At once, Georgina crossed the length of the hall as the thunder of Alex’s arrival filled the air. She did not wait for Mrs. Hemsley to announce him, nor for the servants to throw open the door. She opened it herself.
Outside, Alex swung down from his horse in a fluid, urgent motion, his brows drawn tight beneath the brim of his hat. Dust streaked his boots and coat, as though he had outridden the very wind.
Their eyes met across the threshold.
In his expression, she saw the sharp glint of unspoken questions, concern edged with something fiercer. Protectiveness, perhaps. Or the echo of their newborn partnership.
For a single breath, they stood in silence. No words may have passed between them, yet more was exchanged than any written letter could hold.
Georgina stepped back and held the door wide. He crossed the threshold, not as a rescuer, but as an ally. There was no time for hesitation now. Only action.
Chapter Seven
He swept offhis hat, breath sharp from the ride, his eyes, and scanned her face as though to assure himself she was truly unharmed.
For a heartbeat, neither spoke. There was only the rise and fall of his chest and the faint tremor in her fingers, curled at her side.
“Georgina,” he said at last. Her name caught slightly in his throat, rougher than she expected. His jaw flexed, and for just a breath, something raw flickered behind his eyes. Relief, sharpened by fear. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” she replied, her voice steadier than her pulse. “No, Alex.” She faltered, then found her footing. “Please. Come into the parlor. There’s something you need to see.”
Without waiting for a reply, she turned, the skirts of her gown brushing past him as she led the way. He followed at once, his steps heavy with the urgency of a man holding back more than speed.
In the parlor, she drew the letter from her pocket, smoothed the creases, and silently handed it to him.
He read it quickly, his eyes narrowing as he took in each line. When he reached the end, his fingers tightened, creasing the corners sharply.
“That arrived half an hour ago,” Georgina said quietly. “I thought at first to send a reply, but when Mrs. Bainbridge read it, she insisted I send for you at once.”
“You were right to,” he said grimly, his gaze still fixed on the page. “Everly names the Ravenstock seam specifically.”
“Yes.” She drew a steadying breath. “And we were only there this morning.”
He looked up, their eyes locking across the space between them. Behind his gaze burned a fire. Not yet a fury, but close, rising and hard to contain. Beneath it, something quieter. Fear, tightly leashed. Not for himself, but for Georgina.
“Archer hesitated over the ventilation,” Alex said, not as a question, but as a truth laid bare.
“He kept glancing upward,” Georgina added quietly. “As though evaluating more than the airflow.”
Her fingers brushed the edge of the paper, as though the roughness might steady her thoughts. “I saw it too. And when we moved on, he lingered behind. Not to oversee the work. No, something troubled him.”
Alex’s jaw flexed, and a tight line formed at his temple. “Troubled enough to send a warning, once we were out of earshot.”
“Or troubled enough to cover for someone else,” she replied, her voice quiet but unwavering.
Their eyes met again, the truth settled between them with a quiet, unmistakable finality.
Silence followed, taut with recognition. If Everly meant to isolate her, to push her into acting alone, it had nearly worked.
“You’re certain you’re unhurt?” he asked again, softer this time.
“I am not so easily broken, Alex.” She met his gaze full-on. Not a challenge. Not a plea. Just truth. And he did not look away.
He stilled. The moment hung between them, filled with all they hadn’t said. Something flickered in his eyes, part approval, part something warmer, but it faded quickly into determination. He folded the letter crisply and tucked it into his coat.
“Then we act. At once.”
She led him through the archway, motioning toward the adjoiningroom. “She will want to hear what you think.”
