“In his papers, I expect. I’ll have them sent to you if you wish.”
“Thank you.”
The conversation slowed, not from discomfort but from recognition of all that remained unspoken.
When they finally rose to leave, Georgina glanced once more toward the harbor, where sunlight glimmered over the tidepools.
“Strange,” she murmured, reaching for her gloves. “The sea always looks the same, yet it never is.”
“Like people,” Alex said quietly.
She met his eyes—steady, unstartled—and smiled. “Perhaps.”
Outside, the afternoon light had turned golden, softening the edges of the town. They stepped into it side by side, the distance between them measured not in years, but in the quiet possibility of knowing each other anew.
Chapter Three
The next morningbrought sunlight with a chill. Fitting, Georgina thought, for the task ahead. She stood in the front room of Ravenstock Manor, her sleeves rolled and her expression tight as she surveyed the contents of the past. The portraits had been wrapped in muslin last year, after Rowland’s funeral. Crates, with Rowland’s personal effects, were labeled in her late husband’s hand and had been destined for London, but there was no need to send them now.
She walked past the large side table and found a battered globe and a dented tea set. Both had suffered at Rowland’s hand when, as a young boy, he and his father had played roughly in the room. They were amusing stories, difficult to imagine their playfulness, knowing how stiff and unbending Rowland’s father had been. To Georgina, the items were less like keepsakes and more like echoes pretending to matter.
A soft knock at the door broke the stillness.
“Lady Georgina?” came a voice, warm and familiar. “I heard you might be parting with a few treasures. I thought I might offer a proper farewell to them, if you’ll have me.”
Georgina opened the door to find Mrs. Bainbridge standing crisply on the threshold, eyes sharp with curiosity and the floral scent following her like a herald.
Honoria crossed the threshold and, without hesitation, drew Georgina into a brief but genuine embrace. The scent of lilac clung to her, warm and familiar, and for a moment, the empty house breathedeasier, as if releasing something it had held too long. It struck her how easily companionship could dispel a silence she had mistaken for peace.
“Honoria, how good it is to see you,” Georgina released her and drew her further into the room.
Honoria’s glance swept the chamber. “You have far better taste than your husband did. I knew Lord Ravenstock briefly. He was dreadful at cards. Worse than Barrington, and that is hard to do.”
Georgina laughed before she meant to. “Would you like some tea?”
“Not right now. Mrs. Hemsley told my Ellen you wished to purge. I hope you were purging so she has less to dust. Yes, that is what she said,” Honoria replied, her expression entirely innocent. “Am I accurate?”
Georgina couldn’t help it. She laughed aloud, raising a hand to her mouth as she caught her breath. “You are correct.”
“Good. I wouldn’t want to miss an opportunity to help Mrs. Hemsley.” Mrs. Bainbridge made a poor attempt at keeping a straight face, but finally broke down, her face blooming into a wide smile.
Georgina found herself returning the grin, surprised at how easily Honoria could lift the gloom.
“This way to my treasures.” Georgina looped her arm in Honoria’s as they walked to the side table. Honoria paused over a set of porcelain figurines, their painted faces faded, and a hairline crack running through the tallest shepherd’s staff. “Sentimental or sellable?” she asked, lifting a brow.
“Neither,” Georgina replied, flicking a finger against the cracked glaze. “My husband’s mother fancied them, but I never could abide their facial expressions.”
They came to a set of pewter candlesticks, squat and tarnished. “Well,” Mrs. Bainbridge declared, hefting one as if to test its worth, “these could stop a thief at least, if not light a drawing room.”
Her gaze swept the room again and caught on a battered globe tucked beneath a writing desk. She carefully drew it out, spinning it lightly beneath her palm as dust scattered into the air.
“My girls are forever convinced the world ends at Dover,” she remarked, half to herself, half to Georgina. “This might expand their horizons, at least by an inch.” With an approving nod, she set the globe aside as a claim, her attention turning to the wooden box with its intricate carvings and iron lock that sat on the desk.
“I have a student with a mind for puzzles,” she added, lifting the box with care. “She will relish the challenge.”
Georgina offered no objection. Let the box find use elsewhere, she thought. Better in curious hands than gathering dust in a forgotten corner.
“I understand congratulations are in order,” Georgina said, leading her guest toward the library where Mrs. Helmsley had just laid out tea.
