Eliza stepped forward.
Only two words. Written cleanly in Georgina’s unmistakable hand.
Greyline Holdings.
“She found something,” Mrs. Hemsley said. “And didn’t tell anyone.”
“She meant to,” Eliza whispered. “She was going to tell me everything.”
But the paper said otherwise. The silence between them now was sharper than absence.
It was intentional.
A knock rattled the door.
A footman stepped in, breath slightly short. “Lord Barrington andLord Weld have just returned from Sommer Chase, ma’am. Shall I show them in?”
Mrs. Hemsley didn’t answer immediately. She looked down at the scrap of paper in her hand.
“Yes,” she said at last, the words measured, certain. “Bring them in.” She looked down once more at Georgina’s handwriting. “Whatever we thought we knew, this changes everything.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
By early evening,Ravenstock had fallen into the quiet of a house holding its breath.
The corridors, once bustling with the rhythm of daily tasks, were hushed. Lamps burned lower than usual. Doors stood ajar, ready for someone to return and push them fully open. The air held the scent of rain that had not yet fallen and of something else, something absent.
Alex stood in the front hall, boots planted wide, his voice low but firm as he gave instructions to Peter Simms, one of Barrington’s men. Simms was an investigator by trade, methodical, sharp-eyed, and discreet. His gloves were already on, the leather creased at the knuckles.
“Take the north road. All the way to the river. If you see a coach, any coach, stopped or changing horses, you question the driver. Don’t let him ride off until you’ve seen what’s inside.”
Simms nodded once and vanished out the front door, swift and silent.
He was already halfway through fastening his riding cloak when Barrington appeared at the top of the stairs, shrugging into his coat.
“You’re still assuming something’s wrong,” Barrington said. “She may simply have followed another trail. She’s done it before.”
Alex didn’t look up. “She hasn’t done this before.”
“There’s no reason to think she’s in danger.”
“Except she missed an appointment. Except she left no word. Except she hasn’t come home.”
Barrington frowned, but his voice stayed calm. “She’s methodical. She’ll come back when she’s finished.”
Alex adjusted the strap on his saddlebag. He didn’t argue further. The facts sat poorly in his gut. Georgina was independent, curious, and determined, but not careless. Not when others were depending on her.
Mrs. Hemsley appeared quietly from the corridor, holding out a flask. “You’ll take this. And you’ll be back by full dark.”
Alex paused, took the flask. Their eyes met.
“Unless I find her,” he said softly. He hadn’t meant the words to sound like a vow, but they settled in the room as one.
He turned and walked out into the dusk.
Barrington stood before the mantel in the study, the fire crackling low. A map lay open across the table, dotted with carriage routes, trade roads, and footpaths. Candlelight caught the fine edge of his profile, throwing sharp shadows across the pages.
Eliza hovered at the edge of the room with her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She had not changed out of her walking dress. The hem of her skirt was still faintly damp from the park path, though she hadn’t noticed it until just now. Her gloves were clenched in one hand. Her other arm was wound tightly across her waist, as if to hold her own center still.
