Page 8 of Forgotten No More

Ruby’s list was dwindling—and quickly. She crossed off yet another name. Lord Yorkton’s study hadn’t held anything of use to her. There was not a love note, a ruby-encrusted letter opener, or treasured playbill to be found. It had been the same in each home she’d searched. There was no evidence that proved any of the men she’d thus far crossed off wasn’t her father, except the few that had not been in London at the time. Now, with little else to go on, she needed to focus on a person who did possess some indication that they might be linked to her.

Her mother had written incessantly about the daily notes she’d sent her lover and how she’d poured her heart and soul into each one. Truly, it was foolish for Ruby to think the notes or the handcrafted letter opener had meant anything to the man. He may have discarded them just as he’d discarded her mother.

The heartless cod.

But, no. Ruby would not feel sorry for her mother. Every time those pesky, bothersome emotions crept up on her, she pushed them down and locked them up tight. She would not pity her mother’s loss; she could not condone her actions, and every consequence sat clearly on her mother’s shoulders.

Life was about choices.

Every day, every minute, a person was forced to make a choice. There were small choices that barely affected a person’s life, like selecting the blue muslin walking dress or the peach silk. Life was full of these inconsequential decisions—and they were made rashly more times than naught.

But life was also chock full of major life choices. It was these decisions that defined the person, guided every future life choice.

Ruby retrieved a fresh sheet of stationery from her desk drawer and scribbled the major life choices her mother had made, each in direct conflict to what Ruby wanted for herself. She’d often listed these transgressions to help keep her focused—and as a reminder of how easily her mother had fallen.

1. Unfaithfulness

2. Disloyalty

3. Dishonesty

4. Unloving, uncompassionate, and uncaring

Pearl St. Augustin had chosen, wholeheartedly and continuously, to drag her life and her family through the mud. Ruby hadn’t noticed the stain and stench on herself until recently, and could not rid herself of the dishonor forced upon her very existence by the person who should love her—cherish her—unconditionally.

“Damnation, Mother!” Ruby cursed.

“Tsk, tsk. Most of the words I have heard you utter curse your lineage.”

Ruby’s back straightened and she moved a book to cover her lists. She hadn’t heard the door open. The thrill that coursed through her at the sound of his voice astounded her. Against her better judgment and much to her own dismay, thoughts of Harold Jakeston had crept into her mind more than once since the previous eve.

“It is bad form to insult one’s mother, is it not?”

“You have no clue of what you speak.” Ruby did not bother turning—it had been too hard to get the man from her mind the night before, she saw no point in tormenting herself any further. She kept picturing him as he’d appeared before the fire, or saluting her from the terrace as she’d rushed from the garden.

Mr. Jakeston chuckled, a deep, masculine sound. “Cat does not have your tongue today, I see.”

Ruby set down her pencil and faced the infuriating man. His lips turned up in an alluring smile. “What has or has not got me is none of your concern.”

He stood close. “It could be my concern,” he countered.

“Why do you care?”

“I am an honorable man, Miss Ruby. And you are the damsel in distress—”

“Whatever makes you think I am in distress? And a man who proclaims himself honorable is rarely thus,” she continued without allowing him time to answer.

“Touché.” He smirked. “Do you feel that?”

“Feel what?” The house was silent and still. No breeze entered the open parlor window.

“The sizzle in the air. It is fairly exhilarating.”

The man was more than infuriating; he was incorrigible, high-handed, and possibly slightly slow in the mind. Though she did feel it, and much more, she reminded herself sternly that it was in her best interest to keep that to herself. “Again, Mr. Jakest—”

“Harold, if you please,” he cut in. “We did agree to drop the unneeded formalities last evening, did we not?”

“Very well, Harold.” Ruby would placate him—for now. “I was going to say that you must be a bit daft, pardon my bluntness.”