Chapter Twenty-Seven
The park behind the bookshop was nearly empty at that hour, the sort of place one chose for quiet company rather than solitude.
It was the kind of morning that was too quiet, too expectant, as if the world itself waited for someone who never came.
The leaves had fallen in drifts along the garden paths, too damp to stir.
A row of hedges stood trimmed in polite attention, and the wrought-iron bench beneath the sycamore still bore the imprint of an early frost.
Eliza stood beside it, her arms folded. Her boot tapped once, then not again. A small, quiet rhythm she refused to let become anxious.
Georgina was late.
Not dreadfully so. Only ten minutes. Eleven, at most.
She pulled the note from her reticule, smoothing the fold with the back of her glove.
Half past eleven. The park behind the bookshop.
Would you mind delaying our walk slightly…
It had come that morning, written in Georgina’s steady hand, precise as ever, the letters looped but never frivolous. Eliza had smiled when it arrived. Of course, she didn’t mind. Who could refuse a request from a friend so fastidious?
She checked the square again. There was no sign of her.
There were others in the park, a governess with two children trailing hoops through the gravel, a pair of older gentlemen discussing something in serious tones, one of them gesturing with a pipe, but none of them were Georgina.
Eliza began a slow walk along the hedgerow, her steps deliberate, unhurried. It wasn’t like Georgina to forget. But perhaps she’d become delayed at home. Or gone to the market on a whim. Or found something in Rowland’s papers that needed sorting.
Or—
No. There was no or. Georgina was the sort who arrived five minutes early and stood pretending not to notice the time until one struck the half.
She looped back to the bench.
It was nearly noon.
Eliza stared up at the bare branches above her, the brittle sky beyond. The kind of day that held no promise of change, just cold truth in clean air. She disliked it intensely.
She waited seven more minutes. Then she walked away, not in haste, but in rising silence.
The sound of her own footsteps followed her crisp and even, but too loud for comfort through the narrow side street leading back into town.
Eliza hated walking alone when she was meant to be walking with someone else.
It wasn’t fear that quickened her pace. It was the memory of Georgina’s steadiness, the way her friend’s presence always balanced the air around her.
Without it, the world tilted. It always made her feel like she’d missed something.
A message. A signal. An entire conversation that never had the chance to begin.
Georgina wouldn’t have forgotten. That wasn’t her way. If something had come up, she would have sent a note, likely with a brief apology and a promise to reschedule. But she hadn’t.
Still, there were reasons. There were always reasons.
Eliza reached the far end of the market square and turned in at Madame Pembroke’s, the bell over the door chiming like a peal of laughter.
The shop smelled faintly of starch and violets. Lace in every shade of ivory hung like clouds above the counter. A girl in pale blue came out from the back and brightened when she saw her.
“Eliza! Miss Pembroke isn’t in just now, but I’m happy to assist—”
“I’m actually looking for Georgina,” Eliza said with a smile, stepping forward. “Or perhaps Mrs. Bainbridge. I wondered if they’d come in for a fitting?”
The girl blinked. “Not today, miss. Mrs. Bainbridge was here earlier in the week to view a few samples, but nothing was booked for today.”
“No?” Eliza forced a breezy tone. “She mentioned she was thinking about narrowing down fabric for the wedding.”
“She said she’d send word when ready.” The girl tilted her head. “Did you want to see what she chose?”
“No, no,” Eliza said quickly. “That’s not necessary. Thank you.”
Back outside, the sun had shifted westward, softening the glare on the cobblestones. The air still smelled of salt and coal and something sharp, perhaps roasted chestnuts. She crossed the square and made for the bookshop. The same one Georgina had mentioned in her note.
The bell rang. Familiar comfort.
The bookseller behind the counter gave her a pleasant nod. “Looking for anything particular today?”
“Not today,” she said. “I was meant to meet a friend near the park and thought she might have come in first.”
He tilted his head, thinking. “Lady Ravenstock, you mean?”
Eliza smiled. “Yes.”
“Haven’t seen her today, miss. Though a few days ago she asked after that pamphlet on maritime trade.”
“Of course she did.” Eliza laughed once, softly. “Thank you.”
She wandered for a moment longer than she needed to, tracing her gloved fingers along a row of volumes she didn’t read.
Outside again, the clouds had begun to gather near the horizon.
The tearoom was on the next corner. A pale pink door and rose-shaped windowpanes. She ducked her head in.
Empty, save two matrons and a scowling child with jam on his collar.
“Have you seen Lady Ravenstock this morning?” She asked the server near the window.
The girl shook her head. “Not since last week. She ordered lemon.”
Eliza offered a polite thank-you and stepped back into the wind.
She hadn’t realized until now how many places she expected Georgina to be. The tearoom. The bookshop. Even the apothecary was her final stop. Perhaps a headache had kept her from their walk. Or perhaps she needed tincture for something else. It would explain the note. The delay.
But the shopkeeper only blinked at her through a pair of thick spectacles and said, “Lady Ravenstock hasn’t been in. Not for some days.”
By the time Eliza left the shop, it was nearing one o’clock.
She had to meet Everly.
Still no Georgina.
The bell above the clock tower struck one as Eliza turned onto High Street.
She had not meant to hurry, but her feet had carried her briskly all the same.
Her gloves were warm from her hands, and her cheeks stung faintly from the wind.
A part of her still hoped, foolishly perhaps, that Georgina would appear at the last moment, pulling her cloak tighter, apologizing for the delay with that soft, even voice that never rose in fluster.
But there was no one waiting.
Everly was already there.
He stood just outside the jeweler’s, his back to the shop window, one foot crossed casually over the other. His cane rested against his leg. His hat was in place. He might have been a drawing.
He smiled when he saw her. Not broadly. Not greedily. Just enough. Something about that smile was measured, almost rehearsed, like a phrase he’d practiced until it no longer sounded like words.
“Eliza.”
She returned the smile, more from habit than ease. “You’re early.”
“I am rarely late,” he said, offering his arm. “You look well.”
She took it without hesitation.
As they turned toward the south end of the square, she glanced over her shoulder, as though expecting to see someone trailing behind. Georgina, perhaps. But the street was ordinary people walking, wheels clattering, a pair of children chasing a hoop past the bakery.
“I thought I might be bringing someone,” she said lightly.
“Ah.” He didn’t ask who.
“She was meant to meet me in the park but didn’t arrive. I checked a few places, nothing urgent, I’m sure. Just… not like her.”
Everly turned his head slightly, the gesture almost too restrained to be called interested. “Do you think she’s unwell?”
“No,” Eliza said quickly. “No. Georgina isn’t the type to fall ill without informing every person she’s seen in the last forty-eight hours. No, if I had to guess, she’s buried under a heap of ledgers and forgot to come up for air.”
“Ah. A very modern ailment.” He chuckled softly. “She’s fortunate to have you watching over her.”
The words settled on her shoulders, warmer than they ought to have been. She adjusted her grip on his arm.
“You mentioned you wanted to speak privately,” she said, redirecting the conversation.
He smiled faintly. “Did I? I suppose I only meant to enjoy your company without the distraction of half the town listening in.”
Eliza shook her head, amused despite herself. “You do make it sound so mysterious.”
“And you do make it so easy to pretend,” he said.
They walked on in silence for a few moments, the town falling behind them.
“Shall we?” he said, tipping his head toward the lane that led toward Ravenstock. “I imagine your friends may be there already.”
She’d insisted on doing things her own way. And now no one knew where to look for her.
“They might,” Eliza replied. “Or Georgina might have slipped in without telling anyone. It’s still rather unlike her.”
He didn’t press. He simply adjusted his stride to match hers and offered, with quiet concern, “If there’s anything I can do to help…”
The Ravenstock carriage had not been brought around, which Eliza took as a sign that no one had gone out in it. Good. That meant someone would be home.
She and Everly approached on foot, the last turn in the drive crunching softly beneath their boots. A low wind had stirred the leaves into half-hearted motion, but the manor itself looked perfectly still. Too still. Even the curtains hung motionless, as if the house itself were holding its breath.
At the door, she didn’t wait for a servant. She opened it as if she lived there.
“Lady Eliza,” came Mrs. Hemsley’s voice from the entry hall. She appeared from the corridor, wiping her hands on a towel, her brows rising. “We weren’t expecting—”
“No one’s seen her,” Eliza said, stepping in quickly. “She never met me at the park. I went looking. I’ve been to Pembroke’s, the bookshop, and the tearoom. No one’s seen her today. Not since this morning.”
Mrs. Hemsley’s face didn’t change, but something inside her posture did. She folded the towel over one hand with quiet precision.
“I see,” she said.
“This is Mr. Everly,” Eliza added, gesturing behind her. “A friend. He was kind enough to accompany me back.”
Everly inclined his head. “Your servant, ma’am.”
Mrs. Hemsley nodded once, calm but polite. “We’ve not seen Lady Ravenstock since she left the house. She said she would be meeting you.”
“She was meant to,” Eliza said, voice rising just a note. “And she never arrived.”
“Perhaps she returned without saying—”
“I checked her room. I checked the study. The staff says she hasn’t come back,” Mrs. Hemsley cut in, not harshly, but with that clipped tone that came when she was already five steps ahead in her thoughts.
They stood in a triangle of silence near the drawing room door.
Everly’s voice broke the silence first. “Would it be forward of me to offer assistance? I know the town and its people rather well. If you’d like someone to make quiet inquiries, I’d be glad to help.”
Mrs. Hemsley glanced at him. “Your concern is appreciated.”
“She may simply have lost track of the time,” Eliza offered, though her tone betrayed that even she no longer believed it. “She had a note to send this morning. Perhaps she’s gone to speak with someone about Rowland’s estate.”
“Perhaps,” Mrs. Hemsley agreed softly. “Or perhaps something else entirely.”
A footman appeared at the end of the corridor. “Shall I inform Lord Barrington and Lord Weld, ma’am?”
Mrs. Hemsley nodded. “At once.”
Eliza turned toward the front window. The sun was beginning its downward arc.
“I can’t explain it,” she said. “But it’s not like her.”
“No,” Mrs. Hemsley agreed again. “It isn’t.”
The drawing room had gone still. Eliza stood by the window, one gloved hand pressed lightly to the drape, watching the shadows lengthen across the drive.
“I should have remained there longer,” she murmured.
“You waited long enough,” Mrs. Hemsley replied. “If she meant to meet you, she would have been there. She’s not careless.”
Everly was seated near the hearth, perfectly at ease. He had offered to take another look in town, but Mrs. Hemsley had waved him off with quiet authority. “There’s no use hunting shadows,” she’d said. “Not until we know where to look.”
Eliza turned from the window. “You don’t think she’s simply… decided to take a detour?”
“I think she’s been gone too long without explanation.”
That was when Mrs. Hemsley moved, quietly, deliberately, toward the corridor that led to the study.
“She spent time in there this morning,” she said over her shoulder. “Didn’t say what, but if she left a trace, it will be in that room.”
Eliza followed her with her eyes but didn’t speak.
Ten minutes passed. The wind stirred again outside. Somewhere upstairs, a floorboard creaked. It was an ordinary house sound that was now too loud.
Then Mrs. Hemsley returned, a scrap of crumpled paper in hand.
“I found this in the wastebasket,” she said, holding it out.
Eliza stepped forward.
Only two words. Written cleanly in Georgina’s unmistakable hand.
Greyline Holdings.
“She found something,” Mrs. Hemsley said. “And didn’t tell anyone.”
“She meant to,” Eliza whispered. “She was going to tell me everything.”
But the paper said otherwise. The silence between them now was sharper than absence.
It was intentional.
A knock rattled the door.
A footman stepped in, breath slightly short. “Lord Barrington and Lord Weld have just returned from Sommer Chase, ma’am. Shall I show them in?”
Mrs. Hemsley didn’t answer immediately. She looked down at the scrap of paper in her hand.
“Yes,” she said at last, the words measured, certain. “Bring them in.” She looked down once more at Georgina’s handwriting. “Whatever we thought we knew, this changes everything.”