It wasn’t until after breakfast, when the others had drifted away, that Eliza found herself in the hallway just outside the drawing room. Alex was there, standing near the window, arms folded tight across his chest. Mrs. Hemsley moved quietly between rooms with a folded sheet of correspondence in one hand. There was a stillness in the air, not calm, but held.
“I need to show you something,” Eliza said softly.
Alex turned. His expression was tired, wary. “What is it?”
She reached into her pocket and unfolded the square of linen.
Mrs. Hemsley paused in the doorway and stepped closer.
“He gave this to me at breakfast,” Eliza said. Her voice was flat. “He said Georgina dropped it at the bookshop last week.”
Mrs. Hemsley didn’t even need to look closely. “That’s hers,” she said at once. “She made only one like that. Took it with her yesterday.”
Alex took it gently, turning it over in his hand. The monogram gleamed. He traced the edge with his thumb. The linen was still smooth, as if freshly pressed. It hadn’t spent a week tucked in a coat pocket.
Something cold settled in his chest, not shock, not anger, something older. Recognition.
“He lied,” Eliza whispered. Her voice cracked. “He lied to my face.”
She defended him. She believed his civility meant safety. And nowGeorgina was missing. The words clung in the air, fragile and irreversible, the way truth always sounded when spoken too late.
There was a long silence. Not hesitation, but grief. The kind that comes when certainty replaces hope.
Alex looked toward the hallway where Everly had gone. Then to Barrington, who had just entered behind them.
Barrington’s voice was low, steady. “Let him go.”
“Close enough. We will follow.” Alex glanced once toward Eliza, not pity, not comfort, just the shared knowledge that this had become personal.
Mrs. Hemsley turned away first, her hand closing slowly around the corner of the wall as if bracing herself. Eliza didn’t move. Alex nodded once.
The storm had shifted.
Peter Simms returned mid-morning. His coat was dusted with road dirt, his expression unreadable.
“I asked again at the White Bell,” he said. “Yesterday, we asked if Lady Ravenstock hired a carriage. The answer was no. Today, I asked if anyone else hired one.”
Barrington straightened. Alex turned sharply.
Simms nodded. “A man matching Everly’s description hired a coach near noon. Paid in cash. No name given. He left with a woman. She was blonde, cloaked, and polite. They were seen heading southwest.”
He paused. “They never arrived at the park.”
Barrington’s gaze flicked toward Alex. “There’s not much that way,” he said softly. “Not unless you mean the mine.”
Eliza pressed her hand to her mouth. Her eyes had gone glassy, but no tears came. Not yet.
Alex closed his eyes. His voice, when it came, was flat. “He’s gone?”
Barrington didn’t look away. “He won’t outrun us.”
He turned slightly toward the hallway and gave a short, almost imperceptible nod. Then, quieter, to Alex, he said, “For now, let’s keep that to ourselves. We don’t confirm a damn thing until we’re certain.”
Simms disappeared down the corridor like smoke. No footsteps. No sound. Just the wind closing the door behind him.
Mrs. Hemsley lowered herself into a chair as if her knees had given out. Eliza didn’t move. Alex gripped the mantel so tightly that the tendons in his hand showed white.
The air was alive with fire. It wasn’t fear, it was a reckoning. One that was long overdue.
