Page 89 of A Daring Pursuit

“It requires a key that I don’t have. I didn’t wish to break it.” Isabelle’s wistful tone broke Noah’s heart.

“Perhaps I can help,” he said.

“Key?” Geneva bolted from the settee like the cannonball that had nearly felled Wellington at Waterloo, as history recounted. She dashed from the chamber as if fire licked at her heels.

*

Geneva burst intothe Morpho Suite and into her bedchamber, startling Pasha out of her skin. “Quickly, where is my reticule? The one from London,” she demanded.

“Of course.” Pasha hurried to the wardrobe and dug through, quickly returning with Geneva’s dark-blue reticule. Made of a sturdy cotton, the dark color hid much of the wear, as Geneva had been using this same bag for years.

She snatched it from Pasha and loosened the drawstrings, dumped the contents on the bed. “It’s not here.”

“What are you looking for, miss?”

“A key.” Geneva pilfered through the stack of pound notes, a coin purse, a small pamphlet onThe Importance of Educating the Masses, and another onWomen in an Economic London. “It’s not here.”

Pasha pushed her aside. “You are too upset to see properly.” She opened the coin purse and turned out the contents. No key. She picked up each pamphlet and the rusted key hit the coverlet from theWomen in an Economic London.

Geneva snatched it up. “Oh, thank you.” She hugged Pasha and was off again.

Within minutes, breathless, she stopped at the library door. She set an open palm, a fist, and her forehead against the cold oak and breathed deeply. The key cutting into her hand seemed to singe her skin. One more inhalation, then she entered.

Noah met her near the door. “What is it?”

She opened her palm. Raising her eyes, she met his where she detected a distinct sparkle.

“Let’s see what we uncover,” he said. He took her arm and led her to Isabelle.

“Try this,” Geneva said on a rush of air, handing her the key.

“But…”

Geneva closed her fingers over Isabelle’s. “Try it.”

“All right,” she said.

It took a few minutes with everyone hovering, but with some coaxing, the click, barely discernable, triggered and the locket sprung open.

Docia gasped. “Why, that’s a miniature of Papa… and… me.” Her words stumbled, her expression confused.

“Might I see?” Geneva pushed through the throng and took the locket from Docia. “That’s you?”

“Yes, but—”

Geneva worked one of the miniatures free and turned it over. “There’s something written here. It looks like a year.” She leaned in closer. “1824.” She glanced at Docia.

She turned absolutely chalky. “But that isn’t possible. I would have been seven. Mother perished in ’22.”

Geneva met her eyes. “I think it’s me.” She had a sudden need to sit, instead found herself swaying. Noah was at her side in an instant and guiding her to the settee.

Docia followed and lowered beside her. “Look behind the other one. The one of my father,” Docia said in a cracked voice.

“To Emily, the love of my life.” Slowly, Isabelle raised her gaze, meeting Docia’s and hers.

Geneva glanced at Docia. “I—I think we may be sisters.”

Tears filled Docia’s eyes. “That must be why he kept going to London for all those years after Mama passed.”

---