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Aubriella’s lips parted as though she had a dozen questions already forming, while Claire’s sharp gaze hardened with quiet intensity.

“Abducted?” Georgine’s voice held a slight tremor. “Why⁠—?”

Wrestling her disgust and anger into submission, Roxina curled her fingers into her skirt. “In short, Mitchel’s misdeeds.”

“What a surprise.” Sarcasm dripped from Claire’s remark.

“Until Mitchel is found, Shelby vows that neither he nor I—or even you—are safe.” Roxina shook her head, the reality of her situation bearing down upon her. “I despair of Mitchel ever doing what is right.”

The women fell silent, the gravity of her words settling over them.

“We should move farther into the gardens to ensure our conversation is not overheard.” Claire shifted her attention toward the terrace before scanning the surrounding hedges. “Please don’t take offense, Mittie, and it is not that we don’t trust your staff, but even the best servants gossip.”

Domestics usually knew exactly what went on in the households they served.

“An excellent suggestion.” Georgine looped her arm through Roxina’s, the gentle pressure offering silent reassurance.

“No offense taken.” Canting her head, Matilda swept her gaze over the garden with practiced caution. “We must proceed with care. If you will follow me.”

She led them to the farthest corner of the garden, where two wrought-iron benches formed an L beneath a honeysuckle-covered arbor. The sweet, heady fragrance hung thick in the air as Matilda cast a brief glance toward the nearby gate to the mews, ensuring it remained firmly closed. Satisfied with their privacy, she gestured for the others to sit.

Beyond the arbor, a tall ivy-covered brick wall separated the garden from the mews behind the house, while an arched gate draped in climbing roses provided quick access to the stables. The air, though warm, carried the faintest promise of a cool evening breeze, rustling the hawthorn tree beside them. The white blossoms bobbed with each movement, casting mottled patterns across the grass.

Roxina sank onto the bench, grateful for the shade offering respite from the afternoon’s warmth. The other women followed suit, murmuring their appreciation as a soft breeze stirred the leaves overhead.

Dash padded to her side and flopped onto the ground, his gaze shifting between the newcomers. He sniffed at Aubriella’s skirt and sneezed, as though unimpressed by the lingering scent of whatever peculiar substances clung to the fabric.

Giving the dog a cursory glance, Aubriella fixed her attention on Roxina with the intensity of a surgeon preparing for a dissection.

“Please, start from the beginning, Roxina.” Keenly intelligent, she would not be satisfied until she knew every detail. “Leave nothing out.”

Matilda straightened, her countenance grave. “Before she does, you should know—Shelby, Robyn, and Quentin Honeybrook are already following a lead on Mitchel’s whereabouts. There’s reason to believe Roxina’s abductor may be there, too.”

“And they went alone?” Georgine stiffened, her focus trained onto Roxina. Georgine didn’t resemble a typical bluestocking, but Roxina didn’t know anyone who read as much as Georgie.

She possessed a penchant for reading old transcripts and crime reports, often poring over copies of The Proceedings of the Old Bailey or leafing through past editions of The Times and The Morning Chronicle in search of intriguing cases and unsolved mysteries. Ever the bluestocking, Georgine devoured legal treatises and societal essays with equal fervor, her mind as sharp and inquisitive as any scholar’s.

“Why didn’t they contact the authorities?” she demanded.

“Excellent question.” Roxina inhaled sharply, a suffocating tension wrapping around her chest like an iron band. “I suppose they did not want to take the time or wanted to make sure first.”

“Then we cannot afford to waste a single minute.” Pressing her lips together, Claire nodded once. “Tell us everything so we can formulate a plan.”

“Indeed. We need to know what we’re up against.” Georgine exhaled, smoothing a hand over her skirts.

Dash let out a low whine and rested his chin on his paws.

A warm gust of wind stirred the arbor’s vines, rustling the leaves with a whisper-like sigh.

Roxina folded her hands in her lap, steadying herself.

She quickly recounted the same story she had told Matilda a short while ago, her voice steady despite the turmoil within her. Every word seemed more poignant this time, as if speaking them aloud once more brought home the reality of what had happened.

“So, you see, we must make other arrangements for our weekly meetings.” She clasped her hands tightly, willing the slight trembling to stop. “Shelby is concerned that the man who abducted us may be watching your homes as well, hoping I shall seek refuge with one of you. Therefore, we cannot meet at your homes either, nor can I visit you.”

A sharp pang twisted in her chest.

This should not have been their burden to bear. Her friends had nothing to do with the choices that led Roxina here, and yet, because of Mitchel, these women’s lives had also been disrupted.