I’ll find who did this, Ruth.
No matter how long he had to stay in England. No matter how far he had to search. No matter what it cost him to expose those responsible for setting murderers free.
I swear.
“Dear, you must be sensible—”
“Leave me alone.” Georgina ran up the carpeted stairs, clamping a glove over her mouth lest sounds of her hurt blubber free. She raced for the sanctuary of her chamber, but before she could sling open the door, Agnes snatched her elbow and swung her around.
“Stop it this instant, Georgina. You are ridiculous.”
“Do not scold me now. I cannot bear it.”
“There are a lot of things you cannot bear, apparently.” A strange note hardened the words, as Agnes’ chin lifted. “I suppose now that he is returned, this entire infatuation will begin all over again.”
“It is not an—”
“Let us not tease ourselves, shall we? This was utter nonsense from the beginning, but I nursed your feelings and sympathized with your sorrows, despite that fact.”
A wound opened within Georgina. “I am sorry I have been so burdensome to you.”
“It is not for my sake that I am telling you this.” Agnes’ grip tightened. “It is for yours, dear, because you cannot see what is happening to yourself. You just could not endure it, could you? With all the gentlemen who fawned over you, the fact that one paid you no heed was so irksome to your pride that you have immortalized him all these years and—”
“That is not true.”
“You know it is.”
“If you thought so little of my plight, why did you remain my confidant?”
“My parents are dead, I am living in your house, and I am accepting the charity of your mother.” Agnes’ forehead tightened. “Do you think I had a choice?”
The brutality of the words knocked Georgina back. She ripped from her cousin’s hold, the world blurring into tears, and slammed herself inside the safety of her bedchamber.
She pressed her back to the door and slumped to the floor. Since the first day Agnes had arrived, at eleven years old, Georgina had accepted her unfortunate cousin’s companionship. As months lengthened into years, she’d come to rely on Agnes. To need her. To depend on her as someone who would never commit the nightmarish fear—walking away.
But how deep did Agnes’ friendship truly reach?
“Dear, let me in.” A knock thumped above Georgina’s head. “You must forgive me. I said things I did not mean. Please, let me comfort you.”
Dragging her sleeve across wet eyes, Georgina hugged her knees tighter to her chest and waited throughout all the knocks and pleadings. Finally, they ceased. Footsteps padded away, and the room became silent.
“With all the gentlemen who fawned over you…one paid you no heed…so irksome to your pride that you have immortalized him all these years …”Georgina squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. Partly because her cousin’s words were cold and pitiless and so unlike the motherly notes of usual.
And partly because, despite everything, Georgina knew some of Agnes’ words were true. Did Georgina truly love Simon Fancourt? Or had she only imagined as much because he did not love her?
For the second time, Simon glanced at the gilded clock on the drawing-room wall. Another ten minutes had passed, and his knees bounced with impatience.
Too much of life in England was constrained.
Back home, no matter where he was, he had the freedom to step outside, breathe rich air into his lungs, and stare at the towering mountains until he lost himself. The sooner he could return, the sooner his pain would lessen.
He needed something to ease the tension, this sense of being trapped in finery.
He needed his rifle strapped across his shoulder and that soothing scent of gunpowder and dew-laden morning air. He needed rich dirt between his fingers, the orange pine needles sticking to his clothes, and the pulsing thrill of slinging a dead deer across his back to feed his family—
Ornate folding doors came open, startling Simon from his reverie. About time someone arrived.
“I am sorry to have kept you waiting, sir, but I was otherwise detained.”
