Page 90 of Ladies in Hating
“Thank God you’re back,” Pauline said. “It’s Jem. Do you know where he is?”
Georgiana felt her stomach pitch. Her eyes flew to Cat, and as she watched, Cat’s face went terribly stiff and unfamiliar.
“Jem?” Cat repeated, sounding half-dazed. “What do you mean? Has he not come home from Mr. Yorke’s?”
“I went round an hour ago. Jem wasn’t there. He”—Pauline’s face was agonized—“he did not come home last night.”
“He—what?” Cat looked like she’d been hit with a post. “He said that he’d be working late. Yesterday morning, when we were breaking our fast. Don’t you remember?”
“Yes,” Pauline said grimly. “I waited up for as long as I could, but he never returned. And when I awoke this morning, his bed had not been slept in. I have no idea where he’s gone.”
“He—” Cat shook her head. “Perhaps he stayed late at the office. Slept over. Could you ask—”
“There was no one at Mr. Yorke’s, Kitty. The doors were locked. I pushed a note under the door and came home.” Pauline’sfingers twitched, a helpless empty gesture. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
Cat swore and arrowed toward the stairs. She took them two at a time, and Georgiana and Pauline followed in her wake as she made her way to her brother’s closed door.
“Sorry about this, Jemmy,” Cat muttered, and pushed her way into his room.
The chamber was tiny—scarcely more than a bed and a small square table. The books—law and history and Latin—were set in neat piles along the wall, an extra pair of spectacles draped casually across the inkstand. It was neat and spare, startlingly so for an adolescent boy.
Georgiana thought of Ambrose’s and Percy’s haphazard chambers at Woodcote Hall, and felt a stab of fear and longing.
Wordlessly, Cat riffled through Jem’s belongings, his clothing and papers and even the spines of his books. With each passing moment, her posture grew stiffer, her face more and more drawn. “He’s never done this before,” she said finally. Her voice was unsteady, and her eyes were fixed upon the bedclothes she was mussing and then remaking. “He’s never left without telling us. I don’t even know where he wouldgo.”
Georgiana watched Cat and could not seem to move. Her heart was beating too hard; she felt helpless, her hands clumsy. Cat’s brother was gone, and she did not know how to help. She did not know where to begin.
“I think…” Pauline, framed by the doorway, trailed off, then began again. “I suspect that he went to Wiltshire.”
Cat’s head came up. “Wiltshire? Why?”
Pauline’s hand was locked on the door’s wooden frame. “I overheard him, when he spoke to you about his father. And then later, he asked me about the mail coach route to get there.And I”—she looked agonized—“I told him. I never would have guessed…”
Cat had one hand pressed to the base of her throat. “God. Wiltshire. It’s not much to go on, Polly, but it’s worth a try. Thank you.”
Georgiana scarcely heard. She felt turned to stone, numb and immobile.
Wiltshire. Jem had gone toWiltshire.
He was fifteen. He was alone. He had no family in Wiltshire, no resources to call upon if he were in need. And the last time she and Cat had been in Wiltshire, they’d been trapped in a house with an armed villain who’d attempted to imprison them.
Was it possible that whoever had tried to harm them might come for Jem as well?
Cat angled toward her. In the small chamber, she scarcely had to reach out to put her hand on Georgiana’s arm. “Do you think we ought to…” She hesitated, her chin tilted up as she looked into Georgiana’s face. “Georgie?”
Georgiana heard her own blood beating in her ears. It hurt—everything hurt, even the light pressure of Cat’s fingers through her sleeve. “This is my fault,” she said hoarsely.
“What?”
“I did this. I encouraged him. When he spoke of the duke, I…” She couldn’t seem to pull in enough air. Why couldn’t she breathe? “Itold him it was possible. You tried to make him see reason, but I thought I knew better.”
She was responsible for Jem’s disappearance. If he had come to harm,shewas the cause.
She thought of his laughter-pinkened cheeks. The way he’d tipped his pasty to hers in greeting. Their family, tucked together beside the fire, safe and happy.
How could she, even for a moment, have believed that she might belong?
She was bad for them. Poison. She had always known that. She had only let herself forget, somehow, towed down by the gravity of her futile hopes.
