She slowly circled. Something was different. And wrong, noting less clutter than usual—her belongings. All her belongings had been dispensed of.
Disappointment nearly drowned her beneath the weight of despair. A piercing anguish sliced through her. Hurt, then… rage.
She tore through the chamber, ripped the linens from the bed, pounded the wall with her fists, kicked the chamber pot with her thin slipper, and fell. Her big toe throbbed. That proved too much and she slid to the floor, sobs wracking her yet washing away the macabre notions of this horrid castle. The frightening Sander Oshea’s mien.
Not that she was angry with Noah Oshea. The fury roaring through her was directed at herself. She loathed that deep down, she had been fool enough to harbor illusory hopes. Fanciful dreams that didnotinclude being anyone’s mistress.
That blasted Noah Oshea. He had no right to treat her like a grand lady then dash her hopes by having her bags packed forher. Likely, they were stashed in a cart readied to whisk her to the train depot.
Geneva swiped her arm across her nose and forced herself to think.
Julius detested her now. Yes, it had to have been he who’d had her things removed. He’d been angry enough to spew fire. Just over one tiny question that had popped out of her uncontrollable mouth. The tears made a turbulent resurgence and streamed down her face. How desolate her life had become. She covered her face with her hands. Oh, to be back in her tiny flat in Berwick…
The door opened and Pasha entered. Her eyes swept the disaster Geneva had wrought. “Oh, my,” she breathed.
“They confiscated everything.” Geneva hiccupped.
“No. No, miss,” Pasha said quickly. “I moved them myself. To my lady’s previous chamber.”
Geneva looked up at her and wiped her eyes. “You did?”
Pasha nodded. “You deserved grander, miss.”
“That was very nice of you, Pasha. I-I suppose I’m so overset, I can hardly think.” Geneva gave her a grim smile. “Abra is gone, then?”
“Yes, miss. She made me play sick so I could remain with you.”
Geneva shook her head, the tears welling again. It was very possible, Lady Westbridge had been granted one of her most fervent wishes: Geneva wiped from Abra’s life. The tears refused to stem. “I’m so sorry, Pasha. Help me up, would you?”
Pasha obliged then pulled a strip of linen from her apron pocket and held it out. “Never you mind, miss. I can barely abide her ladyship, er, if you don’t mind me saying.”
“Of course I don’t. I happen to share your feelings on the matter.”
Once Geneva was balanced, Pasha stood back and her eyes widened. Her hands flew to her mouth in an almost comical expression of horror.
In fact, if things hadn’t turned so dire, Geneva might have been inclined to laugh. As it was, she looked down at Miss Hale’s lovely frock and grimaced. “I do believe I require a bath.”
“Yes, miss, I fear so. Please, let’s hurry so no one sees you.”
“I don’t think there’s any reason for worry on that score.
“I’ve discovered a unique ability I possess of clearing a castle of guests—wanted and unwanted. It matters not.”
Geneva followed Pasha from the small bedchamber into the sitting room and pulled up abruptly.
Julius stood near the hearth.
She stiffened her spine, donning the shield that had served her so well in her early days at Miss Greensley’s—a cloak of impenetrable silent resilience. “I’m not up for a confrontation, sir. As you can see, I am in desperate need of cleaning up,” Geneva said flatly. She’d never needed anyone before, and she certainly didn’t now.
His mouth opened slightly, then closed, as though trying to form words, but he couldn’t quite find the right ones. His gaze dropped briefly to the floor then rose back up to hers, searching her face as if hoping for a sign of forgiveness. But she was not in a forgiving mood. His shoulders, normally squared with a confident air, slumped.
“I came to apologize, Geneva. I’m truly sorry. I should never have deserted you in the woods like that. Noah is right. I was just so… so startled.” The lines at the corners of his mouth deepened, and for a brief moment, his expression softened—an echo of the boy she imagined he’d once been. The moment passed as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a strained resolve. His jaw tightened. “I was hoping you might spare me time to talk. After you’re rested, of course.”
She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead with her eyes closed. “I suppose a discussion is inevitable. Tomorrow, perhaps.”
“All right.” His dejection cut through her weariness.
“I’ll meet with you,” she relented less sourly. “In the morning? If you don’t mind waiting. I truly must discard this horrible gown.”
