She nodded, though already heat sizzled beneath her cheeks. Would he reprimand her? Certainly, she had overstepped her boundaries. She should have gone home.
Nausea swirled, as she settled Mercy in the chair and rubbed John’s hair as she walked past him. Facing her town house again, those dreadful yellow flowers, knowing Mamma and that man were in a nearby room—
The bedchamber door shut quietly as Simon eased her into the hall. He stood close. Sweat darkened his hairline, his sleeves were rolled to his elbows, and although the blood had been wiped away, red teeth marks still punctured his forearm. “I took the liberty of returning your driver and carriage without you.”
“What?”
“Another figure was spotted outside the Sowerby gates tonight. He was gone before the footman could stop him, but it is unsafe.”
“Perhaps for you or the children, but not—”
“Anyone involved with me is in danger.” Tiredness hung in his eyes. “For that, I am sorry.”
“It is not your fault.”
“If you wish it, I will return you tomorrow.” He opened his mouth, as if he wanted to say more, then looked the other way. “One of the maids is awaiting you at the top of the stairs. She will show you to your chamber.”
“Thank you.”
He turned back for his door, grabbed the knob, then paused. He looked back at her with fierceness tightening his face. “I know it is not my place, Miss Whitmore, but I do not think you should go back there.”
His words echoed the sickness in her gut. “To my town house.”
“Yes.”
“But I do not know where—”
“Other arrangements can be made. Tomorrow. But until we have a chance to find out more about the man your mother married, I do not think it wise or safe to return.”
“I suppose you are right.” Sheknewhe was right.
“Good night, Miss Whitmore.” With a faint nod, he slipped into his bedchamber and shut the door, and she continued down the dimly lit hall with a growing heart rate.
How would she ever find out the truth? Would the stranger still confess now that he was married to her mother? Where would she go while she searched for answers?
The wave of uncertainty threatened to drown her until Simon’s words finally penetrated.
He had saidwe.
As if this was something she no longer faced alone.
Georgina awoke before the sun peeked through her guest-chamber windows. She dressed in the same gown she had worn yesterday, as she had no luggage, and surveyed herself in the looking glass with a frown.
Without a comb and Nellie’s nimble hands, her hair was only tolerable.
But her eyes were worse.
They testified to a lack of sleep, burdens, questions, sadness. Her throat constricted. Would she ever be free of such emotions? Would the unknown, both of the past and future, ever cease to plague her?
Unable to remain in her chamber, Georgina left the room and navigated the dark, quiet house. She found her way downstairs, into the drawing room, just as the first hints of golden morning light glowed from the windows.
The serenity pulled her in.
How long before the house became alive? Before she sat, perhaps in this very room, with Simon across from her—trying to decide what to do with the problems she had stacked upon his own? Was that wrong of her? Had she been selfish to cumber one already so afflicted?
All the furniture, the familiar smells of this room, brought her back to simpler days. She walked to a stand, tugged open the drawer.
Inside were faded whist cards.
