Alex took the paper, turned it over once in his hand. “She went to Greyline.”
Eliza’s voice broke. “Then why didn’t she come back?”
No one answered.
Outside, the wind picked up, scattering the last of the fallen leaves across the gravel. Inside, the silence grew thick with names unspoken and one thought no one dared to voice aloud. Wherever she was, she no longer walked alone.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The morning hadopened gently, the mist rising off the fields, the leaves clinging to dew, and the quiet rustle of a house not yet fully awake. Georgina stood in Rowland’s study, one hand resting on the worn back of his old chair, the other holding the edge of a file box she’d left untouched for weeks.
She had not planned to come here today. But the hush and the sense of something unfinished had drawn her. Alex had already gone, and the absence of his presence was like the lingering warmth of a fire after the flame had died. She hadn’t asked where he was headed. She trusted him. Trust, she knew, asked as much as it offered. He had learned to let her choose her battles. This one, she chose alone.
And now, here she was, surrounded by shadows that no longer hurt as they once had.
The crate on the floor still bore Rowland’s handwriting:W.R.– Ledgers West Accounts. She knelt beside it, brushing a film of dust from the lid. One of the hinges had started to rust.
Inside were neat stacks of papers, tied with ribbon or twine. Some were labeled. Others not. She sorted them gently, careful not to disturb the order, though she suspected it mattered little now. Most were dry, investment summaries, modest dividends, and rent rolls.
Until she reached the bottom layer.
One unmarked file contained several receipts and a torn memorandum, with the top half missing. The remaining fragment was dated from nearly six months before Rowland’s death and bore the name:
Greyline Holdings– Schedule B: Disbursements
She frowned.
She’d seen the name Greyline before, passing on shipping manifests or property transfer documents. But never in connection to Rowland. Never linked to anything significant.
Beneath the slip was a note in Rowland’s hand. The ink was smeared in one corner, as if he’d dashed it off and never returned to it.
Hold for follow-up. Ask Barrington re: Everly’s investment arm. Check if tied to ‘GH.’
Her stomach clenched. The letters blurred for a heartbeat, not from fear but from the echo of Alex’s warning that danger never travels alone.
Everly. That meant the Order.
Georgina stood slowly, the page still between her fingers.
She could wait. Let Barrington sort it. Let Alex shield her again. But every instinct in her body rebelled at the thought of standing still while others decided her fate. And some part of her, the sharp, stubborn, and tired of being protected part, refused to do that. Not this time.
She crossed to the writing desk, selected a fresh sheet of paper, and began to write.
Eliza—
I hope you’re well. Would you mind delaying our walk slightly? I’ll meet you at half past eleven, in the park as planned.
Yours,
G.
She sanded the ink, folded the page, and called for a footman to have it delivered to Miss Eliza.
Then, without rushing, but with the same focused calm she’d usedto handle barristers, bankers, and whispered threats in drawing rooms, she changed her gown, selected her gloves, and pinned her hat precisely. She passed the staff in the corridor with a polite nod and slipped out the front door without explanation. For a fleeting moment, she imagined Alex standing at the gate, half-smile in place, telling her to be careful. She answered him in silence. I will.
The air was crisp with the scent of chimney smoke and fallen leaves. She walked with purpose, the hem of her cloak brushing against the gravel as she followed the lane down to the village.
There was always a carriage for hire at the White Bell Inn. No questions asked. A small errand, no longer than an hour. Eliza wouldn’t mind the delay.
