Page 40 of A Daring Pursuit

As predicted, many of London’s elite had taken the Northeastern track. Still, Noah was stunned by the number of people milling about. He’d no idea Father had been so well known, which seemed a silly notion, considering how often he’d up and disappeared to London for weeks on end. He’d sat on the House of Lords, so of course he’d been well known. The peerage was always well-known and his father had been unmarried for so long. The true shocking thing was that since losing their mother, Father hadn’t trotted home with some green debutante to foist upon them; instead, had died a widower.

It was Noah who didn’t frequent London. Not like Lucius.

He shook off his maudlin thoughts, fearing they would drag him to the doldrums and remind him he was also unattached. But the image of the elfin features of Miss Wimbley filtered through him, leaving him with a longing so fierce, he had to stop himself from rushing out and dragging her into hisarms for more of those tantalizing lips of hers. With a low growl threatening to erupt from his chest, Noah busied himself elsewhere in surveying the throng.

Despite the reason for the gathering, the crowd was lively.

Lady Abra entered on the arm of Baron Ruskin with her parents right behind her.

Lucius and Docia were talking, their heads together in a corner far from Rathbourne. Sander mingled with a confidence afforded the titled, despite being untitled, though he did maintain a firm grip on Aunt Verda. Isabelle had taken dinner in her chamber.

Inhaling deeply, Noah made the rounds too. One person he did not happen upon—he covertly surveyed the ballroom—Miss Wimbley.

And then she walked in. As proud as the queen herself.

The gown she wore—thank you, Docia—was so dark, it appeared black. The sight stole his breath. From the corner of Noah’s eye, Rathbourne frowned and took a step in Miss Wimbley’s direction. Noah moved quickly to intercept him. “Good evening, Your Grace. I take it your accommodations are to your satisfaction.”

“Yes, yes. Pardon me, Oshea. There’s someone I must speak with.”

Noah clasped his hands at his lower back. “Is your valet comfortable? You must let me know immediately if all is not well.”

“I said—”

“I’m sure we can find anything you need. It may take a while”—Noah let out a self-deprecating laugh—“Alnmouth is no London, after all.” He cut his gaze to Miss Wimbley. She stood near the Washington table, her blank expression telling, but Julius, his favorite younger brother, appeared next to her, offering her his arm.

She accepted gracefully and allowed him to lead her to the food.

“I told you, we’re fine,” Rathbourne ground out.

“Of course, Your Grace. If you will excuse me, I see my brother, the new earl. I must let him know that you are quite content with the chamber he graciously held off inhabiting in light of your appearance.” With a shallow bow and pulse erratically pounding, Noah worked his way in Julius’s direction, as Noah had no intention of speaking with Lucius about Rathbourne. Lucius had no care for how comfortable the man was.

By the time Noah reached Julius—thirty minutes later due to the overwhelming throng—he and Miss Wimbley were giggling like schoolchildren, speaking in low tones.

“You both realize this is asolemnoccasion?” Noah said, taking an empty chair at the table, sounding like the curmudgeon he was. The orange blossom fragrance returned full force and he fought to keep his eyes open and maintain his posture. People were sure to notice if he gave in to impulse and lay his head on her shoulder.

Miss Wimbley’s face cleared. All but the sparkle in her eyes. “Apologies, sir. Mister Julius was just telling me—”

“That Father hated me and was hardly ever home,” Julius smoothly interrupted. “He rarely called any of us by name.”

Miss Wimbley frowned. “Why is that?”

Noah shifted, suddenly uncomfortable, but said lightly, “I’ve no idea. I just knew when he referred tomeby name, either I was in for an ear-boxing, or he wanted some unfathomable task accomplished.”Hence, Julius.

“I don’t look too kindly on fathers myself,” Miss Wimbley said—somewhat darkly.

“Never say so, Geneva,” Julius said. The sardonic tone his brother’s voice took on hurt. Despite the ten-year age difference,Noah had acted as practically the only father Julius had ever known. And, to use her given name without her consent was wholly improper.

Noah’s gaze shot to his brother. “Jul—”

“I’ve been granted leave, Noah. I’m not breaching etiquette. I know you raised me, but you are not Father.”

Curiosity lit Miss Wimbley’s pert features. “You raised Mister Julius, not your uncle or elder brother?”

“Lucius was already at school when Julius ca—er, was born.”

“What of your mother?”

“She died in childbirth. She’s buried at the chapel.” Julius turned somber. “I never knew her.”

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