An ancient man manifested from the gloom. His gnarled hand took up the reins. “Surprised ye didn’t end up walking with this old bag o’ bones.” His voice reminded her of a sack of rocks. That was all he said before ambling away with her horse and cart.
The motion startled her. “Wait! Our bags.”
He just lifted a hand, acknowledging she’d spoken, and kept going, the slight breeze stirring the gray-streaked, scraggly hair that hung down his back.
“This place is terrifying,” Abra whispered.
“We’ll see about that.” Geneva strode to the open doors and peered inside, startling another ancient man she assumed was the butler. “I’m here to see the earl.” Her voice echoed sharply in the vast foyer.
Before he could respond, a much younger man entered the hall from another door. He was large. Tall, as muscular as a Scot, but with black hair and eyes that were as gray as a storming sea. He was dressed to the nines, or at least he was to Geneva’s decided lack of knowledge of men’s fashion. “I’ll handle this, Winfield.”
Oddly, the butler melted away, leaving the younger man to pierce her with a gaze that made her skin tingle.
“And, who might you be?” His mildness took her aback.
“Miss Geneva Wimbley of London to see the Earl of Pender.”
His gaze flicked over her that appeared almost dismissive, but for the hard swallow given away by his bobbing Adam’s apple. “My brother is not due until the week’s end.” His voice, however, remained firmly in control.
She wasn’t certain how she felt about that…Wait…“I’m sorry, did you say…brother?” That didn’t seem right. She tilted her head to one side with the wavering image of the man in the black greatcoat sweeping through her. She’d been five. That man would have been considerably older by now. Wouldn’t he? By some twenty years. “I’m speaking of theearl,” she reiterated, slowly,enunciatingclearly. Truly, was shenotspeaking English?
Amusement in the form of twitching lips met her eyes. “Yes, that would be my brother, Lucius, formerly Viscount Perlsea. He is the current Earl of Pender.”
“But…” Geneva shook her head, flabbergasted, and glanced at Abra, panic welling in her chest.
“We were made to understand the earl had returned home last week. To Stonemare,” Abra said pointedly.
The man’s eyes narrowed and his voice hardened. “That’s not possible.”
“Isn’t it?” The new voice came from behind.
Geneva spun, surprised, to face a man who was startlingly similar to the other.
“Blast it, Lucius,” the first man muttered. “You spoil all my fun.”
Fun? The word felt foreign to Geneva. It wasn’tfunthat she’d lost her mother at the age of fifteen. It wasn’tfunthat her father had threatened her life hours afterwards. And, that train ride—certainly hadn’t beenfun.
Like molasses, the man’s words wove another thread of shock through her.
The Earl. Of Pender.Lucius?This was Meredith’s husband? Geneva hadn’t attended the wedding. The duke hadn’t allowed it. She glanced at Abra, who gave a barely discernable nod. She recognized him, then.
Geneva turned back to Meredith’s husband. His dark hair, almost black, was disheveled with the first sign of gray touching his temples. Sharp, angular features appeared prominent due to the high cheekbones. She met Abra’s widened eyes again, the two women reading one another’s thoughts as they so often did. Something had happened to the earl.
As one, Geneva and Meredith turned, their gazes out the huge, wooden door with its black, iron brackets, that stood open. But, no. Meredith wasn’t there. Their friend hadn’t accompanied her husband? And why should she have? According to Meredith, he’d deserted her three years ago and hadn’t once returned to Cornwall.
Geneva forced her attention back to the new earl.
He was looking at his brother, ignoring Geneva, Abra, and Pasha. “Yes, I’m home. And I have good news. Sander, Verda, and Julius are but a stone’s throw behind me.” A devilish smirk tipped his lips.
A young woman of considerable beauty—flaxen hair, navy eyes—peered around the first man’s shoulder. “What?” Her voice reminded Geneva of champagne bubbles floating from their delicate flute and blinking out before they reached the rafters. She wore a frock that was obviously of the latest fashion. French, perhaps. The lemon-yellow of her full-skirted silk dress looked soft as butter. Draping lace of cream, embroidered red flowers outlined the godet with touches of green leaves. It was a lovely contrast. The expression on her face, however, contradicted the overall impression. “What are you doing here, Lucius?” Her pretty face twisted into one of shock—her mouth hung open and tears shimmered before she quickly blinked them away. She stomped her foot like a small child.
Geneva took a step closer to Abra and Pasha out of the proverbial line of fire.
Again the smirk appeared from Meredith’s errant husband. “Apologies, my dear. I feel I’ve interrupted some interesting… incident.”
So did Geneva.
Man Number One winced, while the new earl’s eyes seemed to devour the woman in yellow.
