Page 15 of A Daring Pursuit

Something decidedly odd regarding the household touched Geneva. No one seemed particularly sad or disquieted with the passing of the previous Earl of Pender. But then, considering the content of the note Geneva had happened upon from her mother, she suspected that shouldn’t have come as a surprise.

*

Noah thought luncheonwould never end and after the fifth course, he pushed back his chair. He’d never gone in for port and cigars. Lucius hadn’t even appeared for the meal. “Would you care for a tour of the grounds, Miss Wimbley, Lady Abra?” Noah asked.

Miss Wimbley’s expressive face lit up with curiosity, stirring something remotely odd and unfamiliar in Noah’s chest, and he caught the minutest wince in her friend’s expression. “I’d be delighted, sir,” Miss Wimbley breathed. A fiery warmth spread over his skin and felt as tangible as if that breath had breached the clothes he wore.

In the foyer, Hicks assisted the women with their cloaks. He swept his own about his shoulders and watched as she donned her straw bonnet and aging kid leather gloves. Whatever else Miss Wimbley was, she was not steeped in funds. Not like Lady Abra.

Miss Wimbley had been lively company throughout the meal. Much too forthright for polite society. After all the years around Docia, Noah found it quite refreshing. She had nothing of Docia’s dainty measure. Miss Wimbley’s steps were purposeful, her laugh just this side of boisterous, the look in her eyes bold and captivated by her surroundings.

But another thought took hold, raising Noah’s hackles. If she thought to go after Lucius, the woman was in for a shock. Surely, she knew Lucius was married to the Duke of Rathbourne’s onlydaughter. News of their nuptials had been in all the broadsheets, the clubs, the ballrooms—if his brother was to be believed. The notion of Miss Wimbley parading around London as Lucius’s mistress pricked Noah with biting discomfort. He’d only offered a tour of the grounds to learn the reason for her appearance. At least that was what he told himself.

The wind was gusty on this spring day. More times than not, low, dark clouds hid the sun. The weather along the coast this far north was predictably unpredictable. Downright dangerous if one didn’t know the moors well.

He escorted the ladies down the portico and he paused, trying to determine the direction he wished to take.

Miss Wimbley didn’t wait on them, however, turning toward his most monumental youthful lapse of judgement: the fallen turret.

Noah glanced at Lady Abra, who just shook her head as if reining in Miss Wimbley were an impossible task, her eyes saying,Much luck to you, sir.With their roll toward the heavens, Lady Abra took a seat on a bench within watching distance, leaving Noah to sprint after her fleeing friend.

Miss Wimbley stopped before his failed experiment, her head cocked to one side. “What happened here?”

Lucius strolled up from around the pile. “One of Noah’s disastrous experiments.” Noah did not like the smile on his face. More surprising was her reaction to Lucius. As if he were infected with a contagion, she stepped away from him, the smile on her face so razor-thin, her lips went bloodless.

She turned her back on him, cutting her gaze to Noah. “What sort of experiment?”

Red crawled up Noah’s neck. He rubbed a palm over it. “I thought I could turn lead into gold. It’s, er, not possible.”

Miss Wimbley spun around, facing him outright, her lovely mouth agape, completely appearing to have forgotten Lucius.“You blew up a part of your—” She swallowed. Loudly. “Your castle?”

“Technically, it’s mine,” Lucius said.

Her eyes flashed with some seething emotion, but she never turned her head, still staring at Noah. “A little too much saltpeter,” he muttered.

Lucius stared at the pile of rocks. “Why haven’t you had the rubble cleared?”

“I’m allowing the locals to make use of it. What do you care, besides? This is the first we’ve seen of you since your wedding.”

Disgust covered Lucius’s brooding features. “I don’t wish to speak of that harrowing event.” He bowed at Miss Wimbley. “Until later, miss.” He sauntered off, leaving Noah with Miss Wimbley looking after his older brother.

“He didn’t like his wedding?” she asked not quite so nonchalantly as she’d likely intended.

The undercurrent in her tone had Noah turning a sharpened gaze on her. “Our father promised his hand when he was a lad of thirteen. We didn’t learn of it until Lucius was all set to offer for Miss Hale a few years ago.”

“The woman who dashed out this morning? She’s quite beautiful.” This came out somewhat grudgingly.

Noah paused, struck by the dulcet melody of her voice. It flowed like a gentle brook over rocks. Even with its stingy tone, the sound was soft, soothing, pleasing to the ear.

A long pause ensued and he realized he was staring. Her plump lips mesmerizing him.

He started, warmth crawling up his neck. “Er, yes. Lucius is still quite angry at how the events unfolded.” His brother had never been more excited than he had been at the prospect of wedding Docia. More than Noah had seen him in years.

It had seemed Lucius had finally decided to take an interest in the earldom’s holdings. He’d rushed to London, met with thesolicitors, purchased a ring, then run into Father and the Duke of Rathbourne at White’s, according to Lucius, or at least as far as Noah had been able to piece from Lucius and their father.

Later, Noah had been called into Father’s study by Uncle Sander, who had sat behind the desk with Noah in the chair across, where he was informed that Lucius refused to be counted on for their future. Lucius’s resentment, while understandable, would affect them all.

From that day on, Noah was tasked on assisting his uncle in looking after the earldom’s funds. Sander had built a brilliant strategy going from the small-scale home-based handwoven cloth the villagers had produced to more beneficial means with the land’s natural resources for quarrying and processing decorative stones. Even more so when the Berwick Railway had expanded from Newcastle to Tyne into Northeast England.

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