Verda cleared her throat. “Er, Sander, if Isabelle wishes to watch, then she should be allowed to do so. How else is she to become the first successful woman physician otherwise?”
“Thank you, Mama,” she said with an impish grin.
Noah suppressed a grin of his own. His aunt’s mild words were reminiscent to Noah’s own youth when she’d produced a book of essays by the scientist Elizabeth Fulhame. At the time, Noah had been stunned, perhaps understandably since he’d only been ten at the time, that women could be scientists. Back then, Verda had blithely informed him that women did indeed have brains. Noah had taken the words to heart and had included Isabelle in his studies from the time she’d been able to walk, to engage and encourage her interests.
Her parents were extremely watchful over her. They trusted him implicitly due to him having raised Julius from infancy. But he didn’t trust himself. Not completely. He’d been the one on the moors with her when the adder had bitten her on the ankle. The wound had grown infected and deformed the bone so that it hadn’t developed properly. Sometimes the debilitating guilt was more than he could bear.
This was one of the many lighter moments that clogged his throat with a joy so great, he couldn’t talk.
A scowl turned his uncle’s lips and Sander dropped his arms to his sides, stepping back—but not too far. “What happened, Julius?”
“As I told Noah, a dagger flew from the trees headed straight for me. Geneva reacted instinctively, pushing me down so that it only grazed my arm.”
“’Tis a tad more than a graze, Mister Julius.” Mrs. Knagg finished cleaning the wound. “Hold the gash together, boy,” she instructed Noah.
He rolled his eyes but did as she demanded.
Julius winced, and that was before the needle touched his skin. “Blast,” he gritted out.
“Language, son,” Sander said.
Julius clamped his lips tightly.
Sander looked at Noah. He didn’t see him, but Noah felt the sear of his intensity. “Do you have reason to believe Miss Wimbley had something to do with the attack on Julius?”
The chamber stilled as it had when Noah had addressed his accusations directly to Miss Wimbley. His lips tightened to a painful line.No.He just didn’t know how to deal with the sheer depth of emotion she evoked in him. Things he couldn’t—refused—to label.
Julius huffed out his frustration. “Not this again.”
From over his shoulder, Noah caught Isabelle’s frown on him, then her father. “Miss Wimbley couldn’t possibly have tried to murder Julius, Papa. She’s a woman. Women don’t kill people. And certainly not Miss Wimbley. It’s unseemly, and she’s much too nice.” She shifted her attention back to the stitching process, squeezing her hands at her sides. It wasn’t because she was squeamish, Noah knew. She was doing her best not to reach out and touch the puckered skin.
“As your mother has always pointed out,strongly, to the men in this family,” his uncle said, “women have brains.” Neither did Sander, Noah noticed, mention Cracked Colbert’s murder of almost twenty years ago that had been committed by Docia’s maid, Olive Townsend, who’d also killed Docia’s sister, Eleanor. Father had delivered her to a lunatic asylum near Colchester to live out her days.
Olive, as it had been discovered, was a product of one of his father’s many affairs throughout the years. Just as Julius was.
There. He admitted it. Julius belonged to his father, not his mother.
But of course, Noah’d had an inkling all along. But he’d shut it away because he loved his younger brother so much. Father had given Julius to Noah to look after, to guard every day of his life. And in his estimation, he’d done a capital job of it… until Geneva Wimbley had shown up ready to pry Julius away from him and his family. These were the thoughts that escalated his pulse in a dangerous, heart-pumping rage. The sort that blinded him with anger. Compound that with an attraction he couldn’t explain, and the anger swiftly catapulted to outrage.
“If she didn’t set up the attack, who did?” Noah gritted aloud without thought. “There have been three—” His gaze fell on Isabelle. She watched him with her bright eyes, not missing a thing. “We’ll table this discussion for later.”
Her hands went to her slim hips, her eyes glittering with a suspicious sheen, then flashing their own kind of dagger. She moved to Noah and poked him in the upper arm with her finger. “You’re wrong.” She spun so quickly, Sander had to reach out and steady her. “I’m going to ask Miss Wimbley,” she said hotly, pushing past her parents to the door. “And I’m going to prove to you she couldn’t have carried out such a nefarious endeavor.”
Sander winced. A direct contrast to Verda’s grin. Pride beamed warmer than the sun from her. “Isn’t she the brightest thing?”
But minutes later, the uneven gait echoed and Isabelle stood in the arch, tears on her face. “She’s gone.”
*
Miss Hale sweptinto the drawing room, her eyes going from Geneva to Pasha. “My, my, what did I do to earn this unexpected visit?” She was all that was gracious… and grating.
Geneva glanced about. “Is your cousin still in residence?”
“No. After that dramatic entrance you made at Stonemare, covered in blood no less, Henry wasted no time in spiriting himself away. With strict orders I hire a proper housekeeper, else he would turn me out. Papa’s will would allow no such thing. As usual, he’s full of bluster.”
Letting out a held breath, Geneva saw no reason in not laying it all out. “I’m being accused of murder,” she said glumly.
Surprise flickered in Miss Hale’s widened eyes, but then she laughed.Laughed. A tinkling sound that floated like bubbles in a flute of champagne Geneva had once shared with Meredith, Hannah, and Abra after Abra’s disastrous come-out ball. “Oh, how absolutely delicious. And who were you supposed to have offed?”
