrospect, had spent most of the life she had been home at sea. Gone for a year or two at times. She shuddered at the memory of their last encounter.
Grabbing one of her old frocks, she went to Pasha’s small chamber for assistance.
Chapter Fifteen
The morning ofthe previous Earl of Pender’s service dawned with a bright sun. Surprising. It also followed a protocol that Geneva had never seen before. Certainly, not if one grew up on Berwick Street. Some of the nearby and more questionable neighborhoods to which she’d carried the Sapphire Society pamphlets had exposed her to scenes her friends would shudder at. One couldn’t avoid such things when it came to getting the necessary messages out. But even with her brush against the upper crust, this beat all. It began with a procession of the family—the new earl, all three Mr. Osheas—and a slew of servants and townspeople walking the mile to the church. Mrs. Verda Oshea and Miss Isabelle took a carriage, obviously due to Miss Isabelle’s inability make such an arduous trek.
In good conscience, Geneva couldn’t evade the event altogether and was forced, er,invited, to accompany Miss Hale in her rig.
“You looked quite fetching last night,” Miss Hale told her. She raked a critical eye over Geneva until Geneva shifted on her feet. “I don’t believe that gown ever did me the justice it does you. It even matches the circles beneath your eyes.”
The one reason Geneva could come up with was that it wasn’t some variation of yellow. “Thank you,” she murmured, proud of how she was managing to hold her tongue, if not her thoughts. She glanced down. Today, she wore the same gown, but with adark shawl Abra had loaned her. “You chose not to walk with the family?”
“Of course not,” Miss Hale huffed. “I’m not family.” The “yet” was clearly implied.
The ride was tedious. Since Miss Hale’s carriage followed the family’s equipage, there was quite the wait at Alnmouth’s one church, St. John the Baptist. After a lengthy service, another ride ensued to the family’s chapel on Stonemare land.
The Pender family mausoleum loomed at the edge of the graveyard, a gray, weathered edifice with intricate carvings of the family crest and ancient symbols of mortality. Ivy clung to its sides, and an iron gate leading to its interior stood open, creaking faintly in the wind.
The mourners clustered close with their heads bowed. The late earl’s name seemed to echo among the tombstones, sending a shiver over her skin. From the back of the large crowd, Geneva found herself conflicted by all the praise lauded on the late earl. His reputation hadn’t seemed to be a worry for anyone, save his brother, Mr. Lysander Oshea. The London broadsheets had held innumerable counts of his exploits with women and at the most notorious gaming hells. So many, that Geneva had long ago quit reading them.
The wind kicked up as if agreeing with or disputing her musings—she couldn’t discern which—and she clamped her hand on the useless hat she wore. Still, the gusts whipped the pins from the loose chignon she wore at her nape. She couldn’t make herself care.
Being from Berwick Street offered advantages. One in particular, was that it rendered her practically invisible. Perhaps not around the duke, but outside that pompous ass, not many thought her important enough for a second look.
The crowd shifted, jolting Geneva to her surroundings. The clergyman had finished his ramblings and she took refugebehind a large oak as the throng made their way to the various carriages lining the graveled road. She had no desire to suffer the short distance to Stonemare while dodging Miss Hale’s lobbing insults.
“Geneva?”
Hearing her own name startled her—her given name, too, against all etiquette. Reminded her that she wasn’t actually unseen. “Oh, hello, Mr. Julius.”
“Docia is looking for you.”
“Is she? I would prefer she didn’t find me.”
He grinned and held out his arm. “Then allow me to escort you back to Stonemare.”
Unable to resist his infectiousness, she returned his grin, dipped a quick curtsey, and accepted his arm. “I’d be honored, sir. And grateful, truth be told. I vow, dinner last eve was more than enough ‘lord’ this and ‘lady’ that to last me a lifetime. That is, if you don’t mind risking your reputation. Is there an alternate path that will keep me from sight?”
“Indeed, there is.” Again, that quick, cheerful smile. Which seemed incongruous since he’d just lost his father.The vast, swirling greatcoat…
It was his smile… the smile reminded her of someone near and dear to her. Geneva came to a halt, put a hand to her forehead, and faced him, taking in the strong jaw, the dark eyes, blue like hers, though their shape was all Oshea. It was his mouth that struck her as different. Fuller lips, like hers.
Like… Mama’s.
