Chapter Twenty-Five
It was just past four o’clock when Mrs. Hemsley laid down her embroidery and realized something was wrong.
The fire in the drawing room had burned low. The house was steeped in a hush that had once been peaceful but now rang hollow. No footsteps in the corridor. No voices drifting from the stairwell. No Georgina.
She set her needle aside and rose from her chair with a slow, deliberate motion.
There was no message.
Georgina had written one that morning. Mrs. Hemsley had seen it handed off to the footman herself. A note to Miss Eliza, asking to meet behind the bookshop at half past eleven. A short outing. Familiar. Safe.
It was now past four, and Georgina had not returned.
Mrs. Hemsley moved through the lower rooms with practiced efficiency, no drama, no panic. But with each empty chair, each unruffled curtain, the disquiet in her chest deepened.
In the library, only dust motes kept her company.
The breakfast room had been cleared, the dishes long since washed.
Georgina’s room was tidy. Unlived in since morning.
She called to one of the footmen who’d been polishing silver near the dining room.
“Has Lady Ravenstock returned?”
“No, ma’am. Not since she left this morning. She said she’d only be a few hours.”
“And the gentlemen?”
“Mr. Barrington rode out to Sommer Chase. Said he’d return in time for dinner.”
She hesitated. “And Lord Weld?”
The footman shook his head. “No one’s seen him since he left early. Not sure where to.”
She pressed her lips together. Alex hadn’t said where he was going, but that wasn’t unusual. Still… both men gone. Georgina overdue.
“Has a note come from Miss Eliza?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
Mrs. Hemsley turned sharply. She crossed the entry hall, opened the front door herself, and stood beneath the covered portico for a long moment, watching the drive.
Nothing.
The stables yielded no fresh word. The horses had been watered and fed. The grooms had seen no sign of Lady Ravenstock since she’d left, and no one had been dispatched to collect her.
She returned inside, the hem of her gown darkened with dust, and gave her instructions without raising her voice.
“Ready the carriage,” she told Brandon. “I’m going to Sommer Chase.”
“To speak with Lord Barrington, ma’am?”
“To speak with someone,” she said.
And without spending time to change her gown or sending word ahead, she gathered her gloves and her resolve and prepared to find out exactly what in God’s name had happened to her ladyship.
She thought of the way Lady Ravenstock had begun to laugh again, freely at last. The sound of it still echoed faintly in the halls she was about to leave.
The sound of carriage wheels on the gravel cut through the stillness like a warning bell.
Mrs. Hemsley paused in the act of fastening her cloak, the heavy wool hanging from her shoulders in a half-knot. She turned as one of the footmen passed by the open front door, wiping his hands on his waistcoat.
“A carriage just arrived from town, ma’am.”
She didn’t wait for a name.
The knock came before the bell could ring.
Mrs. Hemsley reached and opened the door. Her expression was already set in expectation.
Eliza stormed in before a word could be spoken.
“Where is she?” She demanded, cheeks flushed from the wind, curls tumbling from beneath her hat. “Where is Georgina?”
The air snapped tight.
Mrs. Hemsley stepped aside to allow her in fully. “You tell me. She was to meet you at half eleven.”
“She never came,” Eliza said, her voice sharp, not from anger, but from something far more brittle. “I waited. I waited an hour, and then I walked the entire length of the park, thinking she’d been delayed. I even went to the bookshop to ask if she’d stopped in. She hadn’t.”
Mrs. Hemsley closed the door behind them and gestured toward the drawing room. “Sit down.”
“I don’t want tea.”
“I didn’t offer it.”
Eliza stalked inside, pacing a short line near the hearth. “I thought she might have returned here without telling me. But when I saw the state of the drive, no carriage, no new tracks, then I knew.”
Mrs. Hemsley folded her hands at her waist. “We haven’t seen her since she left this morning. She said she was meeting you. No one else.”
“Well, she didn’t,” Eliza snapped, then caught herself. She let out a shaky breath. “I’m sorry. I’m just—”
“Worried,” Mrs. Hemsley said calmly. “As am I.”
Not after she’d finally let herself believe she was safe again. That she could walk freely without fear. And now this.
They stared at one another for a moment. Two women of very different natures, drawn together by the same fire.
“Has anyone been sent to look for her?” Eliza asked.
“I was preparing to ride to Sommer Chase,” Mrs. Hemsley replied. “Mr. Barrington left for there earlier this morning. I thought he might have some word.”
“And Alex?”
Mrs. Hemsley hesitated. “Left at dawn. No word since. No one seems to know where.”
Eliza’s brows rose. “She didn’t say she was meeting him?”
“No. Only you.”
Eliza folded her arms, wrapping them around her own ribcage like a shield. “She wouldn’t disappear. Not without telling someone. Not after everything.”
“No, she wouldn’t,” Mrs. Hemsley said firmly.
She turned to the footman now standing in the corridor. “Send for Mr. Barrington’s man, if he’s returned. Then tell Brandon to bring the carriage to the front.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Mrs. Hemsley looked back at Eliza. “You’ll stay here. In case she returns.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“You’re not. If she arrives and finds the house empty—”
Eliza exhaled through her nose, frustrated, but nodded. “Fine. But if she’s not back in an hour—”
“Then we’ll raise hell together,” Mrs. Hemsley said.
And with that, she turned, cloak snapping behind her as she strode out toward the carriage.
The wheels of the Ravenstock carriage hadn’t even stopped groaning when Mrs. Hemsley stepped down onto the gravel with the force of someone who had no intention of being received. Not received. Obeyed.
The wind tugged at her cloak, snapping the hem against her boots as she marched up the short stone steps to the door of Sommer Chase and rapped twice, sharply, without patience.
The door opened a moment later, and Kenworth, ever poised, blinked only once.
“Mrs. Hemsley. We weren’t expecting—”
“Clearly,” she said, brushing past him. “Where is Mr. Barrington?”
He gestured, unruffled, toward the study. “With Lord Weld, ma’am.”
Her eyes flicked to him, surprised. “Weld is here?”
“Yes, ma’am. They’ve been in conference nearly an hour.”
“Good.”
She swept down the corridor like a gust of judgment and flung open the door to the study without an announcement. Of course. He had come here straight from breakfast, just as he’d said. And yet, why hadn’t he known?
Inside, Barrington stood near the hearth, a sheaf of papers in one hand and a decanter in the other. Alex sat in one of the leather armchairs, one booted foot resting on the opposite knee, his posture deceptively relaxed.
Both looked up at the intrusion.
“Mrs. Hemsley?” Barrington blinked. “Is something wrong?”
“You might say that,” she replied, voice cool as pressed linen.
Alex stood. “What’s happened?”
“I’d ask you that very question.” She stepped inside, allowing the door to swing shut behind her. “Where is Lady Ravenstock?”
Alex’s brow furrowed. “She’s in town. She said she was visiting Miss Eliza.”
“She never arrived.”
Silence cracked across the room.
Alex’s breath stilled. For one heartbeat, he saw her as she’d been that morning, her hand warm against his chest, her smile still lingering, and then it vanished.
“What do you mean?”
“She wrote a note this morning and asked that it be delivered to Miss Eliza, arranging to meet at half past eleven behind the bookshop.” Her eyes locked on his.
“It is now after four o’clock. Eliza arrived at Ravenstock in a fury, having waited an hour and searched half the town. Georgina was nowhere to be found.”
Alex was already moving. He pushed the chair back with a thud, then crossed the room.
“I thought she’d be out of harm’s way,” he said, more to himself than to her. “I left before breakfast. She said she was meeting Eliza. There was no reason to question it.”
Barrington set down the decanter. “She didn’t go with you?”
“No.”
Mrs. Hemsley’s voice was flint. “Then where is she?”
Alex’s mind was already running ahead. “Did anyone see her leave?”
“A footman said she departed as usual. On foot. With her shawl. No carriage was ordered.”
“That was hours ago.”
He turned sharply to Barrington. “Summon your man. Tell him to check every path between Ravenstock and the town square. Speak with the bookseller, the grocer, the postmaster, anyone who might have seen her.”
Barrington didn’t argue. He left the room at once.
Mrs. Hemsley crossed her arms. “I should have gone with her.”
“No,” Alex said, reaching for his coat. “I should have stayed.”
He strapped on his gloves in silence, jaw tight, his eyes already narrowed with purpose.
“I’ll find her.”
“You’ll take someone with you.”
Alex didn’t answer. He simply opened the door and disappeared into the corridor, his footsteps already pounding toward the courtyard.
By the time the lamps were lit in the drawing room, the warmth of the day had fled, leaving the windows streaked with breath and the fire sputtering in the grate.
Mrs. Hemsley sat stiff-backed in her usual chair, a shawl draped over her shoulders and a cup of untouched tea cooling beside her. She’d returned from Sommer Chase nearly an hour earlier, with no answers and a heaviness that wouldn’t lift.
Eliza stood near the window, arms folded tightly, watching the empty drive as if willing Georgina to appear by force of will alone.
Mrs. Bainbridge had come down from her room without being asked, summoned by instinct or some other sharp intuition, and now occupied the settee, a blanket over her knees but no comfort in her posture.
The door opened quietly.
Alex stepped in, the wind still in his coat. His face was unreadable, drawn in hard lines.
“No sign of her,” he said.
Barrington followed behind him, removing his gloves with uncharacteristic distraction. “We checked every path into town. Not a trace of her passing. No purchases, no shopkeepers, no footsteps remembered. Not one person recalled her at all.”
“She was meant to meet me,” Eliza said again, voice thin. “She never came.”
Alex leaned one hand against the mantel, the knuckles white. “Then we assume she never reached town.”
Mrs. Hemsley rose to her feet. “I’ll check the study.”
“For what?” Barrington asked.
“For anything she might have left behind.”
They all remained where they were as she swept from the room, her footsteps clipped and echoing in the stillness.
It wasn’t more than five minutes before she returned, her expression unreadable, a crumpled piece of paper clutched in her hand.
She passed it to Barrington without a word.
He unfolded it carefully.
Two words. That was all.
Greyline Holdings.
“We’ve seen that name before,” Alex said, in a low, clipped tone. “It was in Rowland’s ledger. Where did you find that?”
“In the wastebasket by the desk.”
“That’s Rowland’s old study,” Barrington murmured.
“It’s the only thing in there that wasn’t in order,” Mrs. Hemsley said.
Alex took the paper, turned it over once in his hand. “She went to Greyline.”
Eliza’s voice broke. “Then why didn’t she come back?”
No one answered.
Outside, the wind picked up, scattering the last of the fallen leaves across the gravel. Inside, the silence grew thick with names unspoken and one thought no one dared to voice aloud. Wherever she was, she no longer walked alone.