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Matilda laughed. “That dog is utterly incorrigible.”

“He is, but I have grown attached to him.” Roxina forced her lips upward, but her heart remained leaden.

The garden’s tranquility could not erase the gnawing unease coiling in her chest and churning her middle.

Spring’s warmth lingered, the scent of sun-kissed blossoms and freshly turned earth drifting through the garden. For a fleeting moment, as the scent of spring flowers perfumed the air and the soothing sounds of birdsong and the fountain’s trickling water surrounded her, Roxina could almost forget what had brought her here.

Almost.

Squinting at the leaves overhead, she examined her heart.

Did she have feelings for Shelby?

In truth, she did not know what to make of the emotional turmoil consuming her.

The thought of harm befalling him sent an icy dread through her veins. And it was not only Shelby who occupied her thoughts.

Robyn. Mitchel.

They had all become entangled in this treacherous web.

How could she enjoy such beauty and peace when people she cared for faced an unknown threat?

Roxina clenched her hands, fisting them so tight, her knuckles turned white as she dragged her attention from the sun-dappled path. Despite its loveliness, the garden suddenly seemed too tranquil—too removed from the dangers lurking beyond its tidy hedges.

A short while later, excited chatter near the terrace doors drew Roxina’s attention.

Matilda, too, lifted her head and peered in the house’s direction.

They came.

Aubriella, Claire, and Georgine came.

The enthusiastic but muted conversation carried across the late afternoon air, now and then punctuated by a voice raised in concern.

Before she and Matilda could retrace their steps, Aubriella Matherfield, Georgine Thackerly, and Claire Granlund flew down the flagstone pathway, their colorful skirts swirling about them in a feminine dervish of silk and muslin.

Aubriella, ever unapologetic in her disregard for fashion, wore a faded, out-of-date fern green gown with ink smudges on the cuffs—evidence of her latest anatomical sketches, no doubt. Her dark brown curls had half escaped their pins, framing her freckled face in wild disarray, while her hazel eyes gleamed with urgency.

Georgine, effortlessly elegant even in haste, wore the same pretty pink gown she had the day she arrived at the cottage in Blackheath—the very day Roxina had received the last anonymous letter from Shelby.

Unlike Aubriella, she had taken care to smooth her brunette locks into a neat chignon, though a few strands had loosened in the commotion and brushed against her temples. Sapphire-blue eyes snapping with worry, she hurried forward, lovely and composed even in her haste.

Not a golden curl out of place, Claire, the eldest and most poised, moved with long-practiced grace, though concern creased the corners of her whisky-brown eyes. Widowhood had granted her a newfound confidence, and she embraced her freedom wholeheartedly. Her striking claret-and-white striped ensemble suited her daring spirit—a rebellious choice she never would have made under her late husband’s watchful eye.

Concern etched upon their features, the women rushed forward.

Forehead furrowed in an uncharacteristic apprehension, Aubriella reached Roxina first and clutched her hands.

“Whatever has warranted such an urgent summons?” Her voice, though calm, carried an undercurrent of tension. She glanced at the others, her freckles standing out starkly against her flushed cheeks. “And what is this about an abduction? We were quite frantic with worry.”

Roxina mustered a small, apologetic smile, though her heart still pounded when she recalled the past four and twenty hours. “I am sorry to have alarmed you, but it was imperative that you know I am staying here temporarily. It is no longer safe to hold Ladies of Opportunity meetings in Blackheath.”

Matilda, who had remained silent until now, crossed her arms over her chest as if suddenly chilled. “Roxina was abducted, and if it were not for Shelby Tellinger, only the good Lord knows what would have become of her.”

The three newcomers gasped simultaneously.

Georgine threw a hand to her throat, her sapphire eyes widening. “Good Lord.”