Never Tell a Soul, Damon Priest

Geneva Withers never lies to her three great-aunts, but she keeps quite a few secrets, all of which she accidentally spills on no other than Damon Priest, a man she hardly knows. Could she trust him to never tell a soul?

Growing up with the tight upbringing and indoctrinated with beliefs of her three great-aunts, Geneva is never spared of the true reasons why she was came to live with them. But as years pass, reading nothing but the bible and going nowhere but the church on Sundays, and being exposed to the eccentric Stratford cousins her aunts warned her about, she begins to grow curious of many things about her own life. Who is she, really? What does she love and hate?

As she takes the first brave steps to find herself, however, she encounters a slight delay when, one Sunday morning at church, she accidentally reveals her deepest secrets to one of the Stratfords: Damon Priest, a man who uses her secrets to bring out things about herself that she never knew existed. Her aunts say he’s the devil, and she’s scared to end up like her mother. But there’s something about Damon Priest that keeps drawing her in. Sin or not, she can only pray.

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The Abberton Series will center on the Stratford cousins and their life in their beloved home, Abberton.

I’m excited for this second standalone Abberton story! If you haven’t yet read the first one, check out Very Truly Yours, Simone!

I hope you enjoy this story!

Yours,

J.D. Ruiz

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OTHER STORIES BY J.D. RUIZ

The Stratfords

First chapter will drop a day after tomorrow!

1. the princess

Geneva Withers had never told a lie, but that did not mean she had no secrets. Just like tonight.

As she toed down the dark corridors with a gaslight in hand, the floorboards creaked. But not too much. The house was in pristine condition because its mistresses would not have it any less. It was their own beautiful palace. And someday, it would be hers as well.

For as long as she could remember, Geneva was often told that she was in a fairytale. She was the poor little girl whisked away by three fairy godmothers to live in their palace, where she learned how to be a princess who would someday meet her prince.

The first part was rather true. She was poor, and she was little, and she considered her mother’s three aunts as her fairy godmothers. The second part of her fairytale , however, was not quite close to reality. She never learned how to be a princess because she was not one and she would never be. And there was no prince. No. Not in Abberton, at least.

As she grew older, and as the verses of the bible were engraved into her soul by her three great-aunts, Geneva realized she was not becoming the princess the three women wanted her to be. Every day, it seemed that she was becoming more of a disappointment. Every hour, every minute. Every breath.

It was like walking on hot coals. Every day, she had to be careful with each painful step. She had to be perfect. She could not make a single mistake. Because if she did, they would send her away.

Like her grandfather.

Like her grandmother.

“It runs in the blood,” her great-aunt Prudence would always say as part of her bedtime stories. “Even your mother was not spared of it.”

Many years ago, her mother lost control of her emotions. She was enticed by the devil. And that man was her father. They lived a life of sin and gave birth to her.

But Geneva was saved. And for that, she was grateful. Her great-aunts were nothing but wonderful to her. Even now, they never showed their disappointment at her lack of marriage prospect at twenty-eight. Not that there was any chance, of course, because by Abberton standard, Geneva was a spinster.

Perhaps it was better. If she had the potential to be like her mother, then she was better off safe and alone. Her great-aunts would leave her everything as they promised. So long as she stayed pure and good, she would never bring evil into this world.

“They had evil within them,” said great-aunt Deborah. “Our father—rest his soul. And then Adeline, our dear sister— your grandmother. And then her own daughter—y our mother. Do you understand now, Geneva? You can be like them if your faith is not strong. Never stray into the devil’s path.”

Geneva’s grandmother, her great-aunts’ youngest sister, moved away when she married one of their servants. Her daughter, Geneva’s mother, Constance, was raised in a private school for girls in Strait, paid for by her grandfather, the baron. Everyone expected her to be different from her mother. They were greatly disappointed, of course, because Constance met the man who brought out her disease . Pregnant and married to a nobody, she went far away. But her disease ultimately consumed her, and she died when Geneva was only two.

All of Abberton only knew that Geneva was orphaned and that the three rich and unmarried (one widowed) daughters of the rich baron took her in, as any family should. Then they changed her name from Geneva Vernon to Geneva Withers.

But one Christmas changed it all. That was fifteen years ago, when Geneva was eleven. She was hiding in one of the unused bedrooms, reading a novel she was not supposed to, one her good friend Theresa gave her in secret during church service. It was an ordinary day—quiet and calm, as it always was in the Withers household.

Sitting by the window where the light was generous, Geneva happened to look out and saw them . They were waiting outside with a package wrapped in white cloth. They talked to the servant who greeted them, then walked away with one last glance at the door. Next Christmas, Geneva saw them again. This time, they were with a boy. They carried the same cloth-covered parcel. And unlike the previous time, Geneva could hear them when they asked if they could see Geneva. But the maid refused, saying Geneva was indisposed. For many more Christmases, they came back. Sometimes they would bring the same boy, who grew taller every time, and other times they would bring all three. And like before, they were never invited inside. They would come, and they would leave, and Geneva would never know the contents of the parcels.

She did not know why she never told anyone she knew about the short visits. Perhaps because deep inside, she knew the answer.

But one day, Geneva saw them in the market by chance. She was twenty by then and was finally allowed to venture out on her own. And seeing them up close, she knew . She knew it was them .

Her parents.

She had her mother’s black hair and gray eyes. Just like her Aunt Prudence said.

They seemed different from what she imagined. For one, her mother was alive. And Constance Vernon did not look like she was sad. No. She seemed happy as she walked on the side of the street with her three sons. She even laughed at something one of them said. And Theodore Vernon did not look like the monster her great-aunts described. He laughed, and he walked with an arm around his oldest son.

And their sons… They were laughing. They looked…happy. And they had grown so tall. How old were they? They playfully punched each other while their mother tried to stop them. They ran down the street like the unruly Stratford children.

And it made Geneva wonder. How long had they been in Abberton?

Of course, deep inside, Geneva knew. She knew they had always been here.

All along.

Her curiosity ate at her since that day she saw them. Their laughing faces would haunt her dreams. She would search for them in church, but they were never there. Once, she asked her aunts if they could attend a different church. They refused, of course, and she never asked again. There was no use. The three Withers Sisters, as what all of Abberton referred to them, were too obsessed with their routine.

She searched whenever she could. Yet, she never saw them again.

But one day, she dared ask someone. It was the most daring thing she had ever done: finally saying her mother’s name alone. It almost twisted her tongue, but she managed to get it out. “Do you happen to know someone named Constance Vernon?”

She had asked the butcher. They always knew everybody. And this man did not fail her.

“Of course, Miss! They Vernons provide me the best meat!” But that was not the only information she got. The butcher told her where they lived. “Just on the other side of the Stratford woods, Miss.”

For a while, Geneva thought that was enough. But it was not. She needed to know more. She wanted more.

She wanted to see them.

But how? She was so afraid to leave the house and do something forbidden.

Her first attempt was an utter failure. Her heart started thudding against her chest, and she feared she may be suffering from the same disease her aunts told her about. The one she might have if she did was not careful. She went home and prayed for forgiveness.

But curiosity was persistent, and she tried again weeks later. She could not go far because, just as she entered the woods, she heard the Stratfords shouting at each other from different directions. On her third try, she fell into a trap and tended on her wound in secret. On her fourth try, she almost got caught by her Aunt Barbara. And so it was that she decided to go out only when everyone else was asleep.

And that was tonight.

Five months and eighteen days. That’s how long she had been trying.

She slipped through the front doors because no one truly suspected anyone to go out in the dead of night, especially the obedient Miss Geneva Withers. The roads were silent as they often were after the clock struck eight. But to be careful, Geneva wore a dark coat and hat. She had heard enough stories of women slipping out of their homes at night to do sinful acts. She was not one of them, of course, but still… people liked to talk and make up something to fill the gaps in their stories.

Her favorite road, the one lined with trees at both sides, their branches arching toward each other as if holding hands in a dance, was often called the Stratford Road. It was not its official name, of course, for it had none, but the Stratford children had always infested the place (even the trees) with their presence since anyone could remember. They played there together or with friends, even had occasional picnics. And when they were older, Geneva heard that the older Stratford cousins had, on more than one occasion, been found sleeping under the trees after a night of drinking. They had no sense to find their way to their beds, but at least thought of tethering their horses.

She shook her head as she crossed the tunnel of trees, breaking rays of moonlight with each stride. And like her many attempts before, her heart began to race against her ribcage. And again, she stopped, eyes wide as she gulped. She was doing something evil and she should be punished for it. She was given a good life and she was risking it all for—what? Mere curiosity?

Her feet moved, turning to retrace her steps. Then stop. But how could she not? Her aunts had been keeping this secret from her for twenty-eight years. Why? How evil could her parents be for them to keep her away from them? Should she not see for herself? Of course, she should. After all, she was their firstborn.

No. This was no sin. She just wanted to see.

Turning on her heels, she continued walking. She could hear her aunts in her head. They sounded disappointed. And she could picture the look on their faces. No, they would understand, she thought. Surely, they would.

But they had warned her of this. They told her of their fear that someday she would begin to act like her mother and grandmother. Like her grandfather. That she would succumb to her desires and drown in thick emotions.

No , Geneva thought. She had no other desire but to please her aunts and live the words of God. And she had no desire to show herself to her parents. She just wanted to see.

But see what?

Her steps halted as hot tears brimmed her eyes.

See what?

The fruits of their sinful ways?

Their poor life?

Their happiness?

She covered her face with her hands and wept because she wanted this too much. But she knew the right thing. And that was to go home. Back in her bed. Back to prayers.

And so she did. She turned away from the direction of the woods.

And stopped again.

She was being a coward.

No, no, no . She continued walking home. She was brave. She was walking away from temptation.

No, you

’re just walking back to what is safe. To what they want. Not what you want.

She stopped, growing frustrated by each second. A part of her wished someone was with her to tell her what to do. To push her to cross the path toward the woods, tell her she had no choice but to continue. But she had no one. No one but her aunts. None since Theresa stopped being her friend after that afternoon with the Withers Sisters.

Geneva moistened her lips, squared her shoulders, hand tight around the gaslight. She looked at the woods before her and silently murmured for forgiveness. She took one step forward. Then another.

Then she ran before she hesitated again. And at that moment, as her lungs demanded for more air, and her legs began to ache, she realized that there was no turning back. She was committing a sin. She was giving in to selfish desires. Yet it felt the opposite.

Somewhere in the Withers house, her three great-aunts were asleep. Innocent of her little adventure.

She bit on a smile as she ran and entered the Stratford woods.

Her heart pranced against her ribcage and she gasped for air, a giggle escaping her lips for the first time.

She looked around and felt nothing close to fear.

It was quite exhilarating.

Freeing.

She knew she would regret this, but it would only be days later, precisely on a Sunday, in front of Damon Stratford Priest, that Geneva would learn the consequences of her sins.

2. the neighbors

Geneva winced as she pulled her stockings up one leg. For the second time, she fell into one of the traps in the woods last night. She had always heard stories of the Stratford children making traps for each other. Who, in their sane minds, would build something to hurt someone?

Only the devil.

She sighed as she tied the stocking in place and stood before the mirror, staring at her dress, making sure the sleeves were not askew. Aunt Deborah disliked it whenever her clavicles showed. Then she put on her bonnet, resting on top of her head. Not too much to the right, nor to the left. Center just as Aunt Prudence liked it.

She turned, smiling when her blue dress swerved in a perfect circle around her. For the rest of the day, they would stay down because showing her stockinged ankles was not proper. Walking to her table, she picked up the folded piece of paper. It was sealed with one name written outside.

Constance Vernon.

She gathered her coins and dropped them in her purse, along with the letter. Then she picked up her bible.

Running her gloved hands over her skirt one more time, Geneva squared her shoulders and sauntered downstairs where the three mistresses of the Withers House were already waiting.

“While it’s necessary for a woman to be graceful, dear, it’s not proper that she be late,” Aunt Deborah said, already turning toward the door.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, jaw tight as she tried not to limp. Her right ankle was still sore. And the scratches hurt. As she followed her three great-aunts into the carriage, she wondered why shallow wounds hurt more; that if the skin felt more than any other parts of the body, why did God design it to be outside where it could feel everything?

The four of them climbed into the carriage, always taking the same spot, always silent. At first, at least, before her aunts could find anything worth mentioning. Like the Stratfords.

It would always be a murmured comment. There would be no discussion over how Simone Priest’s hat looked horrid, if not improper, inside the house of God. No, her aunts were too kind to dwell into such shallow things. It was just that the young woman’s hat looked horrible and improper.

And if they could find nothing to comment on, Aunt Deborah would spend the remaining few seconds to remind Geneva of her manners. “They always play tricks on you because you provide them the reaction they want.”

She meant Roxie Stratford and Freda Matson, of course, the youngest of the Stratford cousins.

“They’re children, so you must be patient,” said Aunt Barbara.

“And they’re Stratfords,” murmured Aunt Prudence beside her. “You’ll end up the enemy if you allow them to get the better of you.”

Aunt Deborah looked at her with a kind smile. “Do you remember that day they placed a frog inside that purse of yours? You screamed loud enough for a deaf man to hear you.”

Geneva shifted in her seat and moistened her lips. “I did not mean to.”

“You sounded angry, Geneva. I almost did not recognize you.”

She bit her lips. “I will do my best in the future.”

Aunt Deborah’s eyes went to her purse tied around her wrist. “If you’re not too fond of taking that thing with you, it would not have happened in the first place.”

Geneva instinctively hid the purse in the skirt of her dress.

“Leave that in the carriage,” Aunt Deborah ordered. “What do you have inside that thing, anyway?”

Her jaw went tight as she pulled the purse off her wrist and placed it behind her.

Aunt Barbara reached for her hand and squeezed. “Good girl. You are not like the Stratfords. You have grace and control. You are you .”

Geneva only nodded. She meant Geneva was not yet like her great-grandfather, her grandmother, or her mother. That she was doing well and that she was not suffering from the same disease of the mind as they did. That she was sane. Still sane.

Geneva tried to relax, allowing herself to feel nothing but calmness. She willed her mind to not think about Roxie and Freda, of what trick they may play on her this time, or if there was any, would she be able to handle it without screaming. Or crying. Or getting angry.

She looked at Aunt Deborah and found the woman still regarding her with a slight frown. Her heart hammered as her hand tightened around her bible.

Aunt Deborah was the eldest and the most perceptive of the three, followed by Aunt Prudence, who was perhaps the gentlest soul Geneva had ever met, then Aunt Barbara who liked to talk about her dear Winson who passed away just mere months after they were married fifty years or so ago.

Geneva’s grandmother was their youngest. All of them had gray hair and gray eyes. All were close in age; all slow, but surprisingly active. They were surrounded by an air of confidence, which people said came with age, but Geneva knew came at birth in the case of her three great-aunts. She had never seen them waver in their beliefs, nor had they ever let anyone talk down on them. They were well-respected in Abberton.

They were kind, always helped their neighbors, but they could be stern as well. For some, those traits could be quite confusing. Geneva had always thought they were the most honest people she knew until she found out about their secret.

She was yet to gather her confidence to confront them. And she needed more of that when it came to asking something from her aunts. They would want to know why she was asking. And for now, she could not think of a good reason other than the truth. And that would lead to her confessing what she had been doing for months. That she had gone on secret trips, sneaked out of the house, and even trespassed into the Stratford woods.

The thought of confessing all those to them caused her to shudder. Not that she was afraid of them, of course. Or at least she’d like to think she wasn’t. Because she shouldn’t. They weren’t scary. In fact, they were honest, and she was afraid they would be forced to tell her the truth if she asked. And that was the scary thing.

Why was she with her great-aunts while her brothers were with her parents?

The answer floated in her mind for many days, yet she ignored it.

Until last night, when she suddenly remembered their Christmas visits. If they did not want her, why did they bother trying to see her (supposing they wanted to)? With that thought, she penned the horrible letter. It started with a question and ended with one. In fact, she should have just written a list of questions because there was nothing to say. For all she knew, they may not even understand why she wrote.

When they arrived in front of the church, she was not willing to climb out. For one, she was afraid to leave her purse with the letter inside it. Two, there was a big crowd outside the church. Three, she knew the reason for the crowd: the Duke of Dafield.

Since he and his sisters arrived to visit the Stratfords, this was their first time to attend church in Abberton. Much to every female’s dismay, excluding Geneva’s, he was not here to find a wife as they first hoped. As gossips would later reveal, he was here hoping to make a match for his sister with the eldest of the Stratford children, Harry Stratford, future Earl of Abberton.

Geneva wondered why Harry Stratford would even bother finding a match. Was he not courting Arabella Poppet? Perhaps she was wrong. Mayhap the pair were just friends after all.

“Geneva,” Aunt Deborah called from outside the carriage.

She immediately followed, throwing her purse and bible one last glance. Satisfied that she was walking behind them, the three Withers sisters sashayed through the crowd to find their friends inside the church, while Geneva looked for Parker Bowman.

She found the butcher’s son talking to a friend, and smiled when their eyes met, and he acknowledged her presence with a slight nod of respect. He was younger than her, but Geneva liked to think he was a good friend. Whenever she came by their shop, he would always ask how she was. Once, he asked Geneva to pass along a note to a woman across the street, one he was wishing to court. Today, she wished to collect the same favor.

“Geneva,” Aunt Prudence called from the doorway.

Geneva jumped and followed her three aunts inside to greet their friends the way they taught her to. And when they motioned to move and take their seats—in the very front of the church—Geneva leaned toward Aunt Deborah and whispered, “I’m sorry, Aunt Deborah, but I forgot my bible.”

The woman turned to her with a frown of disbelief. Never had Geneva forgotten her bible on all Sundays (and Wednesdays) they had to attend church. The woman simply nodded. Geneva murmured another apology before she turned and walked out to find their carriage. On her way there, she stopped by Parker Bowman with a smile.

After a hasty good morning to him and his friend, she asked Parker if he could meet her at the back of the church in three minutes. “I have a favor to ask,” she explained.

“Of course, Miss Geneva.”

She walked away from him and his friend, found their carriage, and explained to the driver that she forgot something. As his attention returned to his fellow drivers, Geneva reached inside the carriage and retrieved the letter from her purse along with the coins, tucking them inside her bible. With another hasty thank you to the driver, she took the path away from the crowd that led to the back of the church.

Once, it had been a garden, but now looked like the garden of the Windsong Manor, the abandoned mansion on top of a hill not far away. The vicar explained that people should be inside the church, not outside. He found no good reason to maintain the piece of land and the overgrown grass that infested it.

Parker was already waiting for her, hands in his pockets, looking absently at the poor view in front of him.

“Too bad we lost the garden here, eh?” he asked Geneva as she approached.

She nodded with a smile, imagining herself walking through the cobbled path, flowers blooming on each side. Stone benches for the old ones and a yard for children to play at. A place of escape before and after service.

“You wanted to ask for a favor, Miss Geneva?” Parker asked.

“Yes,” she said, biting her lip. “And I am hoping you keep it a secret.”

Parker grinned. “My father may be a gossip, Miss, but I’m not.”

“I know, Parker.” She opened her bible and took out the letter. “Can you give this to Constance or Theodore Vernon when they come by your shop?”

He blinked down at the letter and smiled, as though she just asked him if he could help her with a piece of veal. “Of course.”

“I believe they are good friends with someone I lost contact with. I’m hoping to find that person through them.”

He nodded, then frowned. “Can you not have one of your footmen deliver this to them?”

She looked over her shoulder. “No.”

It was clear that Parker was curious, but he did not push. “I’ll be happy to deliver this to them. They come by every Wednesday. But what if Stephen comes? Can I this to him?”

“Stephen?”

“Their eldest.”

Geneva blinked. “O-Of course.” She cleared her throat. “And please take this,” she said, taking his hand and pushing the coins into his palm.

“Oh, no, please, don’t—”

“Please, take it. Please, Parker.”

The young man narrowed his eyes at her. Shaking his blond head, he sighed. “Very well.”

“Thank—” She froze, eyes wide when she saw two familiar figures stepping out of the bushes with flowers in their hands. Roxie and Freda blinked at her, then at Parker. Then they turned and walked away.

“Miss Geneva?” Parker asked, looking at her with concern. “Are you all right?”

“I—” She grew restless. “Y-Yes. Thank you, Parker. I will see you soon. Have a good day.”

“You, too, Miss.”

Geneva moved quickly and caught up with Roxie and Freda. “What did you hear?” she asked behind them.

They both jumped in surprise. They looked at her, at each other, and back at her. “Nothing,” Freda said, shaking her wavy brown hair. Roxie, who had tight curls, frowned at her and asked, “Why?”

Geneva blinked down at them and pursed her lips. It was not a secret that she disliked them. For as long as Geneva could remember, ever since these two had been allowed to attend church on Sundays, they learned nothing but how to creatively hound anyone they could. And for reasons unknown, Geneva was perhaps their favorite victim.

“You were eavesdropping on me and my friend. What did you hear?”

She stepped forward, and they stepped back. “Nothing.”

Her muscles went tight and the familiar rise of heat overwhelmed Geneva. Suddenly she remembered the first time she found a bug dangling in her hair. She cried out in alarm then, and found them snickering behind her. At first, she did not think it was them. Until it became clear that they were the culprits because she caught them many times.

She should be familiar with the emotions these two evoked. And she should have mastered them by now. But this time, it was different. The powerful feeling that erupted in her chest as her face heat up was new to her. She knew what it was called because her aunts had warned her about it.

Anger. Fury.

Dangerous emotions, they said.

The first time she displayed it, they lectured her at home. And they did so again the second time. On the third one, she wondered if Roxie and Freda were receiving the same lectures as her. Perhaps not. They were Stratfords, after all. They were crass…crude… Barbaric.

She stared down at the pair, nostrils flaring. Roxie and Freda looked at each other and snorted. “What’s wrong, Miss Geneva?” Roxie asked, biting her lips, fighting off a smile, which did not hide the wickedness in her eyes.

Geneva wanted to explode. Just once, she thought. Just once, please.

But then she shook her head.

The two girls frowned and turned. As they walked away, Roxie whispered something to Freda, and they both giggled.

Geneva took one step forward, then stopped herself. But what if they heard something?

Without thinking, she followed the two girls. As she rounded the corner to the front of the church, she spotted them talking to their friend, Dorothy Poppet.

Panic surged up her throat. Dorothy Poppet was the youngest sister of the biggest gossipmongering ladies in Abberton: Bridget and Charity. Even the Stratfords called them the prophets because they preached better than the vicar.

If either Bridget or Charity learned of Geneva’s secret meeting with Parker, it would not be long before their words reached her aunts.

Geneva did not know what powerful force urged her to walk through the crowd and insert herself into the little circle of the three young females. All she could think about was her aunts finding out what she had been doing behind their backs.

She could not remember how she managed to separate Roxie and Freda from Dorothy. The two girls looked confused as they frowned up at her.

Geneva lost her battle for control. Her hand, as if it had a mind of its own, grabbed Freda’s arm and yanked.

“If I ever learn that the pair of you tell anyone about what you saw or heard today, I will make certain you regret it.” Her words shook, but she could hardly hear herself. Blood was rushing to her ears, her fury blinding her from the look of alarm in their eyes.

Freda squirmed from her hold. “Please, Miss Geneva, we did not see or hear anything—”

“Liar,” she hissed, eyes wide, brimming with hot tears. “Do you expect me to believe you? Just like the many times you played your tricks on me and say you did not? What have I ever done to deserve that? Scolded you for being crass in church?” Her eyes narrowed. “Everyone forgives you because they think you’re both funny, but know that there are people who don’t feel the same. With everything you’ve caused others, I only pray to God that He forgives you. And I hope your parents never witness what you do because there’s nothing to be proud of.”

Her last words caused the two girls to freeze, their faces registering disbelief as blood drained from their faces and the tears fell.

“Let go of her!” Roxie pleaded, pulling her cousin away from Geneva.

She blinked, her mind clearing and realizing what she had done and said. She looked down at her hand gripping Freda’s arm. In disbelief and alarm, she let go, jumping back, tears falling straight on the ground.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, wiping her face. She was about to turn around when two older Stratfords blocked her path.

“What is going on here, Miss Geneva?” Price Priest asked. Gale Stratford was looking displeased as Roxie and Freda ran to him in tears.

Regret came fast. She should have not confronted the two girls. Every time she did, there were only two possible scenarios: her aunts would scold her or she would face the ire of everyone else who was enamored with the Stratfords.

She could not deal with both at that moment. But it seemed there was another scenario: face the wrath of the Stratfords.

“Nothing,” she stonily said, blinking rapidly to stop the tears.

“You made them cry, Miss Geneva,” Price Priest said, the tiny scar between his eyes disappearing into a fold as he frowned. “What happened?”

“I’ve just had enough of their tricks. I told them I shall no longer tolerate being the subject of their games and I will not permit such horrible attitude from anyone, even the Stratfords.”

Without giving Price a chance to prolong the encounter, Geneva turned and almost crashed against the two other Stratfords, Simone and Lydia. She murmured an apology and strutted away. As she did, she heard Simone Priest ask her brother, “What happened?”

Geneva looked around, searching for something—anyone. And of course, there was none. This was not her crowd. These were neighbors who were here not for the words of God, but for gossip and perhaps the duke.

She hastily groomed herself, nonchalantly wiping her tears and tucking her hair behind her ears. She sniffled, then cleared her throat before she stepped inside the church. Her eyes immediately found her aunts sitting in the first pew with their friends, murmuring prayers. She leaned against the wall to take a breath and collect herself. She should feel safe here, but she was not. In just a span of a few minutes, her world seemed to have tilted. She was now paying for the consequences of her actions.

Her grip tightened around her bible. She should not have written that letter. Should have not sneaked behind her aunts’ backs. Should not have been curious.

Her hands began to shake. She pushed away from the wall, unsure of what to do, desperate to regain control.

Find Parker. Get her letter back and destroy it. Apologize to Roxie and Freda. Then forget everything. Forget the Vernons. Forget that she had a mother and a father. Or that she had siblings. Her aunts could not find out!

She started walking away, but winced as the pain in her ankle returned. Good Lord. Earlier, she did not even feel it. She was too consumed by her emotions to have felt anything else. This was what her aunts warned her about. Her potential to be ruled by such dark feelings.

Carefully, she took one step forward. Then another. And then a hand clasped her arm. At first, she thought someone was helping her, but then she realized the hold was too tight. She looked up and found someone who was almost a stranger. One she rarely saw around Abberton. One she did not even think she would have the chance to talk to, more so to be touched by.

Damon Priest.

Dark, curly hair. Brown eyes. Murderous brown eyes. No— dark , murderous brown eyes.

“Come with me,” he said in a tone quite different from his eyes. She had not heard his voice up close before. In fact, she had no desire to. Because he was a Stratford, and she was not interested in gaining their acquaintance. But now that he spoke to her, and she heard him, she realized Damon Priest spoke in a calm tone that had a hint of amusement. And it was quite alarming because his eyes spoke a different story.

She knew then that he was a dangerous man. The look in his eyes and the firm grip did not match with the tone. He could very well be the devil tempting Eve to take a bite from the fruit.

“N-No,” she said, heart hammering against her chest.

She stumbled on her injured leg as he guided her toward the side door. “Come with me or I’ll request an audience with your aunts.”

“I did not mean to make your cousins cry.”

He stopped walking to look down at her. Their eyes met, his all-knowing, hers glowing with trepidation. “Oh, you did, Miss Withers. We both know you did.” Looking her squarely in the eyes, his hand showing no sign of letting go, he added, “We can walk quietly, or we can ask your aunts to join us.”

Her eyes jumped to her aunts, all three huddled in their own little bubble with their friends. All ignorant of her mistakes.

“Well?” he asked, brows arched high.

She let out a shaky breath and pulled her arm from his hold. To her surprise, he let go. But he was not letting her escape, that much was obvious. “Where?” was all she could muster as she looked away from him, lifting her chin to maintain a semblance of dignity.

He did not answer, but he motioned his arm toward the side door that led to the chapel outside.

Geneva took a deep breath, ignored the pain in her leg, and walked toward the door.

In a minute or two, she would realize that everything that happened thus far was not yet the worst of it all.

3. the bizarre secrets of Geneva Withers

Geneva knew of Damon Priest, of course; had seen him around when they were younger, but he was just like every other resident of Abberton in her eyes. She did not even notice that he left to learn more about the family business he and his brothers inherited after their parents’ deaths.

And like any other day, she could not care less who he was either. Yes, he may be a Stratford, but she was not among the crowd that worshiped them. Most especially when he was proving to her now why she should not.

He took her to the chapel, a small white building just to the side of the church. She meant to tell him it was improper for a man and a lady to lock themselves inside a room, but his very presence silenced her. For a split second, it reminded her of her aunts. She brushed the thought just as fast because her aunts were nothing like this man. They would never confront her like this in a public place, especially a chapel.

When the door locked, Geneva took a few steps back, panic rising to her throat. She could not look him in the eyes because her own were searching for another way out.

“What did you say to them?” he asked. That tone again. He did not sound angry at all, but his eyes were strong enough to catch her gaze when she stole a look.

“N-Nothing,” she said, shaking her head. Clearing her throat, Geneva lifted her chin and arched her brow, hoping she looked like her Aunt Prudence. “Why?”

His gaze narrowed and held hers for one breathless moment. Then he scoffed and shook his head. “They were crying.”

“And I told you—I did not mean to make them cry.”

“Yet you did.” He leaned against her only escape and crossed his arms. “Why?”

Geneva swallowed, her panic subsiding, slowly being replaced by things she feared—dangerous emotions that boiled her blood and shook her nerves. This man was judging her for hurting his cousins, and it was altogether unfair.

“You seem to have lost your voice, Miss Geneva,” he said, head hanging to the side ever so slightly. “As I recall, you always have the best words to say to Roxie and Freda.”

Her nostrils flared, her jaw tightened. But she kept her silence. Inside, she was battling a storm. She had to get away, to escape somewhere quiet with no handsome Stratford looking down at her as if she was an odd display behind a window shop.

She needed to be alone.

The more she thought about it, the heavier her chest became. It expanded, demanding more air.

“Miss Geneva, if you would please tell me—”

“Nothing happened. I scolded them for something they should have not done.”

His brows cocked high. “I do not think they would shed tears over your sermons. You’ve been giving them to them for years and it never bothered them. Until today, that is.”

“Then perhaps they should to be bothered,” she said through her teeth.

He blinked at her. “Perhaps. If you will tell me what they did, then I assure to deliver the appropriate consequences.”

His words caused her to scoff in disbelief. “You’re telling me you punish them?”

“Of course. However, you don’t. You cannot. Now, if you can tell me what they did and what you did to them.”

“Why would I bother telling you? So you can scold them as you say? Punish them?”

His frown deepened. “You don’t believe me.”

“Why would I when I fall victim to the same games they play?” she asked, voice rising with each word. “And it’s not as though you’re unaware of said games. If you truly punish them for the trouble they bring to others, then my Sundays would have not been so horrible each time.”

He uncrossed his arms and placed them deep inside his pockets. “They’re children.”

Her jaw tightened. “They’re rascals and I hate them.” She saw him blink in surprise, but at that moment, she was about ready to explode. And she was not stopping. “I have no favorable feelings toward your family. I don’t see why people worship you so.” She took a step back because he stepped forward. Tears brimmed her eyes, yet she did not notice when they fell. “The world does not spin around you Stratfords. There are others who go to church to worship the Lord and pray for their sins.” She waved her hand toward him. “I don’t come here every Sunday to be victimized by your cousins, or to commit more sins for scolding them because none of you have the heart to.” Her tears blurred her vision. She blinked them away, wiping the traces off her face harshly with the back of her hand. He opened his mouth to speak, but she stopped him, holding her hand up. “I am tired of coming here fearing for their next trick—Would it be another frog? Will it be a bug? If so, what kind? One that crawls on my skin, my hair? Would I ever stop myself from crying out again like a madwoman and suffer the consequences for it?”

Her chest heaved as she caught her breath. A part of her was telling her to stop. That she had said enough. But she was boiling inside. Everything that she quietly tucked inside for years had stirred awake and now they demanded to be freed from their shackles and let out. Shaking, she balled her hands into fists, wanting it all to stop, wielding control. But she failed. She had so much more to say.

“I hate my life.” Something honest. Something she had never thought she could ever say to anyone, even to herself. Yet she said it. And they kept coming. One hateful thought after another, they came. “I hate going to church. I hate Mr. Crawford and his dogs who would not stop barking at night.” Her words stumbled on her tongue; her mind barely keeping up to what she was saying. She did not care if she made sense. She was no longer in control. And it was freedom. Freedom from herself and the things that kept her from these emotions. “I hate my parents. I hate my aunts. I hate that I was taken away from the life I should have lived. They took me away so I could have everything, but in truth, I have nothing. Nothing to live for but this… this life. Is it even mine to begin with? Was it not crafted for me by people enslaved by their own fears?” Her nose was clogging, and she sniffed. Ungraceful, but then again, she did not care.

God could smite her at that moment and she did not care. Staring at Damon Priest, she was reminded of her encounter with his cousins once more.

“Today, I woke up after writing a letter.” She could not see him clearly with the tears, but he was there, standing. Silent. “You will never know what it meant for me to take the courage to do it, much more so have it delivered. It went against so many things I was told never to do because it was addressed to someone I was never supposed to meet. But I had to because they lied to me. Everyone lied to me.” She swallowed and looked at him, blinking away hot tears. “I found out my mother did not die. Nor did my father. And they live so near… here in Abberton. Here. All along.” His face had changed. The anger was gone. He was now merely curious. And for the life of her, she wanted to tell him.

And she did because it felt nice. It was freeing. Just like that night she sneaked out and entered the woods alone. Just like the many times she committed a sin. This was everything her aunts warned her about. They told her it would be exhilarating, and it most certainly was. Even more so to tell someone—to share it with another soul. In that moment where her judgment abandoned her, Geneva felt utter freedom.

“ I have brothers. I have a family. I’m not an orphan. And I want to know why I was left unaware of this for so long. I can’t ask my aunts for they would simply tell me lies and I would be the fool to believe them. They could do that, you see. They hold a power over me I cannot explain. If they controlled my life all these years, how can I be so certain they could not do the same to my mind?“ She took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “This Sunday is particularly different for me. I had to gather the courage to do something as trivial as asking Parker Bowman to deliver a petty letter for me, to my mother, on a Sunday, in church and in secret. You will never understand because you Stratfords run around freely, doing whatever you fancy, picking wild flowers behind the church!”

His face cleared with realization. “They saw you.”

“Yes! And now everyone will know about it! My aunts will realize I’m not the child they raised—that I’m just like my mother… my grandfather. That I have no control over my faculties. They’ll send me away forever.” As she said those words, the panic came back, and it surged up her chest to her throat. She frantically looked around. “I have to go. I have to take the letter back. They can’t know—”

“Miss Geneva—”

“This is all my fault. I’m utterly sorry for what I said to your cousins. It was very ungraceful of me. But I—I can’t let my aunts know. They…” Her fingers brushed through her hair, then she realized she still had her hat on. She flinched, and with hands shaking, tried to fix it back on top of her head. All the while, her eyes were closed, trying to keep the tears in, trying to stay calm.

“I’m certain your aunts will not punish you for this.” He was already starting to look at her like she was a mad.

She shook her head, giving up on her hat. Suddenly, she did not care if it was askew, if it leaned too far to the left, or the right. “No, you don’t understand. They’re not…” She was about to tell him they were not like his grandfather, the earl, but she started heaving again. Her lips trembled. “I don’t want to go away.”

Taking a step closer to him, she accidentally placed too much weight on her injured foot. She almost fell to the ground, but he caught her by the arm as a whimper escaped her.

“Miss Geneva, are you all right?”

She twisted from his hold. “No—Yes. Yes, I’m fine.”

His eyes traveled from her face down to the ground. “I don’t think you are. Do you hurt anywhere?”

“I said I’m fine.” She stepped back.

“You’re limping.”

“I’m fine.”

His brow furrowed. “Did Roxie and Freda do this?”

She blinked. “What? No, they did not.” Her hands were getting clammy inside her gloves. She pulled them off and wiped her palms over her skirts. “Or maybe they did.”

“Did they or did they not?”

“How would I know? You Stratfords build traps all over those woods.”

His brows rose in surprise. “You’ve been to the woods.”

She blinked away. “I was told anyone can pass through it.”

“Of course.”

“I was not committing a crime.”

His eyes rolled up. “Perhaps not. But in most cases, people ask permission when they wish to go through the woods.”

Her lips pursed. “Don’t tell my aunts.” And the moment she said that, she realized everything else she blurted out. In an instant, her mind cleared. Then her heart stopped as she stared at his amused brown eyes. She felt blood drain down her face.

“Oh God. Oh God.” What had she done now? She buried her face in her hands and murmured her frustrations, for her inability to control herself. “They’ll discover everything else. The books—Mrs. Newton’s book! And the drawings—Oh, God, the drawings.” She turned on her good heel to hide her face as she groomed herself with her trembling hands. “They’ll search my room because they’ll think I’m hiding more. And I’ll be damned. They’ll find my writings and drawings and—What do I do now?” she asked no one, not hoping for an answer.

When she turned around again to face him, he blinked at her in confusion, the corner of his mouth curling in a smile of half fascination and half concern.

“Never tell a soul,” she burst out, gray eyes round and pleading. “Not a word. Please.”

He just nodded.

“I don’t want to be taken away. I can’t go away like he did—” She gulped. “Please.”

He looked baffled. Could he not see? Could he not understand what this meant for her? But of course, he couldn’t. He didn’t know her. He didn’t care—could not care. But he nodded again and said, “I am good with secrets.”

Geneva gritted her teeth and stiffly nodded. That was not good enough. He had to promise. But how could she demand that from him? They were not even friends. “Thank you.” He was still leaning against the door. When he did not move, she asked, “I wish to leave.”

“Why were you in the woods, Miss Geneva?”

She shook her head. “Do you wish me to apologize to your cousins now? Or could it wait until next Sunday?”

At that moment, he certainly looked amused.

“Not today.”

She nodded, sniffling and wiping her face with her palm. Then she tucked tresses of her hair behind her ears before recklessly fixing her hat. Finally, she lifted her chin. “I wish to leave.” He continued to look at her. As if he had never seen someone like her. Mayhap she was different, after all, just as her aunts warned her. Before she had another bout of nerves, she added, “Please, Mr. Priest. I wish to leave.”

He looked at her for what seemed like forever, his brows curling the same way his hair did. Then he stepped to the side. Once he did, she limped toward the door, pulled it open, and rushed out. No one was around. The service had already started.

She could not go back now. It was better to return to the carriage and feign a headache. But Parker was inside that church. And so was her letter. Her panic returned, growing with each painful step.

Stupid, stupid, Geneva! What have you done?

He must think you

’re crazy. And maybe you are!

Geneva headed to the carriage, told the driver about her terrible headache, and locked herself inside.

Could she trust Damon Priest?

No, of course not.

He would tell his family and they would laugh at her silliness. One visit to the Poppets and then the entire town would know about her stupid secrets.

She had to get the letter. She had to deliver it herself before her aunts found out, because once they did, she may never get her answers. Like her grandfather before her, she would be taken away.

Far away.

4. the lady with the gaslight

The storm started that afternoon, and so did Harry’s punishment.

Damon came home and found out that his sister, Simone, and his brother, Price, together with their cousins Lydia and Gale, had gotten themselves in trouble during church service. As he found out after his interesting and baffling encounter with Miss Geneva Withers, the four troublemakers were found eavesdropping outside the chapel door by Harry and quite a few other churchgoers.

As Harry, the future Earl of Abberton, summoned each person inside his study for a sermon, Damon decided to disappear into the current earl’s room.

Their grandfather, Abraham Stratford, was seventy-eight. He was not young enough to deal with the petty crimes his grandchildren committed, but he was not old enough either to lose his hearing.

“I heard what happened,” the old man said from his bed.

Damon went straight to a drawer to gather the old cards. Settling in a chair next to the bed, he started shuffling as the man waited. “Of course, you did, old man.”

“I heard the Withers girl made Roxie and Freda cry.”

There was no question that the two youngest Stratfords were the old man’s favorites as Price and Gale would often claim, but Damon liked to think that it was not the case. When their parents died in a tragic shipwreck, leaving all Stratford grandchildren orphaned, the earl knew who to focus on. While everyone grieved after realizing their parents were never coming back, Roxie and Freda were too young to understand. Still barely walking, they cried for their mothers. They could not yet understand words even if the older children tried to tell them.

“The only language they know is one without words,” their grandfather told them. And so, he did just that. He embraced the pair, held their hands as they learned to walk, laughed with them, and in some rare moments, cried with them. When everyone else was in so much pain to deal with two babies, the earl stepped in, giving as much as he could to everyone, but always more to Roxie and Freda.

“It was the first,” Damon said. “That they cried, I mean.” He threw cards for him and the old man.

“What did the Withers girl do?”

“I never found out,” he said, laying the rest of the cards face-down over the man’s chest.

“Should the correct question be: What did the girls do?” his grandfather asked, arranging his cards.

Damon chuckled. “I believe, in this case, it should be: What did Miss Geneva think the girls do?”

The old man looked at him for a few seconds. “A misunderstanding.”

Damon absently nodded, his mind drifting back to that morning. Geneva Withers seemed… not herself. She was always the prim and proper kind. Damon had seen her about, of course. Who would not notice? She was always strutting around Abberton with three old ladies. In a crowd like that, she was certain to stand out. Young, black hair, perfect posture, and beautiful. It was curious she was not yet married. Surely, with her looks, she could interest someone.

But as Harry once said during his rare foxed state, the men in Abberton were plagued by foolishness and blindness. He said those words after their friend, Arabella Poppet, was left in the altar on her wedding day.

However, Arabella Poppet was different from Geneva Withers. Arabella was easy to be with, while Geneva Withers seemed like the type to think too highly of herself. She had friends, but they had gray hair and were as old as her great-aunts. And although she went to social gatherings, she was always with the older Withers, who were regarded with respect due to their old name and status in Abberton. For years, Damon thought the woman took after her aunts.

During one of the many nights that he and Harry and Webster would stay up in the birdwatching deck on the roof of the Abberton House, they talked about the women in Abberton. Everyone they could name. And Geneva Withers was a name that would always come up. But time and time again, they would all conclude that she was bound to marry someone from Coulway, or if not, someone from a bigger town than Abberton.

But that never happened. And he wondered why.

And now, he thought he knew why.

After his game with the earl, he went to the stables to check on his horse, Maple. The horse had been sick, recovering now. Price, his younger brother, joined him.

“Good evening, brother,” Price greeted, nonchalantly walking over to his own horse, Hazel. “How did your talk with Miss Geneva go?”

“Baffling.”

“And did you find out why she made the girls cry?”

“No. If you ask again, I’ll send you to Birth.” After inheriting their father’s shipping business, their eldest brother Webster was forced to learn the trade along with Damon. Price was excused for now, but he would soon have to join them.

Price rolled his eyes. “Did you at least let her know it’s odd that a full-grown woman would take on children?”

“Roxie and Freda are thirteen and fourteen. Not quite children.”

Price crossed his arms over his chest. “Are you defending Geneva Withers?”

With no desire to answer, Damon diverted the subject by asking, “And why are you outside? You’re not permitted to go out.”

“This is still within the manor grounds.”

He looked down at his brother’s clothing. “But the woods is not.”

“The woods is the extension of the—”

“No trip to the woods for you. Go back inside.”

His brother rolled his eyes. “By the by,” Price said at the door. “Leroy said that he found Simone and the duke in the woods earlier. Do you think we’re winning?”

The Stratfords liked wagers. And this time, the entire household, servants included, was divided on a match between Simone and their guest, Daniel Cavendish. Leroy, their spy in the other group betting against the match, was currently hard at work following Price’s plan. “You better start planning a wedding,” he replied. At Price’s laughter, he added, “If you leave the manor, I’ll make certain you put your planning skills to a much better use in Birth.”

After Price left, Damon wondered how many of the Stratfords were actually inside the manor. The storm still surged outside, splattering on the mud. Just like how any of his siblings or cousins would like it.

With a sigh, he grabbed the stableman’s coat hanging beside the door and made his way to the woods. Simone and Lydia were certainly in the manor, he thought. Gale in the drawing room because he saw him. Roxie and Freda were in their chambers. But how certain was he? The ground would be soft in the woods, perfect to make mud balls, which many of them often store in secret places as emergency weapons. They were also perfect for traps.

He could just go back inside and find everyone, but it would only trigger someone to alert the escapees, and Damon could not risk that happening. There was more satisfaction in catching them in the flesh.

Reaching the woods, he went to some of the common cabins. The rain had exposed many hidden traps, making it easier for him to navigate the paths, but also erasing any trace of anyone who may have sneaked into the woods.

Many minutes later, Damon was sitting outside one of the cabins, just staring at the drops of rain from the roof, when he saw her. One look and he knew it was none of the Stratford children. Everyone rarely brought a gaslight because it would only attract wild animals. Of course, he had an inkling who it was. It was in the way she limped.

Damon stood as she made her way toward the cabin. His eyes darted to his coat hanging by the railing of the balcony, then down at his shirt, which stuck to his skin. He sighed, considering his options.

He could leave now and let her be, or he could wait and find out why she was doing this. He chose the latter. When she exposed her string of odd secrets earlier, she never disclosed why she went through the woods.

The hood of her cloak must have hidden him from view because, without hesitation, she limped her way toward the cabin and landed on the balcony, gaslight in hand. Damon crossed his arms and waited until she pushed back her hood. When she did, and her eyes landed straight on him, he smiled.

The rain drowned her cry of surprise. He waited in silence until she recovered and when she did, she stepped back. “I was just passing through.”

“Of course,” he said, looking at her state. Her cloak must weigh a ton.

He turned around, opened the cabin door, saying, “I hate making fire, if you must know.” Pausing, he looked over his should. “Come inside, Miss Withers, before you freeze to death.”

She shook her head, and it was like watching icicles break. Her teeth chattered as she said, “No.”

He looked away and continued the journey inside the cabin. “You will not reach far with that foot of yours.”

When she did not reply, he paused and found her already turning away. Geneva Withers was a stubborn woman.

“If you don’t come inside and warm yourself, you will get sick. And if that happens, I’m afraid your aunts will wonder why.”

That gave her pause.

He turned toward the small fireplace, bent down with a heavy sigh, and started the task of making a fire. When he heard her limping footsteps enter, he scoffed and shook his head.

The wooden floor creaked as she walked. Then silence. When he was done, and the fire constantly crackled, he stood and found her standing in the middle of the room, holding her gaslight. She was shivering, still in her cloak.

“Do you expect me to tell you what to do next?”

She blinked at him in confusion. “What?”

He went to grab the gaslight from her hand, put off the fire, and straightened. “Come closer to the fire.”

As she did, Damon studied her. She was limping worse than she did earlier in church. Dragging a chair and putting it behind her, he came to stand in front of her.

When she remained motionless, he frowned. “There’s a chair behind you.”

She looked and murmured, “Oh.” But she did not move.

Damon shook his head. “Perhaps you wish to sit?”

The baffling thing was that she took her time to think. As if sitting down came with a consequence. But finally, she sat down.

“Take off your coat.”

“No.”

“You are dressed, yes?”

“Of course!”

“Then take your coat off so you dry fast.”

She shook her head. “No.”

Damon shook his head, pressing the matter no further. Instead, he said, “May I see your foot?”

“No!”

His lids fell shut and he took a breath. “Miss Geneva, I merely wish to see your injury.”

“My foot is fine, Sir. Thank you.”

He placed his hands on his hips, thinking hard. He had dealt with this type of challenges before. Looking down at her stiff countenance, his right eye narrowed, which only happened whenever he had to think about something that required better critical thinking.

He had to think of a good bargain. “I shall not ask why you’re trespassing into our woods if you show me your injured leg.”

Her brow puckered. “Why would you want to see it?”

“Because you acquired it while sneaking into our property. While most of our traps are harmless, some may have been—”

“Harmless?”

“ Not deadly,“ he corrected with a tight smile, “And some may have been around too long.”

“What does that mean?”

He shrugged. “It depends on what type of trap you got into. A hole, I assume?” He raised his brows. Her silence gave the answer. “If it was an old trap, it is possible it may have spikes.” Her face spoke it all. “Then that is not good. Spikes may develop molds over time. And it could transfer into wounds and carry toxins inside your body.” She paled. “I do not mean to scare you. I’m simply telling you why I want to see your foot.”

She moistened her lips and looked around the room.

“There is no one here to bear witness, Miss Withers.”

Her brown globes returned to him. “You will not ask me why I came here.”

“Of course.”

“And I can pass through here again if I so wish.”

“If you so wish.” Lifting his shoulders, he looked down. “And if your foot would allow it. Which it might not if you don’t let me—” He stopped when she lifted the layers of cloak and skirts and revealed her foot up to her ankle.

Damon bent down, not touching, just inspecting, realizing she did not have to take off her shoe. The injury was around her ankle. She was not wearing stockings, and it was clear why.

The bloody thing was dangerously swollen.

5. the ship without a captain

“Not good,” he said as he stood and planted his hands on his hips.

He frowned as if her foot had done the most terrible things. Geneva pursed her lips, dropping her skirts to cover her injury. “It shall go away.”

“Along with your foot, it will.” He said it with such certainty that Geneva stiffened in horror. She wanted to tell him he was wrong, but it was merely because she refused to believe him. In truth, she did not know the severity of her injury. But neither did he. He was not a doctor; didn’t even look like one. But she didn’t tell him that. How could she? She had already spilled embarrassing things to this man she barely knew and she wasn’t ready to make a fool of herself even more. If she as much as vex him, there was no telling what he would do with her secrets. He might now believe she was insane and may be inclined to do the good deed and tell her aunts. Or worse, tell someone else who would then go about town telling others.

“I will go to the doctor on the morrow,” she said instead.

“Proper idea,” he replied, stepping back. A long moment of silence fell between them, with just the rain outside and the gentle rustling of the trees now and then. “Did you get your letter?”

“What?”

“Your letter. Did you get it back?”

She nodded.

“Did you destroy it?”

It’s in my pocket. I mean to deliver it myself. I’m quite certain is a very bad idea, and you will most definitely agree because why would someone who was given away want answers that could potentially damage her more? But, of course, the words were only in her head. She had said enough in front of this man. So in answer, she only shook her head.

He looked convinced and turned away to work on the fire again. “It’s not good for you to be walking in the woods at night in your condition.”

Geneva kept her silence because there was no justification to her action. She did this to satisfy a curiosity. Too many things in her life should make her grateful, should make her ignore the one secret her great aunts kept from her. They had given her more than she deserved. She should at least let them keep their secret because they did it for her for certain. Everything they did was for her.

When Damon Priest straightened and turned to her again, the frown returned. But this time, it was more curiosity than judgment. “I never reckoned you to be the silent kind.”

I’m not. And it was true. Geneva had many things to say all the time. But she had found that most often, people cared very little about her words. Most would just ask questions out of habit. Not many would truly wait for what she had to say. But it seemed that Damon Priest was among those who waited. “Whatever do you mean?” she asked when he did not add more to his words.

“I’ve heard that you lecture my cousins quite often.”

“I apologize if I had crossed the lines often than necessary.”

His brows cocked high. “Often than necessary. Interesting. And what would you consider necessary?”

She blinked a few times, turning her head toward the door. She wanted to escape, return to her warm bed, rest he foot, and forget the insanity of the past weeks. But Damon Priest was waiting for her reply. He was not grabbing the chance to express his disappointment regarding her behavior toward his cousins, nor lecturing her about how a lady should act when vexed. He simply waited.

A part of her wanted to argue and justify her past actions. But that would do her no good. He was a Stratford, therefore he was inclined to side with his family. He would merely give excuses for the girls. So, with effortless resignation, she said, “None, Mr. Priest. Thus I apologize for having had the audacity to lecture your cousins.”

He was leaning against the wall now, arms crossed over his chest. “I’m utterly curious why you cross the woods at night.”

She scowled. “You said you are not going to ask.”

“I won’t,” he said with a hint of a smile. “I know how to keep my words.”

“Then you won’t tell anyone about this?”

“If you don’t want me to.”

“I don’t.”

“Then I shall not.”

Another awkward silence. Geneva was starting to feel restless. She should set out now, but the fire felt so good. Would it be proper to ask him to leave? But he owned the place. She would appear ungrateful and callous if she demanded to be alone. And she was parched. Mayhap she should really leave. But he would see her limp her way back out of the woods and that may incline him to accompany her. And then someone might see them. The worse that could happen would be a forced marriage. Then he would hate her for the rest of his life for being trapped in a marriage after helping an injured woman who trespassed into his family’s property. He would punish her for certain. She had heard many marriages of the same nature and none of them seemed happy at all.

“What is it?” he asked.

She snapped out of her thoughts and blinked at him. “What?”

His brows fused, the corner of his mouth curling in amusement. “I can almost hear whatever it is you’re thinking, but I lack the talent to discern what it is.”

“I was not thinking of anything.”

He nodded in a manner so slow to indicate he believed her fully. “Were you trying to get to Windsong?”

Her brow furrowed. “Windsong?”

“Surely you know of the place.”

Windsong was an abandoned manor on top of a hill, which was located at the edge of these woods. The most reckless young men of Abberton went there for little adventures. “You promised not to ask questions.”

“I did not promise I will stop guessing.”

Her brow twitched and her lips clamped together tightly. “Windsong Manor is not a place for ladies.”

“And being in the woods in such ungodly hours is?”

Her eyes flickered away from him. This man was clearly taunting her, enjoying every second of it. The reason for it could only be left for her to guess because she could not will herself to ask.

As much as she loved the heat and comfort of the cabin, Geneva rose to her feet, minding to put most of her weight on her good foot.

“You’re leaving?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, slowly making her way to the door. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

“Will you be heading home?” he asked behind her.

“I decided it is the best option, yes.” She replaced the hood of her cloak over her head, shivering as the cold cloth brushed against her cheeks.

“Then be safe,” he said, causing her to stop. She was just preparing herself to refuse his company. Any gentleman would offer to walk her back to at least the nearest safe road.

“Thank you.”

“And get that foot checked, Miss Withers.”

Geneva did not respond. She did not mean to call for a doctor. What would she tell her aunts? Another lie?

---

He followed her to the edge of the woods, planning to return to the manor once he made certain she was indeed going home. Clucking his tongue, he cursed the rain. Or maybe he should blame the foot. It was causing her to walk slowly. She looked like a ghost haunting the Stratford Road.

Assured that she was on her way back to Withers House, he turned and headed to the manor. Ten or so steps later, he stopped and turned around again. Rain be damned. He was already wet. He might as well make very certain the woman was not going to change her mind and return into the woods and fall into more traps.

He walked slower than she did, muscles tight from the cold rain. She was just a tiny shadow now, weak in her strides. But she eventually reached home, disappearing to the side of the house, perhaps entering through the servant door. Damon, however, stayed where he stood, still utterly baffled by Geneva Withers.

She was like a ship, but one without a captain. She had enough sails, had wind and tide to keep her in motion, but seemingly going nowhere. No direction. Just the fear of the horizon. Now, he wondered, how she managed a storm. Tonight, she was different. She was as calm as his first impression of her. But was she really calm? He saw a different side of her this morning, and he knew it was not a display many people in Abberton had ever witnessed before from her—maybe not even by her great aunts. Mayhap Geneva Withers was a ship slowly drowning in the middle of a storm only she could see and feel.

He knew just how that felt. The only difference was that he was not alone. His family was with him and they were all thrown into the same wreckage years ago.

Shaking his head, Damon turned away and made his way back to the manor. Upon his return, he met Harry in the hall.

“Where have you been?” his cousin asked.

“Checked on the horses.”

“And got terribly wet?”

“This rain in particular is a little deceptive. Never thought it would go down heavy,” he said, fully aware his cousin did not believe a word. “And why are you here?”

“Had to check on the girls.” Harry followed him up the stairs, adding in a low voice, “Did you double your wager?”

“Of course. Did you?”

Harry looked up at the second landing before nodding. “Old man said Cavendish will fold soon.”

“He is on the brink as Price believes.”

“I wonder what keeps him from pursuing Simone.”

Damon scoffed. “Probably Simone,” he said. “My sister does have odd qualities a duke should not want for a wife.”

“Don’t we all?”

“Precisely why I think you should go and double your wager now.” He hastened his steps. “I’m retiring. Have a good evening, cousin.”

---

Geneva woke up burning with fever. When she told the maid she could not come down to join her aunts for breakfast, another came back to tell her she should. When she weakly said she could not, the next person walking into her room was her Aunt Deborah.

The woman’s gray hair was tightly tied in a bun, as it always fashionably was, her lips thinner with the way she pursed them with displeasure when she saw Geneva curled in bed.

“The maid said you look unwell,” the woman said, walking over to touch her forehead. “And you most definitely are.”

She tried to smile, but failed. “It will go away.”

“What happened? How did you get sick? Was it last night’s supper?”

“I’m afraid not.” She had no choice, really, but to show Aunt Deborah her swollen ankle. The look of horror was expected, and so was the question. “How?”

“I tripped on my way down the stairs a few days ago,” she lied. “I thought it would go away, but it didn’t.”

“Why did it happen?”

“I was in haste.”

Aunt Deborah clucked her tongue. “That’s why.” Then she sighed. “We’ve always told you to be careful.”

They indeed told her every chance they got that she had to mind her steps. Her words. Her actions. Even her thoughts.

“If you have been, this would not have happened.” She reached down again to touch Geneva’s forehead. “But what else can we do? It happened and we have this problem.”

Geneva’s lids lowered. “I’m sorry.”

Aunt Deborah shook her head slowly. “We’ll have to call for the doctor.”

Good . That’s all she wanted to hear. And she hoped Doctor Peters would not find the need to cut off her foot.

Later, while Geneva ate her food in her room, Aunt Prudence and Aunt Barbara walked in looking concerned. “Are you feeling fine?”

“Yes,” she replied.

“Doctor Peters is on his way,” Aunt Prudence said, sitting beside Geneva.

“Do you feel strong enough to go to church this Wednesday?” Aunt Barbara asked, looking around her room and walking over to the window to close the curtains. “What did I tell you about the windows? Always close the curtains because you don’t know who might see through your room. You are not careful enough, Geneva, dear.”

“I wanted fresh air.”

“You need to eat more,” said Aunt Prudence.

“Do you think I can keep my foot?” she asked

“Well, of course, dear! Whoever told you otherwise?”

She bit her lips and continued eating until Doctor Peters arrived.

While the man inspected her ankle with her aunts hovering close by, Geneva could barely breathe. She felt everything she just ate rise up to her throat while her heart continued its rampage inside her chest. Doctor Peters was not saying anything as he looked at her injury. She wanted to ask, but feared that she would only burst in tears as she begged him to save her foot.

“You say you tripped down the stairs, Miss Geneva?” asked Doctor Peters, speaking for the first time since he arrived.

Her eyes met his and she instantly knew she was lying when she nodded her head. Now, her heart was at her throat and she was ready to throw up. But she tried her best to compose herself. Eyes flickering to her aunts, she was helpless. And a little afraid. If Doctor Peters contradicted her claims, Geneva would be in trouble.

Doctor Peters slowly nodded, much to her relief. Then he looked up and smiled at her aunts. “I’m afraid I will have to work on Miss Geneva’s ankle for quite some time. You can all wait outside.”

Aunt Deborah started to protest, but Aunt Barbara, who did not have the best patience, started for the door, followed by Aunt Prudence. Finally, the eldest of the three conceded and left the room, leaving the door ajar. A maid was outside, waiting for orders.

Doctor Peters shifted in his seat and looked at Geneva. “Well? How did it really happen?”

She blinked and moistened her lips before letting out a nervous chuckle. “I do not know what you mean, Doctor.”

Doctor Peters sighed and allowed a patient smile. “Miss Withers, I’ve been tending the Stratford cousins for years. Their injuries are always supposedly from a fall down the stairs even when I have to pluck pine needles off their skin. Most of the time, I don’t ask them where they get their injuries, but there are moments when I have to. Such in your case. I need to know how you injured your ankle so I know how to fix it.”

“Then you can fix it?”

“If I know how it came about.” He looked down at her foot. “But seeing this very familiar injury, I can guess you fell into a hole in the ground.”

Her eyes rounded with wonder. “How did you know?”

Doctor Peters scoffed. “I’ve treated dozens of this kind.” His eyes narrowed. “You were in the Stratford woods?”

She bit her lips and Doctor Peters nodded as if he heard enough.

“You have scrapes around your leg. Did you fall into a hole with spikes?”

Her mouth fell open. “How did you—”

“Old traps,” he said, more to himself than her. “The earl had long prohibited them from spiking their traps, but some forgotten ones still remain,” he murmured as he bent closer to check her wounds. “You will need some concoction to fight the infection.”

“But I get to keep my foot?” she asked, no longer caring if she sounded insane or stupid.

“Of course, Miss Geneva,” Doctor Peters said. “I’ve seen far worse.”

“With the Stratfords?”

“Of course. I always tell them they’ll someday kill each other, but they never listen,” he said, shaking his head. “They always carry each other around with that wheelbarrow because they fear they’ll be found out if they use one of the carriages,” he added with a laugh. “But don’t tell the earl. I quite enjoy seeing them wheeling that thing around.”

Geneva bit her lips to fight off a smile. She had seen the Stratfords carrying one of their own in a wheelbarrow on more than one occasion and had always thought they were just doing it to attract attention.

“Submerge your ankle in cold water every day and wrap it tightly with a bandage. I’ll show your maid how to do it.” He did just that in the next hour.

As he worked, Geneva watched him intently. “Will you tell them?” she asked.

“That your injury is not as serious? Of course.” He looked up and gave her a gentle smile.

Geneva smiled with gratitude. “Thank you.”

And just like that, a secret passed between her and the doctor. Geneva was aware that the man knew more about her and her family. He had been around Abberton too long and must have been here when her mother went away. And he must have looked after her grandfather as well.

“Is there more you wish to ask?” he asked.

She opened her mouth, the questions almost tumbling out. But she shook her head and kept her silence.

In the next few days, Geneva stayed in her room. All the while, her fever persisted. She missed meals with her aunts, a few tea parties, and one day of church. She was trapped in her room reading the same book she stole from Mrs. Newton’s library, or writing or drawing the entire day.

And it felt like heaven.

---

The next Sunday, Geneva Withers’ absence was gone unnoticed much to Damon’s curiosity. The lady was a fixture in church along with her three great aunts. But no one said a word when she missed mass that day.

The other Stratfords were still confined inside the manor, perhaps more to their liking than Harry would have intended. He would have not attended as well if the old man did not insist for his company.

Before the mass ended, however, he saw Doctor Peters and blocked the man’s path.

“Doctor,” he greeted nonchalantly.

“Mr. Priest,” greeted the man with a slight nod before turning to the left to escape him. But he persisted and walked beside the aging doctor. “What do you need now, boy?” Doctor Peters asked, eyeing him sideways.

“Nothing,” he said with a smile. “But I do have a question.”

“By now, I believe that you Stratfords should be experts on treating your injuries. What more could I impart to you that I already have not through the years?”

“Come now, Doctor,” he said with a chuckle. “You should know we never learn a thing. That’s why we keep showing up at your door.”

Doctor Peters stopped and faced him with a wry look. “What is it, young man?”

He looked over his shoulder before asking, “Have you been called to the Withers?”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

His smile grew wider. “So you were.” When Doctor Peters merely grumbled, he stepped closer. “How is she faring?”

“Better is all I can say,” said Doctor Peters, turning away.

“Then she is fine.”

“As long as she keeps away from the woods.”

“Good,” he said, pausing in his steps to let the man go.

But Doctor Peters stopped, pausing for a moment in consideration before facing him, concerned face shadowed by his bowler hat. “She is a frail one, Mr. Priest. In many ways. It would be my greatest pleasure if you allow her peace once she returns to good health.”

“I mean nothing but her wellbeing.”

The man looked at him long enough to cause him discomfort. “She is not one who receives the same understanding as you Stratfords receive from your old man.”

Damon stiffened at the doctor’s stern words and slowly nodded. “I understand, Doctor.”

Doctor Peters turned away. “Have a good day, Mr. Priest.”

The following Sunday, Geneva Withers was still absent from church. And this time, someone did notice and asked the three Withers sisters. “She had been a little careless and fell down the stairs. She is currently recuperating, but will be back next week,” Lady Deborah replied to a friend. Damon had to lean a little more over his grandfather to hear each word.

That evening, while everyone in Abberton House went about their nightly activities, Damon went for a walk in the woods with Price. His brother wanted to discuss their matchmaking plans between the duke and Simone.

“It is quite too obvious they are a match, but something stops them,” mused Price. “It could be the bet. Sisi must have told him and they are waiting until they win the wager.”

“Possible,” said Damon. “Daniel expressed earlier that he needs to go to Coulway.”

Price stopped in his tracks. “No. He cannot!”

“Well, he is. You can’t stop him.”

“Then we should do something.”

“I’m certain you’ll come up with something soon enough.”

They walked quietly for a few minutes. Then his brother asked, “But do you agree with the duke? We are, after all, talking about our only sister, Damon. Sisi should marry a man who can keep her happy.”

“Are you questioning Daniel Cavendish?”

“Web says he is a decent and honest man.”

“Then he only has to love Sisi more than she already loves him.”

Price scoffed. “She pretends she has forgotten about him.”

“So does he,” he absently said as his eyes scanned the surrounding woods.

Price was saying more, suggesting better ways to push the duke toward their sister, but Damon was more focused on the shadows that moved between the trees, most of which were leaves. He walked further as his brother’s voice faded in the background of his own thoughts. It was a little odd that he was being curious about Geneva Withers in the recent days. Was he getting bored? Should he join Webster in Birth to manage the business?

This was not the first he was curious about a woman, but this was definitely the first where he was not driven by attraction. His interest in Geneva Withers and her secrets were more on how they came about. He was not searching the woods for a woman to bed. He was searching because he wanted to know where she was going.

And if this was his way of fighting off boredom, so be it.

“Are you listening?” Price asked. “What do you think?”

“It shall work,” he absently said. “You should go back to the manor.”

“Very well,” said Price, turning around. One thing the Stratfords never did was question the time they spent in the woods. After all, it was here where they had their treasures, things from their parents they kept inside a chest for them to visit now and then. Whenever they wished, they could go to cabin where it was kept and dig through its depths and remember the people they had lost in the shipwreck. Damon wishing to stay a little longer in the woods was not suspicious at all, even for Price who always had excellent sense.

He found his way back to the same cabin where he encountered Geneva Withers. For three nights, he had been coming back here. Tonight, he was not even expecting her. But he hoped she’d show up.

Sitting on a chair on the deck, he waited with his feet resting on the railing. The silence of the woods was nothing new, the tiny footsteps and slithers of animals familiar.

But not the tiny light floating in the distant shadows; not the cloaked figure walking closer, this time without a limp.

Damon fought off a smile as he shook his head in both disbelief and awe.

6. the secret of the secret well

Geneva Withers may be committing a small crime for trespassing into the Stratford woods, but so was he. Surely it was not acceptable for a man to wait for a woman in the dark and concoct ways to get approval from the said woman, even when he could reason that he was there to catch her committing said crime.

And approval for what—to join her company? Her secrets? Catch her and hand her back to her aunts? Bloody hell, he was not even sure.

As soon as he realized his stupid, disturbing behavior, Damon thought it best to show himself. Thus, he appeared before her, intending to cause no harm nor inconvenience. But alas, he did. She yelped in surprise and jumped back, unfortunately on uneven ground, and with her balance now dangerously off, she started to fall back, her gaslight taking flight first, landing right into a bush.

Damon had the intention to grab her cloak and pull her back, but chose the most sensible thing at the last second. Any wise man would rescue the gaslight first. He heard the painful landing of a body behind him as he dove into the bush. Not too many seconds later, he emerged with the intact gaslight. Geneva Withers sat up with a fiery glare as intense as the gaslight in his hand.

“Pardon,” he murmured, stepping forward to extend a hand. “Did I startle you?”

Ignoring his hand, her face morphed into a scowl. “Did you startle me?” she repeated through her teeth.

Damon dropped his hand. “I apparently did. Please, forgive me, Miss Withers.”

The gaslight was enough for Damon to see how her jaw tightened before she murmured under her breath, “I’m not hurt, by the way, thank you.”

“I did mean to rescue you,” he said, watching her stand without signs of injuries. “But I figured the storm had long passed.”

With the softest huff he had ever heard—and he meant it to be true because his own sister and cousins never sighed in such gentle manner, even in moments when they tried to be—before she asked, “What?”

His gaze looked away from her dirtied cloak and up to her face; higher to her eyes where it stayed. It was like looking at a caged tiger who was so used to being inside its cell. “It means the ground is dry, so are the leaves.” Her face glowed brighter when he lifted the gaslight. “And this little innocent thing could start a serious fire.”

A gentle smile curled his lips when he saw her swallow and blink down to brush dirt off her clothes. “I—I’m sorry. I did not realize I was placing the woods in danger—”

“Fret not, Miss Withers,” he cut in, stepping closer. “It was my fault for startling you, which was not my intention.” He turned to the direction she was originally headed to, speaking again before she could question his presence here. “I was out checking if my cousins sneaked out of their rooms again, but found you instead.” He motioned ahead. “I’ll walk you to your destination.”

There was a slight moment of pause before she found her voice. “What?”

Turning slightly to look back at her, he motioned with his head. “Please, allow me to escort you through this remarkable path bejeweled by traps, Miss Withers.” With the gaslight in hand, Damon slowed down his pace to give her time to assimilate the situation he was suggesting, which was his company, of course. He went slower when he did not hear her behind him, and when he finally did, he smiled, picking up pace.

“Are there more traps?” she asked.

“If you follow my steps, you shall be fine.”

’You’re saying you know where all the traps are.“

“No, of course not. If I did, Doctor Peters would have already forgotten my name.”

He could not see her face, but he imagined her frowning at the back of his head. “Why do you do it?”

“What? See the doctor?”

“No. Build traps.”

“It is fun.”

“To hurt each other?”

“To outwit each other. The injuries are just the price we have to pay.”

“No one has ever told you to stop?”

“The old man did, but it was he who told the two devils how to make better traps the first time they fell into one.”

“The two devils?”

“You’ve met them, of course. They’re the subject of your greatest frustrations.” When she did not comment, he looked over his shoulder. “As much as they are ours.”

She was looking up the tree they were passing by. “What is that?”

Damon stopped and looked up. “Birdwatching deck. Also fortress on rare occasions.” He chuckled when her gaze flew to him. “We play many games here, Miss Withers.”

Eyes wide, mouth slightly open, she looked up again. “And you swing in the ropes?”

“Of course. A fortress should be without a brave soldier.”

They continued walking, him careful not to step on a trap, she perfectly stepping over where his feet had been.

“I assume you know where you’re headed?” he asked.

“Of course.”

He nodded, thinking of every place accessible from this part of the woods. “This is also the way to Windsong Manor.”

“I have no intentions of going there.”

“You should. It hides many interesting things.”

“No, thank you.”

“A well that hides a very wonderful secret,” he continued. “I once fell down and it became my favorite place.”

“You fell into the well?”

“Is it a habit of yours? To repeat a statement as a question?”

If she recognized the teasing, she did not sound so eager to participate. “Did you get out?”

“I am here today, am I not?”

“How?”

“My cousins hauled me up, of course. Threw one of those ropes down,” he said, pointing a finger upward.

“It must have hurt.”

“One thing I know is I returned the very next day.”

Her footsteps halted. “You returned? Inside the well?”

“It is a habit of yours,” he said. He faced her with a grin and realized she was still unappreciative of the teasing. “Of course. I had to,” he said, answering her question.

The frown on her face deepened. “Why?”

He shook his head. “Now, Miss Withers, that is a secret I cannot share unless you see for yourself.”

“But I am not—”

“Then you cannot.” He turned and continued walking.

They eventually reached the edge of the woods, and there, on a hill not far away, stood the abandoned Windsong Manor. The moon washed it blue and its once white bricks glowed under the touch of moonlight. It stood alone, empty and mysterious, its secrets known only to those who dared venture inside its ruins.

Geneva stood beside Damon and they both stared for quite some time.

“I will be there tomorrow afternoon,” he said. “If you wish, you can join me and I’ll show you the well.”

She was already shaking her head before he even finished. “I cannot.”

“It also has a decent view of the village on the other side of the hill.” He gave her a sideway glance. “You intend to reach the village, yes?” She did not answer, but it was enough. “Then you will have no choice but to climb up the hill and downward to the village.” He pointed to the right. “Unless you wish to go around where you’d have to cross the river. I don’t suggest you do so, given your recent injury. You might fall into the river and find yourself washed to the sea.” He was grinning at his quip, but she was not.

She was biting her lip, eyes following the trail up the hill. For many odd reasons, this little adventure that all Stratford would consider lesser than petty, was humongous for this woman. What had she been through to get to this point?

Damon’s humor washed away, his smile instantly gone. “But, of course, I am only assuming you’re going to the village,” he said, lifting the gaslight toward her. She took it from him and he stepped back. “As promised, I will not question where you’re going or what you intend to do. But please be careful.”

She reluctantly nodded, eyes skittering to the woods and back up the hill.

“Have a good night, Miss Withers,” he said with a slight bow.

If she wanted to stop him, she would already have, which she did not do, which was disappointing. He went back into the woods without a sound from her, reached the nearest cabin with no sight of her cloaked shadow, and eventually walked back to the manor, retired to sleep wondering if she went further on her adventure tonight.

---

Geneva waited until Damon Priest disappeared before facing her predicament. The easiest and shortest way would be across the river. But it was also the least safe. It left the hill, but she shuddered at the sight of the abandoned manor.

Fear.

She feared too much, thought too much. Frustrated, she told herself to stop and just take a step. She had gone this far, hadn’t she?

Indeed, like the heroine in her favorite book, the one hidden under a loose floorboard in her bedchamber, it took only one brave step before the second one. And she repeated the step until she reached the foot of the hill. The path was clear, spared of grass from probably hundreds of young men like the Stratfords who liked visiting the manor.

The journey up was harder. She stopped a few times to rest her ankle, stealing the manor a glance once in a while. Of course, she was intrigued. What could be in that well that made Damon Priest go back after he fell? What secrets did he uncover? For surely they were worthy of his visits. But considering how the Stratfords could easily be fond of minute things, there might be nothing remarkable in that well. If they found joy in seeing each other get hurt by their traps, it would not be surprising to know they’d feel the same when falling down a well.

She reached the top catching her breath, and her shoulders dropped when she saw nothing but darkness below. Somewhere down there was the Vernon home and their little farm for their livestock.

Geneva stifled a cry. She was so close, yet she could not find them at the only time it was safe.

But you have gone this far, she thought. Tomorrow, you

’ll go beyond this hill and find them.

Squaring her shoulders, she stared down the path that led to the other side. In her pocket, her letter was silent, eager to be delivered. But as she had been in the months before today, it would have to be patient.

She turned to the direction of the manor, shaking her head, wondering if there were Stratfords hiding inside that eerie place. Content with just being curious for now, she retraced her steps back into the woods, half-expecting Damon Priest to be there waiting. He was not, of course.

Why would he?

Did she truly think he had been waiting for her to show up earlier?

No, of course not.

Then, Geneva smiled. She did it. She had crossed the woods and walked up the hill on her own. Proud of herself, her chest swelled. It would not be long before she would find the Vernons and personally deliver her letter. Or, if the day would go well, she may gather the courage to talk to them herself. Ask the questions in person, see their faces, hear their words.

While she walked across the woods, carefully retracing the exact steps they took earlier as much as she was able, Geneva wondered what it would have been like if she grew up with the Vernons. Would she have had the same childhood as the Stratfords freely running up and down that hill? Discovering every trifling thing in the woods? Would she have loved being a carefree child? Or would it have brought her family’s illness to come out earlier?

She would never know because she was the lucky flower plucked out just before autumn. She was placed in a vase where she lived longer than she was fated to. Her illness was suppressed, her demons contained. Her aunts saved her and she should be grateful.

Except that she was not.

No, not at all.

In the weeks she had been alone recuperating, she realized many things. Their absence in every minute of her day was not missed. She loved it. She enjoyed the four corners of her chamber more than that of the church’s. The birds outside her windows were far more entertaining than the vicar’s monotonous words of wisdom, or her aunts’ friends’ chirpy voices. Even the subdued sounds of the servants belowstairs were far more comfort than the opening and closing of the doors that signaled the arrival of her aunts from church or tea with friends.

She longed for that kind of freedom again. To be on her own. With just the noise that were not her aunts.

Geneva did not realize she had reached home until she was facing the front doors. She was just about to come down and enter through the side of the house when the heavy doors swung open inward, revealing her Aunt Barbara.

The youngest of the three Withers sisters was staring at her with horror and disbelief in her eyes. In a span of a second, after Geneva’s heart stopped cold for a beat, it went on a rampage against her chest. She almost dropped the gaslight if not for her fists stiffly closing as panic rose up her throat.

“Imagine the fear and horror I went through when I walked into your chamber and found it empty,” Aunt Barbara said, voice shaking with restrained ire, her wrinkled eyes biting as the words slipped through her clenched teeth. “Where have you been, Geneva?”

7. the holy mission

Aunt Barbara never told anyone, which was even more so troubling. She appeared to believe Geneva’s weak explanation that she was merely out walking to test her ankles.

She was quite certain her aunt would have told her sisters about the incident if not for what happened next. Curiously, Aunt Deborah came down with a flu, which lasted for a fortnight. Whenever one of the Withers sisters got ill, it was a rule to not aggravate their condition by sparing them of household matters or issues that may only cause them stress.

Geneva may have been spared, but she was still wary. Aunt Barbara followed her everywhere for a month, always walking into her room when she overstayed, or would even grab her shawl and join Geneva to the market. Church was no question, of course.

But whatever Aunt Barbara may suspect Geneva was up to, or however Geneva worried over the excess attention she was getting from her aunt, was brushed aside when Doctor Peters gave them unfavorable news. Nearly two months now since falling ill, Aunt Deborah had not made a full recovery. A little walk would make her breathless, more so every journey up and down the stairs.

Geneva was in the corner of the drawing room, silently listening, while Doctor Peters explained to Aunt Prudence and Barbara that they may need to prepare for the inevitable.

“Unacceptable,” said Aunt Prudence, stiffly shaking her head. “Deborah can still walk and talk. She still eats her meals. Something could surely be done.”

“Whatever it is,” Aunt Barbara said, voice shaking as she pleaded with the doctor. “You must have something to recommend.”

Doctor Peters was silent for a while, considering his next words. “I can recommend a trip to Birth. Many choose to recuperate there because of the wind and the clear ocean.”

“You mean they go there and wait for death,” Prudence bitingly said.

“There must be another way!” Barbara was nearly frantic now.

Doctor Peters nodded in understanding. “Very well,” the man said, gaze traveling between the two sisters, then once to Geneva. “There is one doctor who may have more to offer,” he said.

“Who?”

“Doctor Oliver St. Vincent.”

“I have heard of him,” said Prudence to her sister. “I heard he once brought a man back to life.”

“Or so he claims,” Doctor Peters murmured under his breath before saying aloud, “Doctor St. Vincent is the best in Sutherland. However,” he added before the two sisters could open their mouths. “He is not the most personable.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Barbara asked, her brows in the same shape as the ironed curls framing her face.

“St. Vincent will be very honest with you. He shall not bother to find the best words to reveal unfavorable news—or even good ones. I want you to be ready for what he may say when you meet him.”

“We only want the best options for our sister. The Lord shall guide us when we meet this doctor.” Barbara turned to her older sister before she gave Geneva a look of determination. “We shall leave at once.”

---

Windsong Manor gained the reputation as a place not suitable for innocent young ladies for many reasons. Perhaps because there was nothing particular that would interest anyone who had great knowledge about architecture or the arts. It was dilapidated at best, with molds and vines eating its walls, and it had quite a bad history (different versions of it, to be in fact). Another reason might be that villagers of all sorts passed by using the path that led to the other side of the hill. Most often, people from the other side would also herd their livestock outside the manor where the grass was bountiful. Another reason was that the place was not meant for just anyone to enter, and however open it might be because the doors and windows were long gone, the fact still remained that someone still owned the place and stepping within its premises could be considered a crime.

But the Stratfords, among many of their friends (those they made within and those they took here), Windsong offered an adventure that the woods could not. There were treasures here—secrets they enjoyed uncovering by slight digging. There were too many versions of Windsong’s history that it only heightened the very curious minds of the Stratfords. Thus, with their friends, they decided to make it their little mission to find out more.

That was many years ago, of course. Many of their friends had gone off to have families of their own, and even them, the Stratfords, do little to contribute to their rather small findings, which Harry had recorded in a small notebook that may or may not be in his study in Abberton House. Still, they would come here whenever they could, most often during their morning rides.

Damon’s horse, Maple, was tethered under an oak tree while he lay on an arched stone opening of what might have once been a large window or a door, one leg danging off the ledge outside. Standing inside the ruins of the manor, with hands on his hips, was another man much younger than him.

“The fire may have started upstairs,” the young man continued, looking up at the now-absent second landing, gaze following an imaginary balcony that led to another imaginary large staircase, and finally landing on the surviving eleven steps. Everyone knew there were eleven steps because everyone who had been in Windsong had climbed those steps, risking their lives in the process. “If it started downstairs, the bottom of the stairs would have not survived.”

“Fair point,” Damon said, eyes not on the stairs, but outside at the empty path not far away. “But that’s not the greatest mystery, is it, Matthew?”

The young man turned and took off his hat, revealing dark hair damp with sweat. His shoulders dropped as he sighed. “No, it isn’t. It’s who started the fire.” However, his face lit up and he ran toward another opening behind Damon and jumped out into grassy ground. “By the by, Sir,” he said, grinning from ear to ear. “I finally realized what I wish to do.”

The corner of Damon’s mouth curled. “You did now, did you?”

Matthew nodded, putting his hat back on. His farm shirt and breeches were as soiled as aways, but never the smile. No, this young man always wore such a bright smile. “Aye. I wish to study in Coulway.”

“Study about what?”

“Machines and how to make them,” the young man said, motioning with his head toward the three cows he herded up the hill. “So ’Ma doesn’t have to milk them with her own hands. I’ll build a machine that can do that. And one that will make bales so we don’t have to.”

“Interesting,” Damon said, turning to drop his other leg to join the other so he was sitting on the ledge. “And very possible, Matthew.”

But Matthew shook his head, his warm smile dying a fraction. “But I can’t leave my family, Sir. Never.”

“You can always come back during breaks. Going to Coulway doesn’t mean you can never go back, Matthew.”

“Nah, Sir,” said the young man. “My brothers need the help. The money we earn is better spent on Jasper.”

The sound of an approaching horse made them both turn. Damon swiveled to recline along the frame again while Matthew eagerly walked away and met Price. The two young men talked while Price tethered his horse.

“Damon! Did Matthew tell you he wants to study in Coulway?” Price shouted from across the grassy field.

“Hmm,” he hummed in reply.

“You definitely should!” Price was saying, wrapping an arm around Matthew as they walked closer to Damon. “Then perhaps you can build a machine that will keep Roxie and Freda in their proper places. One that can sense their very presence and close all doors leading out of the manor.”

“Or stop the party,” added Damon.

“No, I rather it happens,” said Price. “I would like to savor my victory at the engagement party. The wager prize is not enough.”

Damon rolled his eyes as his brother went on to tell Matthew of the outcome of his perfectly laid-out plan to match their sister with the Duke of Dafield. “He went away a month ago to Coulway and we only had a few more weeks left to win. We had to make him come back, see? So I wrote Web a letter detailing what he has to tell the duke. And just as I expected, the poor man went back for Sisi.”

“You’ve already told Matthew the same thing yesterday, Price,” Damon said, jumping down with a grunt.

“Where are you going?” his brother asked. “I just arrived.”

“You were snoring when I left for my morning ride. You’re bloody late. I’m famished.” As he passed Matthew, he patted the young man’s shoulder. “Come to me if you decide to pursue this dream. I’ll be sure to find a way to help.”

Matthew’s gray eyes widened with awe. “You will, Sir?”

“Of course. After Price terribly failed us, I might as well place my hope on someone else.”

“Not quite funny, Damon,” Price said.

Damon just laughed as he walked away. “Think about it, Matthew. I’m quite serious.”

---

Geneva was given one single task, but it felt more like a test. For the first time in her life, her aunts decided to leave without her so she could stay and oversee the household while they traveled to Coulway to meet Doctor St. Vincent.

“Never miss church,” said Aunt Deborah as she caught her breath after the short trip to the carriage. While Aunt Prudence and Barbara murmured orders to the servants, Geneva took the time to hold her aunt’s hand. It was cold and dry at the same time, her skin like wrinkled paper, the veins protruding along with her bones. At that moment, she realized just how old her great-aunts had gotten. Seeing them daily for most of her life, she had been ignorant of the changes. They had been subtle, but the impact in moments like this was great. A sense of panic overwhelmed her, an attack of fear of losing them at any moment tormenting her.

She may fear them, may wish to be away from their presence most of the time, but she loved them nonetheless. They were the only family she ever knew. They were always the first people to know whenever she was sick, the first to sense if she was in distress. Always, they had been alone together, independent and strong-willed. It was hard to see them frail.

“I’ll pray that God shall shower Doctor St. Vincent with wisdom,” she said to Aunt Deborah. She wanted to reach out and wrap her arms around the woman, but that was not how they showed, nor receive, affection. The Withers were always composed, always the masters of their faculties. Emotions should be shared with God alone. Weakness should be displayed in private, on your knees praying to the Lord.

“Be good,” Aunt Deborah said, patting her hand. “Stay away from sin.”

Geneva nodded earnestly, moved with desire to please her aunt.

“We need to leave,” Aunt Prudence said as she climbed into the carriage. “Don’t forget the list, Geneva. Everything is in there.”

“Of course, Aunt Prudence.”

“Geneva.” She turned to find Aunt Barbara looking at her sternly. Her heart began to hammer, but the woman surprised her by pulling her into her arms. “You are given this chance to prove you’re worthy of our trust. Do you understand?”

Geneva nodded stiffly before stepping away. “I already miss you. All of you,” she said, looking into the carriage at her other two aunts, her eyes watering.

“We are going back, darling. Whyever are you crying?” Aunt Prudence asked with a scowl. “Barbara, we have to leave now.”

She reluctantly stepped back as Aunt Barbara climbed into the carriage. Her fingers tugged at each other as she watched the carriage roll away.

Her first day alone with just the servants was lonely. For years, she had secretly wished to dine alone, or to spend hours in the drawing room without her aunts walking in on her. But she was wrong. She instantly felt their absence and on her first night and wished they asked her to come with them.

But as soon as she received a short letter from Aunt Prudence, one she posted in the first town they stopped by, Geneva felt relief. They were fine and safe. And so, that Sunday, she dressed for church, determined to prove to Aunt Barbara that she could be trusted. She would not venture to the other side of the woods, nor would she look for the Vernons in the market.

It was her first time to attend church alone, and without her aunts, she felt lost. How many years had she been going to this church? How many Wednesdays and Sundays had she spent praying under its roof? Why did it feel strange going here now? She was sitting beside her aunts’ friends, wasn’t she? She talked to them like how she would if her aunts were here, didn’t she?

And why was it that when she spotted the Stratfords outside the church after service she felt the urge to go straight to Damon Priest?

But she still had her senses. Of course, she was able to stop herself. And Parker was in her path. He greeted her with a smile, asked her if she delivered the letter herself.

Of all places to lie, of all the time to do it, she did it in the threshold of the church mere minutes after service. “I did, Mr. Parker.”

“Very good. Mr. Vernon was in our shop just this Wednesday. I thought to ask, but I remembered you specifically saying that I do not mention your initial intentions.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I would truly appreciate if you do not bother them with my request since Mr. Vernon and I are not acquaintances. I’m no longer in need of his favor.”

“No bother, Miss Geneva.” He smiled brightly and touched the tip of his hat. As he left, Geneva climbed down the stairs, her feet eager to get away from her aunts’ friends. They had been asking about Aunt Deborah’s health. Geneva already answered their questions as best she could, but their curiosity extended to a tea party, one she would rather not be a part of.

---

When he saw Geneva Withers hurry away, Damon left the company of his cousins and brother to chase after her. The Stratfords did not notice, all of them eager to go home, anyway. And everyone else was focused on the Duke of Dafield, whose engagement to Simone was the current talk of the town.

“Miss Withers,” he called just loud enough for her to hear.

She looked back but did not stop walking. “Yes, Mr. Priest?”

“I’ve been waiting for you at Windsong,” he said, walking beside her, hands clasped behind him. “My invitation stands still. You can join me if you wish. I go there every morning, but on Wednesdays, I go during the afternoon.”

She blinked up at him in confusion. “Why every afternoon on Wednesdays?”

Prepared to face her refusal but not her question, he blinked a few times to find an answer. “I do not know. Windsong do not get much visitors during the afternoon.”

“So you prefer company on other days save for Wednesdays.”

He smiled. “Precisely.”

“Who goes there every morning?”

“Anyone. Most often, it is just us Stratfords. We ride every morning.” He inclined his head down at her. “Do you ride?”

“Of course.”

“Then mayhap you may join us.”

“But not so well.”

“Oh. Well, that might pose as a problem. We ride competitively. Now that the Duke of Dafield is joining the family, we have another competitor.”

Her eyes flickered to him before quickly looking away. Was she wondering why he was being this way? She should not ask it aloud for he did not know the answer to that either. Not yet, at the very least.

“But they do not always stay long in Windsong,” he said when he sensed she had no intention to speak. “Sometimes, they leave me in the company of the cows.”

A very slight curl of her brows. “Cows?”

“The Vernons herd their livestock outside the manor. The grass is healthy there, perhaps because of the dead bodies that did not survive the fire.” At the arrested look on her face, he chuckled. “That was a joke, Miss Withers.”

She blinked away and walked faster. “I have to go, Mr. Priest.”

“On foot?” he asked.

“As you should clearly see by now.”

“Allow me to walk you home.”

“No, I can—”

“We are acquaintances now, Miss Withers. Please, let me walk you home.”

She did let him walk her home, but she never spoke again. He wanted to ask about her aunts, but he thought she must have already gotten more than her fair share of questions at church earlier. It must have been exhausting to give the same answer to people who only asked because they wanted you to think they were concerned. He knew that well enough after the death of his parents.

When they reached the Withers House, she hastily murmured a thank you, and disappeared inside. Damon stood outside for a while, trying to fathom how he even got to this point. This was not how he planned his Sunday morning. But it was done, and he felt quite cheerful.

It was nearly two months since he last saw her. He was even unsure if she had returned to the woods after that night. If she did, he saw no traces of her.

With his hands in his pockets, he walked home. And later that night, as he shared a drink with Harry and Webster, who went home after the news of their sister’s engagement, Geneva Withers crossed his mind again.

“What seems to bother you?” Webster asked. They were on the roof of the manor, on a birdwatching deck they built years ago, sharing a bottle of brandy.

“Must be a woman,” Harry guessed, tipping his head back as he took a gulp from the bottle.

“Who?” asked Webster. “You have not been away from Abberton, have you? Had someone new come to town?”

“None that I know of,” said Harry. “Who is it, Damon?”

Damon was still blankly looking at the silhouette of the woods across from them. “Geneva Withers.”

Harry blinked while Webster sputtered in his drink. “Who?”

“Geneva Withers,” he said. “She’s quite interesting.”

His brother and cousin shared a look before staring at him again. “I remember you once said she is amongst those you consider quite pretty, but you never gave any indication that you were interested.”

“Well,” he said, sighing as he laid back, resting his head on his hands. “Not until now, it seems.” He rolled his eyes to the right. “And you are not going to start another wager on me and Miss Withers.”

“It shall be a fun wager,” said Webster. “Imagine the number of churchgoers on our list.”

Harry laughed. “I can imagine, indeed.”

“Not on me,” he said, tone serious. “If Geneva Withers finds out, she would find no fun in it. And that shall decrease my chances considerably.”

“Your chances?” Webster asked. “You mean you intend to seek a courtship?”

“I plan to be her friend, brother. I do not have the confidence for more at this point.”

Harry looked at him with a dumbfounded look on his face. “How did this even come about?”

“It just happened.”

“Was it the time you scolded her for scolding the devils?” Webster asked.

He shrugged. “Mayhap.”

“There’s more to this,” said Harry.

“Something else happened,” seconded Webster. “What is it?”

“None of your bloody business.”

They fell silent then, all three of them thinking different things at once. But Webster broke the silence. “Are you quite certain we are thinking of the same Geneva Withers?”

“Yes.”

“And you are certain about this?”

“The more you doubt my capacity for rational thoughts, the more certain I become.”

“Brother,” Webster said, turning on his hips to look down at him. “With those three aunts of hers, you will need all the saints and angels in the bible to win this woman.”

Damon sighed. “Why do you think I endure church on Sundays? I’ll need all divine interventions.”

“A holy mission,” said Harry. “Being a Stratford is not a good start.”

“Not good at all, indeed,” Damon said with a groan. “I’m quite anxious, to be honest.”

“To be crucified by three old women? You ought to be,” Webster said with a laugh.

“What is there to be anxious about?” Harry asked seriously. “Surely, the Withers would want what’s best for their niece. A Stratford may not be biblically ideal to them, but you are quite charming, Damon. And rich, if I may add.”

Damon did not reply. He was afraid for many reasons. If this was any other woman, forming a friendship or any kind of relationship would not be a cause for concern at all. But there was just something fragile about Geneva Withers.

“They will take a liking of you,” Webster reassured him. “You are not a perfect man, but you are better than most men.”

Yes, quite true. But he may also be just the wrong man to shatter her fragile nature.

8. the man with favorites

Once, Geneva read a book her aunts would have disapproved of if they learned she finished it before the holy bible (and that she stole it from Mrs Newton’s library). It told the story of a slave who escaped and found freedom. One passage stuck to her to this day.

Solitude trifles with silence and dines with freedom.

Attending church alone, walking without a companion in any waking hours, and even sitting out in the garden of the Withers House sipping tea with pen and paper, offered a sense of abandon. There was no one calling her name somewhere in the house, not a whisper of things she ought to do at this particular hour, or even a disapproving look at how she climbed down the stairs in haste. She did not have to hold her breath at the sound of light footsteps, or an earful of opinions. And for the first time, she walked out of her bedchamber with her hair tied in a simple ribbon at the nape; no tight bun that stretched her temples, not even a pair of stockings. She even dared raise her feet on the chair!

Guilt would glide in now and then, but too many distractions would follow. The sun would come up and gently caress her skin, or the wind would blow the trees and she would listen as they rustled a tune.

But she was not only doing things that she liked. There were others she had to do, of course. The household, for one, demanded attention. She had to do accounting, remind the servants to clean the windows, and if they were too busy, she would go to the market herself.

There were times when she would notice the servants secretly smiling whenever she would grab the chance to go out. Even the housekeeper, Helene, would ask her to run errands for them as though she enjoyed doing it. Yesterday, Gwen, her maid and companion, caught her reading her stolen book. When she tried to reason that she found it in the park during her morning walk, Gwen merely asked, “Found what, Miss?” with a knowing smile.

For some odd reason, Geneva felt that the servants were doing their best to stay ignorant. Or maybe, like her, they were enjoying the little freedom. With no mistresses in the house, they could play cards all afternoon or go away for hours to go on picnics with friends. Two of their footmen was away for two days, in fact, visiting families they had not seen for years.

It was a limited dream. Geneva could pretend to be an understanding mistress who answered to no one, and the servants had a chance to act as how they would in their ideal lives with their ideal mistress.

As they all breezed in and out the doors, everything else was seemingly the same from the outside. She did not go as far as dine with them, or have long conversations with them. For one, she did not know how. And she still had to pretend that she was mistress and maintain boundaries. And so, they did what was expected and what they wanted with much discretion with the awareness that anything that transpired in the duration of this rare freedom should remain a secret.

And it was so that Geneva walked out that afternoon dressed in a simple white dress, a hat, her hair down and resting on her shoulder, knowing there was no hurry. So long as she did not encounter any of her aunts’ friends, she would be safe.

With light, sure steps, Geneva took the long way around the Stratford woods, indulging her sight with the wild flowers that bloomed on either side of the dirt road. Not far away, the woods echoed sounds to her ears and she wondered if the Stratfords were out today, hanging on trees or digging holes in the ground. She was certain they would find this day just perfect.

The hill revealed itself nearly an hour later. Unlike her last journey to the place, she felt differently today. There was no sense of haste or timidity. She did not even have the letter with her. It was just one more day of freedom to explore and wander.

Her heart was mild, the beats even and easy as her steps. She took indulgence from every sweep of the wind while the ground took her higher. Her eyes stroked every line and curve in sight before it settled on the ruins of Windsong. How many years had it been here, standing empty and alone? How many people had it witnessed pass by? How many animals had it fed with its rich grass? And how many young men did it shelter under its trees?

At least one , she thought as she recognized the man lying on the ground under the tree, his face buried under his hat. She looked but found no horse. Before she even realized it, her feet were taking her off the path and toward the tree, her teeth biting off a smile. Excitement, she thought, was not always a fun feeling. It felt nice, but there was also the fear of disappointment.

If he ever heard her approach, he did not seem to mind. She did not really think he was sleeping until she stood beside him and bent just enough to block the sunlight, her hands behind her. She hesitated, afraid to wake him.

But he invited her to join him today, had he not? Or did he change his mind and wanted to be left alone just as he preferred every Wednesday afternoon? And what if this was not even him?

Her brow furrowed as she studied his length. His feet were crossed at the ankles, one arm under his head and the other on his chest. This could be a random stranger, she thought, realizing she did not know Damon Priest that well to identify him without a face. Yet these looked like his arms and legs. And the very fact that he was lying on the ground sleeping told her that if this was not Damon Priest, then he must be one of the Stratfords.

Her silent thoughts were unexpectedly interrupted by his suddenly movement. His hand lifted from his chest, palmed his hat and peeled it off his face. She did not realize his brown eyes could get so light in broad daylight, or that it looked different when they just woke up. She had seen him smile, of course, but this must be the first she saw his entire face so gentle and unguarded.

But that was before he realized she was standing above him and he narrowed his eyes. “So this is what it feels like,” he croaked, the corner of his lips curling.

Geneva blinked down at him. “What feels like?”

“To be in a funeral.” It was clear he was waiting for her to realize what he meant, and when she did, she jumped back. With a snicker, he propped himself up.

“I don’t think that’s funny, Mr. Priest,” she said with a scowl.

“Then what do you think it is, Miss Withers?” he asked, rising to his feet and towering over her.

“Horrible! Why would you joke about being dead?”

“I only meant—”

“It is still horrible.”

His mouth was open with a hint of a smile, ready to argue, but he shook his head instead. “Very well, I shall take note of what you find funny and not.” He put on his hat and brushed off some grass off his coat. When his eyes found hers again, he said, “I’m quite glad you’re here.”

Her first instinct was to say she was just passing by, but that would be too unbelievable. “I was invited,” she said instead, looking away because she could not meet his gaze. And her face was flushed. It must be the sun, she thought, pulling her hat lower and clearing her throat.

“I was hoping you would come,” he said, walking past her to the direction of the manor. “Would you like a tour?”

She moistened her lips and bit off a smile. Then she nodded.

Damon Priest had tough features. His dark curls were unruly, his brows thick and seemingly positioned to forever frown. But one soft smile and he looked…divine.

“Come, Miss Withers,” he said, motioning with his head, the curls catching light. “I’ll eschew the boring ones and show you my favorite part.”

“The well?”

He chuckled, and even that, too, sounded what the clouds should sound like whenever they part to reveal the sun. “I’ll show you that, too, of course.”

“Then the well is not your favorite?”

He grinned. “It is just one of them.” He cocked his brows at her, patiently waiting.

“Before we proceed,” she said, looking around. “You need to know I don’t like snakes.”

“There will be none.”

“And if there is?”

He walked back to her. “Then we’ll have to run away and escape. I hate them, too.”

At that, she laughed.

His smile grew. “I’m learning, see? I can make you laugh, after all. Shall we?”

He did not offer his arm, nor did he try to touch her. Just like how they walked that night in the woods, he led and she followed him to what she would later discover as a very splendid place.

---

As instilled in her before any formal learning, everything should have order and structure, and everyone should abide by rules without question. Thus, she was rarely impressed by anything that lacked those.

And this garden was one of those rarities.

The vines crawled the crumbling walls. Leaves of a giant weeping willow flirted with the wild flowers that cloaked the ground. Grass streamed between cobble stones, finding life in every crack.

The entrance was through an arched doorway curtained by crawling vines. Geneva looked around. The garden was enclosed, at least for now, by brick walls, hidden from outside. It might have once been a courtyard, she thought, as she spotted another arched doorway that led to another part of the manor.

“What do you think?” Damon asked, turning to her.

She could not help but smile. “It’s beautiful.”

He held her gaze, lips curled in a smile. “It is, isn’t it?”

She nodded, blinking away as she ducked into the shelter of the willow tree, head tilted back to view the intricate branches. There was nothing but leaves and branches around her, with just a hint of the sky and beams of sunlight through the leaves as they swayed.

“You found another of my favorite places,” Damon said.

“You have quite a few in one place,” she noted.

He shrugged, dropping down on the ground and leaning against the trunk. “I was told you should not limit what you like. The world is too vast to have just a few favorites.”

“Who told you so?”

“My father.”

Geneva walked around the tree, looking up and down, still in quiet disbelief. “I can’t tell the charm of this place. It should not be pretty, nor beautiful, because it lacks order.”

“Order is not a requirement for beauty.”

“I know.”

“This place is a beautiful chaos.”

She shook her head. “Chaos is bad.”

His laughter reached her. “That answers the question why you hate the Stratfords then.”

“I don’t hate the Stratfords,” she said, popping from behind the trunk to scowl down at him.

He was still smiling as he looked up and said, “You spilled all your secrets to me, Miss Withers. Or have you forgotten?”

“I said I do not have favorable feelings toward your family. It doesn’t mean I hate your family.”

“It is sad, then, that we are not your favorites.”

“No, of course not.”

“Because we are chaotic?”

“Because you lack order in places where there should be.”

“Like the church.”

“Yes.”

“Because we cannot sit still?”

“Some of you also like to sleep in church.”

“Is that why you hate going to church?”

“No.” She looked away. Did she tell him that? “Not everything I told you is true.”

“If you say so.”

She stole him a look, opened her mouth to say more, but decided against it. There was no use lying further when it was clear by his knowing smile that he knew her truths. Changing the topic, she asked, “Where is the well?”

He closed his eyes, shifting to find a more comfortable position. “I’ll show it to you next time.”

“Why not now?”

“Because if I show you everything today, what other reasons would there be for you to come back?”

Her brows fused in a curious frown. “Why would you wish me to come back?”

One brown eye opened to look at her. “Because I’m hoping you’ll also share your favorites.”

Favorites. Did she have any? She could not even say the only book she had under her bed was a favorite for she had not read others.

“I know you’re disappointed about the well. I give you my word that I shall reveal it to you some other day. For now, sit and enjoy the moment, Miss Geneva.”

She knew she could just wander away and find the well herself, but then, she would not have another reason to come back another day. Reluctantly, Geneva lowered to the ground and sat beside him. “You call me by different names. Miss Geneva, Miss Withers.”

“I have not yet settled on a favorite,” he murmured.

A scoff escaped her and he just grinned.

They fell quiet, and for a moment she reveled in the stillness around them. Then the wind blew and rustled the leaves. Everything seemed to have come alive while they remained silent, and for some odd reason, it made her uncomfortable. Something was urging her to speak.

“I went to the market today,” she blurted out. Then she softly added, “It’s Wednesday.”

If he ever found her words odd, he did not show it. “What did you get in the market?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. I went to the butcher shop.”

“To visit Parker Bowman?” He rolled his head to stare at her. “To ask him to deliver your letter?”

“No.” She looked ahead and waited for her heart to tell her she was making a mistake. But she felt utterly calm at that moment. She should not be here today, but she was. This place was far from a perfect garden, but it was beautiful. And here was a man who should frighten her, but instead he made her feel safe. She should not be sharing more secrets, but here she was, irrevocably doing so with reprieve. “It’s Wednesday. They deliver meat every Wednesday.”

It took him awhile to process. “Your family?”

She nodded. “The Vernons.”

He went still. “I know their son.”

“They herd their animals here.”

He playfully narrowed his eyes at her. “You did not solely come here to see me, did you?” She refused to answer, so he asked, “Did you see them in the market?”

“Not today. I missed them by an hour.”

“Then you have met them before?”

“Yes, but never talked to them. I simply come by for a chance of a glance.”

“Do you want to make acquaintance?”

“I do not know.”

“You should.” He said it quite strongly, as if he knew what it meant. “All I know is that anything and anyone can be easily taken away,” he added gently with a smile. “You should make acquaintance.”

She considered his suggestion. “Should I?”

“The very fact that you come there every Wednesday is telling.”

She shook her head then. “I cannot tell them who I am. Not yet, that is. It would be utterly out of character if I come up to them and start a conversation. And what should I tell them? They have good meat?”

He chuckled. “Whyever not?”

“No,” she said, smiling as she imagined herself walking up to Theodore Vernon to tell him she liked beef.

“Or mayhap you are afraid?”

She was not going to admit to that. “No, I’m not.”

“Of course, you are. You told me yourself. You’re afraid your aunts will find out.”

She stuck out her chin. “No, I’m not. If there is anyone who should be afraid, perhaps it is them. They told me lies.”

“Then what’s stopping you, Miss Withers?”

“I just…” She faltered. “I simply do not want to say, ‘I like your meat’.”

At that, he laughed. He pushed away from the trunk, shoulders shaking. “Very well, if you would rather not have a conversation about meat, then perhaps you can employ creative ideas to get their attention.”

“Creative ideas?”

“Yes.”

“What kind?”

“If you will allow me, I can help.”

“Why do I feel like I should be alarmed?”

“You are talking to a Stratford, Miss Withers. Of course, you should be alarmed.” He arched his brows at her. “Do you trust me?”

“I have to. You have my secrets.”

He suddenly looked like a man who just rediscovered his childhood. “Then I do have a favorable idea.”

9. the favorable idea

Roxie, thirteen, and Freda, fourteen, were not exactly the best actresses. Not that they did not have to feign or imitate any type of character, because they had always been privileged. As the youngest Stratfords, they could get away with anything. And if they could not, they mostly did not mind the punishments. They had a peculiar gift of finding something interesting in any given situation, good or bad. Just like today, of instance.

Most of the Stratfords younger than Damon often found his punishments dreadful. They would prefer Harry’s over his, simply because Harry would not bother to get creative. He would resort to the boring ones (confinement in their bedchamber, no extra meal in the day, banishment from the woods), while Damon would entertain himself with creative ideas such as confinement in the well up in Windsong, exchanging roles with a servant, and just like today, on the side of the road, a roleplaying game.

If Damon gave the punishment to any of the others, they would have begged for something else. But not Roxie and Freda. The pair admitted to playing tricks on Geneva Withers many times before—even proudly proclaimed they were rarely caught and punished by the others—and with no heavy heart accepted the punishment from Damon.

In fact, the resistance he received was from someone else: Geneva Withers.

Meeting him on the side of the road, and seeing he was with his two cousins, she took a moment of pause. And vehemently said no as he began to tell her of his plan.

“But why would you do that?” she asked in disbelief.

“Because it is our punishment,” said Roxie, guiltily smiling at Geneva.

“This is our way of saying we’re sorry for what we have done before,” added Freda. “Except for the grasshopper. It was truly not us. It just hopped on your shoulder and we just happened to be nearby.”

Roxie nodded. “But we did laugh when you jumped in alarm. We should not have.”

Geneva blinked once, then twice. And once more. Turning to Damon, she frowned. “This is absurd.”

“Oh, it’s not. It’s actually quite easy,” said Roxie. “Freda and I can definitely do this. And this is for a very good cause.”

“A good cause?”

“For Damon’s friend, Matthew.”

“You do not have to do anything,” Freda added.

Geneva scoffed and glared at Damon. “Surely, you would not put them in danger. If you truly wish to punish them, you can do so by…by locking them inside their rooms.”

“That would be utterly boring,” he droned.

“Not if you make them kneel by their beds until they’re done reading the book of Psalms.”

It was time for Damon, Freda, and Roxie to blink at her.

“Or close the curtains and keep them in the dark for days,” she mumbled.

Damon turned to his cousins, who, by some miracle, looked frightened. He shook his head at Geneva. “That is not punishment, Miss Withers. That would be torture.”

She pursed her lips and stared at the girls. “Well, they tortured me many times, have they not?”

Both girls grimaced, and before Damon could say something, Freda piped in, cheerfully saying, “We would rather not be here, to be honest, but we’re doing this because it’s the punishment Damon wants.”

Roxie turned to Damon. “But if Miss Geneva does not want our help, maybe we should not do this.”

“I read fast,” said Freda. “I’m certain I’ll be able to finish Psalms in a day.”

“I’m not afraid of the dark,” Roxie said. “So long as there would be food.”

Damon sighed. “No,” he said, smiling at Geneva. “My cousins shall perform today as punishment for what they did to you, Miss Withers. If you do not wish to be a part of it, you can leave.”

She considered his words, her gaze jumping from him to both girls, then at the end of the road. She looked genuinely confused. “But this punishment is not—”

“It is favorable,” he interjected. “For me, for the girls, and for you . You get to see them do something embarrassing.”

She stepped forward, standing too close to him that he could smell her hair. Lavender. And she whispered, “Do they know?”

“They do not ask questions.”

“You mean to tell me they will do this and not be curious why?”

He frowned down at her. “They do senseless things all the time. Why would they be curious about me asking them to do the same?”

She blinked a few times, then nodded. “You’re right.”

“But to ease your mind, I told them this is my way of helping a friend.”

When she did not argue, he broke into a grin. “Then you agree?”

She stiffly nodded, stepped back, and squared her shoulders.

“Good,” Damon said, stepping back. “This is what has to happen…”

---

“You do not have to do this,” Geneva said to the two girls.

“We’re doing it,” Roxie replied, kicking the ground with her dusty boots.

Damon had already left, saying he was going home.

“He’s not coming back,” Freda replied to the question Geneva could not give voice. Freda was already staring at her with a quizzical look on her face.

Geneva looked away. It was odd enough that the three of them were outside church, which were the only occasions their paths crossed. “What is it?” She did not mean to snap, but it seemed that her tongue had a mind of its own whenever she was near these two Stratfords. When Freda did not reply, she stole a look. “What is it?” she asked again.

“What did you do when you were punished to kneel?” Roxie asked instead, walking up to her with open curiosity on her face. “Supposing that’s how you’re punished.”

“Why would I tell you?”

Roxie shrugged and faced the road, waiting.

“Did they catch you lying? Did you steal something?” asked Freda, standing closer.

Geneva’s jaw tightened.

“What was it? Lady Barbara’s perfume?” Roxie asked over her shoulder.

“Why would I steal her perfume?”

“Right. It’s horrible.”

“Stockings?” Freda asked. “I once stole Sisi’s stockings and was banned from her studio for a month. They’re quite costly.”

“Studio?”

“She has a sewing room. The old man had it built for her. That’s how she makes her peculiar dresses.”

Geneva blinked in surprise. “She makes her own dresses.”

“Of course,” Roxie said, turning around until her skirt ballooned around her. “She’s even making her own wedding dress!”

“She wore a feathered gown in the Hutchinson ball.”

Lady Hutchinson was a dear friend of her aunts and had always shared their sentiments about the Stratfords. However, Lady Hutchinson also liked being surrounded by good names, and in Abberton, Stratford was the good name. Thus, they were always invited.

Geneva could still clearly see Simone Priest walking around covered in black feathers in the last Hutchinson ball. Her cousin, Lydia, was in white feathers, but it was Simone who stood out the most. Geneva remembered thinking it was rather bold of them, but she also remembered looking at them with envy because they survived the night with pride.

And it had always been like that. Simone would wear something different without an ounce of shame. People would look with curiosity and bafflement, some even with horror. And always, someone else would follow in the coming days. And then more would have the same hat or the same dress.

It might be what attracted the Duke of Dafield to Simone Priest. She had confidence. All Stratfords did.

“We’re actually writing a play for her engagement party,” Freda said while Roxie raised on her toes to check the end of the road. “You should come see it.”

“A play in a party?”

“It’s going to be a long party,” Roxie provided. “And we’re taking advantage. Freda and I are going to write a play to entertain the guests. We’re almost done with the story. It’s about a lost princess.”

“And everyone is fine with you organizing a play during your cousin’s engagement party?”

“Whyever not?” Freda asked. “The duke is helping us with the story.”

“And you are invited, of course, now that you have forgiven us,” said Roxie.

Geneva scoffed in disbelief. “Do you always assume that whenever you do your punishment, you are immediately forgiven?”

“No, of course not,” Roxie said. “Lydia, for one, holds grudges the longest.”

“What she’s trying to say is that we hope you forgive us,” Freda said with a smile. “But you can choose not to. I’ve always thought you’re much more like Lydia than Sisi, to be honest.”

Again, Geneva let out a scoff. And for the first time, she just shook her head in resignation. She had never had any other conversations with them. It was always one-sided, with either them laughing or snicker, or her blabbering about how they should be ashamed of their behavior.

“You should come see our play,” said Freda.

“Plays,” corrected Roxie. “Five days of them.”

“I cannot watch the same play for five straight days,” said Geneva. “That would be quite repetitive.”

Both girls looked at each other with a frown.

“Unless you make it a serial,” added Geneva. “That shall make everyone come back.” Realizing what she said, she added, “Given your story is good enough, of course.” The pair, however, were looking at her with wide eyes. Geneva stepped back. “I did not mean to insult you. I only told you what I think—”

“You are a genius!” Roxie cried out with glee. “A serial!”

“A fantastic idea!” Freda excitedly added. “Oh, you don’t know how you just turned this party around, Miss Geneva!”

“Who would have thought you have such fine ideas?” Roxie asked, holding hands with Freda and squealing with enthusiasm.

At the sound of wheels against gravel, however, the pair whirled around and a different kind of excitement glimmered in their eyes. They grinned mischievously. “We shall do our best, Miss Geneva,” said Roxie before she dropped to the ground, hugging one leg while her head bent as she began to feign a cry.

It was not a carriage that was approaching them. It was a wagon. And as it rolled closer, Freda jumped in the middle of the road, waving her arms and jumping up and down. “Help!” she shouted. “Please, help us!”

Geneva was frozen in her spot as it came to a halt. The driver looked concerned and his eyes fell on Roxie who was now whimpering on the ground. “What is it, little miss?” asked Theodore Vernon. His eyes jumped to Geneva.

Did he expect her to answer? How could she when she was breathless and speechless at the same time?

“She twisted her ankle, Sir,” Freda provided. “We live not far away. There, in Abberton House.”

Theodore Vernon immediately nodded. “Of course! If you don’t mind my wagon, I will take you all home. Are you one of them Stratfords?”

“Yes, we are!” said Freda, stepping back as Mr. Vernon jumped down to go to Roxie. “This is my cousin, Roxie.”

“Well, hello, Roxie. What happened to your leg?” asked Mr. Vernon, dropping on the ground to peer down at the crying girl. “Do you mind if I carry you up to the wagon?”

Roxie, face still bent, shook her head, a thank you escaping her lips in between fake sobs. And all the while, as their plan unfolded before her eyes, Geneva remained rooted in her spot. She watched as her father carried the whimpering Roxie off the ground and onto his wagon, and then helped Freda hoist herself up to sit beside Roxie where she wrapped her arms around her cousin for comfort.

“And you, Miss?” asked Mr. Vernon.

Geneva opened her mouth to speak. She was supposed to say something. Damon told her what, but she could not remember a word.

“Are you with these young ladies?”

He had gray eyes like her, his hair black with gray strands at the temples. And he looked just as he always did whenever she encountered him in the market, at the butcher place. But he did not seem to remember her. To him, she must just be one of the many ladies who frequented the market.

“She’s our governess, Sir,” Freda replied, her reprimanding look telling Geneva she should stay focused.

“Allow me, please,” said Mr. Vernon, extending his elbow.

“Miss Geneva!” Freda hissed when she did not move. “Roxie is in pain. We should hurry.”

She finally snapped. Then she held her father’s arm. He felt warm, his coat dusty. The smell of sweat and afternoon sun almost made her tear up. And as they walked to the wagon, she realized he was much taller. And he felt solid, his gait steady. She could run into him and she was certain she would crumble at his feet.

He e helped her up on the wagon and she almost did not want to let go. “Please forgive the lack of space,” he said, “I was just out making deliveries.”

“It’s alright, Sir,” said Freda. “We’re truly sorry to be such a bother.”

“It’s my pleasure!” The man smiled at them, then at her. “Miss Geneva seems to be in shock.”

“She is easily shaken, Sir.”

Mr. Vernon nodded and ran back to front and climbed back behind the horses. Then they were traveling down the road to Abberton House.

Over his shoulder, Mr. Vernon checked on them. And when his eyes veered back to her, Geneva blinked away and cleared her throat.

Freda filled the journey with a fantastic story of how Roxie twisted her ankle. Damon never said there was a story, but the young woman must have felt it was necessary. Then, when she was done, she changed the subject. “You are Matthew’s father, are you not?”

“I see you’re familiar with my son,” said Mr. Vernon with a light chuckle.

“He’s friends with our cousins,” said Freda. “Damon speaks greatly of him.”

“Truly?”

“Yes! Damon says he is a bright young man.”

Geneva listened as Freda talked to her father about her brother. And she wanted to cry because she did not know what they were talking about.

“I heard he wants to study in Coulway,” said Freda, moistening her lips, eyes intently staring at the back of Mr. Vernon’s head.

There was a long pause. “He does?”

“Well, that’s what I heard,” Freda said with a chuckle. “Damon said he wishes to Matthew would go and pursue his dreams.”

Mr. Vernon only nodded and said nothing as he pulled at the reigns.

In surprise, Geneva blinked at the Abberton House. They’ve arrived? Already?

---

The Abberton House was best known for its courtyard, one you had to go through to enter the manor, and one that was teeming with life. Not only was it the only entrance to the manor, it was also a passage to the gardens and the vast lawn that led to the woods. Animals and people, mainly merchants, passed (or stop for a nap) by the courtyard anytime of the day. But most of all, the Stratfords wasted their spare time there.

At the moment, Damon, Harry, Webster, and Daniel, the Duke of Dafield, were having their afternoon tea under the shade of the tree in one corner, waiting as the wagon rolled outside the arched entryway of the courtyard.

“This is a very odd pursuit, brother,” Damon said, frowning as Mr. Vernon jumped down and circled to the back to take Roxie into his arms.

“Did I miss something?” Daniel asked, eyes on Geneva Withers. She was glaring at Freda who asked for help getting down. “Are they not enemies?”

“Not quite,” said Damon.

Harry stood as Mr. Vernon walked into the courtyard with Roxie in his arms.

“My lord!” the man said, carefully putting Roxie down. “I’m afraid your cousin hurt her leg during their walk.”

“She did, didn’t she?” asked Webster, eyes on Damon.

“But I don’t need Doctor Peters,” said Roxie, limping her way toward Damon. With her back now at Mr. Vernon, she beamed at her cousin. “Oh, it hurts,” she dramatically added as settled in Harry’s chair. “Please, thank Mr. Vernon for us, Harry.”

Harry smiled at the man. “Thank you, Mr. Vernon.”

“It was no bother, my lord,” said the man. “I was on my way to the market when I chanced upon them and their governess.”

Webster sputtered and coughed. Harry threw Damon an incredulous look.

“The market?” Damon piped in, standing to his feet, eyes jumping to Geneva as she and Freda approached. “Miss Geneva, I just remembered. Lydia and Sisi went to the market and left word for you. They were hoping you’d join them there.” He grimaced and added, “But I’m afraid the horses are indisposed. Doctor Skelton is currently checking them for signs of flu.”

She looked arrested and was beginning to shake her head when Mr. Vernon said, “I can give Miss Geneva a ride to the market,” he said. “If she doesn’t mind, of course.”

Damon silently waited for Geneva to voice her protest. Her eyes went to Mr. Vernon and any objections she may have had softened into a curt nod.

“Perfect,” Damon said.

Mr. Vernon’s smile widened. “By the by, Mr. Priest,” he said to him, “My son, Matthew speaks highly of you. All of you, as a matter-of-fact. I hope he doesn’t bother you with his talks about machineries.”

“Your son has an impeccable mind, Mr. Vernon. He is the most innovative thinker I’ve ever met.”

Mr. Vernon’s face was stunned with wonder for a while before it lit up with pride. “That, he is.” He turned to the others, bowed, and waited for Geneva to move. When she could not, Damon approached and gave her a tiny nudge and whispered, “Wait for me at the park.”

She nodded, gave the others a quick curtsy, and walked away with Mr. Vernon.

“That was quite easy,” said Freda as Roxie jumped to her two good feet. “Do you think he will allow Matthew to study in Coulway?”

“If you did a good job,” Damon replied.

“We did a tremendous job,” Roxie proclaimed, hooking arms with Freda and the two of them disappeared back into the manor, content that their punishment had just been fulfilled.

“Who did a tremendous job?” Simone’s voice asked from behind. She just emerged from one side of the manor with a book, her hair tied in a variety of ribbons.

“No one,” said Damon.

Simone sat on the arm of Daniel’s chair. “Was that Geneva Withers with Matthew’s father?”

“Yes,” he replied, sitting down.

“I don’t understand.” She looked around the table. “What’s happening?”

“You and I both, darling,” said the duke, also looking confused.

Damon shot Webster and Harry a look of warning before saying, “We urged the girls to apologize to Geneva Withers.”

“But she was the one who made them cry.”

“And rightfully so,” he said. “They’ve played tricks on her too often than we’re aware of, apparently.”

Harry sighed and sat down. “Get a chair, Sisi,” he said.

“I am in one.”

“Get a chair,” Damon sternly added.

With a sigh, Simone left Daniel’s side. “I’m marrying him, you know.”

“He may not,” Webster retorted.

Daniel laughed with everyone, then coughed into silence when Simone shot him a look. “I am,” he said, clearing his throat. “Marrying you.”

“Good. Then give me your chair, Your Grace.”

“You take mine,” Damon said, standing. “I shall not be joining you for supper,” he added to the rest.

“Going somewhere?” Webster asked, gaze filled with meaning.

He walked away with a secret smile and without an answer.

10. the invitation

Geneva sat tensely behind the man she should have grown up with as a father. The market was not too far away, and the wagon was not rolling slow enough. She merely had a few minutes with the man, yet here she was, sitting mum.

He had talked about the weather and she might have nodded or shook her head, and he also talked about how the Stratfords became friends with his sons. Of course, they met in Windsong where the Stratfords spent many of their mornings, and where his sons herded their cows. Matthew, the name she had heard a few times earlier, was the youngest of three sons.

“We’ve always known he’s bright. His interest is boundless,” Theodore Vernon said, shaking his head. “He always questions—questions and questions every time. And he finds the answers himself. I think he prefers it that way. If you give him an answer, he accepts it. But if he discovers it himself, he’s the happiest.”

Geneva could only imagine what it must be like to live with someone like Matthew. It would definitely be interesting.

“But he never told us what he wants to do,” he continued. “We’ve always assumed he would follow the same path as me and his eldest brother, Stephen. It never came to mind that he has dreams outside of Abberton.” He shook his head. “I’ve been too blind and ignorant.”

She wanted to say something, was about to, but he stopped the wagon to talk to someone on the side of the road. She turned away, hiding her face. If her aunts were to ever find out, there would be consequences. After a moment of light chatter and laughter with the stranger, Theodore Vernon led the wagon back on the road.

“Do you know that you share a name with my daughter?” he asked. A shiver ran through her. He was talking about her to her . What should she do? He looked over his shoulder to steal a glance, face expectant.

“I d-do?”

“Yes, Miss. And she should be the same age as you.”

She wished she could see his face and not just his back. She wanted to know what he looked like as he talked about her. This was her chance. Maybe she did not need to send her letter. Maybe he could answer her questions now. “And where…” She faltered, her throat closing in on her. “Where is she?”

The words sounded garbled, but he understood. “She was taken away by my wife’s aunts. She was always sickly as a child, just like her brother, Jasper. Her great-aunts promised to keep her healthy. They promised to give her what we could not.”

Geneva rapidly blinked away, realizing her tears were flowing uncontrollably. Her throat was tight, but a whimper still escaped. She covered the sound by clearing her throat, turning away to wipe her face with shaking hands.

“She’s away for now,” said Theodore Vernon. “We’re just waiting for the day when she would come and see us.”

“You d-don’t see her?”

“We try, of course,” he said. “For years, in fact. But she must be too busy. Her life and ours are quite different, Miss, you see.”

Her jaw tightened as she fought the tears that simmered at the back of her eyes. Her chest was all of a sudden tight, her breath trapped along with the words at the tip of her tongue. Her hands were unexpectedly restless, her thoughts jumping from a crowd of questions to a series of accusations, then back again, until she could no longer keep up. She did not even know who she wanted to ask the questions to, or where to throw the accusations. To him? Her aunts? At herself for being too ignorant and naive?

The wagon came to a full stop and Theodore Vernon turned to her with a bright smile. “I hope it’s alright with you if I stop here, Miss.”

She could barely see now, her vision misted by tears. She blinked them away, hoping he did not see, nodding as she gathered her skirts. “Thank you, Mr. Vernon,” she managed, helping herself out of the wagon before he could.

“Anytime, Miss Geneva,” he said, jumping down to face her with a slight bow.

And all of a sudden, everything was still and calm. The thoughts and questions were warded off by his gentle smile and his wrinkly eyes. This was a man who laughed a lot. A man who may not be a father to her yet, but someone she wanted to embrace as one.

And she did it. Without thinking, she stepped forward and flung arms around his neck, burying her face in his dusty coat.

“Miss Geneva?” he asked, “Is everything alright?”

She nodded, sniffling. “Thank you, Mr. Vernon,” she mumbled before she forced herself to step back. “Thank you.”

Hiding quickly turned away, then stopped. She faced him again and said, “Maybe she can’t.”

He blinked at her in confusion.

“Maybe she can’t see you.” Something flashed in his face. Sadness? Regret? Pain? “Maybe she’s still learning how to get to you.”

His eyes glimmered as he smiled. “Or maybe we should be more persistent.”

She nodded. “Or she should be braver.”

“Or maybe time will tell.”

She nodded, tears blurring her vision. “Maybe. Have a good day, Sir.”

She turned away and blindly walked to the direction of the park, sniffling and wiping her tears. A soft giggle escaped her lips, an overwhelming sense of wonder and excitement bubbling inside her.

---

Damon found a bench under a tree. He slid lower and leaned back, legs stretched, and arms crossed as he waited. There some villagers about, but none Geneva should be concerned of, he thought. If any of her aunts’ friends were here to bear witness to their meeting, they were either frail to walk in the heat of the sun, or blind to recognize anyone standing more than a yard away.

He watched strangers and even neighbors pass by, returned greetings as they came and went, but he made certain he was unavailable for anything more. When a gentleman stopped, seemingly eager to talk, Damon came to his feet and pretended he was leaving.

“Mr. Priest, your basket!” the man called.

Damon turned and gave him a tight smile before picking up the basket on the bench. “Good day,” he greeted before walking away again. He slowed down, looked over his shoulder, and waited until the gentleman was far enough before returning to his bench.

Minutes later, as a lady was purposely walking toward him, her young daughter in tow, Damon fumbled inside his coat, murmuring about a lost shopping list of sort. And as the pair continued their approach, he cursed loud enough, looking for the piece of paper that wasn’t there. That stopped the intruders and they turned away to continue southward.

He eventually settled to closing his eyes, hoping anyone who would come by would think it impolite to wake someone napping in the park.

It was some time before he noticed something, or someone, blocking the sun. He did not stir until he heard her clear her throat. Opening one eye, he found her frowning at him.

“Good. You’re here,” he said, sitting straight. “How was your journey with Mr. Vernon?”

She looked like she had been crying, and he was almost certain she wouldn’t answer his question. In fact, he expected she’d be angry. Really, he didn’t think she would meet him here at all.

But she did the unexpected. She sat side him, eyes straight toward the mountainside. “I cried and hugged him. He must now think I’m crazy.”

A faint smile curled the corner of his mouth. “I don’t think he would think that way. He had met the Stratfords,” he said. “We are crazier. And even if he thinks it odd that you did what you did, he would simply assume our eccentricities had rubbed on you.”

She snapped her head toward him, lips pursed to keep the laughter from showing. But he saw the glimpse of it in her eyes. “A governess?”

He chuckled. “Why not?” He looked around and stood. “Shall we?”

“What?”

“It’s time for supper,” he explained, picking the basket.

“I’ll go home.”

He looked around and sighed. “Very well. I was going to show you the well.”

Interest and excitement flashed in her eyes. Biting her lips, she looked around the park. And with the air of someone who was trying not to show too much enthusiasm, she rose to her feet and murmured, “Very well.”

It was nearly dusk when they entered the woods. Up above, hues of pink and blue would flash through the gaps of the branches and leaves.

“No one is out making traps?” she asked, warily looking around.

“No,” he said. “They’re probably in the meadow catching frogs.” When he saw the question in her face, he smiled and added, “Roxie and Freda were assigned to bring two of them tomorrow.”

“Whoever would assign them to bring frogs?”

“Their tutor, of course. They wanted to learn about organs.”

Her eyes widened in horror.

“They say it’s not as horrid as one might think.”

“B-But they kill them?”

“And bury them with respect,” he said. “Or at least that’s what I heard they’ll do. I don’t know. I never participated in such study.”

“Why not?”

“Because like you, I can’t bear the thought of cutting up a frog.”

A quiet reigned between them for a while. “You’re not curious at all? About the frogs, I mean.”

“I’m curious about many things,” he said, staring at her with a smile. “The insides of a frog is not one of them.”

She looked away and stared at the path ahead. “It’s rather odd that their tutor would allow them such liberty.”

“He is as eccentric as them.” He shifted the basket to one side and walk closer beside her. “Did you have tutors?”

Geneva shook her head. “I only had one governess. She taught me everything I needed to know.” She did not wait for him to make a comment, or ask another question. Instead, she turned and looked up at him. “Why do you do this?”

He shrugged. “Now that I’m keeping your secrets, I cannot just let you deal with them alone.”

If she had anything to say to that, she did not voice it. The silence stretched on until they reached Windsong. The pink sky had turned purple, evening closing in. But there was still enough light by the time Damon led Geneva to the well.

It was at the back of the manor, in the middle of what would have been a back garden. At first glance, it was another structure prone to accident. But if one should indeed fall into it—which happened to Damon—they would discover something curious and compelling.

“I don’t see why you like this well,” she noted, peering down with a frown.

Without a word, Damon set the basket on the ground and picked up the rope ladder hidden from sight and dropped it down the well. The sound of wood against stone echoed back to them.

“It’s dry,” he said, climbing on the ledge of the well, settling into the first step of the ladder.

Geneva, by this time, might already have had enough of asking what he was up to. Thus, the question she asked next was, “What’s down there?”

He grinned. “Give me the basket.” She did. “Now, follow me.” Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. He cocked his brows at her in amusement. Then he went down.

---

She was tired of thinking she should not be doing this or that. Because, truly, she shouldn’t but she was still too stubborn to follow. If she was on the road to becoming like her grandfather, or her mother, then she would just have to deal with it later. For now, she felt nothing but excitement as she stepped down the ladder, cloaked in utter darkness, her breathing echoing around her.

“One more step,” Damon said from somewhere below. And then she felt his hands around her hips, and heard him say, “Jump.” And she did, safely landing on solid ground. He stepped back and she blindly turned, imagining dirt around her.

But then Damon lit a gaslight and suddenly, she could see.

It was far beyond what she had imagined. There were no dirt walls, nor muddy ground. There was just a small chamber with brick walls. And a makeshift settee. Table, chairs, shelves with jars of food.

He looked proud when her fascinated eyes flew to him. “When I fell down here years ago, I acquired a broken leg. But it was worth it. We discovered this rather odd chamber.”

“You did not build this?”

He shook his head. “No. It was not like this when I fell upon it. The brick walls, however, were already here. Even the floor.”

She looked down and found brick. “Who would build something like this?”

“Someone with a very interesting mind, perhaps,” he said, opening the basket. “The well must have dried up many years ago and whoever built this chamber must have had the most splendid idea of turning it into something they could use.”

“I see no use in it,” she said. “But I dare say it’s fascinating.”

As he laid out bread and fruits on the table, he motioned his head upward.

Geneva looked up, a small gasp escaping her. Above, the opening of the well offered a magnificent view of the sky. “Can you see the moon from up here?”

He settled in the settee and gazed up. “Of course. It’s not as pretty without the moon.” Patting the space beside him, he invited her to sit. She did, still looking at the hole above them. He explained how they stole the settee and other furniture from the manor, carried them through the woods, and down here.

After some time, without saying much, they ate their supper.

She realized Damon was not someone who had the need to constantly break the silence. Like her, he embraced it. He paid particular attention to his food and to what he was doing. And only when necessary did he comment or ask her anything. Did she want jam or butter for her bread? He wasn’t sure if the grapes were clean, but she was welcome to wipe it on her dress. He brought water and sherry—what did she prefer?

Small questions that offered comfort, and a calm that allowed her mind some space to think internally. It was a pleasant supper.

It was only when they were done, and they both held their drinks, did he say something that required her to think. “You should attend the engagement party. Many of the villagers are invited, including friends of your aunts.”

The invitation reminded her of the coming days, of when her freedom would come to an end. “I need to discuss it with my aunts.”

“Are they back in town?”

She scoffed. “Do you think I’d be here if they are?”

“Then send them a letter.”

She sighed. “I already know their answer.”

For some quiet breaths, he was silent. “The invitation lasts as long as the party does. Come whenever you can.”

She smiled. “I shall keep that in mind.” He did not push the matter, but she could sense that he was waiting for her to ask the question. “Did you invite the Vernons?”

The wicked look on his face was answer enough. “We did invite Matthew and his brothers, of course. Simone spent a lot of good times with them here in Windsong, of course she had to invite them. And Mrs. Vernon, too. She would often send bread and meat for us on some mornings.”

He was not looking at her, pretending that his words were delivered in such nonchalant a manner.

Geneva bit her lips and closed her eyes. Of course, she should not go. But then, she also knew she would.

11. the five dresses

The engagement ball was happening in two days, and Geneva had a big problem. Despite the guilt, she had already made up her mind. She was going. Her companion Gwen, and the housekeeper Helene, convinced her to go.

“This might be the last time you can enjoy a Stratford ball, Miss,” Gwen had said. “You know the mistresses would not go if they were here.”

“We went to the last one,” she had reasoned. “If I ask their permission, they may say yes.”

“They only went last time because their friends went,” Helene countered. “Now, all of them are not going.”

“They aren’t?”

“Yes. I made inquiries. Mrs. Newton is still a little resentful about the duke. You know she had been hoping for her granddaughter to snatch the man.”

“There will be no one there to tell you attended,” said Gwen.

“But I will be recognized.”

“Not if you can deny it.”

She frowned at her companion. “How?”

“Don’t wear anything you own. Wear a different dress.”

And that was her problem. She did not have one that would not make her unrecognizable. Everything she owned screamed Geneva Withers, the great-niece of three old women. No colorful dresses with ribbons and laces, no jewelries to match. And no money to procure a different one.

“Hm. That does indeed pose a problem,” Damon said the following morning. They were outside Windsong, under the same oak tree. It was dawn, the sky a haze of bronze and yellow; his horse, Maple, not far away, enjoying the moist grass.

She stared at him and shook her head. “Do not even think about buying one. I will not accept it.”

“Supposing I’m thinking about it—Whyever not?”

“Because I don’t want anyone wasting money on me.” She narrowed her eyes. “I know that look, Mr. Priest. Dare not do it.”

“What look?”

“The look of someone coming up with a plan.”

“I do have a plan.”

“Oh, Lord, here we go again. What plan?”

---

“That’s your plan?” Webster asked, eyes wide. “It’s preposterous!”

“It can easily be done, brother,” he said with confidence. “Tell him, Harry.”

Harry was the only one standing on the birdwatching deck, and had been looking down the grounds that led to the woods as Damon laid out his plan. At his question, Harry turned and leaned back against the balustrade, glass of wine in hand. “She will not notice.”

“She will!” Webster asked.

“She will not. She’s preoccupied,” Damon drawled.

“I will not be a part of this.”

“Very well,” Damon said, pushing himself to a sitting position. “Harry?”

“Only if you do not name me if you get caught. It will ruin my reputation in this household.”

“I shall bear the consequences alone, of course.” He stood with a grunt and smiled down at Webster who was looking at them with utter incredulity. “Enjoy the rest of your boring night, brother. You’ve changed so much since you started running the family business.”

“I did not. I’m still fun.”

Damon and Harry shared a look and they both scoffed.

Not five minutes later, Harry was at the end of the corridor in one wing of the manor, strangely sitting in a chair that should not be there, reading a book and keeping watch. The entire household was silent and if they listened enough, they might even hear Price snoring in his room.

“It’s locked,” Damon whispered, trying the door at the other end of the corridor. He turned and looked at his brother for help. Webster rolled his eyes and sighed. Pulling his hands off the pockets of his trousers, his brother harshly pushed him aside, turned the knob, and gave the door a forceful push with his shoulder. It gave in.

“She once worked for days inside without food and she almost passed out. The old man had no choice but to change the locks so we can easily rush in and feed her to keep her from dying,” reasoned Webster, hands back inside his pockets.

“I remember that. I don’t remember anything about the lock.” Damon walked inside Simone’s studio with a lamp. “Where does she even keep things?” he asked in awe, looking at the mess. Her wedding dress was right at the center, but the rest was merely everywhere.

“She doesn’t, really,” Webster replied, walking inside and leaning against the wall. “Please, brother, do go on with your crime. But don’t touch the bloody wedding dress. We’ll never be rid of her if the wedding doesn’t happen because she has nothing to wear.”

Ignoring Webster—and avoiding the wedding dress—he searched the highest mountain of fabrics first, then the second, and found none. He looked back at Webster for help. His brother glared at him and pushed away from the door.

“You should start paying more attention to our sister,” Webster said, walking over to the line of cabinets. He gave the bottom one a light kick. Damon went down and pulled it open. And there, he found them. Dresses. He picked the first one his hand touched, but Webster stopped him. “Not that. That one is new. She’ll know. Dig deeper.”

He picked what he thought was a blue dress with a sheer fabric outline. He looked up at Webster. “No. She was making that before we left for Birth last year.”

“Then which one should I get?”

“Try the other one.”

With a sigh, he moved to the next drawer. “This?” he said, picking up a dress with various layers the color of leaves in autumn. Webster’s head dropped to the side as he tried to remember it. “I don’t remember that one. You can take it.”

“I need four more.”

And so they searched for more. A light blue one with ribbons, a yellow one with puffy sleeves, and two white ones which he was certain Geneva would like.“

“Are you done?” Webster asked wryly.

“I believe so.”

“Then get everything back in order. This place is a mess, but Sisi can spot when someone’s been in here.”

He did his best and neatly replaced the other dresses into the drawers. He then proceeded to wrapping the stolen ones into a large white fabric. As he hauled it over his shoulder, he stopped and hesitated. “Are you certain she would not notice them?”

Webster glared. “This was your bloody plan.”

“But she will not notice, will she?”

“I’m not going to stand and wait while you put them back, Damon. There’s no going back. You’re stealing them. Let’s move along.”

“But if Sisi—”

“She will not notice them. She remakes her dresses more often than she sent letters to my bloody friend, the same one she’s marrying,” Webster said, pointing at the wedding dress in the center of the room. “People copy her fashion. It will not be a surprise if they attend the party wearing the same ones she did months and years ago.”

He nodded. “Yes. You’re right.”

“Can we leave now?”

But as they were leaving, they stopped to stare at the wedding dress. It was very much like Simone. It seemed ordinary, yet if they looked enough, she had added unique details in it.

“I think it’s her best work thus far,” noted Webster.

“I agree.” He turned to his brother. “Did you give her the talk already?”

“What talk?”

“The talk a lady should get before marriage.”

Webster blinked a few times before he finally understood. “I should do that?”

“You’re the eldest.”

“I would rather die.”

“Then who would?”

Webster closed his eyes and groaned. “I trust Daniel to be careful.”

“I still think you should at least give her a talk.”

“And I think we have overstayed. Come on.”

Harry stood from his chair when they reappeared moments later. His eyes landed on the bulk Damon was carrying over his shoulder. He just chuckled, shook his head as he picked up his chair, and the three of them climbed down the stairs, Damon with his stolen dresses and Harry with his chair. Webster was free, hands in his trousers.

“If you’re brave enough to break into our sister’s studio,” his brother said, “perhaps you should be brave enough to tell Miss Withers of why you’re doing these stupid things.”

He did not offer a comment. He may be foolish and brave enough to steal dresses, but he could not quite summon the courage to confess.

“I agree,” Harry said. “You may only be confusing the woman.”

Again, he said nothing.

“And confusion may just scare her away,” added his brother.

If their intention was to scare him, they succeeded. He spent the night glaring at the ceiling, asking no one in particular if he was indeed causing more harm than good. Geneva Withers was one who tend to overthink. And he wondered what she had been thinking about his recent efforts.

---

On the morning of the ball, Damon met Geneva in Windsong with the dresses. And as he expected, she was not pleased.

“You stole them.” Her disappointment echoed around the chamber beneath the well.

“I would have said Sisi let me borrow them, or that I rented them, but that would be lying. Yes, I stole them. She doesn’t use them.”

“I’m not going to be a conniver of this crime!”

He looked down at the dresses. “Then what am I supposed to do with these?”

“Return them, of course!” she said, stomping her foot.

His face crumpled at the thought. “That would be taxing.”

“Well, whoever told you to steal them? And why would you even steal them?”

“You needed dresses for the ball.”

“Yes, and I managed to address that problem well enough.”

He looked at her in disbelief. “You did?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes.”

“How?”

“I have three aunts, Mr. Priest. They were all young once and they, too, have dresses they forgot and never use.”

He blinked. “But that would mean your dresses—”

“Your sister is not the only one who can sew.”

“You reconstructed your aunts’ old dresses?”

She scoffed and tilted her chin. “Of course. I might be a better seamstress than your sister.”

His brow cocked high. “Truly?” He stared at her with amusement. Her face was filled with pride, her eyes the most. And her lips were fighting off a smile again; like they often did. Hopefully in time she would no longer find the need to hide it from him. “I’d very much want to see them.”

She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “You might. If I decide to attend.”

He had the urge to laugh, to make the step that would take him close to her, wrap his arms around her and just kiss her. This was a good moment for that. Unfortunately, this was not the time for her. She was not ready. So he stepped back and dropped to the settee and groaned. “How do I take them back up?” he asked, kicking the bundle of dresses.

She dropped beside him with a sigh. “Not my problem now, is it?”

“You would have loved them, you know,” he said. “Or at least two of them.”

She did not say anything for a while, just looked up at the sky through the opening above them. “What color?”

“Why would I tell you? You don’t want them.” She did not push. Geneva Withers could contain her curiosity better than him. “Blue. Yellow. Two white ones. And… autumn.”

“Autumn?”

“Different shades of autumn.” He watched her eyes flicker to the large ball of fabric at their feet. “Some have beautiful ribbons and laces. Sheer and puffy sleeves.”

“I’m quite sure they’re pretty.”

“I think you’ll love the white ones the best. They’ll suit you.”

Again, her eyes flickered to the ground. Then she shook her head. “You have to bring them back.”

Damon dropped his head backward on the settee. Then he rolled it toward her. “I wish you’ll wear them.” She gave him a piercing sideway glance. “But I know you’ll also look good in your aunts’ new old dresses.”

The subject of the stolen dresses was dropped and silence occupied the tiny chamber. Damon was curious what’s going on in her mind. There could be a number of things, really, and it was not just the dresses. Her family might be in attendance and that must be her greatest worry.

“I may have blood on my dress tonight,” she spoke, breaking the silence and confusing his thoughts.

“What?”

She raised her hands in front of her. “I pricked my fingers sewing.”

Damon grabbed one hand and peered down at her fingertips with a frown. “You should have used some thimbles. Did you bleed a lot?” When he heard no reply, he looked up and caught her gaze. “What?”

“You’re holding my hand.”

“We’re friends.”

Her brow arched. “We are?”

“I should say we are. I’m keeping your secrets. I showed you my favorite places. I conjured a plan so you can meet your father. We’ve spent mornings and afternoons here. And I stole for you.”

Her lips pursed. She was once more holding out a smile. “You make it sound like I haven’t done anything for you.”

She was close enough that he could see the shadows of her lashes against her cheeks, the tiny freckles, the tiniest movement of her brows and nose and lips. He could lean closer and they would be sharing one breath. “It’s not too late.”

“And what would you wish me to do for you?”

He should ask for a kiss, a smile, even another hour after the sun was up before she scurried home. Or another day in Windsong tomorrow morning. Or another hour after the ball tonight.

His hand tightened around hers ever so slightly, not yet ready to let go. “Keep my secret.”

She blinked in surprise.

“And what is your secret?”

“I’ll tell you if you promise not to be weird after I do so.”

He saw her falter for a moment. Did she guess? She probably did because she swallowed and her gaze flickered everywhere but him. But she eventually nodded her head.

His heart was in an uproar inside his chest, and to control it, he had to take a deep breath. He cleared his throat. He should at least appear confident. “I believe I’m beginning to like you very much, Miss Withers.”

She stiffened. “That’s your secret.”

“Yes. I like you.”

“As your friend.”

He playfully narrowed his eyes at her. “Come now. You know that’s not what I meant.”

Her mouth opened, and she gasped for breath, but no words came out.

“You don’t know what to say, do you?”

She blinked a few times, her gaze jumping everywhere and then down to where he was holding her hand. When her eyes raised back to his, she said, “Why? You don’t seem to be someone who would… hold affections for someone such as I.”

He sighed and let go of her hand. “We should leave,” he said, and disappointment crossed her face. Yet, she did not argue when he guided her up the ladder and followed her out of the well.

“Well, good day,” she haughtily said as soon as they were back on solid ground.

Damon smiled and surprised her by grabbing her hand just as she turned away.

“What—”

“Don’t leave yet,” he said, leading her to the secret garden.

Fresh morning air greeted them, birds chirping somewhere in the trees. The wildflowers seemed brighter at the new day, dewdrops hanging at the tip of the blades of grass.

Pretending to be nonchalant, Damon let go of her hand and ducked into the shade of the willow tree and settled on the ground. She sat beside him, the two of them leaning against the hard trunk. He peered down the cascading foliage to look at the wild flowers and broke his silence. “When my cousins asked our gardener for flowers after discovering this garden, he gave them a pouch full of seeds instead. Simone and Lydia sprinkled them around. And as we waited for them to grow, I imagined daisies. Sisi imagined sunflowers, Lydia poppies. We imagined different things. They eventually bloomed and we realized the gardener gave us an assortment of flower seeds. They came to life, wild and chaotic just like the crumbling garden they were planted on.”

He grabbed her hand again, gently running his thumb over her injured fingers. “Affection is freely imagined, easily speculated. I imagined daisies; you speculated I’d never hold affections for someone like you.” He paused to take a breath, glad he was calmer than he was earlier. “But the gardener had more plans than just daisies when he gave us seeds. The garden bloomed beyond what I imagined and I shall never trade it with a field of daisies.” He raised his eyes and found hers already watching him. The corner of his lips curled into a gentle smile. “I admit you’re not the field of daisies I imagined. You’re the garden when the flowers finally bloomed.”

She pulled her hands away and he let her. Moistening her lips, she looked around—at the wildflowers, the beautiful chaos. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to,” he said with a sigh of relief, leaning more into the trunk. “You’re now keeping my secret. It’s up to you what to do about it.”

“And you don’t have any other secrets?”

He smiled. “One secret at a time, Miss Withers.”

She fell silent for a moment. Then, “I think I will be a little weird after this.”

He groaned. “You already are.”

“I’ve never been confessed to.”

“Never?”

“Never.”

“Well, I hope you only get it once.” When she remained silent, he stole a look and chuckled. “You’re being weird.”

“Because I can’t help it. I’m confused.”

And here he thought he would erase her confusion if he confessed. He sighed. “About what?”

“Do you intend to keep it a secret?”

“I intend to keep it a secret until you’re ready to accept it.”

“And when I do?”

“Then it shall no longer be a secret. I refuse to have secret trysts. They’re quite taxing.”

“My aunts will never approve of you.”

“So long as you do—”

“But if they find out—”

“Geneva,” he said, her name gliding out of his lips with a sweet tone, “I dare you to be a little blind to your fears of the future.” He motioned his head toward the wildflowers around them. “And instead see it’s exciting possibilities.”

“That’s not who I am.”

“I know. Thus, I said ‘dare’.”

“I cannot. I have to know.”

“No one can certainly know the future. It’s impossible. You never thought I would ever like you, and here I am confessing that I do adore you. My imagination failed me about this garden; your speculation about me is false. Both of us had no idea, did we?”

“But—”

“Unless you think it so bad.” He said, growing anxious. “Knowing about my affections. Is it so bad? Is it amongst the things you feared? Is that why you’re being weird?”

“What? N-No!”

“Then… Are you disappointed?”

She cleared her throat. “N-No,” she faintly answered.

“Good. Now, you don’t have to be weird.”

“I’m trying not to.”

“Then forget about my secret.”

She huffed and glared at the sight before them. “I can’t.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

“Damon.” Hearing his name from her lips was even more gratifying than getting to speak hers. “Stop talking about it, please.”

He smiled and closed his eyes. “I’ll walk you home in a while.”

“You don’t have to.”

“That’s part of the courtship.”

“You never said anything about courting.”

“I just started,” he said with a chuckle.

“Stop.”

“Courting?”

“Laughing!” she growled, slapping his arm.

He laughter rumbled in his chest. As it slowly dwindled, he stole her a glance. She was fighting a smile.

Damon looked away and closed his eyes with a stupid grin.

12. the princess and the pauper

The engagement party was filled with activities prepared by all Stratfords. The ladies went on picnics into the woods, the men on rides and outdoor games. Even the earl hosted parlor games. However, the most exciting parts of every evening, and one that many of the guests loathe to miss, would be the play series written and directed by Freda and Roxie.

Geneva, on the other hand, almost missed all of it because on the first night of the ball, she changed her mind. She reasoned her dress was hideous, which Gwen said was not. Then she was not feeling well, might be coming down with a flu, which Helene immediately brushed aside as nothing but a symptom of staying indoors for too long.

“We’ve been working on your dress for days, Miss,” Helene said. “It would be a shame to not wear them.”

Gwen had fallen silent during the exchange. She watched Geneva pace around in her chemise and drawers. “If you don’t mind, Miss, I will attend the party in your stead.”

“What?” both Geneva and Helene asked.

She smiled and lifted her shoulder in a shrug. “If you do not go, these dresses we’ve worked hard on would not see the light of day ever again. And I’ve always wondered what it would be like to dance with a Stratford.”

Geneva blinked at her companion. Gwen was younger than her by a few years, and more beautiful, too. With her dark brown curly hair, she could fit right in with the Stratfords. Even her bubbly character would be welcomed in that family.

Gwen sighed, dramatically dropping her shoulders. “But who would want to dance with a maid?”

“The Stratfords would not bat an eye. They have no boundaries,” Geneva nonchalantly said.

The two servants shared a look while Geneva’s mind reeled at an idea. She grabbed Gwen’s hands and said, “You must attend with me.”

It was Gwen’s turn to blink. “I was merely jesting, Miss.” Letting out a nervous laugh, her eyes jumped from Geneva to Helene, then back. “I was merely jesting!”

“You can come as my companion,” said Geneva, stepping back with a more confident smile. “I’d be much comfortable going with you in the party. I’m not well-acquainted with the female Stratfords, or any of them, really.”

“B-But Miss, I do not have anything to wear-”

“Of course, you do,” Geneva said. “Try one of the dresses we remodeled.” Turning on her heels, she gathered her black hair, adding, “Now, Gwen. We must prepare for the ball.”

“But what if the mistresses find out-”

“I will take full responsibility,” Geneva said, looking up from the wash basin to smile at Gwen through the mirror, renewed excitement bubbling inside her.

Gwen and Helene looked at each other, dumbfounded.

“We shall not get caught, Gwen. I promise.”

---

Damon waited outside the courtyard, leaning against the wall as Harry and Webster greeted the guests. Simone and Daniel Cavendish were already inside, enjoying the first ball of the engagement party. Some guests would be staying in the manor, others were just neighbors who could come and go as they pleased.

“And what did she say again?” asked Webster over his shoulder before facing two guests with a greeting. Harry was doing the same beside Webster, blocking Damon from view.

“She was speechless,” he replied. “I think it is hopeful.”

“Or not,” Webster said.

“She did not say she’s against the courtship.”

“No matter. Her aunts would definitely be against it,” his brother pointed out.

“Miss Withers can think for herself, brother,” he droned.

“Have you seen her anywhere without her aunts except these past few weeks?” Webster turned to face him. “It doesn’t take an idiot to know that they have her on a leash.”

“She is learning her way around that leash. I can be patient.”

Harry turned and patted Webster’s shoulder. “I believe Damon knows what he’s doing.” The man was looking at him with amusement in the corner of his eyes. “And he most definitely knows where the brandies are if he finds a need for them.”

As Webster chuckled, Damon rolled his eyes.

“Fret not, cousin,” Harry added, turning to greet another approaching guest. “We shall court all older Withers if the need arises.”

“Count me out,” Webster said. “If you haven’t noticed, they stare at us like we’re spawns from hell every Sunday. I can’t imagine dining with them around a table.”

“Our grandfather will do the courting once he gets wind of this. And we’re Stratfords, Web. We can learn how to dine with angels,” Harry retorted with a laugh. “Why don’t you come and join us here, Damon?”

“I’m fine where I am, cousin. Thank you,” he murmured under his breath as he glowered at the ground. Geneva Withers was already a challenging suit, and the thought of also wooing her aunts bothered him a lot.

“Very well, suit yourself,” Harry replied. “Good evening, Miss Withers. Welcome to the party.”

At the sound of her name, Damon pushed away from the wall and slipped between Harry and Webster, skidding to a stop a mere foot away from her and her companion. “Hello,” he greeted, straightening to full height.

If she had been surprised by his sudden appearance, she only blinked it away before turning to her companion, saying, “I hope none of you would mind that I came with a companion. This is Miss Gwen Halloway.”

“No, of course we do not mind,” Damon said, looking over at Harry and Webster whose faces were unreadable. The silent taunting, however, played in their eyes.

“No, we don’t,” Webster finally replied, extending his hand to Gwen Halloway. When she offered, he gave it a light kiss. “Would you care for a tour of our marvelous manor, Miss Halloway?”

“Very much, Sir,” Gwen replied, then hesitated, looking at Geneva. “But perhaps later.”

“You may go and enjoy the evening, Gwen,” Geneva said, smiling at the young woman.

Webster offered his arm to Gwen and they walked away chatting.

“Shall we?” asked Damon, offering his arm to Geneva. She took it and without much of a backward glance at Harry, he guided her into the courtyard. “You look beautiful in your dress.”

“I was certain you would say that,” she said, giving him a wry look. “Tell me honestly.”

Damon chuckled. “You do look beautiful. I can’t say the same about the dress if I see it on its own.”

She groaned.

“It would not become anyone else. However, it strangely and exquisitely looks good on you.”

“You lie.”

“You’re free to believe what you may,” he said once they crossed the courtyard. “You’ll realize what I mean once we enter the party.”

The ballroom was somewhere in the maze of corridors in the odd manor. Upon entry, Damon smiled and whispered beside her, “See?”

She frowned at the crowd. “I don’t.”

“They’re all wearing the same thing,” he said. “Same shade of green, courtesy of our dear Sisi. I believe she wore a lime green dress in a ball two weeks ago. Everyone else simply followed suit.” He guided her around the ballroom. “You seem to be the only one wearing blue.”

She froze and looked around. “Do you think anyone would recognize me and tell my aunts? If so, how should I even-”

“There you are!” Price jumped in front of them. When he saw Geneva, a curious frown formed on his face. “Miss Withers.”

“Good evening, Mr. Priest,” Geneva greeted.

“Happy to see you here,” said Price, veering a meaningful and curious look to his brother. “The Vernons are here. And if I remember correctly, you’ve been concocting a plan for Matthew.” Damon felt Geneva’s hand stiffen in his arm. Price stepped closer and whispered, “Now would be the perfect time for that. Mr. Vernon is in a much better mood.” His brother stepped away with a smile at Geneva. “They’re in the eastern parlor with the devils and Gale. I can escort Miss Withers while you’re not around, if you wish.”

“No,” Damon said, looking down at Geneva. “I’m certain Freda and Roxie have matters to discuss with her.”

“And what do the devils have to discuss with you this time, Miss Withers? The redemption of their souls?” Price asked with laugh.

Damon pushed his brother away before guiding Geneva across the ballroom.

“I don’t think I should go,” she said, pulling at his arm. “I can stay here.”

He frowned. “Whyever not? Don’t you wish to meet them?”

“We’ve been trying to meet my brothers every morning in Windsong, but they never showed. It is the heavens telling me it’s not a good time.”

He considered her words. “Then if the heavens tell you tonight is not the best time, perhaps the door will be locked. Or a fire may break out. Or they simply disappear before we arrive.”

“No. I can’t. Not tonight.”

Damon looked around, thoughtful. “Come with me,” he said, pulling her through the threshold that led into a corridor.

“I’m serious. I do not wish to go.”

“We will not meet the Vernons if that’s what you wish,” he said. “I’m taking you somewhere else.”

“But Gwen-”

“I’m certain she’s enjoying her evening.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her down the corridor, turning into another, and up a narrow flight of stairs.

He heard her nervous laugh behind him. “Is it another favorite?”

“Of course.”

Of course, it was another odd favorite. It was a window. And the window opened to the roof. And the roof led to a deck that overlooked the woods.

“Relax,” he said with a smile when she remained rooted in the middle of the viewing deck. “It is the sturdiest thing ever built.”

“I don’t feel it is,” she said, looking nowhere but his chest.

“Perhaps you wish to sit? It might help.”

She nodded and he guided her lower to the floor. Standing over her, he arched his brow. “Better?”

She nodded. “This is not how I imagined spending the ball.”

“We can return later once you’re comfortable to be seen,” he said, settling beside her.

“And what do you suppose we should do for now?”

“Nothing. I only wish that you get acquainted with the fact that you’re here attending a ball against what we all assume would have been against your aunts’ wishes. Now, think of the consequences and judge if you think this would be worth all of it.”

She turned to frown at him. “Is that what you do if you’re about to do something that breaks the rules?”

“Of course.” He turned so he was facing her. “Now, close your eyes.” She did without question. “Imagine walking around the ballroom. What is something you are quite certain might happen?”

“That people will recognize me and they’ll tell my aunts.”

“What would be the consequences?”

Her jaw hardened. “A lot.”

Sensing she was not going to tell him, he nodded. “Now, try to imagine the many possibilities that may happen during the week of the party.”

She was silent for a long time, her brows fused as she thought. Then her eyes opened. “I don’t know.”

“There will be dancing.”

She scoffed. “I’m not a good dancer.”

“And there will be picnics and parlor games,” he added, ignoring her words. “Freda and Roxie are going to showcase their plays for the duration of the week and they’ve promised everyone it’s going to be fantastic.”

She bit down a smile. “I will have to see to believe.”

“Of course, you will.” He let the quiet linger a little, holding her gaze before adding, “And you may finally meet the Vernons. All of them.” Fear flashed before her eyes. “Just possibilities, Geneva.”

She slowly nodded, looking around and beyond to the woods. “Just possibilities.”

“Yes.”

She stole him a glance and took a deep breath. “But I can’t meet them tonight.”

“If you wish.”

“Maybe tomorrow.”

He smiled. She was thinking of going tomorrow. That’s good enough. “Of course.”

“And I can’t dance tonight.”

He chuckled. “We can just watch the play.”

At that, she nodded with a bit more enthusiasm. “We should.”

---

Days later, Geneva regretted not letting Damon introduce her to the rest of the Vernons. They did not attend the succeeding days of the party, just as when she had gathered the courage to meet them, even just as a governess. They were busy tending their farm and animals, Matthew reasoned to Damon through a short letter.

Her disappointment, however, eventually waned as she and Gwen eased into the daily activities of the party. Every day, they looked forward to joining games and picnics with Gwen’s new friends, and every morning, they would tell Helene of their adventures in the Abberton House. Helene particularly enjoyed the night they both got lost in the maze of corridors.

Joy would be too much a word to describe the rest of the week. Happiness, perhaps, yes. She felt utterly happy every morning when she woke up and she looked forward to dressing up to go to Abberton House. And every afternoon, she would come home, flushed from a trip into the woods with Damon or Gwen’s new friends, and after an hour or two of rest, she would have enough energy for another night at the ball. She had never imagined she would look forward to a play created by Freda and Roxie, but she did.

But with everything was also the confusion.

Damon never talked about his confession, nor did he treat her differently after that. He was the same man towards her. But she had to admit he was different in her eyes now. Much different. She could now understand why he treated her as a friend. Why he was trying to help her.

He liked her.

He adored her.

But did she?

She didn’t know. That’s the frustrating part. What was it like to adore someone? How could one tell if they were falling in love?

“I’m curious as well,” Gwen said one afternoon as they traveled to the Abberton House. They were wearing walking dresses to join another picnic in the woods with the guests. “How does one know?”

“You don’t?” she asked.

“You don’t?” Gwen blinked with confusion. “I’m certain you do. You are a lady of privilege, Miss.”

“What are we talking about, Gwen?”

“The Royal Library in Coulway, of course! You’ve been there before, yes?”

She blinked away. “Yes.”

“Is it as majestic as they say?”

“Too grand for one visit.”

“I hope to go there one day. That is, if I find Michael Stiles.” Gwen peered out the window of the carriage. “I think he’s left Abberton a long time ago. If he’s still here, he would not be missing these parties. The last town he went to, I almost caught him.”

One of the reasons Geneva had grown fond of Gwen, apart from her cheerful bearing, was that they were both in a search. Her companion was unaware of hers, of course, but Geneva was privy to Gwen’s story. Her parents were merchants who disappeared many years ago in a shipwreck. Gwen grew up with her grandparents and was forced to work to support them when she was old enough. Years ago, she discovered that her parents had an attorney whom they entrusted with the money they saved for Gwen’s future. The woman was still looking for that man.

“Will you be leaving me then?” she asked Gwen.

“Well, not quite soon, of course. I need to save more for my next journey.”

She smiled. “Or you may land yourself a husband after this week-long party, one who will support your search. Perhaps you’d land yourself a Stratford?”

Gwen’s laughter echoed in the carriage. “Oh, Miss. I only jest about such things. Never take them seriously. I know my place in society very well.” Her smile disappeared as she wrinkled her nose. “And I think it would be taxing to marry into these rich families. Don’t you agree? They have protocols to follow.”

“The Stratfords don’t have protocols.”

Gwen laughed. “Well, quite true. They don’t marry anyone under their station either.”

She smiled and said nothing to contradict the woman’s words, for it was true. The Stratfords may be unconventional, but it was yet to be seen for one of them marry someone in Gwen’s station.

“Take Harry Stratford, for example. Everyone believes he’s courting Arabella Poppet. He’s being slow, isn’t he? Or he’s hesitating,” continued Gwen. “Because the Poppets are mere commoners.”

“I believe they’re just friends, Gwen.”

“Then he should not stick to the lady’s side that often. The fact that he does only fuels the rumors.”

“It’s time that men and women can be friends and not have people paint it differently,” said Geneva.

“Like you and Damon Priest?”

She cleared her throat. “Yes.”

Gwen just chuckled with a knowing smile. “I have to admit I’ve been enjoying these parties,” her companion continued, changing the subject. “Wearing this dress I could never afford, eating the same food they do, and dancing with men who think I’m one of them!”

“But I thought you said you told Webster Priest who you are.”

“Well, not really. I assumed he assumed I’m a servant at first, but I think he assumed I’m a friend of yours. Anyway, there’s no point correcting him. He never asked me for a dance again.”

“Perhaps because he doesn’t want people to talk.”

“Precisely. Or maybe he was overcome with guilt.”

“Whyever so?”

“I told him about my parents.”

Geneva’s eyes widened. “You told him about your parents?”

“I did. And maybe that’s why he assumed I’m rich. I told him they were merchants,” Gwen laughingly said. “And it wasn’t even a lie.”

“B-But why would you tell him about your parents?!”

“It was the only topic we both share in common. I told him while we were dancing. I was babbling because I was nervous and you know how I babble, Miss.”

Geneva shook her head. “You were in a party. Why would you talk about such tragic thing?”

“Because I didn’t have anything else to talk about with the man. He knows everything about being rich, and me about being poor. We had no common ground apart from losing our parents in the same shipwreck.”

“Oh, Gwen,” Geneva said with a shake of her head. “You’re crazy.”

“Now that I think of our conversation, I think I am indeed,” Gwen said with a laugh.

They arrived in the manor before their conversation ended. And before the doors even opened, she saw Damon already waiting outside the courtyard.

“He is definitely courting, isn’t he, Miss?” Gwen whispered.

“No,” she lied.

“I think he is. Which is why I’m leaving you alone.”

Geneva shook her head as Gwen rushed off, calling out another woman’s name. A mere few days and the woman had already made more friends than Geneva had in her lifetime.

“Are you joining the picnic as well?” she asked Damon as he approached.

“No.”

“Busy?”

“Freda and Roxie are conducting an audition with the duke.”

“For?”

“The role of the princess.”

“Your princess?” she teased. He had been forced to play the role of the prince for three nights now, one of the reasons why she enjoyed the play more. To see him suffer in the role was quite entertaining.

“You’re helping me,” he said, stepping closer with his hands in his pockets.

“With what?”

He bit his lower lip and grimaced with fearful anticipation. “Audition for the role.”

Her eyes widened. “N-No!”

“Please,” he said, lowering his stance to catch her eyes. “The women who auditioned are insane.”

She scoffed. “Insane how?”

“We believe they’re out to get me and not the role.”

Her brow arched as she looked him up and down. “Why?” And as he let out a frustrated huff, she laughed. “You’re Damon Priest. Everyone is out to get you.”

“Do it for me,” he begged. “Please. I can’t act opposite any of them.”

She sighed as she witnessed his desperation. “For what price?”

“I’ll take you to the Vernons. And this time, the heavens shall will it.”

“I know you’ll do that even without me asking,” she murmured, shaking her head. “I can’t act. I don’t think I can speak in front of people.”

“But you enjoy the play. You adore it.”

“I said I do feel a connection to it, yes. I never said I’d want to be the princess!”

He brushed his fingers through his hair, then stilled, his brown eyes narrowing. “I dare you.”

She blinked a few times. “What?”

“I dare you,” he said, grinning. “Just try it. Audition.”

“In front of the duke?”

“Daniel was once an actor. He’s seen the worst and the best, Sisi being one of them.”

“Simone auditioned?”

“I told you the women who auditioned are insane. She tried and she was terrible at it, but she did not die trying to audition.” When she merely looked around, at a loss for words, he stepped forward. “There may never be another chance to do something like this.” He paused, peering down at her with a hopeful look. “Just try.”

She tried to say no. Her mind wanted to say no. But how could she when he was looking at her with that smile? “But don’t blame me if-”

She was not able to finish her sentence because he suddenly grabbed her hand and ran with her into the manor. Mayhap this was what it meant to adore someone, she thought as they crossed the courtyard, walking past chickens and a goat.

You would do stupid things for them.

13. the princess and the prince

Damon was desperate to be free of the play. And even more so from the burden of playing the prince. Freda and Roxie had used all their power and charm to coax him into the role, but now it turned out that there was to be a princess. And that he would have to act with her.

The moment everyone learned that the role was open, the women flocked to audition, half of them eager to just be a part of it, the other half only had eyes on him.

Daniel Cavendish very rarely showed his emotions, but when he saw Geneva walk in, his brows arched in surprise and his eyes jumped to Damon. Even Freda and Roxie, who sat on either side of the duke as if they owned the entire place, snapped their heads and frowned at the woman.

“Miss Withers,” said Freda with awe as Geneva curtsied to Daniel. “I never thought you can act.”

“Not after our little adventure on the side of the road,” Roxie added.

Damon watched as Geneva’s face tightened and her face formed a little scowl. “Well, I’m here to try.”

The girls leaned over to share a look across Daniel.

“You know that you will be speaking, yes?” Freda asked. “You barely spoke when we played an act around Mr. Vernon that day.”

“Yes, I’m aware I’ll have lines to say,” Geneva gritted out.

“Hm,” Roxie muttered. “Interesting.”

“Very well,” said Freda, looking up at Daniel Cavendish. “Your Grace?”

The man was smiling with amusement as he motioned for Geneva to walk closer. Damon walked over to hand her a piece of paper. She looked down at it and frowned. “I can barely read this.”

“That’s Freda’s handwriting,” he murmured, clearing his throat to block her view from the devils. “It’s quite legible if you start reading.”

“No, it isn’t—”

“Is there a problem?” Freda asked from her chair.

“One moment, Freda,” Damon said over his shoulder. “This is a ‘t’ and this is an ‘a’,” he pointed out. “Once you know what they are, you’ll be able to read them.”

“And this?” she asked.

“That’s an ‘o’.”

“But this looks exactly the same as the ‘a’.”

“It has a little slant to it, see?”

She glared up at him. “No!”

He silently chuckled. “Do you need me to read it for you?”

“Is there a problem?” Freda repeated.

“It’s your handwriting, Freda,” Roxie wryly said. “We shall wait, Miss Withers. You can take your time.”

Geneva shook her head in disbelief while Damon pulled her to the side to read the entire two-page script. And as he did, her eyes started to go wide at how the story ends. “The witch gets to live?” she asked in disbelief, looking at Freda and Roxie. “But why?”

“We hate killing our characters,” said Roxie. “We don’t have the heart for it.”

“But she made the princess suffer.”

“Thus she gets to live the rest of her life alone. That’s punishment enough,” said Freda. “Are you quite ready now?”

Geneva looked at Damon and he smiled at her. “Are you ready?”

“No.”

“Very well,” he said, blocking Freda and Roxie from her view again. “But you shall try, yes? Do your best. Know that Freda and Roxie are waiting for you to fail.”

Her face hardened once more.

“Show them you can do this.”

She glared at him. “You owe me,” she gritted out as she snatched the papers from his hand.

Damon stepped away and leaned against the nearest wall as Geneva stood in front of the three judges.

He held his breath as she struggled with the first lines, stumbling on words with a deadpan tone. But as she read on, and as she got over challenges of Freda’s handwriting, the story flowed through her lips like it should.

As the princess talked about her years of being alone in the forest, trapped in an endless nightmare that the witch veiled as a beautiful dream, her voice broke and she stumbled back, taking a pause to wipe a tear. When she read the part where the princess stood before the prince, seeing him for the first time and thinking he was just one of the many dreams that were not real, Damon saw Daniel straighten in his seat and share a look with Freda and Roxie. And finally, when Geneva sniffled and smiled reading the princess’ last words to the witch before riding away with her prince, Freda and Roxie looked up at Daniel with hopeful eyes.

Damon, however, stood still holding his breath. When she finally looked up, her eyes wide with confusion at their reaction, Damon grinned at Geneva.

“You do not even have to move,” said Freda with awe. “Your voice and face enough are enough. Your tone is perfect!”

“We found our princess, did we not, Your Grace?” asked Roxie.

Daniel nodded, eyes veering from Geneva to Damon. “I believe our prince did.”

“Congratulations, Miss Withers!” Freda said, jumping from her seat. “You will be our beautiful princess tonight!”

“Be here before everyone else,” said Roxie. “Our dear housekeeper will take care of your hair and face. And your dress, of course!”

“And we need your horse, Damon,” said Freda. “And never speak of the ending to anyone! None! Do you hear?”

The news of Geneva Withers as the princess spread throughout the party before luncheon. It even reached the men who had gone riding, and the picnic in the woods.

They needed to practice, of course, but it seemed impossible with all the Stratfords pressing their ears wherever they went. As the last resort, Damon took Geneva to the woods and in the cabin where he first caught her.

“Just read it the way you did earlier,” he told her after a few failed tries.

She groaned. “Why am I even trying?”

He smiled. “You enjoy it. You enjoy acting.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You do. You are good at pretending.” Her eyes snapped at him. “Please, do not take offense. We all pretend one way or another.”

“Then tell me when and where does one Damon Priest pretend?”

He shrugged. “When I’m unhappy but I’m with my family.”

Her lips pursed and she sighed. “You always make a good argument.”

“I’m also good at making my point pretend as if they’re sound,” he said with a grin. “Now, should we start again? From the start? Summon the emotions you felt earlier.”

“I can’t.”

“But you’ll try?” He approached her with a smile. “You don’t have to do it perfectly. You’re not even being paid to do this.”

“Then I can back off?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “You promised to help me.”

“I said I’ll try .”

“You’re not trying hard enough.”

Geneva stared down at the paper. “I can’t believe they did not kill the witch.”

He chuckled.

“What’s so funny?”

“You always baffle me. And when you do, I can’t do anything but just laugh.”

“What’s baffling about me?”

“You change your mind more often than I think you would.”

“You mean I’m feeble. Gullible to a fault. I know. My aunts say the same thing.”

At her words, he frowned. “That’s not what I meant. They tell you that?”

She nodded. “And it’s true. You persuaded me to attend the party and I did. And now I’m going to act in a play created by your cousins.”

“Geneva,” he said, stepping closer. “Do you believe I’ve been making you do something against your will? Because that’s not my intent.”

“No. I just—I don’t know. I would not be doing these things if they were not suggested to me. I would be home this very moment like I should be.” She shook her head. “But I’m here by my own choice and even I don’t understand why.” Tilting her head, she looked into his eyes. “There is something you must know about me.”

He waited without saying anything.

“My aunts believe I’ve inherited my mother’s disease. The same one that plagued my great-grandfather and grandmother.”

“What disease?”

“A condition of the mind.”

“What sort?”

She took a deep breath and stepped away from him. “Erratic behavior, uncontrollable impulses. Taking impulsive decisions that may put me in danger.” When he merely frowned, she began to explain with hurried words. “My great-grandfather, my grandmother, and my mother had very weak states of mind. They were easily controlled by their emotions. My aunts say I could suffer the same thing in the future, but I think it’s already happening and I’m afraid they’ll find out.”

“What makes you think so?”

She swallowed hard and cleared her throat. “Every time I go to church, my heart would race. And whenever Freda and Roxie would play tricks on me, I would be hysterical. It took all my willpower not to scream or cry, but whenever I’m alone, I would be frail and I’d break down. My hands would tremble and I’d start crying for no reason. I thought prayers would help, but even the thought of talking to God now seem like a task. I don’t get better. I get worse. And maybe I’m bound to be like my great-grandfather, the baron. And my grandmother who passed the disease to my mother.” She paused to take a breath. “There. Another secret you can’t share.”

Damon was speechless for a moment, unsure of what to do. “Is that why you did not want to meet the Vernons?” he asked. “You fear seeing what your mother is like now?”

She nodded, blinking away a tear. “I’ve seen her many times in the market. She seemed fine from far away, but the condition can be easily masked, you see. Therefore, I don’t know if she’s… If she’s insane.”

“But she’s not. She’s as well as you and I.” He stepped toward her and cupped her face, wiping her tears with his thumbs. “I’m not a doctor of the mind, nor I claim to be an expert on how one should process their emotions, but can I be honest and say what I think?”

She blinked, more tears flowing, and nodded as he wiped them away.

“I think what you are, Geneva Withers, is someone who grew up thinking she should only be one person. But you’re not because you’re more than what your aunts tell you who you should be. And now that you’re starting to want things, you’re confused. With no one to share your burdens with, you’re also lonely.”

Her eyes looked into his, open and innocent. Her lashes wet and thick around her eyes shadowed her cheeks when her gaze faltered and she silently sobbed. “I can’t be lonely. I have my aunts. Gwen and the Lord. I have—”

“Nothing more,” he finished. “And there’s more and you know that. The Vernons. Friends you wish you have. Even me.” He said the last one with a faint smile.

“My aunts would say it’s wrong to want for something more.”

“But what do you want?” he asked, bending his head to search for her gaze. “Hm?”

She swallowed and bit her trembling lips. This was too much for her, Damon thought. But then her hand came up to rest on his chest and she leaned closer. Wiping her tears, he leaned down and touched his forehead against hers. She did not answer with words, but her eyes left his to settle on his lips.

Just as he was contemplating if it would bring damage than good to lean down just close enough to kiss her, a very frantic voice from outside called out to Damon.

They jumped away from each other and Damon whirled to the door. “Web?”

“We have a small problem,” his brother breathlessly said, running up the stairs to the door of the cabin, eyes on Geneva. “Miss Withers, your maid Gwen wishes me to inform you that your aunts’ carriage has just passed the Abberton House. She’s making her way home now to try to buy you more time when they arrive—”

They did not let Webster finish.

Damon swiftly grabbed Geneva’s hand and they both ran.

“I brought a bloody horse!” Webster shouted after them.

They skidded to a stop and he turned to grin at his brother. “I owe you,” he said, running after Webster’s horse.

Mounting Alder, he led the horse toward Geneva and grinned down at her as he offered his hand. “Rehearsal for later, Princess,” he said.

Her eyes were filled with panic, but at his words, she snorted and laughter burst through her lips as she reached for his hand. Unlike the play, however, the prince was not taking her away from the witch. He had to deliver her to them.

14. the perfect ending

They galloped through the woods and Geneva could not think of anything else but her dark bedchamber where she was sure to spend the rest of her days if her aunts discovered what she had been up to. What would they do this time? She wondered as she tightly clung around Damon’s waist, her eyes closed.

He was not saying anything, his attention on the journey.

Leaning her forehead on his back, she forced herself to think of the possibilities without fear.

If she was found out, she would be punished. But she had been punished before. She had been locked in her bedchamber many times for days and was always let out. Her drawing articles were kept under her bed. She could spend her days drawing or writing. It would not be so awful, really.

Another possibility was that she would not be caught. She would enter the back garden, enter the servant door, and stay in Helene’s room where she could change out of her gown. And once her aunts retired, she and Gwen could sneak out and return to the Abberton House just in time for the play.

As she played more scenarios in her head, both good and bad, Geneva started to laugh. She also began to feel the wind against her hair, the sound of hooves against dirt, the snapping of twigs, the brush of leaves against her gown. And she felt Damon’s warmth in her arms, her cheek.

She would not have experienced this if she stayed indoors. She would be bored in her room if she did not allow this man to dare her to do this.

“Do you want me to help you up the window?”

Geneva blinked in confusion. “What?” She pulled away from the warmth of his back to looked to the side. They were nearing the Withers House. “No!” she hissed. “I will not be climbing windows.”

“Then where—”

“The back garden will do. Stop. I’ll get down here,” she hastily said when she saw one of their footmen pacing outside the house.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

He slowed the horse down just in time for the servant to spot them. “Miss!” the young man said, running up to her. “The back entrance! Come!”

Geneva jumped down with Damon’s help. The footman was frantic, jumping from one foot to another as he looked over his shoulder.

“Are you going to be all right?” Damon asked from atop the horse.

She smiled at him. “Yes. I’ll see you later.”

He seemed surprised. “Are you certain?”

She nodded as the footman groaned beside her in growing panic, begging with a, “Miss, please, we must go.”

Laughter bubbling through her lips, Geneva turned and ran away with the footman. She looked over her shoulder before they entered the narrow pathway alongside the house, and found Damon still watching her. She threw a small wave goodbye before disappearing.

Helene was already waiting by the service door, dress hanging over one arm. “Hurry!” the housekeeper hissed, pulling her down the service corridor, down the stairs and into a room where two other maids were already waiting to help her undress. “You dare laugh now?” Helene asked when laughter rolled up Geneva’s throat. “See what happens to all of us if your aunts find out!”

“Helene, this was your idea,” she pointed out, chuckling as the gown was stripped off her. She almost squealed when the housekeeper narrowed her eyes and threw the other dress over her head and pulled it down. When her head emerged, Geneva was grinning. “Now that they’re back, you all go back to your old flinty self? I’m disappointed.”

She could tell that the housekeeper was biting off a smile. “We should have been more careful, I admit,” Helene said, pulling out the pins from Geneva’s hair while the two servants buttoned the dress from behind.

“I’m coming back for the play. Please keep them,” she said.

“No, you’re not coming back!” Helene said, eyes wide with horror.

“Of course I am,” she said, pulling her hair free so she could tie them tightly behind her nape. “Now, help me make my boring bun. Where’s Gwen?”

“Upstairs with your Aunt Deborah.”

At the grim look on Helene’s face, Geneva’s laughter slowly died. “How is she?”

The housekeeper’s eyes moistened with tears. “Not well, Miss. Not well.”

---

Damon watched as both Freda and Roxie paced the small parlor.

“The guests cannot know that we have a problem,” Roxie said, scowling at the floor.

“It would highly reflect on our play if they learn about this,” said Freda. “They will think we have not thought this through.”

By the door, Daniel Cavendish leaned on the wall, hands crossed over his chest while trying to mask the amusement on his face by fixing his gaze at the window.

“We should have thought of having a spare princess,” said Roxie, stopping to look at Freda. “We should look for one.”

“It cannot be Sisi.”

“No, of course not. What about Miss Piper? She was decent.”

“But do you think we will merely be giving her false hopes if we ask her?”

“No, of course not. I’m certain she can be a professional.”

“I’m certain Miss Withers will arrive on time, cousins,” Damon droned, rolling his eyes. “She promised.”

“Promises can be broken,” Freda said with a wave of her hand. “I need assurance.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?” When they glared at him, Damon sighed. “Very well. If she doesn’t arrive two hours before the play, I will personally ask Miss Piper.”

“Very good,” said Daniel. “For now, I believe there is the issue of the venue. We did not expect the number of people who came in just for the play. We need to prepare the stage in the courtyard.”

Freda and Roxie collectively groaned. “We’ve been talking about this. No one listened!”

“We’re sorry if we underestimated the play,” Damon wryly said. “Now, tell us what else you need.”

“The animals, of course,” said Freda. “And you’ll need your horse, cousin.”

“Of course.”

“And we’ll need a tree,” Roxie said as she rushed to the door Daniel opened for them. “Where’s Price? Price!”

Daniel waited until both girls were out of earshot before he chuckled. “They’re quite serious, aren’t they?”

“Don’t let them hear you,” Damon said, walking down the corridor with the man. “Have you talked with Sisi of any plans after the wedding?”

“No,” Daniel said, smiling at the thought of his future wife. “I think I’ll let her tell me what she wants before I start negotiating.”

He smiled. He waited until they reached the end of the corridor before he spoke. “Please take very good care of her.” Daniel turned to him, a gentle smile playing in the corner of his lips. “Contrary to what they may tell you, I’m not the brother who will make things difficult.”

“I’ve already figured that out.”

“And despite him being the mastermind of this match, you should know that it shall be Price who will hunt you down if you make our cry.”

Daniel laughed. “I have not figured that one out. Thank you for the warning.”

“He made the match because he wants the best for Sisi. We all do. And you know what that means.”

His future brother-in-law nodded. “Your sister is among the best things that happened to me, Damon. I will spend every moment of the rest of our lives making up for those years I never wrote back.”

With a scoff, Damon shook his head. “But I’m glad you did not make her the princess.”

“She was terrible.”

“She’s not perfect.”

“She’s perfect enough for me.”

He gave the man’s back a pat and with nothing much to say, they moved along.

They spent the rest of the afternoon being ordered about by Freda and Roxie. The earl was also there to witness everything. His two angels were after all in the center of all the chaos.

“I heard the beautiful Miss Withers is our chosen princess,” said the earl when Damon settled in the chair next to him, pushing aside stuffed animals for later’s play. “And I heard she’s missing. Not good, my boy.”

Damon sighed. The sky was clear, turning orange as dusk settled. “She’ll be here.” Honestly, he was not certain. Even without her aunts, Geneva could barely take the courage to do what she wanted. With them back, the leash attached to her may have gotten shorter. He wasn’t even certain if she was doing well. She may have gotten caught and was trapped. Just like the princess.

“And I heard you are courting the young woman.” The earl laughed when he snapped his head. “Everything slithers into my ears. You should know that by now.” When he merely shook his head, the earl added, “Is it supposed to be a secret?”

“I’m hoping it shall remain so until I’m certain of the outcome.”

“Ah. Saving your skin from shame if she rejects your affections.”

“No. Saving her from what her aunts may do before she realizes she wants me.”

The earl grunted as he shifted in his seat. “Perhaps the way to a favorable outcome is understanding the enemies.”

He laughed. “I do not consider them enemies, old man.”

“You are correct. They’re more like villains.” They chuckled for a while, watching Freda and Roxie give Gale and Price orders to transfer a plotted plant from one side of the stage to another and back. “The three Withers sisters are the way they are for a reason.”

At his grandfather’s serious tone, Damon turned his head to listen.

“They’ve always been a little odd, if I must say. Ever since we were young.”

“Do you know why?”

“No, of course not. We weren’t friends. But as I said, words slither to my ears even if I don’t want them.”

“Pray tell.”

The earl sighed. “Their father was a baron. He had always wanted a son for one reason. Unfortunately, he did not get them. His title passed to a distant relative when he passed.”

“He did not give the sisters the love they would have otherwise received from the baron if they were born males?”

“No, I do not believe so. He was always surrounded by them. But for some reason, he started to retreat from society. Would not go outdoors, not even for church. His wife would, taking their daughters with her everywhere, giving excuses for his absence. When she passed after giving birth to their youngest daughter, we saw him even less. Until we didn’t. Years later, he was taken away.”

“Where?”

“Not quite sure.”

“And the daughters?”

“Oh, they stayed with their youngest, Adeline, and raised her like their own. She was far younger than them and they doted on her. But Adeline was different. She had a certain spirit in her. Always smiled and loved being surrounded by friends. There was a time when Barbara went away for a while. She married but soon returned after her husband died. And not long after, we found out the baron also passed.

For years, we would see the sisters together. Always inseparable. Until Adeline came of age and started exploring. She made friends like everyone else. I believe she was caught sneaking out many times as well. Eventually, she did the most scandalous thing. She eloped.“

“She did?”

“Against her sisters’ wishes. Married a gentleman from Parlton, I believe. We never saw Adeline since then, but we heard she gave birth to a girl. And many years later, the three sisters came home with another little girl.”

“Geneva.”

“Yes. Adeline’s granddaughter. We didn’t know what became of Adeline, or that of her daughter. The Withers never talk about it—not that they would tell me,” he added with a chuckle. “And like how they were with Adeline, they raised her.”

Damon mulled over the story the old man just shared. “I still don’t see what made them what they are.”

“That’s my point, Damon,” his grandfather said. “You don’t see. You may never see.”

“Then how will I understand them?”

The earl let out another grunt as he pushed higher in his chair. “You understand grief, my boy. You understand what it is to lose someone and the fear that comes with it. The fear of losing more. You’re surrounded by people who have dealt with it. And each of us did it differently.”

He slowly nodded. “Many of the things we do are out of fear.”

“The Withers dealt with grief in so private a manner, so secretly that they’ve created a barrier of fear around them and they feel safe in it.” His grandfather patted his knee. “It takes a fearless man to change that fear. You’re lucky you’re a Stratford.”

“I’m not sure, old man,” he said with a chuckle. “Being a Stratford is what makes it difficult.”

“That’s because they don’t know us well as much as we don’t know them. They don’t understand why we are the way we are. Families are built differently.” By that time, Gale and Price jumped off the stage angrily, claiming they were not moving another plant across the stage. “I think it’s not the plant,” the earl said, standing slowly with his cane as Freda and Roxie shouted after the two young men. “Darlings, I think you’ve exhausted Gale and Price,” the earl said to his angels . “Have tea. Relax. The play will be perfect wherever that plant goes.”

Damon escaped before either Freda or Roxie spotted him. He checked the time and sighed before he disappeared into the manor.

Two hours before the play, however, he started to get a little worried. There was no sign of Geneva yet, and everyone involved were also starting to get anxious. Freda and Roxie had gone alarmingly quiet, sitting in one corner.

All of them were dressed for the play, even Damon. One dress remained hanging in the other room waiting for its princess. The guests had started to show up, most if not all eager to see the end of the story. Price and Gale were watching Freda and Roxie with worry etched in the corner of their eyes. Even the servants fretted. The last they heard from the pair was how they were disappointed that Miss Withers would break her word. And maybe this was her way of paying back for all the troubles they caused her in the past.

Damon checked the time again. She may not make it, after all. Daniel, who had been terribly patient, finally spoke. “Well, there’s no time to waste. We should inform our new princess and get her ready.”

Freda and Roxie looked up and mournfully nodded their heads. Damon sighed. It was time to find Miss Piper. He was on his way to the door when it burst open and a grinning Gwen Halloway stumbled inside, chest heaving. “We’re late, we know, but we had to run all the way here!”

Right behind her was Geneva, breathlessly tucking strays of hair behind her ear. Her eyes searched the room and landed on Damon. She was not grinning like Gwen. In fact, she looked like she had been crying. “Hello.”

Freda and Roxie jumped to their feet and ran toward Geneva in tears. “Oh, we knew you’ll come!” Freda said, wrapping her arms around Geneva. Roxie followed, burying her face in Geneva’s coat, murmuring incoherent words of relief.

Damon was crossing the room, but was immediately blocked by a rush of people trying to get to Geneva. He watched two maids pull her toward the adjoining room. Freda and Roxie were back in spirit, throwing orders here and there. Through the commotion, Damon found Gwen Halloway and asked, “What happened?”

The woman shook her head. “Oh, nothing. We almost did get caught, but thankfully, the mistresses were too tired after their journey and retired early.” Looking around the room with excitement, she clapped her hands together. “The last night of the play. How exciting! I should go and secure front seats with my friends.”

“Damon, go with the others,” Roxie ordered. “You can’t see the princess. Your reaction later should be genuine.”

He frowned as Daniel laughingly patted his shoulder and steered him toward the door.

The play started in a fine weather. The earl was seated front row and center, hands resting on his cane. It was probably the first time Damon saw the courtyard so filled since they lost their parents. The entire town came to pay their respects and offered condolences back then. This time, however, they came to be entertained. And they were.

Damon played his part as he practiced and as advised by Daniel. Women sighed when he fought the evil nightmares that plagued the forest. They gasped when he fell and cried out in pain, when the trees bent and carried him in their limbs to save him. They clapped when the animals appeared and fought alongside him. Cheers erupted when finally, the witch, played tremendously well by the maid, Susan, fell to her knees in defeat.

The veil of nightmare (a sheer cloth from Simon’s studio) finally fell, revealing the world the witch trapped the princess in. Dream and reality finally merged into one.

Then out came the princess.

The entire courtyard fell silent. Damon was equally still, arrested in awe. She was dressed in a flowing white dress, the sleeves long, giving just a glimpse of her fingers. Tiny pearls adorned the waves of her hair. Like a goddess from the ocean who came to land.

Their eyes met and locked and a knowing smile curled at the corner of her mouth. She knew what he was awed and she was pleased. He took a step forward, his line at the tip of his tongue but he could not seem to give it voice.

“You,” Leroy, who was once a footman but now a tree, murmured his line for him under his breath. “You are a dream.” When Damon merely blinked, Leroy hissed, “Sir, your line!”

Damon swallowed and bit a smile because Geneva was also fighting a smile, having heard Leroy. He took another step, realizing that the woman before him was the same one he had spent many hours with, recognizing she was not a dream and that she was here, brave enough to do this with him as she promised. “You,” he finally managed. “You are a dream,” he said, then shook his head. “My dream,” he added.

Her brows cocked high at the last line because they both knew Freda had not written that. “I am no dream, Sir,” she said, moistening her lips, turning away from him to face the guests and all Damon could do was stare in wonder, his chest swelling with pride to see Geneva Withers brave the crowd she barely knew, and when she spoke of her nightmares, of the days that seemed to stretch into nights of deceptive dreams cast upon her by the witch, he felt her pain as well. So did the guests who were not shy to sniffle in tears.

When she turned to the wounded witch and knelt before her to cup her face, gently resting her forehead against hers, Damon frowned. They had not rehearsed this part, nor had she been instructed to do it. But she delivered the same line to the witch, only this time it was different from when she first read it when she auditioned. Her delivery was laced with both regret and compassion.

“For years, I’ve loved a nightmare,” she said, sobbing in front of the witch. “Because I thought it was a dream.” The guests were sniffling more frequently now as Geneva planted a kiss on the witch’s forehead. “But I will have none of your dreams now,” she said, standing and turning away to face Damon with a tearful smile. “I will seek mine.”

“Oh, wonderful!” someone from the guests sobbed as Geneva approached Damon.

“Hand! Hand! Sir, take her hand!” Leroy hissed at him.

Damon did not need much urging. He was already meeting her strides and without a word, he offered his hand in hers. His horse, Maple, emerged from the back of the stage to the front, stopping right in front of the earl. The guests gasped as Damon mounted and pulled Geneva up. Then they stood to their feet in applause.

“Where are you going, Sir?” hissed Leroy, the tree, when Damon guided his horse out of the stage, leaving the poor witch crying in despair. “Sir! It’s not over!”

“What are you talking about, Leroy?” he asked with a grin, sharing Geneva’s laughter as she tightened her arms around his waist. “This is the perfect ending.”

15. the gentlemen with pebbles

Leaving the party, Damon took Maple through the woods and up to the direction of Windsong. Geneva’s laughter had died down, replaced by total silence. She did not question when he rode up the hill, which was a little curious. She always questioned his plans.

It would help if he could look into her face, but she was behind him. All he could judge was her grip around his waist. It was tight, her hands clasped tightly together. He covered it with one hand. “Are you alright?” he asked over his shoulder.

He felt her nod, felt the brush of her hair on his shoulder.

When they reached Windsong, he tethered the horse. He reached for her and when her feet landed on the ground, he did not let go. He tilted her chin up with one finger and peered at her face.

She was crying.

“Of course, you’re not fine,” he whispered with a sigh, pulling her head against his chest. “When someone asks, the answer is not always yes, Geneva.”

She sniffled, her whimper muffled by his coat.

“Now, tell me. What is it?” he asked, pulling back. “Is it your Aunt Deborah?”

Her eyes fluttered open, damp lashes stuck together. “She’s worse.”

He took her hand and led her to the garden and back inside the foliage of the willow tree. They sat in silence for a while. She cried and he listened, letting the soft night wind do its magic. It swayed the foliage, rustled the grass and fallen leaves. It dried her tears.

Sitting not too close, he did not touch her. Instead, he leaned his arms on his knees. The only way he dealt with his own grief was with silence. While Simone and Lydia held on to each other, refusing to go anywhere alone, Harry and Webster went on to take over their parent’s estates and businesses. It worked for them to be busy. Gale and Price saw friends and explored Abberton. He on the other hand searched for places where he could be alone. To think, to remember and question. To be angry, or to be anything.

“They had not told me what the doctor said. Not yet, anyway,” Geneva said, breaking the silence. “But I saw it in their faces when I came to greet them. Aunt Deborah… I could barely recognize her. Her face is almost hollow, her words barely a whisper.”

Damon reached for her hand and gently squeezed. “I’m sorry that you had to go through the play after that.”

“No, I wanted to come.” She sniffled. “I wanted to play the princess.”

He smiled, giving her hand another squeeze. “You should spend more time with her.” At his words, she started crying again. “Cherish every moment.”

“There might still be a chance. She might still get well. The doctor may have suggested something.”

He slowly nodded. “Then you must do what you could. Give your aunt her best chances. Or her best time.”

“I’ll try.”

“And don’t cry too much in front of her,” he said in jest, bending low to peer at her face and wipe her tears. “It will break her heart.”

“I never cry in front of them,” she said. “You must think me insane.”

“Why? Because you cry in front of me?”

“Well, yes.”

“We have tears for a reason, Geneva. They don’t exist to be stored away.”

“I know,” she weakly said, turning her head to face him. “Why are you so nice to me?”

He sighed. “You sometimes ask the foolish questions.”

She laughed. “I suppose I do.” Turning away, she stared at the silhouette of the foliage, watched it sway in midair, the tips nearly brushing the ground. All the while, Damon watched her.

“You’re one of my favorites.”

His words made her pause and turn to him. She looked confused and amused at the same time.

“That’s my answer,” he said, leaning against the tree. “But do not get too flattered, Miss Withers. As I said, I have a number of favorite things.” He did not see if she was smiling or frowning still because he closed his eyes. His words were embarrassing enough.

He felt her lean back on the trunk of the tree as well, her voice clear when she spoke. “I never thought I’d have a favorite amongst the Stratfords, you know.”

Damon grinned and squeezed her hand. After a long while, he asked, “Just to be certain—It is me, yes?”

Her laughter rang around the garden.

---

Geneva was awakened by Gwen, who had to shake her until she opened her eyes. “You’re late for breakfast, Miss!” the maid hissed.

For a moment, Geneva was confused. Then she realized everything was different now and she remembered her aunts were home. And that meant a strict schedule. That meant no more breakfast in the garden with a book.

“You should have roused me early!” she said to Gwen as she scrambled out of bed.

“I woke up late too!” Gwen said, laughter escaping her lips as she pulled a dress down Geneva’s head.

“How are they this morning?” she asked.

Gwen’s laughter disappeared. “Silent. Too silent.”

Geneva nodded and murmured, “Hurry.”

However late, Geneva made certain that her steps down the stairs could not be heard. And before she entered the breakfast room, she blindly righted her morning dress, tucked her hair behind her ear, and moistened her lips.

“I’m sorry,” she said, walking inside with a small smile. Her steps faltered when she found Deborah’s seat empty. “I was reading the bible.”

Splendid. Too early in the morning and the first thing she did was lie.

Aunt Prudence nodded and motioned for her to sit. “We’re all doing our best in prayers, Geneva,” she said, much to Geneva’s relief.

Aunt Barbara looked like she had spent the entire night crying. And she looked like she would rather have breakfast doing so. But that was unaccepted in the Withers House. Tears should be spent alone and behind closed doors.

As she sprinkled salt on her egg, Prudence asked, “What have you been doing while we were away, Geneva?”

The small porcelain salt container slipped off her hand, rolled off her plate, and out of the table. She struggled, caught it, and the floor caught her. “Goodness, child!” Barbara said, voice high enough to cause Geneva’s heart to go frantic.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, struggling to stand.

“Get up and return to your seat,” Prudence snapped, scowling at her. “You look silly sprawled on the floor.”

She cleared her throat and squared her shoulders, her hand shaking around the salt container.

“Now we have salt all over,” Barbara said.

The maid was fast to clean up while Geneva struggled to hold her tears as Prudence said, “Now, I’m afraid to find out how you fared while we were gone.”

“I fared well,” she said, biting her lips when she realized she spoke too loudly. “We all fared well,” she repeated in a gentler voice. “I’ve been going to church. Your friends have been praying for Aunt Deborah.”

Prudence and Barbara mellowed at the mention of their friends. “And I hope you were not bothered by the Stratford girls? They should have been leaving you alone, considering what we’re going through.”

“They’ve been keeping their distance,” she lied. She pushed a mound of salt off her egg and gave the made a curt shake of her head when the woman tried to take her plate away. “I hope you can tell me about your trip,” she said. “What did the doctor say?”

Prudence’s fork froze over her plate, her jaw clenching. “He doesn’t have much to offer.”

She wanted to ask more, but that was all her aunt was willing to provide.

“Finish your meal and go up to your Aunt Debora. She’s been asking about you since she woke. If you rose early for your prayers, she wouldn’t have to wait until you’ve had your meal.”

Her head bowed over her food, which she ate without chewing. It was too salty. When she was done, she excused herself from the table.

Everything that had come alive when she was alone with the servants were now absent. The kitchen, which seemed to have a lot of chatters and laughter just yesterday, was deadly quiet. The windows were shut closed, the morning sunlight scant through the little gaps of the curtains.

As she marched up the stairs with careful steps, Geneva lamented on those little things, just realizing how they made her day a little better for a few weeks. The entire household was once more a cage brought back from the garden inside a dark room.

Stopping outside her Aunt Deborah’s room, she fixed her hair and righted her skirts. With a soft knock, she entered. The room was too dark, with just one lamp lit beside the bed. Every part of her wanted to tear the curtains off and let the light through.

“Geneva,” Aunt Deborah said from the bed.

Taking a deep breath, Geneva willed her tears to retreat. “Aunt Deborah,” she whispered, taking the seat beside the bed. She clenched her teeth as her eyes adjusted to the light. This was no living thing lying on the bed. It was a corpse. “Good morning,” she choked, holding the woman’s hand.

She looked worse than yesterday, and even worse to touch. Her hands were cold, her eyes and cheeks sunken. Her hair, brushed to perfection, was the only feature Geneva could recognize.

Instantly, she almost regretted everything she had done while her aunts were away. She should have been there with them, should have seen these changes, and maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

“How have you been?” her aunt asked. “I wasn’t able to ask yesterday.”

“Good,” she managed, smiling and struggling to hold the tears. “How are you feeling? Do you need anything?”

“The travel wore me down, I’m afraid.” She coughed and Geneva reached for the glass of water. Carefully, she assisted her aunt to take a few sips. “Have you been attending church?”

She nodded.

“And what else?”

Her eyes, after all, seemed to be the same as she scrutinized Geneva’s face in the dimness of the room. “I’ve been managing the household with Helene’s help.” And I

’ve been doing crazy things with the Stratfords.

Her aunt stared at her for a while and she swallowed nervously. “Good,” her aunt finally whispered.

“Would you like me to read you a passage?” she offered.

Aunt Deborah nodded, closing her eyes.

Geneva reached for the bible sitting beside the glass of water, opened it, and in the dark, she read.

---

Just as how her morning went, the same went with her afternoon. She dressed and went down for tea with her aunts. It felt wrong to do it without her Aunt Deborah, but it was necessary that they stuck to the routine.

“I found a book in the garden this morning,” Prudence said, causing Geneva to freeze. “Must be one of the maids.”

Geneva wanted to ask where the book was now, but Barbara said, “You have been lenient on the servants, Geneva. What else are they going to do next? Sleep in your bed while you scrub the floors?”

She didn’t say a word. She waited until the subject changed and waited some more until a quiet fell in the room.

“I’ve been talking to Doctor Peters as well,” she said. “He’s been suggesting that we take Aunt Deborah to Birth.”

Her shoulders were tight as she waited for their reaction.

It was Barbara who turned to Prudence to say, “We had the same conversation with Doctor St. Vincent’s wife.”

Geneva’s face broke into a hopeful smile. “You did? What did she say?”

“That in many ways, Birth heals the soul.”

“We’ll have to think about it,” Prudence said. “Even if Deborah wishes to go, she has to regain her strength for the journey.”

“Can I go with you? If you decide to?” Geneva asked.

Prudence and Barbara shared a look. “Someone has to stay here to watch over the household.”

“But you may need me there—”

“We’ll send for you if the need arises,” said Barbara. “Show me some of the needle works you’ve been doing while we were gone.”

She stood to retrieve her needle works from the nearby drawer. As she passed, she glanced at the clock and almost groaned. Why was the time so slow today?“

---

Damon stared up at the window with a frown. “I don’t think that’s hers,” he whispered.

“We’ve been coming over here for three bloody nights. Make up your mind,” droned Webster. “That window, or that one?” His brother pointed at the one to the farthest left.

Harry was playing with a pebble in his hand, absently throwing and catching it as he said, “That window’s been dark for three nights. That’s where her Aunt Deborah is. She’s sick, isn’t she?”

“Or that window could be her Aunt Deborah’s,” Webster pointed, adding, “I open my windows when I’m sick.”

“No, I think that’s the one,” Damon said, pointing at the one window with the brightest candlelight.

“Do you know what I think?” Harry asked, stepping around the bush they’ve been hiding in. “I think we’re going around in circles. And I think it’s time we throw this bloody pebble.”

And he did just that, sending it to the window Damon pointed at. They all held their breaths and waited.

“Bloody tarnation!” Webster hissed as he ducked behind the bushes, carrying Damon with him. Harry jumped and landed right on top of them.

“Get off, Harry,” Damon grunted, pushing Harry off him to rise to his knees. Peering over the bushes, he saw Barbara Withers, white cap over her head, poking out the window, looking left and right. “Wrong window.”

“Let’s try the other one—”

“No,” he said to his brother. “We’ll come back tomorrow night.”

“No way in bloody hell,” Webster groaned. “I’d rather spend another evening with the devils wishing on stars than throwing pebbles on windows wishing it doesn’t belong to an old, grumpy lady.”

They crawled out of the garden and only rose to their feet when they reached taller bushes. Once there, they made sure that Barbara Withers had closed her window again before sprinting away.

Only when they reached the Stratford Road did they breathlessly burst out in laughter.

“I’m not going back tomorrow night, Damon,” Harry said. “We almost got caught.”

“Fine,” he said, his laughter dying as they jogged back to the manor. “I’ll go alone.”

But of course, they returned the next night, all three of them. Harry threw another pebble and this time they were prepared. And again, it was not Geneva. It was her Aunt Prudence.

The next night, Webster stopped Harry with a knowing smile. “Wait,” he said, taking the pebble from their cousin. “We’re on the wrong side of the house,” he said. “Her window is…” he said, leaning far to the left until he caught sight of the side of the house. “That one.”

“And how do you know?” Damon asked.

Webster grinned at them. “Gwen Halloway, of course.” He gave the pebble to Damon. “Met her earlier at the park.”

When his brother walked away with Harry, Damon asked, “Are you quite sure?”

“Yes, but that’s what Gwen told me. If anything goes wrong, you blame her.” Without a glance back, Webster waved goodbye.

Alone now, Damon crept to the side of the house and stared up at the window. It was dark inside. He looked behind him and cursed. No bushes to hide in. He would just have to be fast.

He took a deep breath and let it out. Then he pulled his hand back over his head and threw the pebble.

It took a while before someone opened the window. And as it did, he ran to the press his back against the wall.

Very slowly, he looked up.

It was not the best hiding place, and he knew that because the person who opened the window was looking straight down at him.

And it was not Geneva.

16. the goodbye kiss

Gwen was in her room, brushing her hair and talking about her day in the market.

“Did you go to the butcher?”

“Of course, Miss. Why do you ask?”

“Nothing,” she said, biting her lips. She wanted to tell Gwen, but where should she start? The woman would only develop more dislike toward her aunts, and Geneva did not want that. Despite keeping her from her family, she still loved them.

“I met Mr. Priest earlier in the park,” said Gwen.

Geneva snapped her head up to look at the woman. “Which Priest?”

“Webster Priest, Miss.”

Her shoulders dropped. “Oh.”

“And he asked me an odd question.”

“And what question is that?”

“He—” Gwen paused and frowned. “Did you hear that?”

They listened. There it was again. “It’s coming from the window,” Gwen said, walking away.

Geneva stood from the dresser and followed, standing behind as the woman pushed the window open and looked down. Then to the side, and gasped. She immediately squeezed herself through the window to look, her eyes widening.

“Aunt Barbara!” she gasped in alarm.

Her aunt was poking out the window of the guest bedroom and was down straight at Damon, who was pressed against the wall. She turned at the sound of Geneva’s voice and narrowed her eyes. “Geneva, is that you?”

“Yes!” Geneva said, signaling Damon to escape. “What are you doing?” she asked as Damon took careful sideway steps and then dashed out of sight.

“There was a noise at the window. I was passing by this room when I heard it. Did you also hear it?”

“Yes, but it must be just the wind.”

Aunt Barbara looked around. “I’m sure that’s not just the wind. It’s too dark. I can’t see a thing from up here.”

Geneva and Gwen sighed in relief.

“Gwen and I will check,” she said. “You go now and have your rest.”

“I’ll come down with you—”

“No!” she and Gwen cried in unison. Then Geneva hastily added, “It’s too chilly outside. Please, we’ll be quick. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

They waited with bated breaths as Barbara considered her plea. “Very well.”

Then she was gone.

“Oh, God, I think I died,” Gwen said, breathing out in relief as she clutched her chest.

Geneva, on the other hand, had already grabbed her coat. “Please watch their doors for me, Gwen. Or hide under the covers, pretend you’re me sleeping.”

“What?”

“I will not be long.”

“But—”

She grinned at Gwen. “Goodbye,” she whispered before she eagerly slipped out of the room.

---

Damon ran to the garden and listened to Geneva’s conversation with her aunt, his heart beating hard against his chest. Brushing hair off his forehead, he slumped against the wall to catch his breath.

He waited, silently cursing Webster, until she finally emerged from the other side, running toward him in naught but her coat and slippers.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed. She sounded angry, but her lips were pursed as if she’s hiding a smile.

“Well, I haven’t seen you for a while,” he said. “We’ve been trying to figure out where you window is.”

Her eyes widened in disbelief. “We?”

“Web and Harry. Never mind, you’re here.” He grinned at her and waited until her face eventually relaxed and she gave him a smile.

And a slap on the arm. “You gave me a fright!”

He chuckled soundlessly. “Please forgive me.”

They fell quiet as they stared at each other. Then she rolled her eyes and looked around. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, as if she was just brushing it before bed. “Were you about to go to sleep?” he asked.

“Yes. But since you risked getting caught by my aunts,” she said, giving him a wry look, “What do you suggest we do tonight?”

His brows cocked high in surprise. “Are you serious?”

“I can always go back inside—”

“No,” he said, catching her hand to stop her. “We can go to Windsong.”

“Not in these slippers, I’m not, Sir.”

He grimaced. “A walk?”

She frowned, then sighed. “A walk then.”

---

They crept along the walls and emerged into the street. He asked after her aunt, and she relayed what she knew. The night was quiet, the sky clear.

She looked up at the stars and wondered how many there were tonight. She could only guess, she thought. They had not agreed on a particular destination, but they were headed in the same direction. Not far away, she could see the Stratford Road. The silhouette of the trees looked like a cave and inside that cave was a glowing tunnel, with the moonlight streaming through the branches and the leaves. It was like walking toward a door that led to a different world.

“They may take her to Birth,” she said after a while. “I want to go with them.”

He nodded. “Birth is a good place of healing,” he said. “Of any kind.”

She looked at him with a small smile as they walked at an easy pace. “You have stayed there long many times, have you not?”

“Yes. I’m returning there in a few months. Webster is demanding more help.”

A gush of wind blew past them. She held her coat around herself and he did the same. Their shadow cast before them as they walked, touching as if they were arm in arm even though they weren’t.

“Was it difficult?” she asked. “The healing?”

Damon shrugged. “I didn’t know I was going through it until much later.” He drew in a deep breath. “All the while, I thought I was going insane. But one day, I just woke up and everything seemed… fine.”

A small smile played on her lips. “I wish it will be easy,” she said. “Of course, I’m hoping that she will get better, but a part of me is telling me to prepare myself. But I don’t know how.”

“You cannot know how,” he said.

They had reached the Stratford Road, and in the same spot where he and his cousins played around, Damon stopped. She found a rock and sat down, watching the spots of moonlight on the cobbled road.

Damon stood beside her and leaned against the tree. “When it happens and if you want someone with you, send me a letter.”

She grinned up at him. “And what will you do?”

“I’ll rush to your side, of course. I’ll take you around Birth. And I’ll make you eat the most delicious meals because you’ll forget to eat. And when you’ll have trouble sleeping, I can climb up your window and bore you with stories until your eyes close and your ears block me out.”

Geneva chuckled. “Or I can just go home here.”

He shrugged. “Escape to Windsong. There’s the garden.”

“And the well,” she added with a laugh, her eyes moist with tears.

“You have not yet been to the stream and the meadow. We’ll have to explore those, too.”

“And maybe I’ll get the courage to go to the Vernons,” she said, sniffling.

“Or you can meet your brothers first.”

She had nothing to add. She couldn’t. Her lips were already trembling. And then she was shaking with tears. He was suddenly beside her, taking her hand in his.

“I’m afraid,” she choked out. “They’ll be heartbroken and miserable. I’m afraid I won’t know how to deal with that.”

His arms wrapped around her and she rested her head on his shoulder until her tears slowed down. He did not have to say a word.

“It will be alright, yes?” she asked after a while.

“I can’t say things will return as they were. It will be different.”

“Different.” She sniffled. “But better. I’ll make it so.”

She felt his smile when he planted a kiss on her forehead. “Yes.”

Geneva wiped her face with the pads of her fingers. “Thank you. You always know how to deal with my tears.”

“Not always.”

She smiled and teasingly asked, “Is that why you don’t say anything sometimes?”

“Mayhap?” he said and they chuckled.

Much later, they made their way back to the Withers House. He held her hand as they walked and refused to let go when they reached the side door. She gave him a silent look of warning and, with a laughing whisper, said, “Let go.”

But he shook his head. The slight tug of his hand was asking her something. Geneva looked at him and her smile slowly faded. With a quick look around, she walked closer and rose to her toes.

His lips were soft as hers brushed against them. Then she stepped back, unable to meet his eyes. She did not know how to kiss someone, but she hoped she did it right. “Good night,” she murmured, turning away.

She did not realize he was still holding her hand until he tugged and pulled her back into his arms. And that’s when Geneva knew she kissed him wrong because he showed her a proper one. His lips moved over hers, moist and sweet, pulling back just enough so he could look into her eyes, and diving back in for more.

Before she knew it, she was pressed against the wall, her eyes closed, her arms around his shoulders. She had imagined kissing someone many times, from the books she stole, or the stories she heard whispered between the servants. Yet, it was not like this. And the lips she was kissing always had no face until he came into her life and kept her secrets.

Damon rested his forehead on hers. “Goodnight,” he whispered with a smile, stealing another kiss before stepping back.

Later, after she roused Gwen and thanked her, Geneva closed her eyes with a smile, his face after their first kiss imprinted in her mind.

---

A week later, her Aunt Deborah was strong enough to come down the stairs, but not without help. She stayed in the parlor with a blanket over her lap, reading the bible. However, she could not go to church. She tried, but she could not go far from the door.

Prudence and Barbara went with Geneva. They received their friends’ greetings of welcome and shared news about Deborah, how she was faring better every day. Geneva could only stand beside them, accepting their denial as their way of dealing with the situation.

Her eyes veered to the other side of the church. The Stratfords were all there, Damon included. He was looking at her, but did nothing when their eyes met. He knew he had to stay back. The devils, however, waved at her eagerly and she could only give them a quick nod before looking away.

“Everyone is still talking about that party, I believe,” commented one of her aunts’ friends.

“Which one?” asked Prudence.

“The Stratford engagement party.”

Geneva stiffened and kept her eyes straight at the altar.

“Did you attend?”

“No, of course not. I heard they had plays and picnics throughout the week.”

“Plays?”

“The youngest girls wrote the play, as I’ve heard.”

Barbara shook her head. “I could not imagine forcing myself to sit and watch a play made by two children who could barely keep still in church.”

She was correct about the devils not keeping still, of course (they slipped out of the church before service even started), but Geneva wished she could tell her aunt about the play itself. How the story was wonderful for such two young minds to create.

“Geneva,” Prudence murmured from above her.

Geneva blinked and realized everyone had risen to their feet except her. She jumped up, ignoring her aunt’s reprimanding stare.

If she feared her aunts would find out about her little adventures during the engagement party, she was worried about nothing. Her aunts did not wish to hear more about the Stratfords. They did not even bother to socialize after the service and went straight home, where Deborah was waiting for them.

Geneva peeked through the window of the carriage to catch a glimpse of the Stratfords and Damon. He did not see her, but she smiled when he kept looking over everyone’s head as if in search of someone.

When they reached home, a few of their routines changed. They all joined Deborah in the parlor and read the scripture. Later, they discussed it and said more prayers. Once it was over, Geneva was too tired that all she wanted to do was lie in bed. Or go out and get fresh air.

She was about to make an excuse to go to the garden when her Aunt Deborah asked her to take her to the garden. The request surprised her, but she was glad to do it.

“I have decided to go to Birth,” her aunt weakly said after Geneva helped her settle in a chair.

“Truly?” she asked with a smile. “I’m glad. Birth will be very good for you.”

Her aunt looked at her for a long time before speaking again. “I would love to have you there, but I think the house needs you more. You already did so well while we were in Coulway.”

Geneva’s face fell. She was hoping to spend more time with her in Birth.

Her aunt opened her hand and waited. Geneva hesitated, but eventually placed her hand over Deborah’s. It weakly closed over hers. “We’ll send for you after a few weeks.”

What did that even mean? That they would send for Geneva if she was in her death bed? Why could she not just go with them now and spend more time with them while her aunt was feeling relatively well?

“You’re glowing,” her aunt said, pulling her hand back. “I noticed it when we arrived. Being alone and away from us must have done you some good.”

Her heart raced in her chest and her mind thought of any reason she could give if questioned. However, her aunt just sighed and looked away to study the garden. “I don’t know why I have not spent much time here. This garden is quite pretty, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Geneva absently said as she studied her aunt’s face. Something was different about her. They had never had this sort of conversation before.

“Maybe I’ll spend my mornings here before leaving for Birth.”

She tried to erase the disappointment with a smile. “I’ll be your company every morning then, Aunt Deborah.”

Her aunt nodded. “Let’s stay here a little longer, shall we?”

She nodded, blinking back tears. “For as long as you wish.”

17. the regret

Ever since that first morning, Geneva spent the next succeeding ones in the garden with her Aunt Deborah, much to the bafflement of Prudence and Barbara. They did try to dissuade their sister, claiming it might not be good for her health, but Deborah was insistent. She wanted the early morning warmth of the sunlight and the quiet sounds in the garden. Even when it rained, she would impatiently wait until the sky cleared and ask Geneva to take her outside.

They did not do much. Sometimes they talked, but most often they would just sit in silence and watch everything else. The trees entertained Geneva, while the clouds were her aunt’s particular favorite. She would slump in her seat, which she never did, and rest her head back to watch the clouds move.

Rarely would they talk of anything Geneva was interested in. It was always about the bible if they did, but there were some moments when her aunt would let her ask questions. She could not bring herself to ask about the Vernons, but she would ask some questions that her aunt would take some time to answer. One in particular, took her days to address.

“Have you any regrets in your life, Aunt Deborah?”

She asked because she was genuinely curious. Even if her aunt answered at that moment, she did not know what to do with it.

Her aunt looked at her for a long time, and for a moment she thought the woman would say, “You,” but she didn’t. She just stared and looked away to close her eyes against the gentle blow of the wind.

And like the many questions she asked before since their mornings in the garden began, Geneva did not press for an answer. Her questions were just thoughts that she gave voice. She did not expect them to be answered. Perhaps because it was always on her mind whenever she was with older people. She wanted to know not just the regrets of her aunts’, but that of others as well who had passed the prime of their youths.

Ten days later, since that first morning, however, Aunt Deborah got weaker.

It was time to go to Birth.

Suddenly, the garden mornings were gone, replaced by days of preparations and packing, of instructions both written and verbal; prayers and church’ reminders of things to do once they were gone.

Of course, she tried asking again to come along. And like before, the answer was still the same. The household needed her. She could come and join them later.

The night before her aunts were due to leave for Birth, Geneva and Damon walked back to the Stratford Road, taking the opposite sides.

“I don’t know what you see in me,” she told him, stopping to face him from across the road. “I’m boring and the worst person there is to talk about things. I barely know what I want. Barely know anything, to be honest.”

“You know, I ask myself the same question every night,” he said, grinning at her from where he stood, spots of moonlight on his face and chest.

“Could it be just pity? You’re confusing it with adoration.”

“Woman,” he said, resting his hands on his hips, “You dare insult my ability to discern my own thoughts and feelings?”

She laughed, and it echoed down the tunnel of trees. Turning to walk again, she said, “Sometimes I wonder how I should be.”

“How you should be for what?”

“For you.”

He crossed the road with a frown, his head tilted to the right. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes—and only sometimes—I imagine myself free to do what I wish. That my aunts are different. And when I think of that, I wonder what I might be for you. Would I be like the fun ladies you meet in balls? Or the ones you dance with? Or mayhap someone like your cousins who could—”

“Just as you are,” he interjected.

“And what is that?” she asked.

His eyes narrowed at her. “Are you asking because you want to know? Or because you don’t know?”

“Of course, I know myself.”

“No, you don’t,” he said, walking backward ahead of her. “If you do, you wouldn’t be asking me why I like you so.”

She pursed her lips. “You always make me think.”

“I make you search, Geneva.”

With a scoff, she laughed. “Search for myself?” He just smiled and turned. She ran until she was walking beside him. “I think I want to be an actress.”

This time, he stopped. She turned and walked backwards with a laugh. “You look stunned.”

“Because I am.”

“Well, I meant what I said.”

He blinked at her and hastened his steps to catch up. She was still walking backwards, enjoying the look on his face. “Supposing it is really what you want,” he carefully said, “How do you plan to go about it?”

“I don’t know. At the moment, it’s just a thought.” She chuckled. “You still don’t believe me.”

“An actress,” he said, shaking his head.

“Why?”

“Daniel was an actor.”

“Ah, yes,” she said, nodding. “Ah, yes,” she repeated, finally realizing what he meant. “Well, I’m no duke, am I?”

She caught the frown on his face when she turned to walk forward. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing,” she said, walking faster with a laugh.

“Are you saying I would not have the same ending as my sister?”

She scoffed, saying nothing.

“It’s frustrating when I can’t read you.”

“You’re not perfect after all. I’m disappointed.”

He reached for her, but she started running. Catching up, he grabbed her hand and held her back to a walking pace. “Don’t run too fast, Miss Withers. We’ll reach your home faster if you do that.”

“Sometimes you say the right words that could make a lady swoon. But sometimes you say something that makes me want to feign a faint just so I can shut off the embarrassment. I never took you to be someone who is romantic.”

He laughed ruffled her hair before planting a kiss on her cheek. “Let’s take you home, Miss Withers. So you can go back to bed and pretend this was all just a nightmare.”

---

The next morning, Geneva was surprised when Deborah asked her to take her to the garden. “Just one more time,” the old lady said.

Both Prudence and Barbara sighed and turned away to take care of whatever they had to do before their departure. In the garden, her Aunt Deborah was staring at the distant Stratford woods. “I’ve always wondered what they have in those woods,” she said with a hint of a smile. “I heard they have traps there.”

“They do—” Geneva pressed her lips together. “Or so I heard.”

Deborah scoffed. “They’re all the same, them Stratfords. Always dipping their toes into danger.”

Geneva just smiled, choosing to remain quiet. She had heard this before.

“I suppose they take after their old man.”

“The earl?”

“He was always like them when we were younger. His children were the same.” Then, Deborah looked away to stare up at the clouds. “They were taken too early. It was so unexpected.”

“A tragedy.”

“God’s simple way of showing us how insignificant we are.” When Geneva offered no reply, Deborah turned to her. “You take care of yourself while we’re away.”

“I will. Please send for me soon. I would want to be there with you.”

Deborah just smiled. “Always be strong, Geneva.”

Her eyes welled with tears. “I’ll try.”

This time, the silence stretched too long that Geneva was afraid they would run out of time. Her aunt studied the vast field beyond the garden, the one that led to the small road up to Windsong. “Having so much fear,” Deborah said, breaking the silence. Her eyes met Geneva’s curious gaze. “That’s what I regret most. Fear of dying. Of hell. Of trying anything, truly.”

Geneva did not know what to do, nor could she stop the tears when they ran down her face.

Deborah saw it and the woman just smiled. “Fear is the most powerful prison. I’m afraid I was always it’s prisoner.”

“We all have fears.”

Her aunt looked at her for a long time. “And I’m afraid we also deliberately impose them on others. No prisoner wishes to be alone. Fear makes us selfish.”

“You’re not selfish.”

“Don’t patronize me. I am, Geneva. You are the proof of that.”

Geneva shook her head, unable to utter a sound.

“While we’re gone, try to find your way out. Do what you wish. You are the mistress of this house and of your own soul.”

Geneva blinked in surprise and her heart hammered against her chest when she saw the knowing look in her aunt’s eyes.

“Go beyond that hill,” her aunt said. “Be brave.”

She opened her mouth to ask how. How did she know? But Deborah simply sighed and said, “I think my time here is over. It’s time to leave for Birth.”

Long after her aunts were gone, Geneva remained standing outside in the driveway staring at the road. Then she had luncheon with Gwen and the other servants because she could not yet stand dining alone.

By afternoon, she dressed for a walk and made her way up to Windsong alone, enjoying the colors of the sky along the way, wondering if her Aunt Deborah could see it through the carriage window as well.

Go beyond that hill. Be brave.

Her aunt’s words echoed in her head moments later when she stood in the middle of the path that led down to the other side of the hill. Maybe her aunt was simply speaking metaphorically.

Be brave.

She took one step, but stopped. Mayhap tomorrow, she thought as she turned to walk toward the ruins of the manor. With nothing to do, she explored the dilapidated structures inside, seeing more details than she did during her last visit with Damon. And just as the sky changed into a darker shade of blue and orange, she walked to the tree where she first spotted Damon resting. It felt too long ago now as she sat on the ground and leaned her back against the tree to stare blankly at the ruins before her.

“Good afternoon!” a cheerful voice greeted from yards away.

Geneva scrambled to her feet, unsure of what to do as the young man approached her. She restlessly waited as he led his cow to richer ground and finally faced her with a bright smile.

“I hope I’m not intruding, Miss,” he said as he approached. “Only here to feed the cow.”

She could not take her eyes off the young man. “No… I was… I was also intruding.”

He laughed. “We’re all trespassers here, I guess. I’m Matthew, Miss. Matthew Vernon.”

“Geneva,” she said. “I work for the Stratfords,” she lied.

His face brightened even more. “You do?”

“I’m Freda and Roxie’s governess.”

“Ah, the little devils,” Matthew said with a chuckle. “You’re new? I think I’ve seen you before.”

“The market, I believe. Sometimes I come with the maid to the butcher.”

“The Bowmans, yes!” His smile slowly died, replaced by a frown as he studied the look on her face. “Are you alright, Miss Geneva?”

“Y-Yes,” she said, blinking away her tears. She looked around, hoping Damon would show up. “How many cows do you have?”

“Five,” he said. “We have goats, too. I just bought this one here because she’s pregnant. Needs more food, I guess.”

She smiled and nodded. “Well, I should get going,” she awkwardly said, stepping back. “They must be looking for me now—” The rest of her words were left unspoken as she stepped on an uneven ground and fell back, hitting her head against the tree trunk.

“Miss Geneva!” Matthew’s face was above her, filled with concern. “Are you alright?”

“I’m…” She winced when the pain hit her once again and she closed her eyes because everything seemed to spin around her. “I need a moment,” she murmured.

“Let me take you back to the Abberton House,” he said, panic in his voice.

“N-No, I’m fine—”

“No, you cannot be. You need to see a doctor soon.” He helped her to her feet. “I’ll carry you.”

“N-No!”

“I will. Please, don’t object. I’ve had a friend who died after he hit his head on a rock. Well, he was not really my friend. He was a cousin of a friend. But I hope you know what I mean.”

Geneva felt the blood drain down her face. “He died?”

“Yes. He got up after hitting his head. Had supper, even. Never woke up the next morning.” He got down on his feet, tapping his shoulder. “Come on now. I’ll carry you home.”

Geneva swallowed. “I feel fine.”

“Well, the cousin of my friend felt fine as well.”

“You’re scaring me,” she said.

“I will stop if you get on my back and let me take you home. Please, I insist.”

Of course, she gave in. She was too young to die. And if his story about the cousin of his friend was true, then Geneva would also gladly see Doctor Peters.

“But your cow—”

“She’ll be fine.”

“I’m quite heavy—”

“And I’d rather you stop talking. It makes you seem heavier,” he said, grunting as he adjusted her weight on his back. “I’ve carried heavier meat, you know.”

Geneva chuckled.

“And please, no laughing.”

“The meats never laughed, did they?”

“No, they didn’t, Miss.” He carried her toward the woods without a word for a while. When he spoke again, he said, “You share the same name as my sister.”

Geneva bit her lips. “I do?”

“Yes. She’s not living with us. She’s older, and I never got to know her. I only heard stories about her.”

“You must want to meet her.”

“I have no intentions. My Ma and Pa, do. I think they’re wasting their time hoping to be with her again.” His words wrenched at her heart. “I don’t want to see her.”

“Why?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“Because she’s old enough to go to us if she wants to and she never did, did she?”

“You hate her.”

“Don’t know her, so I can’t hate her.”

“Maybe she just couldn’t go to you.”

He scoffed. “Maybe. Or maybe she simply doesn’t want us.”

“Surely not. Maybe she has her reasons.”

“Pay it no mind, Miss. I don’t think about her that often. There are far better things to think about than someone you haven’t even met, see?”

Geneva wiped her tears on her shoulder. Did her other brothers think the same? Did they hate her, too?

When they reached the woods, Geneva insisted he put her down. But he was very adamant, so she let him, wondering how she would explain her sudden presence to the Stratfords when they reached the manor. She had to find a way to tell them that Matthew could not know who she was. But how?

And as she tried to think of a way, they encountered her worst nightmares.

Freda and Roxie were just exiting a cabin when their eyes landed on Matthew and Geneva.

“Matthew!” Freda said in surprise.

“Miss Withers—” Roxie started, but Geneva cried out, saying, “Oh, my head is spinning!”

Matthew immediately put her down and held her arm as she pressed her fingers to her temple.

“What’s going on? What happened?” Freda asked, rushing toward them.

“Nothing,” Geneva said, opening her eyes to see Matthew looking at her with a frown.

“Withers?” he asked, his face unreadable. “Your name is Geneva Withers?”

18. the search

Geneva panicked, and her eyes jumped to Freda and Roxie. “No,” she said. “I mean I am—” She struggled, the pain in her head not helping.

“Of course, she’s Geneva,” said Roxie, looking at Matthew. “Geneva Withers…” The girl’s voice trailed when her gaze locked with Geneva’s pleading one. “Spoon,” Roxie added with a smile. “Geneva Witherspoon.”

Matthew frowned at first, but he had no choice but to believe Roxie, did he? Most especially when Freda piped in and said, “Miss Witherspoon, we’ve been waiting for you. What happened? Why was Matthew carrying you on his back?”

“Did she trip and fall again?” Roxie asked Matthew. “She’s a little frail, you see.”

“Yes, she did. Hit her head,” said Matthew, looking a little more convinced as seconds passed. “I have to take her back to the manor.”

“Of course,” said Freda, eyes glinting conspiratorially. “Because she’s our dear governess, isn’t she, Roxie?”

“She is,” Roxie said, biting her lips as Geneva threw them a sharp look. “Well, go on then, Matthew. Do you want us to fetch the doctor?”

“Can you do that?” Matthew asked, guiding Geneva over his back again.

“Of course.”

“You’ll have to tell us what happened later, Miss Witherspoon ,” said Freda with a knowing smile.

“Before you go to the doctor,” Geneva said through her teeth, “Can you alert the manor that Mr. Matthew and I are arriving?”

The smile on the girls’ faces could have made her blood boil months ago. Now, it just made her want to throttle them. “Of course, Miss Witherspoon ,” Freda said with a grin before they ran off, skipping expertly over traps.

---

Damon was already in the courtyard, pacing around while Harry sat in a chair under the shade of the tree with their grandfather.

“And she’s supposed to be the governess?” the old man asked again.

“Yes,” Harry patiently answered again.

“But she’s really not the governess?”

“Of course she isn’t,” Damon said, craning his neck. “Let’s just act like she lives here.”

“But she doesn’t, does she?”

Harry laughed, patting the man’s hand. “Damon will kill you if you continue with the teasing, old man.”

The earl chuckled and continued reading his book.

When Geneva and Matthew finally arrived, Damon rushed to their side. “What happened?”

“She fell and hit her head against the tree trunk,” said Matthew. “Did you call for the doctor?”

“Yes. He’ll be here soon. Thank you, Matthew. I’ll take Miss Geneva.”

“It’s nothing,” the young man said, putting Geneva back on the ground. “She barely weighs anything.”

“Excuse me?” Geneva asked as Damon took her hand.

Matthew laughed and turned to greet Harry and the earl. Geneva was about to do the same, but Damon pulled her away, saying, “You have to be ready when the doctor arrives.”

“I don’t need—”

“You’ll see Doctor Peters,” he interjected with finality. “Matthew, thank you once again.”

“Thank you, Matthew,” Geneva said in a lower voice.

“I’ll see you around, Miss Geneva,” the young man said before he waved goodbye to the earl and Harry.

As Damon led her into the manor, Geneva looked over her shoulder at her departing brother and murmured something under her breath.

“What was that?” Damon asked, leading her up the stairs.

“He hates me,” Geneva said, her eyes filling with tears.

Damon stopped and looked at her. “No, he doesn’t.”

“He told me. He told me about his sister and how he hates her.”

“He doesn’t have that sentiment.”

“Well, he doesn’t want to see me.”

“It doesn’t mean he hates you.” When she shook her head, he squeezed her hand. “We’ll get you to a room and we’ll wait for the doctor. And later, if you wish to talk or argue about this, we shall.”

“Argue?”

He chuckled. “Yes.”

---

Before she could contend, Freda and Roxie called for Gwen as well. Her maid hovered over her while Doctor Peters examined her head and eyes. Roxie and Freda were sitting at the foot of the bed, watching intently. Damon loomed behind the doctor while Price and Gale stood in the doorway, listening.

Doctor Peters closed his eyes for a moment to master himself. He straightened to give Gwen a patient smile before saying, “I can’t see anything with your shadow casting over Miss Geneva, Miss Gwen.”

Gwent jumped back and mumbled, “Sorry.”

Doctor Peters cleared his throat and took a step back, causing Damon and Gwen to retreat. “Better,” the doctor said with a tight smile before he came near Geneva again.

“Do you remember what day it is?” he asked her as after he examined her pupils.

Geneva saw Roxie mouth Tuesday , and she frowned. “I know it’s Tuesday, Roxie.”

“No cheating, please,” Doctor Peters reprimanded. “Can you tell me your full name?”

She ignored Roxie’s mouthing and answered the question correctly. When the doctor asked another question, she saw Damon stride toward Roxie and covered her mouth from behind, his brow furrowed with concern as more questions came in. “Well?” he asked when Doctor Peters finally straightened.

Roxie peeled Damon’s hand off her mouth and asked, “Will she live?”

“She’ll be fine,” came the answer. “But she should be closely monitored until the morrow.”

“I’m fine—”

“You’ll stay in bed until we’re certain you are,” the doctor interjected. “If you feel any odd headache, dizziness, if you throw up, you call for me. Anything at all. Do you understand?”

Geneva nodded. “I’ll go home—”

“No, you stay here, Miss,” said Gwen. “Don’t move.”

“But—”

“You’re welcome to stay,” Damon said before he followed Doctor Peters to the door.

“Let’s leave Miss Geneva alone to rest, girls,” Gale said, making way for the doctor.

“If you feel any odd headache, dizziness, or if you throw up, you call for us,” Freda told Geneva. “Do you need anything?”

“She needs to be alone,” Price droned, walking over to pull Freda and Roxie away. “You rest well, Miss Geneva.”

“Thank you,” she said, feeling overwhelmingly awkward. She turned to Gwen and pleaded to go home, but her maid would have none of it. “They have better horses here, you see. If anything happens to you, Miss, they can call for the doctor faster than we can if we go home.” Leaning closer, her maid mischievously whispered, “And we both know they serve better meals. Our supper will be grand.”

As Gwen claimed, their supper was grand and slightly busy. While she did not join the Stratfords down for supper, she did not go by her evening alone with Gwen. A constant flow of visitors sashayed into the room. First was Harry, who assured her she was welcome. Next were Simone and the duke himself, who invited her to the wedding. Lydia came into the room with Gale and Price, the three of them arguing about the friend Matthew told them about.

“He was the cousin of his friend,” Price corrected. “He died the next morning. Did he tell you?” he asked Geneva.

“No, I think it was the friend of his cousin,” Gale said with a frown.

“Matthew doesn’t have cousins.”

“Of course he does. Father side of the family, I heard.”

Their argument only broke off when Gwen asked them to stop, saying Geneva needed some quiet. “I’m asking respectfully, of course,” Gwen added with a smile.

The three left the room when Roxie and Freda arrived to deliver tea, and the pair had to end their incessant questions about why she was their governess when the earl himself strode in with his cane. He told Geneva to rest well and asked the devils to read for him in his room.

It was almost her bedtime when Damon showed up with a book and told Gwen that she could rest for a few hours in the next room. “I’ll watch over Miss Geneva,” he said, taking a pillow from the bed to carry it to a nearby chair. “Go on, Gwen. You can leave the door open if it will make you feel at ease.”

Geneva nodded when Gwen threw her an inquiring look. “Have your sleep.”

When the servant left, Damon was already reading his book, his leg crossed over the other. “Do you want to talk about Matthew?” he asked.

“No.”

“Then we can do so some other time. For now, go to sleep.”

“I don’t think I can.”

He closed his book and frowned. “Why?”

“What if I don’t wake up?”

He smiled. “You will. I’ll try to wake you every now and then if you want.”

She nodded. “I’d appreciate that. But I don’t feel sleepy.”

“Then we can talk.”

“Tell me about the book you’re reading.”

And he did, but Geneva suspected he made it sound terribly boring. Before she knew it, she dozed off. However, he kept his word and woke her up now and then. Three times, he shook her gently, calling her name in the dimly lit room. She would open her eyes and he would ask her name. She would answer and go back to sleep. However, in the succeeding times, she grew more irritated and slapped his hand away.

By morning, when her eyes opened against the strong rays of sunlight, she saw Damon was quietly reading in the same chair, his dark brown curls almost light against the sun.

“I guess I’m alive,” she sleepily said, causing him to look up. “Or I might be dreaming.”

“You’re alive. And you’re awake,” he said, closing his book with a soft smile. “I’m certain I look better in your dreams.” When he stood, the door opened and Gwen rushed in carrying a dress.

“Fresh from home,” Gwen said, face flushed from her early journey.

“I’ll leave you for now,” said Damon, walking near Geneva to take her hand and squeeze it. “I’m glad you’re alive.”

They both scoffed and she slapped his hand away. “Go.”

When he was gone, Gwen displayed a dramatic shiver. “He’s so smitten. I can’t handle it.”

Geneva laughed and climbed out of bed. “I don’t think I’ve seen Webster. Have you?”

Gwen shrugged. “He went back to Birth three days ago.”

“How do you know this?”

“He told me.”

“When?”

“Met him in the market last week. You should change. Now that we’re certain you’re fine, they’re expecting you to join them for breakfast,” Gwen said, turning her around to unbutton her dress.

She smiled over her shoulder at her maid. “You missed this, didn’t you? Our little adventures to Abberton House?”

Gwen grinned mischievously. “Of course, Miss. We should have more.”

---

Simone and Daniel’s wedding was grand. Nearly all of Abberton was in attendance, as well as others from Dafield. The ball was just as magnificent, but Geneva had to leave before any of her aunts’ friends saw her.

However, on the days that followed, she spent more time in Windsong Manor. There, she met Matthew a few more times and got to know her brother. Most often, Damon would be with them, and she had to witness how he would try to convince Matthew to go to Coulway to study and become an inventor. But always, her brother would say he could not leave his family behind, which was hard for Geneva to hear because Matthew did not know he was spending time with the sister he thought had left them.

Damon did not discuss her family to her again whenever they were alone. And mayhap because he knew she was not ready. She had just met her brother. Was just getting to know him. In time, she would muster the courage to tell Matthew the truth, and in time, she would go beyond that hill and face the rest of her family.

Her mornings were spent reading letters from her aunts and writing back, and the rest of the day she would be out to join the Stratfords in their activities, or spend time with Gwen and Helene in the kitchen to bake bread or jar marmalades. And at night, she would take a walk with Damon to the Stratford Road, or spend hours talking inside the well with wine and cheese and the moonlight.

But there were also days when she was forced to take part in some odd activities. One afternoon, while she crossed the woods toward Windsong with a basket of bread she baked earlier to share with Matthew and Damon, Roxie and Freda called out to her, saying they had to show her something and no, it was not a frog.

After following them to the front of a cabin, she frowned. “What’s wrong with them?”

“We found them loitering around this cabin,” Roxie explained, petting one white kitten. There were three small ones inside the wheelbarrow.

“Where are you taking them?”

“To Doctor Skelton, of course. They’re too tiny to be left alone. Lydia is out painting the viscount. Sisi’s on her honeymoon. They would help us take the kittens if they’re here, see?”

Geneva did not know how they convinced her, but she found herself walking with them as they wheeled the kittens out of the woods and down the road to Doctor Skelton’s place, which was three miles away. The animal doctor checked the kittens and told them they were fine, but they should return them to the woods so their mother could find them.

“But what if she’s gone?” Freda asked before taking a bite of the bread Geneva handed out to them.

Roxie popped the past piece of her bread into her mouth and took the wheelbarrow from Geneva. “We should try to find her.”

And so it was that they gathered anyone else they could find to search for the mother. Gale and Price unwillingly searched the eastern part of the woods, while Geneva found Damon at Windsong and urged him to search south with her.

“They say Harry is searching west.”

“He said he’ll, but he’s probably in the library playing cards with the old man.” He took her hand and added, “We should go to back to Windsong. I’ve been waiting for you there for hours.”

“But what about the cat?”

“It’s the nature of the mother to find their young.”

“But what if it could not? What if it cannot?” Geneva asked, pulling her hand away. “We have to find it.”

“Geneva—”

“No, you don’t understand. They need her. How else could they survive the woods?”

“They find each other.”

“Not all the time!” she burst out, realizing too late that she did. Blinking away, she murmured, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said, taking her hand.

“It could be somewhere searching for her kittens,” she said, looking around. “Maybe we should bring them out. We’re keeping them away from her.”

“The devils took them back to the cabin where they found them. Do you want to go there and wait?”

She nodded.

They found their way back to the cabin and found the kittens inside a box. And they waited until everyone else found them and waited with them as well, emptying Geneva’s basket of bread.

---

They stayed up late waiting for the mother, but it never showed up. After a long argument, everyone agreed the kittens should stay where they found them. The next morning, Geneva received news that the kittens were gone.

“And there was another loud discussion of who took them,” Damon said as he relayed the information to Geneva while they sat under the tree outside Windsong. “The mother or the devils. It took us a while to believe them when they said they didn’t.”

She laughed. “It must be the mother,” she said.

“Of course, it is,” he said. “Or they found her.”

The smile on her face died down. Whatever she had to say was left unspoken when the wind carried Matthew’s cheerful greeting from afar.

“Good morning, Matthew,” Geneva greeted back.

Reaching them, Matthew threw Damon a knowing smile, saying, “You’ve been taking Miss Geneva away from her tasks, Sir.”

“Well, she has the morning free,” Damon just said as Matthew joined them on the ground. “Where’s your cow?”

“Home,” the young lad said. “I came here to see you. Mother is celebrating her birthday tomorrow.”

“She is?” Geneva asked, almost too eagerly.

“Yes, Miss. And she wants to invite Mr. Damon for dinner tomorrow.”

“Me?” Damon asked, surprised.

“Yes,” Matthew said, grinning at him. “And everyone else, of course.”

“I’ll tell the old man.”

Matthew turned to Geneva. “You’ll be coming, too, Miss Geneva, yes?”

Her mouth opened, but no words came out.

Damon turned to look at her with his brows arched in question.

Geneva’s heart was racing inside her chest. She wanted to say no, but the look on Matthew’s face made her nod her head.

“Splendid!” said Matthew, jumping to his feet. “I have things to do for tomorrow’s festivities. And no talks tomorrow about me studying in Coulway!” he added to Damon with warning. “My ’Pa’s considering it now and it’s scaring me.”

“It’s not scary at all,” Damon said, covering Geneva’s hand and giving it a squeeze. As if he was telling her the same thing.

“Of course it is,” Matthew and Geneva said in unison.

The young man laughed and ran away.

“You’ll be all right,” Damon said beside her as they watched Matthew disappear over the hill.

Geneva swallowed. “I’ll meet her.”

“Yes. Finally.”

“I’ll meet the rest of them.”

“Fortunately so.”

“I’ll be crossing the hill.”

He broke into a smile and kissed her gently on the cheek before he lying on his back with a smile and a sigh. “Definitely finally.”

19. the afterparty

“You committed a grave sin against them,” Roxie guessed.

Geneva pursed her lips, but continued to keep mum. The girl had hooked her arm around hers since they started their walk through the woods and up the hill. Harry and the earl had gone ahead in a carriage with all the food they cooked to take the longer route to the Vernons. “No,” Geneva said, attempting to escape Roxie’s hold, but the girl tightened her arm and stayed attached to her hip.

“Maybe when you were a child, you were like us. You played a prank on them,” Freda said, kicking a pebble as she walked.

“No.”

“Did you hurt one of their cows?”

“Stole eggs from their hens?”

“No,” she said before she let out a frustrated sigh. “All your guesses are wrong.”

Roxie looked up at her with a calculating look on her face. “You’re keeping an enormous secret. I saw it in your face that day Matthew carried you on his back.”

“And you’re both prying,” Damon’s voice said from behind before he tore Roxie away from Geneva’s arm. “Leave Miss Geneva alone.”

Roxie joined Freda ahead of them. The two hooked arms and easily shifted their topic to the new play they were writing together. Up ahead, just three dots on the road, walked Lydia, Price and Gale.

Without a word, Damon took her hand in his. He didn’t have to say anything. They already talked about what may happen, and what may not, and both concluded that they should just let things be.

The journey down the hill felt surreal. She had never traveled that road, although she considered it every time she visited Windsong. She felt stupid when her legs started to shake while the rest of the Stratfords walked on with steady steps, as if they had done this hundreds of times. Which may be true, considering their relationship with the Vernons.

Just at the foot of the hill, a small village emerged. Stone fences lined the street, separating the cottages like the box of spiders Roxie and Freda once showed her. The cottages themselves were made of stone and clay, ranging from small to medium. There was also the constant noise of farm animals—chicken, ducks, cattle, pigs and even dogs.

They traversed the dirt path and arrived at a small stone cottage with a barn. Outside by the road was the earl’s carriage. In the yard was a long table covered in two different cloths. Chairs of different sort and colors surrounded it. At the head sat the earl, and to his right, Theodore Vernon himself. Harry was nearby, talking to another guest.

The two men turned at their arrival. “There they are,” said the earl, chuckling as Roxie and Lydia ran to him with a bunch of wild flowers they picked along the road. “Find somewhere to put it, my dears. Mrs Vernon is inside. Greet her a happy birthday.”

Theodore Vernon stood and greeted Damon, and then her, Geneva, with a warm smile. “Thank you for coming. Please, find your seats. Anywhere is fine.”

Geneva was quiet, her eyes glued to her father as he continued his conversation with the earl. “Feeling alright?” Damon asked, chewing on a pear he took from the center of the table.

She nodded stiffly, smiling despite the rampage in her chest. Under the table, he closed his hand over hers and squeezed as he turned to say to Mr Vernon, “Have you thought of my offer, Sir?”

The man simply laughed. “It’s Matthew you should talk to.”

“Well, he’s been making it sound like I need to talk to you.”

“You misunderstand. He is free to do whatever he wishes.”

Damon’s reply was drowned by the muffled chatters and laughter inside the cottage. She recognized Roxie and Freda’s voice, as well as Lydia’s. There was also Matthew’s. And a woman’s voice—not one she had heard before. One she knew even just hearing it for the first time. The voice sounded cheerful as she talked and gave orders. Her laughter in response to what Lydia said almost made Geneva stand. To go to her. To glimpse her face.

“Should we greet Mrs Vernon?” Damon asked after a while.

“You should,” Harry ordered, taking a seat beside Mr Vernon.

Geneva started shaking her head, but Damon squeezed her hand and stood, taking her along with him. “Damon, I don’t—”

“Just greet her,” he said.

As she stumbled behind him, thousands of thoughts crossed her mind. What if Mrs Vernon recognized her? What if Matthew discovered who she was? He would surely be angry and then he would want nothing to do with her. And what of her father? Her other brothers?

Before they reached the door, two men walked out with dishes in their hands. Damon did not have to introduce them. The taller one with black hair and beard was Stephen, the brother born just a year after she was born. The one with the dark brown hair and lanky built was Jasper, born four years after Stephen.

But they didn’t know she knew them from the stories Matthew and Damon told her.

“Ah, Mr Priest,” said Stephen, breaking into a wide smile. “I have not seen you for so long.”

“Because you’ve been avoiding coming up the hill, you lazy lad,” said Damon laughingly, patting Stephen’s shoulder.

Jasper was looking at Geneva with a curious smile on his face. “You must be the governess,” he said. “Matthew has talked about you.”

“He did?” she asked, her eyes jumping to Stephen, whose face turned blank at the mention of her being the governess.

“He told us about how he carried you down the hill toward Abberton House. He thought you were someone he knew because you share the same name, the fool.”

Geneva could only smile. While Jasper seemed unsuspecting, Stephen continued to stare at her without a word.

“Well, Mother is inside,” said Jasper.

“We’ll find her,” Damon said, guiding Geneva to the door.

Stephen offered an awkward smile as he walked away, and before they entered the cottage, Geneva noticed him look over his shoulder at her.

Matthew was seated around the kitchen table, which was not far from the door. Price and Gale were with them, and they were already attacking a cake with forks in hand. Roxie and Freda stood on both sides of a woman, and the three of them were looking out the window of the kitchen. Lydia was out in the garden, picking something from the ground.

“Oh, silly!” said Roxie. “Not that one, Lydia!”

“Go and rescue the poor pumpkin,” said the woman, and at once, Roxie and Freda ran out through the back door and into the garden to shout at Lydia. Just as they did, the woman turned around with a laugh, and stopped when she saw them in the middle of the cottage.

Her eyes were lined with wrinkles, probably from laughing all the time, Geneva figured. Looking at her brown eyes and her wide smile, she could tell that Constance Vernon laughed a lot.

“Happy birthday,” Damon greeted with familiarity as he let go of Geneva’s hand and walked toward the woman. “I hope you’re making more cakes because these three are almost finished with this one.”

She laughed as she received Damon’s hug. “I have two more hidden somewhere in the cupboards,” she said with a wink. Over Damon’s shoulder, her eyes landed on Geneva. “And who is this?”

“The governess I told you about,” said Matthew. “The clumsy one.”

Geneva shot her brother a sharp look. “It was an accident.”

“Yes. And you were the first accident,” said Matthew, chuckling with Gale and Price.

“Don’t be rude to our guest, son,” said Constance Vernon. “I’m glad you came, Miss.”

“Her name’s Geneva, ’Ma. I told you,” said Matthew.

The woman’s smile faltered for a moment at the mention of the name. “Yes, I remember.”

Geneva smiled shakily. “Happy birthday, Mrs Vernon.”

“Thank you,” the woman said, walking toward her with open arms and pulled her into an embrace. She almost did not want to let go, but the lady did with a big smile.

“She hugs everyone,” Matthew provided before he fed himself more cake.

“Even the old man,” added Gale.

“And you’re all banned from more cakes,” Constance Vernon playfully told them. The three young men immediately slid the cake out of her reach.

“We’re taking this outside,” said Matthew as he stood with Gale and Price and disappeared from the kitchen.

At that moment, Lydia stumbled inside with Roxie and Freda, carrying a large pumpkin. Things did not stop moving after that. Geneva and Damon watched as her mother taught the three Stratfords what to do with the pumpkin while she took out two more cakes from the cupboards.

“Please help me decorate these,” she said to Geneva. “If you don’t mind.”

“N-No, of course, not.”

“Good.”

“Mrs Vernon is the bossy kind,” Damon told Geneva. “Don’t give in too easily or you’ll regret it.”

“And you, young man, should get ale from the cellar.”

“Oh, no,” Damon groaned. “Why me?”

“Because you’ve been away from Abberton too long.”

“I should have stayed in Birth then.”

Constance Vernon laughed. “And where is that brother of yours? The one who enjoyed my little orders?”

Damon laughed. “In Birth hiding from you, of course.”

Their laughter filled the kitchen. Damon went down to the cellar with Harry to get the keg of ale out to the lawn. Geneva barely talked with her mother because the woman had a constant flow of visitors. Guests started arriving with more food and presents, and Geneva could not even point out when the party officially started. She finished decorating the cakes with her mother, and helped her carry them out to the guests, most of them neighbors.

Finally, Constance Vernon was forced by her husband and sons to stop working and dress for her special occasion, which she did, walking out in a new blue dress made by Simone before she left for her honeymoon.

Roxie and Freda crowned her with the wildflowers they brought. She went around to chat with her guests, while the Stratfords mingled with everyone like they belonged there. Which they did. Even the earl enjoyed the ale. Harry laughed openly with her brothers, especially Stephen, who she would sometimes catch watching her with curiosity.

Damon rarely left her side, and when he did, it was because she was with comfortable company. Her mother sat with them at some point, even grabbed her hand when she got too excited about something. Geneva would listen to her every word, watch her face transform with different emotions as she talked. She was awed, and she felt like her heart would burst inside her chest when her mother laughed at a comment she made and absently patted her cheek in amusement.

Many times, she fought the urge to cry. She did not know how much Roxie and Lydia knew, but the pair seemed to always be on guard. They would ask if she was fine whenever she fell quiet, watching her mother chat with other guests, hoping she would come back and talk to her again. And she would tell the devils that yes, she was fine. She felt amazing. But she was also struggling with the different emotions raging inside her.

She was elated one moment, then frightened and guilty the next. It was a constant battle, but one she had to struggle with alone. Much later, after Harry left to take the earl home, the Stratfords also started to gather. Geneva made a comment about helping the Vernons clean up, but Stephen and her other brothers insisted that they could do it on their own. “You should all go home,” said Stephen, eyes on Geneva, his expression unreadable.

“Thank you all for coming,” said her mother, giving each of them a hug. Geneva waited eagerly for her turn, and when it came, she closed her eyes and inhaled her mother’s scent until her lungs could take no more.

“Thank you,” she said, thankful for the darkness of the night, because her eyes were suddenly brimming with tears.

The woman smiled at her and turned to Damon to give him another hug. “Thank you, my boy. And I’ll talk to Matthew.”

“That will be splendid. We make a good team,” Damon said conspiratorially.

“And he’ll make a brilliant inventor,” Constance said with a wink.

While her sons and husband carried empty plates into the cottage, she watched the Stratfords and Geneva walk away. But not ten steps out, Geneva stopped. Damon did the same, looking at her with concern. “Geneva?” he asked. “What is it?”

Geneva swallowed and blinked away the tears that blurred the path before her. Blindly, she searched inside the pockets of her dress and stiffly turned. Not far away, Constance Vernon smiled at her curiously.

And as her eyes locked with Geneva’s, her smile slowly faded, replaced by something akin to pain as understanding dawned on her. Somehow, it was enough for Geneva to take the hardest steps she ever had to take in her life. She walked back toward her mother, tears filling her eyes once again.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled as she took out her hand from her pocket and held out the letter. Her mother was crying, eyes and face filled with disbelief. “I hope you forgive me for not telling you sooner. Please don’t let this ruin your day.”

And then she whirled around and walked away.

20. the brave

If there is anything about courage that Geneva learned in recent weeks, it’s that it’s contagious. And it’s addicting. When her world didn’t end after she daring to do something, and when she woke up to a new morning, an overwhelming sense of confidence and hope surged inside her.

And that morning, when the sun streamed through her windows and the noise of another day awakened the household, she realized she lost nothing three nights ago. Yes, of course, she lay awake crying, fearing that she had made a mistake. But if she did, nothing much had changed. Sleep still consumed her. Morning still came. And it was followed by another day. Then another. And she was still the same woman who wanted to fill what had been missing.

That morning, while Gwen helped her dress, she was restless. It was the day that she would return to the other side of the hill. Three days was enough to gather the courage to know what her mother thought of her letter. Or if she told her father. Her brothers. And thinking of her brothers, Matthew came to mind. And the fear returned as she remembered Matthew’s voice when he talked about his sister, his face when he first thought she was Geneva Withers.

“What do you want to do today, Miss?” Gwen asked.

“I think I’ll go with you to the market. And then I’ll want to learn how to make pies with Helene.”

“And? Have you any plans with the Stratfords today?”

She shook her head. “I think I want to spend the afternoon alone.”

“Can I go away for a couple of hours this afternoon, then?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you. I’ll be sending some letters to the post.”

After her planned activities, Geneva wrote letters to her aunts and asked Gwen to take them to the post with her. Then she dressed for a walk. After packing a pie, she took the road to Windsong. And continued downward to the other side.

She stood at the end of the road, just staring at the cottage. It was silent, her father’s wagon not around. She walked closer, wary and ready to run away if something went wrong. But it remained quiet and still, as if it was empty.

But it wasn’t. She caught sight of the taupe dress before it disappeared completely at the back of the cottage. Now certain that someone was home, she became aware of the other sounds—metal digging into dirt, roots being snapped.

The small gate was open, and she entered. Her legs were less wobbly than they were three nights ago.

Courage. It’s tempting. She wanted to savor it again. She wanted to feel its rush through her veins.

Unconsciously, her palm ran down her skirt a few times before she emerged into the garden. She stood there for a while, watching her pulling carrots from the ground. The sureness of her movements made Geneva wonder how many times she had done this. If she was ever tired of doing it. If she wished she had servants to do it for her.

Then Constance Vernon stilled, finally sensing she wasn’t alone. When she looked over her shoulder and found Geneva standing there, a flash of panic and eagerness passed over her face. Geneva held her breath.

Constance Vernon then smiled at her. “Instead of standing there, maybe you can help?”

She jumped and rushed to the woman’s side, placing the pie on the table she passed by. Lowering to the ground, her gaze focused on the patch of carrots. “What do I do?”

“Pull,” the woman said in a soft voice, grabbing the fronds with one hand and pulled. “See?” Geneva nodded. Her mother watched as she did the same. “You learn fast.”

“I try.”

They worked quietly for a while. They finished one patch and stopped when her mother said the others were not yet ready. Of course, she was confused. She was a little impatient as well. Perhaps even slightly frustrated.

Why were they doing this instead of talking? Could it not wait?

But as they washed the carrots in the kitchen, she realized her mother may not know what to say. Maybe the woman was buying time.

Or giving her time to leave.

Finally, when they had nothing else to do, Constance Vernon prepared tea and invited her out in the garden and back to the table surrounded by five of the chairs from last night. While waiting, she stared at the sky she thought of Aunt Deborah. And she remembered Damon. If he learned where she was, he would not believe it.

“Did you make this?” her mother asked.

“I helped,” she said, watching Constance Vernon take a bite from the pie. “You don’t like it.”

Constance crinkled her nose. “Never liked apples.”

“How about eggs?”

“Yes.”

She nodded. “I know how to make egg pies.”

“I hope to taste something better than mine.”

Geneva smiled faintly. The tea was too hot, but Geneva took a sip. The woman looked at her face for some time, studying everything she could see there. Geneva did the same, seeing more wrinkles and folds than she did days ago. What she did not see was the hint of insanity. She was just seeing a woman who knew a different life than she and her aunts.

“Did you read my letter?” She had to ask. She could no longer sit there and wait until the woman gathered the courage and ask her to leave or cry or say sorry.

Constance Vernon smiled, eyes brimming with tears and amusement. “Yes.”

“I wrote a different one months ago,” she admitted. “When I found out. But I changed it before your birthday.”

Constance’s smile remained as she looked at Geneva the same way the earl would stare at the little devils whenever they told one of their silly stories. “Why?”

“Because my first letter was horrible.” She looked away to blink back tears.

“Why do you think so?”

“Because the woman who wrote it knew little back then. It was a furious letter.”

“You have every right to be furious.”

“But I wasn’t when I wrote the new letter.”

Constance’s eyes filled with more tears. “You must have taken out a lot.”

“I did. Most of them were questions.” She fell quiet for a few breaths. And in a small voice she said, “I asked why you gave me away. I did not think it would be a proper thing to ask in a letter.”

Her mother nodded, sipped from her cup, and swallowed. Wind blew past them. The clouds moved slowly above. Farm animals from everywhere made noises. “You were very sickly. They offered to take you to a doctor.”

Geneva bit her trembling lips and met her mother’s eyes. “So you gave me away.”

Constance’s eyes quivered as she closed them. Tears rolled down her cheeks when she nodded. “Stephen was also sick, and we didn’t know what to do. I feared I would lose you both.”

“And you chose him over me.”

“No!” Constance cried, shaking her head. She sniffled. “They wanted you. They didn’t want him.”

Geneva swallowed. “I saw you many times before through the window. Every Christmas.”

Her mother frowned. “You did?”

“Yes. I’ve always wondered who you were.”

“They never…” Constance paused, struggling with words. “They never told you, did they?”

“No.”

“They always tell us you’re sick. Or you’re confined in bed.”

“And you believed them?”

“Not entirely, no.”

“You could have asked around.”

Constance let out a shaky sigh. “We could have. But it would mean explaining why. We didn’t want to ruin your name. Ruin your chances.”

“Did you think I would mind?” Geneva could not stop the anger laced in her tone. “Did you think I would loathe to have your names associated to mine?”

Her mother blinked, more tears falling from her eyes. “They were giving you your best chances. One we could not give.”

“They could not give me the family I should have known,” she shot back. “They gave me nothing but a life of fear dressed in faith and prayers.”

Constance wiped her tears with the pads of her fingers. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me for not… For not choosing you. For wanting something different for you.”

“You could have wanted me.”

“And I do. I did. We did. We still do.”

Geneva pursed her lips as her tears finally fell from her eyes. She wanted to tell her mother what she had been through to get here. How it had been difficult. But what good would it do? Her fears differed from theirs. They may not understand them as much as she could not understand hers.

“We’ve always wanted you.”

They wanted her? How could she say so when they didn’t know her at all? They didn’t know the woman she was. What of Matthew? He didn’t want her. What of Stephen and Jasper? Her father?

What of her aunts?

Courage. It stumbles on fear. And at that moment, she fell into it, drowned in its consuming depths. Yet she knew she would float back on the surface tomorrow when the sun rose again. Or maybe tonight, after a good cry. But at the moment, she wanted to run. Just for a while. Just long enough to gather herself for another battle.

She blinked against her tears and inhaled deeply. “She’s sick. Aunt Deborah.” Her shoulders shook as more tears flooded her eyes. “I don’t know what to do. They… They wouldn’t let me be with them. She’s in Birth and I don’t think she’ll live long.”

“Oh, Geneva,” her mother said, also crying as she stood and wrapped Geneva in her arms, cradling her head in her bosom, running hands down her hair.

“I don’t know if I hate them for what they did. For their secrets and lies. I should, but I couldn’t.”

“Then don’t.”

“They kept me away from you.” Her arms wrapped around her mother, tight. And tighter. “What if they learn of this and take me away again?”

“They will not because you know what you want now. You’re so brave. Coming here, you’re braver than any of us.”

“I’m not.”

“Maybe not every time, then,” her mother said with a tearful laugh. “Only on days when you have to.” Her mother did not let her go until she stopped crying. And she only did to cup her face and lean back so she could look down at Geneva with all the love in her eyes. “It took me years to understand them—why they kept you away from us. But I eventually did. It’s fear. And I had it, too. I feared they may be right as much as they feared you would be like their sister and me.” Bending low, her mother planted her forehead against hers. “Understand them, my darling. Don’t fear them. Don’t fear us.” Smiling, she added, “That’s what family does.”

It was at that moment that the door to the kitchen opened and Theodore Vernon walked out with hat in hand. He came to a halt at the sight of his wife and Geneva. His gaze went to Geneva, then to his wife. Constance smiled at him tearfully and his gaze traveled back to his daughter before he moved, stumbling on the freshly dug patch of carrots.

“Geneva.” She had heard her name spoken by him before, but this time it sounded different. This time, he knew the person who owned it. She had embraced him before, but this time when his hands cupped her face and his tearful eyes looked down at her with wonder, it was warmer than any hug from a stranger. “Oh, good Lord,” he choked as pulled her into his warmth, his body shaking as he murmured words only he could understand.

During that moment in the garden, she allowed herself to be drowned by her parents’ embrace, by their tears, and their words of regret and apologies. But when it was time for her to go home, she realized she had more to face.

Stephen was in the kitchen, sitting there the entire time. Silence lingered for a while as her brother stood, hands in his pockets.

Courage. It’s like breathing. It fills you, then leaves you. You try to hold it in for as long as you can. It’s there one moment, gone the next. Until the next breath.

“I’ll take you home.” No hello. No welcoming embrace. Just four words to remind her she was not yet home.

Her mother pulled her into another embrace and whispered, “You’re the big sister. Don’t let him scare you.”

Her father approached Stephen and patted his shoulder. A silent message passed between them, one Geneva would take years to understand. Facing her again, Theodore Vernon cupped her face and smiled. “You will come back, yes?”

She nodded. Of course she would. With egg pies, she said.

Stephen stared at her for a breath before he turned and led the way to the door. Stealing her parents one more glance, she smiled because they both winked at the same time.

The wagon was available, but Stephen didn’t offer a ride. They walked. First in breathless silence, then in a long, awkward silence. The road was painted yellow now as the sky whispered goodbye to the sun. Crickets echoed in the air as they walked.

“I knew the moment I saw you.” She almost flinched when he finally spoke. “You tried to fool us.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Of course, you did.”

She nodded. “I did. I was afraid.”

“Of us?”

She stole him a look. “Of what might happen.”

He took a lungful of air and dug his hands deeper into his pockets. “They told us why you had to leave, but they couldn’t tell us why you couldn’t go back. We simply assumed you didn’t want to.”

“And they never told me about you,” she said with a sigh, tucking strands of hair behind her ear.

“How did you find out?”

She told him how, and for the life of her, she also shared about the letter. How she fell into one of the traps in the woods in her attempt to deliver it. He laughed then, first faintly, then harder as she told him about Damon’s threat that she may lose her leg if she didn’t see a doctor.

As his laughter died down, she swallowed and dared ask, “What did the parcels contain? The ones you brought to the Withers House every Christmas.”

His face gentled, and he freed his hands from his pockets. “’Ma would knit clothes throughout the year, each one for all of us. She would always make the same for you. She would ask if it would fit you because she didn’t know how big you’ve gotten.”

Her eyes watered and she looked away, her shoes crunching on dry dirt. “I never got them.”

“We know that now.”

“I never meant to be gone so long.”

He nodded slowly. “You didn’t know.”

“Three brothers,” she said, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “I thought I had no one.”

To her surprise, he took her hand and tucked it in his arm. “You have more than what you may have bargained for now,” he said. “And I’m warning you—you may regret it.”

Her laughter rang in the air. “Does Matthew know?”

Stephen covered her hand with his. “Jasper dragged him out of the cottage earlier and is trying to put sense into him as we speak. They’re probably rolling on the ground somewhere in a fight.”

She frowned. “Why?”

“Because Matthew holds a grudge the longest. He’s stubborn that way.”

“He hates me.”

“He’s disappointed, and he doesn’t like change. You’re a big change.” He patted her hand. “He’ll get over it. He likes Miss Geneva Witherspoon, after all.”

She chuckled. “I fear him the most.”

“I did not give off such a powerful impression after all, did I?”

“You tried,” she said.

They both snorted and walked on. Up the hill. Behind the hill.

21. the blissful days

“You did what?”

Geneva’s chuckle grew as she leaned back against the chaise and into the shadows of the well, filled with mirth and pride while Damon gaped at her. Moonlight beamed upon his still form. “I did as I said,” she repeated. She didn’t know how else to convince him.

“All on your own?”

She nodded, pressing her lips together because if she didn’t, she may burst out in a bubble of laughter.

“You didn’t tell me.”

“You don’t get to have all my secrets, Sir.”

He scoffed and adjusted his position on the chaise. “Tell me. Every detail of it.”

She did, and all the while, his face would give her hints of what he thought of her story. His brows would perk up in disbelief and dip with curiosity. The smile on his lips never faltered, merely widened. And his eyes… They were everything she needed to see. When she was done, they reflected the mellow glow of the moonlight.

“And what did your letter contain?” he asked, tone genuinely filled with interest. “If you do not mind.”

She grinned and rested her head on the chaise. “Not much,” she said. “I introduced myself. I told her how I found out about them. It was far shorter than my first letter. I didn’t write the questions I wrote in my first letter.”

“Why?”

“They did not matter as much now.”

He stared at her until she grew conscious. “I’m proud of you,” he finally said. “Truly. It was brave of you.”

She shrugged. “To be honest, I’m more afraid of Matthew than anyone. Isn’t that odd?”

“Because you know him more.” He shifted and leaned back beside her. “What else did you write?”

Geneva smiled when he took her hand and laced their fingers. “That I’ll come to her again soon. That she doesn’t have to come to me because I will.”

A smile softened the smile on his face. “You’ll find your way back to them.”

She nodded, eyes burning with fresh tears. “And I did, didn’t I?”

His hand squeezed hers. “Yes.”

They sat there in the quiet for a while, like always, silently guessing the noises aboveground. When he broke the silence, she burst into laughter because he asked, “Does this mean that the devils no longer have a governess?”

---

The next day, Geneva was on a walk with Roxie and Freda. The sunny afternoon was perfect to catch grasshoppers, they said. While they did just that, they discussed their next play.

She stayed on the path while the two devils ventured into a field of smooth meadow-grass. Honestly, she could just go home and spend a delightful afternoon in the garden with Gwen, but Roxie and Freda’s play was quite intriguing. This time, they were writing about a murder. She did not want to wait until their next play to learn the ending.

“What if she goes missing?” Freda asked, squinting against the ray of sun.

“No, she can’t go missing,” said Roxie, creeping over the grass, hands at the ready. She jumped and growled in frustration when her prey escaped. “Her father has already gone missing. If she does, who will solve the case?”

“She can lose her memory,” suggested Geneva, leaning over a tree. “And she continues to live with her father’s murderer.”

The two girls paused and turned to look at her. “That is actually a splendid idea,” said Roxie.

“But what if the killer loses his memory instead?” asked Freda.

Geneva’s eyes widened. “And he falls in love with the daughter.”

“Yes!” the girls cried out in unison.

Abandoning the grasshoppers, they ran back toward Geneva, but one of them fell down with a yelp. Geneva ran with Roxie to see if Freda was all right.

“Is it spiked?” asked Roxie as Freda tried to pull her right leg out of the trap.

With a wince, Freda shook her head. “Oh. Then you’re fine,” Roxie and Geneva chorused as they helped Freda to her feet. She did, however, gain a few scratches.

“Let’s go back to the manor. We’ll need to write it down before we both forget,” Roxie told Freda as her cousin wrapped her arm around her shoulders and limped back into the path.

Geneva was just about to tell them she needed to go home, too, when she saw Matthew walking toward them. He was holding a twig and quickly threw it away when he realized they saw him.

“Good afternoon,” he greeted the devils before his eyes fixed on Geneva.

“What’s that on your cheek, Matthew?” Freda asked. “Is that a bruise?”

His playful demeanor returned as he narrowed his eyes on the girls. “I didn’t ask about your foot, didn’t I?”

“Fair enough,” Freda replied. “Are you here to talk to Miss Geneva?”

His jaw tightened, and he stole Geneva a look. “How did you know?”

“Well, you never sought us out before,” said Roxie. “We’ll wait there, Miss Geneva,” she added, leading Freda away.

“You don’t have to. Clean those scratches, Freda.”

“No, we’ll wait,” said Freda, giving Matthew a look of warning as she limped away with Roxie.

A moment of awkward silence followed. Geneva looked away and cleared her throat, and Matthew did the same. Forcing herself to look at him again, her eyes landed on his cheek. “Did you get that because of me?”

“No,” he snapped.

“Stephen told me you and Jasper fought because you were being a little difficult.”

“We didn’t—I wasn’t—”

“It’s alright,” she said with a smile. “You have the right to be difficult. I tricked you.”

He blinked. Was he surprised that she was making it easier for him? “You did.”

“I was afraid. After what you told me about your sister, I got scared.”

He paled at her words. “I didn’t mean—”

“Of course, you meant what you said, and that’s alright,” she said, stepping closer. “I was never the sister I should have been. I left.”

“You didn’t. I know that now. You were taken away.” He rolled his eyes. “Or ’Ma gave you away. It’s her fault, isn’t it?”

“You cannot mean that,” she said with a gasp.

He scoffed. “Of course, I didn’t.” He sighed, pushing his hands into his pockets. “No one meant anyone any harm. It’s just that we all want you and I think those who had you are too stubborn to share you and those of us who never got to know you have dealt with it differently and I’m sorry if I’m the one who was angry.”

Geneva’s face filled with tears and, as her brother talked, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

“And I’m still a little angry,” he added, reluctantly patting her shaking shoulder. “Are you crying? Oh, Lord, she’s crying.”

“Did you make her cry?!” Freda’s voice echoed from a distance.

“No!” replied her brother. “She just burst out crying!”

“You must have done something!” Roxie accused, already running back.

“I swear I didn’t!”

Geneva laughingly cried harder.

“You’re in trouble, Matthew!” Roxie said, standing close. “If Damon hears of this—”

“I didn’t make her cry!” He tried to pull away from Geneva’s hold. “Look, she wouldn’t let go. Tell her to let go, Roxie.”

It took a while before she released her brother. And when she did, he just rolled his eyes and walked back to the Abberton House with her and the devils. Along the way, he kept insisting he was still a little angry that he tried to fool him.

---

The days that followed were blissful. Geneva went to her family’s cottage every day, either alone or with Damon or with the devils. The pair eventually learned the truth from Matthew, who could not stop telling everyone who could keep a secret about his sister.

If she was not with her mother, she was with her father and brothers delivering goods outside Abberton. She enjoyed their time on the road, the stories they would tell her about their childhood years, and when their father was not listening, they would also talk about the women they liked.

She, on the other hand, had very little to share. The story of her childhood could be told in one breath. Or three words: Aunts, church, prayers. But that did not mean her brothers were not curious.

One afternoon, after they showed her how to milk a cow, they watched her fill a bucket. As they did, Jasper asked, “What about Damon Priest?”

“What about him?”

“Is he courting?”

Geneva paused and stole the three young men a look. “I think so.”

“You think so?”

She shrugged. “I have not given it much thought.”

“But you’re always with him,” said Matthew. “You have to know what is going on. Otherwise, you can’t be alone with him again.”

She scowled at her brother. “But you used to like us being together.”

“That was before I knew you’re my sister.”

Their argument ended only when their mother walked out to announce that tea was ready, and resumed when Matthew told her it was time she learned how to shear a sheep.

“Can it not wait until tomorrow?” she asked, already tired.

Stephen, holding the hand shear, wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “I’ll show you how it’s done.”

“But it’s getting late—”

“But you stay out late with Damon,” Matthew interjected.

Stephen playfully held her in a choke hold. “Shear a sheep or we’ll shear the man? Your choice.”

She tapped his arm, and he loosened his hold. “Fine!” she said, storming toward the barn. “But I expect another slice of cake tomorrow.”

---

Fear could be easily ignored when one is living in moments of bliss. For two more weeks, Geneva thought nothing could spoil her days. She would wake up with the rest of her days already planned. She would spend breakfast with the household staff before she’d read or draw in the garden and relish an hour or two alone before she’d go for a walk beyond the hills to be with her family. In the afternoon, she might join the Stratfords in the stream or wherever their fancy would take them. But by nightfall, she would be with Damon in Windsong to share whatever she cooked or baked with her mother that afternoon. Before bedtime, she would write letters to her aunts.

Sometimes she would get carried away and write about her day with the Vernons and the Stratfords. And whenever she realized she had shared too much, she would laugh at her mistake and start all over again. She wrote to them during the night because the task always made her sleepy. The most boring parts of her day were on that paper, and the ones she treasured most regretfully had to be left out.

Perhaps the day would come that she could share them with her aunts. She relayed the same hopes to Damon one evening, and he told her everything had their own time.

“They would come to accept that you’re not like them and see how you glow simply by being who you are.”

She sighed. His hand tightened around hers. Geneva thought she was getting too used to him holding her this way. She even knew when he would squeeze before he even did. It was like learning a new language. “Tell me of your plans. Now that you have your family back, you must have some,” he said. “And not just wishful thinking. Actual plans.”

“I told you I want to be an actress. Matthew is also considering your offer. If he goes, I want to go with him.”

“To Coulway?”

She nodded. “I want to be there for him. And while doing so, I want to try acting.”

“That’s a good plan.”

“You think so?”

He looked down at her and nodded. “And where do I fit in those plans?”

She stopped walking and grinned at him. “What are you really asking, Sir?”

“Stop teasing,” he said, tapping her nose lightly with the tip of his finger. “You know what I’m asking.”

With a laugh, Geneva pulled at his hand and urged him to continue walking. Up ahead, the Withers House was still lit.

“If you wish, I can go to Birth this very moment and present myself to your aunts,” Damon was saying, stopping only when he realized she had. “What is it?” he asked, glancing at the house with a frown before looking back at her.

“Their rooms are lit,” she said, pulling free from his grip. “Oh, God. I have to go.”

“Geneva—”

“They’re home,” she said, finally taking a step. “They’re home.” Without a word, she ran toward the house, heart loud in her ears. By the time she reached the doors, she was breathless. Fixing her hair and reaching for the handle, her hands shook.

She said a quick prayer before she walked inside.

The worst she could have thought greeted her in the parlor. Gwen was in the middle of the room, head bowed, hands clasped in front of her as she cried. And sitting in the chaise were her Aunt Prudence and Aunt Barbara, both glaring at the maid, then at her.

And they were both wearing black.

22. the grief

She went away in peace. At least that’s all her aunts told her. It was the only thing Geneva hung on to in the days that followed.

Her Aunt Prudence said that before she passed, Deborah asked for Geneva.

“But it was too late,” was all Prudence said.

“You could have written to me. I would have left everything to go to Birth,” she had said.

Her aunt, whose anger over everything she had been doing while they were away was still palpable, stared at her. “I doubt that, Geneva. You were having too much fun here.”

“But I would have—”

It was her Aunt Barbara who sternly interjected, saying, “Get ready.”

She tried to understand they lost their sister. That they were not the best with grief. But it was wrong of them to think she would have not come to Birth.

They left her here.

And yet you spent your days with people they dislike. You did the very things they would have disapproved of. You

’ve been thinking about nothing but yourself.

You rushed your letters because they felt like a chore.

The voice in her head would not leave her in peace as she stood to watch Aunt Deborah’s coffin lowered into the earth.

This time, she could not help her tears. Even when she stood with her aunts, who wore their faces tightly, their eyes dry. It started in small sniffles, grew into choking sounds, until she was shaking, hands clasped tight before her. She cried where she stood, alone between the two remaining Withers Sisters, surrounded by a sea of black.

Nearly all of Abberton was there to pay their respects. The Stratfords, the Poppets. Everyone who went to church with them. Even the Vernons.

She knew they were watching her. And she could feel her mother’s eyes on her as she wiped her tears. But they did not dare approach. Her aunts were two stiff soldiers beside her.

“Master yourself, Geneva,” her Aunt Barbara whispered when her crying continued.

For once, she did not try. How could she hold it all in? How could they hold it in?

The worst part was after the funeral. The three of them were in the parlor, spending a quiet time after hours of prayer. Geneva’s eyes were swollen, her nose still read as she absently stared at the gentle fire.

Her secret was out. Her aunts now knew what she had been up to. They had not yet discussed it with her after that evening they caught her. Was she a horrible person because the fear that was supposed to eat her alive was no longer there? Yes, she was worried about the things they may do—of the punishment they shall give, but there was also the relief that she would no longer have to crack her brain thinking of ways to tell them.

Drawing her away from her thoughts, her Aunt Barbara said, “She had always been looking forward to your letters.”

The words crushed whatever comfort she may have summoned within her.

“Every day, she would ask if a letter has arrived from Abberton.”

Her tears spilled hotly out of her eyes like the guilt that rose to her throat. She could have spent more time with those letters. Had she not been too distracted, she would have written more about the plants in the garden, the clouds in the skies Aunt Deborah liked so much. Maybe she should have also written about the food she cooked with Helene. Or about the creaks on the floorboards in the parlor. There were so many things she could have written about if she wanted to.

Maybe she should have also written to her aunt about her secrets. Just the silly ones that may have made her laugh.

Her aunts said nothing when she excused herself that night and retired upstairs. She didn’t go straight to her room, and instead entered Deborah’s. The woman’s scent greeted her, and memories of days and nights she spent here crept back from the shadows. Most of them were about prayers, but some were also about other things, and they were the ones she remembered the most. The first time she experienced the sign of womanhood, her aunt sat her down in this room to tell her not to be afraid. Her first bible was given to her here. Her first dress. The other gifts that she still kept in her room. She remembered being a child in this household and in this room.

She didn’t realize she had fallen asleep in the chair beside the bed until the morning sun filtered through the curtains. Blinking, her eyes filled with tears again when they fell on the untouched bed.

Her week went by just like so. The happy days flew so fast, but how could these days of silence and nights of grief go so painfully slow? Yet she still woke up every morning, join her aunts for breakfast in silence, pray with them, and go to sleep in tears as the sky bled into dark, starless sky.

---

The day opened gloomily like they did the previous day, but the news Gwen whispered to her that morning was one she did not expect.

“A doctor?” she asked.

“Yes, Miss. They sent for Doctor Mills.”

“Why? Who is sick?”

“Apparently, it’s you.”

“Whatever do you mean, Gwen?”

Her main leaned closer. “Doctor Mills is a mind doctor.”

Geneva went cold.

“Are you alright, Miss? Do you think they think you’re crazy?”

“I’m not.”

“We both know that. But you know your aunts. They must think you have the same thing as your great-grandfather, your grandmother. And your mother.”

“I don’t think none of them was ever crazy, Gwen, my mother most of all.”

“Well, you tell them that during breakfast. They’re waiting for you downstairs.”

When she stepped into the breakfast room, Prudence announced Doctor Mills’ arrival before Geneva could even settle in her seat. She took it gracefully, ignoring Gwen’s suggestion earlier. Arguing with her aunts over breakfast would only end up with her starved until the next meal.

By mid-afternoon, Doctor Mills arrived. With not much introductions, he asked to be left alone with her. To her surprise, the middle-aged man was pleasant to talk with. He introduced himself as a doctor in psychology. He was not there to judge, he said. His goal was simply to know her.

“Everything you tell me such be held in confidence,” he said, voice mellow, eyes gentle and kind.

Geneva easily felt at ease before he even began his questions. And he didn’t even ask that much. He listened to whatever she said with interest and only asked questions for clarifications. She did not tell him everything, of course. She was still wary. But when he asked her about what she had been doing while her aunts were away, she told him about the Vernons.

And that opened up a whole new story. Completely relaxed, she relayed how she had discovered about her family. He seemed to understand her struggles before she went up that hill and faced the Vernons. “It must have been hard for you.”

“It was, but I had people who supported me.”

“And all the while, you were doing it behind your aunts’ back?”

Her jaw tightened. “Yes. I was afraid they’d get angry.”

“Why do you think so?”

“They’ve kept my family a secret from me and I thought they’d want to keep it that way.”

“And you think it’s unreasonable?”

She frowned, shaking her head. “No. Whatever their reasons, they have the right to them. However, I believe I also have the right to my family.”

Doctor Mills nodded, writing on his notebook. “And what of the Stratfords?”

“They’re wonderful friends.”

“But your aunts disapprove of them.”

“Because they don’t know them.”

“What is Damon Priest to you?” he asked, looking up from his note to fix her a look. “Earlier, when you told me about your story with the Stratfords, you always mention him.”

“He’s a very good friend.”

“Nothing more?”

She was feeling strange. The man said he was not one to judge, but the look he was giving her was making her feel like a condemned criminal. Stiffly, she nodded. “Nothing more,” she coldly said. “I’m tired, Doctor. We’ve been talking too long.”

He closed his notebook and smiled at her. “I have everything I need.”

“You do?” she asked, frowning. “And you think you know me well enough to assess my mental state?”

“Yes.”

Not long after Doctor Mills left, her aunts called for her in the parlor. There, she learned that the doctor was a big liar. He did not hold her stories in confidence. He spilled them to her aunts.

“Doctor Mills believes that you may have what your great-grandfather had. The same condition your grandmother suffered—”

“And the one my mother inherited?” she finished for Prudence. “This makes everything convenient, doesn’t it? You now have a professional’s opinion that I could not be trusted with my own faculties. Therefore, I cannot make decisions. Is that so?”

Their faces tightened at her tone.

“You’ve been lying to us, Geneva.”

“I was keeping secrets,” she said. “Just as you did. I didn’t tell you about them because I was afraid of you. However, I don’t know why you never told me about my family. I’m sure you’re not afraid of me.”

“That’s enough,” Prudence said, an icy voice ringing in the air. “You’re prohibited from meeting any of the Stratfords.”

“Damon Priest wishes to marry me,” she said, a tear falling down her eye.

Genuine horror filled their eyes. “And you’ll join his crazy family? Your soul will burn in hell if you spend another moment with them. Look what they had done to you in a matter of months!”

“Go to your room,” said Prudence. “You stay there until we call for you.

---

If Geneva had learned a sin in the days of her freedom, perhaps it was the sin of ignoring orders. That night, she didn’t cry. In fact, she was angry. And in her anger, her mind had a moment of clarity.

She remembered Aunt Deborah’s last words to her.

“Go beyond that hill… Be brave.”

At dawn, when fog glazed the distant horizon and the edge of the woods, Geneva snuck out of her room. Taking her wrap, she ventured outside into the garden, taking in her first long breath since she had lost her freedom again. The cold air filled her lungs and chilled her legs. Before she knew it, she was on her way to the woods. Fresh morning dew moistened the air, the trees still. She walked aimlessly for a while.

“Miss Geneva?”

Startled, she looked up and found both Roxie and Freda making their way toward her, their faces mournful. “Good morning,” she greeted. “What are you doing here this early?”

“Traps. The ground is softer in the morning, especially when it fogs,” said Roxie, lips twitching mischievously, although concern filled her eyes. “We’re sorry for your loss.”

“Are you alright?” asked Freda, hooking an arm around hers.

“Yes, I guess,” she said.

The two girls walked in silence with her for a while, then Roxie said, “I’ll go get Damon,” before Geneva could stop her.

“Let’s wait there,” Freda urged, leading her to another cabin she and Roxie frequented. Geneva knew about the Stratford treasures , of course. The girls told her about them many times. Even though she had not seen them, she knew what the chest contained. Memories and remnants of their parents. Things that reminded them of what they had lost.

They sat on the top landing of the balcony stairs as they waited. Freda rested her chin on her palms. “Grandpapa always has one thing to say to us in moments like this,” Freda said. “ This, too, shall pass. Whatever it is, it shall pass. Happiness and joy; the flowers and the rain; sunny summers and cold winter nights—they shall pass.“ When Geneva looked down at her with a tearful smile, Freda added, “Loneliness and despair, too. Grief. They shall pass. Thus, it is alright to be sad. Or angry. Or lonely. It shall pass.”

A tear fell from her eye. “Thank you, Freda,” she said. “I hope this shall pass.”

“It shall,” said the girl, taking her hand. “Grandpapa said that people also pass. That’s why we should make every moment worthwhile.”

Geneva sighed and squeezed Freda’s hand. “Thank you. I never would have imagined I’d get more than frogs and bugs from you and Roxie.”

The girl giggled and rested her head on Geneva’s shoulder. “We still have some of them if you like.”

“No, thank you.”

Freda sighed. “I hope your sadness shall pass soon, Miss Geneva.”

Geneva let the tears flow. “I hope so, too, Freda.”

---

A/N

Please be informed that I’ll be taking the rest of December off due to work (we’re getting more patients in the hospital now!) and the holiday preparations. Updates shall resume January 1st for this story. The exclusive chapters, however, shall be updated as scheduled. I’ll be busy in the coming days for the holidays, but I’ll be sure to continue writing so I can greet you all with new chapters and a new story next year! Thank you always for your support! Enjoy your holidays!

23. the fearless

Damon arrived after haphazardly shrugging into a coat and ran to the woods with Roxie. When he reached the cabin, Geneva stood beside Freda, eyes filling with tears. She walked into his arms and whimpered almost immediately, shoulders shaking.

He sent the two girls a look of gratitude before they quietly left.

Long after her tears subsided, Geneva gripped his hand tightly that it almost lost its color. “I’m not crazy.”

“No, of course, not,” he said, planting a kiss on her cheek. The tears had dried, but he still tasted their salty trace.

“She wanted me to go beyond the hills,” she said, gaze lost in the line of trees up ahead. “Aunt Deborah. Before she left for Birth, she told me to go beyond the hills.”

He squeezed her hand. “And even if she didn’t, you would have still done so.”

She nodded slowly before turning her head to look at him. Her eyes wandered his face. “I’m afraid they’ll send me where they sent my great-grandfather.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to rescue you,” he said with a faint smile. “Although I don’t think they will succeed.”

“You don’t?”

He planted a soft kiss on her lips. “Because you wouldn’t let them.”

Fresh tears fell from her eyes, and he wiped them away with his free hand. “I’m glad I have you.”

“Me, too,” he murmured in her hair. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like for her if she were alone. How frightened she would be. There were things he wanted to tell her about her aunts, but he knew they would only hurt her.

“This shall pass,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder.

“I’m sure it will.”

When the sun was finally up, she told him she didn’t want to go home. They hiked the path over the hills and down to the Vernons. There, while he waited outside the cottage with her brothers, sharing a pot of fresh tea, Geneva and her parents talked inside.

“You think they’ll send her away?” Stephen asked, a line forming between his eyebrows.

“Why would they think she’s insane?” Jasper incredulously wondered aloud. “It is them who are sick in the head, to be honest.”

“Geneva won’t let them,” Matthew said, his confidence in his sister clear in his voice, although he warily looked around for any sign of agreement. “But it’s best we plan should they take her away.”

“What do you have in mind?” Stephen asked, the corner of his mouth curling as he humored his brother.

“We block the road and force her out of the carriage. And we’ll take her far from Abberton. They’re too old to look for her themselves, so they’ll hire people to look for her. Hopefully, their money will run out before they find her.”

Jasper slowly nodded. “That sounds like a plan.”

“And how do you plan to keep her? Do you have the means to house her somewhere?” Stephen asked.

“The Stratfords will take care of that.” Matthew turned to Damon. “You can elope with her. Get married. I’ll be a witness. Maybe you don’t have to hide her after that. You can just go back to Abberton as a married couple.”

“That sounds lovely,” said Damon, “but I doubt your sister will approve of any plans that will distraught your aunts.”

Matthew scoffed. “They are no aunts of ours.”

“They are still blood, Matthew,” Stephen said, voice etched with authority.

“Then what do you suggest we do? Wait until they die-which I don’t pray for, if you’re wondering-so Geneva finally gets her freedom?”

While everyone thought of a better answer, the door to the cottage opened. Mrs Vernon walked out holding Geneva’s hand. Behind them was Mr Vernon, expression seemingly helpless, shoulders burdened.

“There are simpler ways to deal with this, sons,” said Mrs Vernon, turning to face her daughter. Geneva’s eyes were red from tears, but something in the way she wrapped her arms around her mother and murmured a thank you told Damon she had found a way to deal with her aunts. “Remember what I told you, darling,” Mrs Vernon whispered before she released her daughter. “You’re all they have now. Be gentle.”

Damon stood and waited. They said their goodbyes and took the journey back up the hill. However, Geneva asked if they could stay in Windsong for a little while. In the garden, under the willow tree, they sat in silence.

“You must be tired of my troubles,” she wryly said. And before he could say a word, she chuckled and wrapped an arm around his. “I know you’ll say you’re not, which might be true, and that I’m just again making assumptions.”

“Which is true,” he said.

She chuckled. “I’ll try my best not to in the future.”

“Well, I’m glad there’s a future.”

She leaned back into the trunk. “I feel like a shattered vase who just had her pieces put back together. I feel whole yet fragile at the same time because I don’t know how much water I can take before I burst and break again.”

He watched her face as she closed her eyes, his own thoughts wandering nowhere in particular. “We’ll see how much you can bear one drop at a time.”

---

Geneva walked back to the Withers House alone, her wrap hanging on one arm. The sun was bright that morning, a contrast to the house she walked into. The windows were shut, the light muted by the dark curtains.

She found her aunts in the breakfast room, finishing their meal. Prudence and Barbara looked at her, but before either of them could reprimand her for disobeying their orders, Geneva squared her shoulders and said, “I went for a walk this morning. Not because I wanted to go against your wishes, but because I needed to visit my parents.”

Their lips pursed and their faces tightened.

“Barbara and I have been discussing,” said Prudence, setting her fork down before she veered a stony look at Geneva. “We think it best if you spend some time in an institution that can further assess your current state. Summerfield is a good place-”

“No,” Geneva interjected. She was shaking. “No. I will go nowhere.”

In the past, she would have crumpled to the floor with just the thought of saying no to them. She would have repeated prayers to ask for forgiveness for ever doing so. But this was her life at stake now. And as much as she loved them, she also loved herself.

“I’m not insane.”

“That’s exactly what our father said,” Prudence retorted. “But it’s not what you believe that matters. It’s what you show us. In recent weeks, even before we left you here, and you started doing things you would have otherwise not done, you were already showing signs of the same condition our father had. The same one our dear sister suffered.”

“The things I’ve been displaying are nothing but emotions,” she said, trying to keep her voice even. “If you have them, you will know. If you know its many facets, experienced its depths, you will realize that displaying anger or fury or grief are just part of being mere mortals. It’s not a sin to shed tears for losing someone. And it most definitely is not a sin against God to want something for yourself. To want happiness. To find the missing pieces of yourself.”

“Do not bring God into this, Geneva. You do not use His name-”

“Then what does God want for us? For me? Is it fear? That’s what you’ve all surrounded yourself for so long, and perhaps you’re safe to stay there. But not me. I’d rather conquer it.” Prudence made a move to stand, perhaps to drag her to another room to put her in her place, but Geneva stepped forward and spoke again. “I refuse to go anywhere. If you think you’ll lose me, fret not because I’ll stay here with you. I’m not going away until you force me to. I’ll continue to be here for both of you. Just not the same as before. We’ll still be together, but I’ll also live the life I want. With your guidance, yes, but not with the dominance or manipulation you impose upon me in every waking minute.” She took a breath, letting the silence echo in the space between them. “However, if you insist that I go to this institution you speak of, you’ll never see me again. And it shall break my heart.” Her voice quivered. “Because I love you both. I loved Aunt Deborah. I still do, and I miss her terribly. I grieve her in my own way-with endless tears at night and all the strong emotions I’m capable of. And that’s my point. I’m different. But that doesn’t mean I’m insane. God created me to feel and express. To not suppress the bad nor deprive myself of the good. I hope can at least understand that we each live differently. And if I would have to choose, I’m afraid I’ll choose me this time.”

She stepped back; the silence stretching as her aunts stared at her as if they were facing the devil’s spawn.

---

Damon stared blankly at the night sky through the round opening of the well above them.

“What bothers you?” Harry asked beside him. “Is it Miss Withers?”

“No, not really,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Believe it or not, I fret for her aunts.”

Surprised, Harry rolled his head toward him with a frown. “Why?”

“They’re old.”

“And?”

“Old people are frail.”

“And?”

“And I don’t know how they’ll take Geneva’s plans after losing their sister.”

Harry sighed and let the silence linger for a moment. Damon could almost hear his brain working in the stillness of the chamber. “I see. I can’t imagine breaking the old man’s heart either.”

“She’s all they have. When their sister left them, they felt betrayed. It’s likely they shall feel the same once they learn of her plans.”

Harry let out another long sigh. “Well, Miss Withers is not getting younger either.”

Damon frowned. “Whatever do you mean?”

His cousin shrugged. “Now that she started to discover the life she wants, she can’t take a pause. She’ll stumble if she does.” He made no comment because Harry was right. “Have you asked her to marry you?”

He rolled his eyes. “Why do you always ask that question?”

“Because we’re all just waiting for when you’ll do.”

This time, the sigh came from him. “I guess we’ll all have to wait a little longer.”

Harry shook his head with a light chuckle. “You’re different with her. Have I told you?”

“No.”

“You’re patient and you’re not patient.”

“I’m patient with people who need it.”

“And we don’t?”

“All Stratfords will be the least deserving of my patience.”

Harry laughed. “The devils also commented that you’re especially nice to her.”

“I am nice.”

“When foxed, yes.”

Damon scoffed, shaking his head. With another long sigh, he leaned his head back and stared at the opening above. Geneva had come a long way. Sometimes he doubted himself for encouraging her to do what he thought was good for her. What if they weren’t? What if he influenced her into doing something she would later regret?

“Don’t fret too much,” said Harry. “Remember that my own mother had to go against all odds for what she wanted.”

He rolled his eyes. “Your father practically stole her with our grandmother’s help.”

His cousin chuckled. “It was the old man’s idea.”

The story of Raymond Stratford and his wife was known to all Stratfords. And perhaps even the entire Abberton because of what the earl did when his son eloped with the woman he loved. It was their story that changed everyone’s perceptions of the Stratfords. Or, perhaps, it was what Bethany Manning was before she married into the family. Many were impressed that Raymond Stratford and his family cared very little about Bethany being a servant, or that she married the heir to an earldom. But there were some who viewed the marriage as a terrible idea simply because Bethany was not a part of the high society. But the Stratfords were always different, and they proved it with Raymond and Bethany’s union.

“They won in the end,” he said, blankly staring at the sky.

“They did,” Harry said, voice filled with pride.

---

Geneva woke up to the sun streaming through her window. A faint, sad smile broke on her face. Her feet touched the cold floor as she rose. As she stepped onto where sunlight touched the wooden floor, it was warm. A promise of another good day outside, she thought.

Then she remembered she made plans with Damon. They would ask seeds from their gardener so she could spread them in the back garden of the Withers House. Stretching, she yawned and turned around, curious why Gwen had not shown up yet.

Her heart stopped when the handle did not give way as she turned it. She tried again.

Knocking, she called for help. Her panic surged to her throat when she heard heavy footsteps outside and saw shadows through the gap on the floor. At the tinkling sound of keys, she stepped back.

The door swung open, revealing Doctor Mills. He smiled gently, but Geneva knew it was all a farce. The smile was only meant to make her feel at ease. Yet, there was nothing to be calm about when there were two large men standing behind him.

“Good morning, Geneva,” Doctor Mills said. “I was sent here to help you.”

“Help me how?” she asked, stepping a few steps back as she hugged herself.

“It’s not too late for treatment.” He stepped into the room. “A year in my hospital will be enough. Like your aunts, I’m hopeful that you’ll soon regain your old self in Summerfield.”

“N-No,” she said, shaking her head. “Nothing’s wrong with me.”

The smile on his face gave her chills. “They all say that.”

And then the two large men moved.

24. the asylum

Damon was having another chaotic breakfast with his family when suddenly, Clark, the butler, appeared, and in his most nonchalant, stiff mien, announced that Miss Gwen Halloway wished to have an audience with Damon immediately.

He was on his feet before the butler finished his sentence.

Gwen was pacing in the courtyard when he appeared. Her face looked distraught, her eyes red from crying. “What is it?” he asked as he strode toward the woman.

“They took her away!” Gwen said, suddenly hysterical. “Oh, Mr Priest! Please! What do we do?”

“Gwen, calm down,” he said, taking hold of the woman’s arms. “Who took her?”

“Doctor Mills and his men! They took her to Summerfield!”

“Summerfield?”

“An asylum. For the mentally ill. They believe she’s insane. Oh, please, we have to do something!”

For a breath, Damon was stunned. Then he was in disbelief. Never had he thought her aunts would take it this far. “This is absurd.”

“They’re absurd. Of course, they’d do absurd things!” Gwen sounded angry now. Even looked furious. “Is there anything you can do? If no, then I’ll go somewhere else to seek help.”

“Yes, yes,” he said. “I mean, yes, we’ll do something. Let me think for a moment.” He turned around, hands on his hips, to scowl at the ground.

“I don’t think they’ve gone far. We can still make chase. Once she’s inside Summerfield, it would be hard to take her out. They signed a contract with the institution. And contracts are not good. They’re binding and—”

“Gwen, please, let me think,” he said, raising a hand.

“But there’s not much time!”

He sighed and stared at the woman. “Very well. Go to the other side of the hill. Call for the Vernons and come back here. While you do that, I’ll get help.”

“From whom?”

“From whoever I can. Now, go.”

As Gwen rushed out of the courtyard, Damon let his head fall back. He cursed under his breath and returned to the breakfast room. Everyone around the table stopped whatever they were doing to stare at him, their faces already expecting horrible news.

His eyes landed on Harry. “I need help,” he said.

---

The Vernons gathered inside the northern drawing room of the Abberton House. With them were Damon, Harry, Gwen, and the earl himself. The old man said nothing as everyone filled him in on what had been happening with the Withers.

“That’s tragic,” said the earl, gaze distant.

“We may still make chase before they reach Summerfield,” said Matthew. His jaw was set firm like his older brothers. Even Stephen, who made fun of Matthew’s unconventional ideas of how they could rescue their sister from their aunts, seemed ready to jump to his feet and do what Matthew suggested.

“It will be too late,” said Gwen, eyes damp with tears.

Mr Vernon looked utterly helpless as he gripped his wife’s hand. Mrs Vernon, on the other hand, surprised Damon. He expected her to panic, to be as desperate as her sons, but she showed none of that. She was tremendously calm.

“We’ll talk to them,” said Stephen, breaking his silence. He moved to stand, but his mother stopped him, saying, “No.”

“What do you want to do, then?” Matthew angrily asked. “Let them take her away from us again, like how you let them years ago?”

“Matthew!” Mr Vernon snapped. “You don’t know how hard it had been for us—”

“He’s right,” said Mrs Vernon. Her face hardened. “We let them take her away. We let them keep her. No one should be blamed but us.” She blinked a few times. Her lips trembled. “We’ve waited too long to try to get her.”

“Well, we’re not waiting that long again,” said Stephen, standing. He looked around the room. “We apologize for the inconvenience, but we should face this thing as a family. I’m sorry if we bothered you with our troubles.”

“We’ll talk to the Withers,” said Matthew, joining his brother. “We’ll make them take her back from Summerfield. If they refuse to do so, we’ll do it ourselves.” As he spoke, his eyes were on his mother. “Come, Jasper.”

As the three brothers stormed to the door, Mrs Vernon stood. “No one is going to the Withers,” she said, voice cold. Her sons were ready to erupt, but stopped when she walked toward them. “We’ll go straight to Summerfield.”

Mr Vernon jumped to his feet in alarm, but the determined look on his wife caused him to square his shoulders and nod. “We are her parents.”

Mrs Vernon nodded. “And we’ll take her home.”

As both husband and wife walked out of the room, their sons stood frozen in shock by the door.

Damon jumped to his feet. “I think they need some company,” he said.

“And a fast carriage,” Harry added from where he sat beside the earl.

“Make that two,” the old man said as the three Vernon brothers followed Damon.

“And we’ll need Mr Murray in Summerfield, Harry!” Damon shouted over his shoulder.

Harry reluctantly stood. “You think this is a good idea? Us meddling in their affairs?” he asked the earl.

The old man grunted as he stood with the use of his cane. “No, but God help us if we don’t. I’m going to take a walk. You might wish to come along, boy. Learn a lesson or two.”

“And where are we going?”

“I’m thinking of calling on our two good neighbors.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “You cannot be serious.”

The earl winked and slowly made his way to the door. “Well, we don’t have all day, boy. Send a message to Murray at once so we can be on our way. What time do old spinsters take a nap nowadays? Do you happen to know?”

---

The journey took only two days. And in those sleepless hours, she had imagined how she would escape. Jump off the carriage? Run away during their only stop? She also dreamed of someone coming after them. Maybe Damon or her brothers on horsebacks rushing in to take her away from Doctor Mills and his men.

None of that happened.

They arrived in Summerfield with no incident. She did not break into loud tears. She did not even try to talk her way out because she knew that the doctor would only do more talking. She learned he was the type to show off his knowledge, which he did frequently during their trip.

He talked about how he started Summerfield with a vision to understand the unconscious. To cure an invisible disease.

“The mind is the most curious thing,” he said. “It dictates everything we do. I want to know what makes it break down. What makes one change so suddenly they forget who they were. Just like you, my dear. I’ve had many successes and their families are quite grateful.” She didn’t ask who his patients were, nor what their cases were. He gave them all to her. “They have erratic behaviors that prevent them from being part of society. They disrupt the natural order by their foolish displays.” Her worse fears returned when he relayed to her what he did to those patients. “I operate on them. They go to sleep crazy and they wake up cured. It’s almost a miracle if you witness it.”

Summerfield was in Stadeley. It was surrounded by acres of farmland in the east and north, the woods in the west, and the ocean in the south. It was a nice place, save for the fact that all patients could not venture out of the big building that stood right in the center of the property.

“If you pass your weekly tests, we hold excursions to the beach,” said the nurse who walked her to her room. They passed a series of quiet corridors before reaching the small chamber. But now and then, that quiet would break with a sudden shout or a wail that echoed down the halls.

Her room was small. A small bed stood on one side; a washstand and a closet at the opposite end. Everything was white. The only color came through the one window that overlooked the fields.

“Doctor Mills will see you on the morrow. We’ll also do more tests. You better rest.”

The door was locked almost immediately after she stepped in.

She panicked inside. A strong energy was building inside her, ready to explode if she didn’t control it. With a swallow, Geneva stood still in the middle of her room and closed her eyes.

This was the perfect time to remain calm, she thought. Fear was overwhelming, betraying her attempts to think of a good outcome. Prudence and Barbara flashed in her mind. They did not even show themselves when the men dragged her away. She cried for them and yet they never came out to explain to her what was happening.

Suddenly, she felt tired. As she sat on her bed, the smell of the unfamiliar room made her shudder. Was she bound to this place for the rest of her life? Just like her great-grandfather?

“Oh, God, please,” she choked out, hot tears falling straight down her lap as she bent her head. She muffled her cries with her hand, afraid that they would hear her and confirm she was insane. The feeling of being watched was not new. Her entire life, she had three pairs of eyes on her, always making sure she acted right. It felt the same now. The only difference was that she was alone. It was just their invisible presence. The way it always made her feel.

But she wasn’t alone. She wiped her tears and sniffled. No, she wasn’t alone.

She had her family.

She had Damon.

And they would do something. Anything.

25. the guardians

The two Withers sisters were not so keen on accepting a call from a Stratford. But an earl was still an earl and they could not let anyone in Abberton think they shooed away the one man everyone probably respected more after the vicar, most especially when he came with his heir.

“Thank you for having us,” the old man said as he sat down with a grunt, hands shaking on his cane as he did so. “We’re too old for this, aren’t we?” he asked, smiling at the two ladies.

They didn’t reply. They let the maid serve biscuits and tea, and waited for either of the two gentlemen to speak.

“We’re too old to try to be friends is what I meant,” said the earl.

Barbara and Prudence stared at each other. Finally, it’s Prudence who spoke. “You’re here about Geneva.”

A genuine smile broke the earl’s wrinkled face. “Yes.” He lifted a finger to stop the sisters. “And as we speak, my grandson is on his way to Summerfield.” Their eyes widened with horror and disbelief. “Along with the Vernons.”

This time, Barbara shot to her feet, her stern demeanor replaced by suppressed anger. “You have no right.”

“Yes, we don’t,” the man said, turning to look at Harry. “But the Vernons do.”

“No, they don’t. They didn’t raise her,” said Prudence.

The earl leaned back into his chair. “We’ll see what our attorney has to say on that matter.”

Prudence narrowed her eyes. “You meddle in everyone’s affairs with your influence and power. And yet you go to church as if you’re a holy man.”

Abraham Stratford chuckled, shoulders shaking. “Goodness. Is this how you try to manipulate your niece as well? No wonder that girl walks on eggshells.” His finger lifted from his cane, making a circular motion. “You use God to instill fear. The oldest weapon known to man.” To Harry, he added, “Next to seduction, I should say.”

“You dare make fun of our faith.”

The earl sighed. “And there it is,” he said with another motion of his finger. “If the fear doesn’t work, guilt might. Make yourselves the victims.”

“We don’t expect you to tell us what is right and wrong in dealing with our niece as much as you don’t expect us to give opinions on your unconventional ways of raising your broods, my lord,” Barbara said, lifting her chin to look down at the earl.

Abraham nodded. “Yes,” he said. “But neither can you expect me to sit back and watch another child lose her chance of having what my grandchildren long for—a complete family.” Harry watched the earl with awe. “And I will be stupid if I let you keep Geneva away from that.”

Barbara scoffed. “You don’t tell us how we deal with our family .”

“Well, my dears, with the way you’re handling things, I don’t think your niece will ever consider you her family.”

Both sisters stiffened.

“It’s true we can’t choose our family. But you don’t force them to choose you either.” Abraham’s wrinkled eyes seemed more alive than Harry had ever seen them as they jumped from one Withers sister to the other. “If she doesn’t fit your ideals, then please let others who would accept her and her flaws have her. Let the Vernons have her back. We’re old, my ladies. We’ll all die at some point. When we do, God will judge us for how we made our children feel rather than what we tried to make them.”

The silence that followed made Harry uncomfortable. Not only was he amongst people more than twice his age, he was not used to seeing his grandfather reprimand people his age, more so women.

“Children are like seeds on a tree, you see,” said the earl, breaking the heavy silence. “Some of them are designed to fall on the ground and stay near their parent trees and thrive; some are light enough they can travel a little far; and others can fly with the wind. It doesn’t matter where they go or stay. What matters is they strive and thrive where they land.” This time, the earl leaned forward. “We are not our children’s soil, nor are we their wind and sunlight. We simply are the trees who let them go.”

After saying those words, the earl stood with another grunt. “I hope I imparted my unconventional wisdom. Who knows? Maybe God sent me here to deliver a message. Good day, my ladies.”

In the curricle, Harry said, “That was quite astonishing. The part about the seeds. How did you come up with that?”

The old man just snorted. “A boring talk of a botanist years ago at a funeral. You can’t imagine how long I’ve waited for a perfect opportunity to share the only lesson I learned from that bastard.”

Harry laughed, shaking his head.

---

When Damon arrived outside Summerfield with the Vernons, a young man greeted them. He had brown hair, which he must have hastily brushed up with his hands. His trousers were too short, his shirt missing one button. A smile lit up his face as he jumped and greeted him.

“Mr Priest?” he asked, extending a hand. “I’m John.”

Damon looked behind the young man as they shook hands. The Vernons stood behind him, staring at the tall gates of Summerfield. “Where is Mr Murray?”

“He’s currently out of town with another client,” explained John. “But he sent his son to assist you.”

With an expectant smile, Damon’s gaze swept around again before finally settling on the young man. With a frown, he said, “You’re the son.”

John eagerly nodded. “Yes.”

“And how old are you?”

“I’ll be twenty in three years.”

Merely three years older than Freda. Bloody tarnation. Did Murray think this was a joke?

“I’m young, but I assure you I’m quite capable,” said John. “I’ve been studying law since the day I entered my father’s library at five.”

Damon knew Murray, but he wasn’t aware the man had a son. Then again, his grandfather’s attorney was not the kind to spill details about himself. He would come and discuss only what’s necessary, then leave immediately, foregoing any invitation for supper or drinks.

Since they could not waste time, and he trusted Murray’s judgment, Damon simply nodded and motioned toward the Vernons. After a quick introduction, he presented the problem to John and expressed the need for urgency.

“I understand,” said the young man, nodding.

“Well? Can you help us?”

John blinked. “Well, I’ll try.”

That did not sound good enough for Damon. He could tell the Vernon brothers were losing confidence in their counsel. But it was Mr Vernon who said, “I share your father’s confidence in you, Mr Murray. He sent you because he knows you’re capable.” He patted Matthew’s shoulder. “We are utterly grateful for your presence despite the short notice.”

John nodded and skittishly turned around. “Shall we?” he asked.

Damon smiled and offered Mrs Vernon a reassuring smile. “We’ll get her back.”

---

Geneva was escorted into Doctor Mills’ office by two nurses. When they left, she was asked to sit down as the doctor leafed through pages of notes. She recognized his notebook. It was the same one he used when he talked to her in Abberton.

“How have you been?” he asked, lifting his eyes to look at her.

“I want to go home,” she said. “You can’t keep me here.”

Something flashed in his eyes. Anger? But he quickly blinked it away, covered it with a smile. “Many patients say the same thing. But you’ll soon realize, as you see more of Summerfield, that you’re in the right place.”

“I’m not insane.”

Doctor Mills sighed, closed his notebook, and clasped his hands over the table. “Geneva, your aunts are greatly concerned. You’ve dramatically changed in just a span of a few months. You’ve been displaying the same symptoms as your great-grandfather. I know because we still have his records.”

Geneva blinked a few times against the angry tears behind her eyes. “And what are my symptoms?”

“Erratic behavior, excessive display of emotion on occasions that don’t warrant them, the lying and manipulation… You’ve stopped going to church—”

“I still go to church. Just not as often as my aunts do. I never stopped praying.”

“The letters you sent to your aunts while they were in Birth were all over the place. They lack consistency.”

“That’s because I had nothing else to talk about!”

“Please. There is no need to shout.”

“Well, you’re not listening to me. You’ve already made up your mind that I’m insane based on what they told you.”

“One of the reasons you’re here is for me to understand you better. You’ll go through more tests during your time here before we decide on the best procedure to help you return home.”

“And what procedures are we talking about?”

“Therapies. Many of which are non-invasive.”

“And I suppose the invasive ones are for those who are helpless?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“And what are they?”

His smile did not waver as he replied, “We perform lobotomy and others.”

“You dig holes into people’s brains.”

“Only if their condition deems it necessary.”

Geneva shook her head. “I’m not taking part in any of your therapies.”

The smile disappeared and his face turned stern. “You have no choice. Your aunts gave consent for you to be treated. Since you’re diagnosed with a mental disorder, we can’t trust you to make sound judgment. You’re here for the duration of your treatment.”

“You mean I’ll stay here for years like my grandfather. You’re never going to let me go, are you? You’ll continue to take my aunts’ money while you perform your little experiments on me. How long would it take before you drill into my skull?”

“I understand you’re angry, but I promise it shall be—”

“You can’t keep me here because my aunts don’t have authority over me,” she said. “Have they told you I have parents?”

“In fact, they did. And they also relayed that your mother suffers the same mental disorder.”

“Even if my mother is crazy, my father is not.”

The mention of her father struck him. As if he just realized she was right. But he was too proud to say it. He shook his head. “Your stay here has already been paid for. Your tests will resume tomorrow and treatments will immediately follow. I understand the rules have already been relayed to you?”

“You’re changing the subject. I was talking about my father. If he and my brothers come for me, they can take me away from here—”

“ If they come for you,“ Doctor Mills interjected, “they will have to prove that they are—”

“They have the proof that they are her parents,” a voice said from the doorway. “I have the papers.”

Geneva and Doctor Mills turned in surprise. Geneva jumped to her feet when she saw her mother. But Doctor Mills was faster, blocking the woman’s path. “Who are you?” he demanded. The two guards walked into the room, Damon in tow. One of them answered Doctor Mills’ question. “They brought a legal counsel, Doctor.”

Doctor Mills scowled at the young man standing in front of the Vernons. “A legal counsel?”

“My name is John Murray,” the young man said. “I represent Mr and Mrs Vernon. I have the papers to prove they are her legal guardians.”

“Her legal guardians are Prudence and Barbara Withers. They’ve raised her since her parents gave her away!”

“The right term would be ‘entrusted’, Doctor,” said John Murray. “They entrusted their daughter’s care to Mrs Vernon’s aunts. Her records will show you that her parents remain to be Theodore and Constance Vernon.” The young man stepped forward with a smile. Although he may not be dressed as smart as he talked, he still possessed the stance of a confident man. “Unless the Withers can provide any legal documents that proves their authority over Miss Geneva, she is free to go home with her parents.”

“But they have a contract with us,” said Doctor Mills. “And if you wish to contest that, you have to take it to the courts.”

“Your contract is for the admission of one Geneva Withers,” John said with a smile. “But Geneva Withers does not exist in the records.”

Doctor Mills stiffened.

“Her birth name is Geneva Claire Vernon. The Withers sisters never legally changed her name.” John took another step forward. “By holding Miss Geneva here, your institution is committing a crime, Doctor.” With a smile that lit his eyes, John looked around until his gaze settled back on Doctor Mills. “So, who is going to escort Miss Geneva out of here?”

Geneva’s eyes filled with tears. She stared at her mother, her father. Her brothers. And when she saw Damon smiling at her, her knees buckled with relief. Someone caught her, but she didn’t know who. The next she remembered, she was wrapped in warmth.

26. the new chapter

Things happened fast. It felt like she took a nap. It was short, but filled with a series of nightmares that rendered her immobile. Helpless. And in just a snap, she woke up, and it all ended. And she didn’t wake up alone. She was with the people who fought for her freedom. She trusted them and they didn’t fail her.

One moment she was in a room listening to Doctor Mills talk about putting holes in his patients’ heads, then she was in a carriage heading home, in the arms of her mother, her father holding her hand in his warm, rough hands.

“We’re here, darling. You’re not alone,” her mother murmured against her temple, lips trembling as she, too, cried. From across the carriage, Matthew stared at her with a guarded look, as if he expected something to happen any moment. Beside his brother sat Damon. He gave her a small smile when her eyes landed on him.

The carriage behind them carried Stephen, Jasper, and the young attorney.

Everything seemed in place.

Yet she knew she was coming home to another challenge.

Her hand tightened around her father’s. She wasn’t ready to face her aunts. Could she forgive them for what they did? As her fear subsided, and the reality that she was once more free sank in, she just wanted to go home with her family. Wherever it might be, she could not return to the Withers House. Not for now.

---

They stayed a night in Strait, then they went to Dafield where Simone and her new husband welcomed them and where they stayed for three more days.

“You have had such an adventure, brother,” Simone said as she settled beside him with a smile.

He only shook his head, also finding it hard to believe that things had gone this far.

“I told Daniel during our honeymoon that I was getting bored. Little did I know that we’d be coming home to this.” She leaned closer and whispered, “How much of this mess was your fault?”

“None—Well, I don’t know.”

Simone laughed, looping an arm around his and resting her head on his shoulder. “Now that you’ve made such a mess, marry the woman. I don’t think she wants to go back to her aunts.”

“She has her family now, you know.”

“Yes, but surely you don’t expect her to live with them forever.” Her head moved over his shoulder to look at him. “You want to marry her?”

“Of course,” he said. “In time.”

“When?”

“Her time.”

She sighed. “Things fall in their rightful places, eventually.”

He patted her cheek. “They did for you.”

Simone chuckled and kissed his cheek. “Thank you for making it easy when it did.”

He grinned. “Am I your favorite brother now?”

“You still made me stay in the well for a day years ago.”

His laughter rumbled in his throat. “You nearly caused a fire, Sisi.”

She scoffed. “Not just me.”

He patted her hand. “It’s not good to hold grudges.”

His sister laughed and sighed. “I hope things fall into place for you and Geneva.”

“I hope the same.”

---

On the day they finally arrived in Abberton, Geneva went home with the Vernons. Every morning, Damon would come by and they’d take the hike to Windsong. Sometimes, Matthew would come with them with the cow. On occasions, Freda and Roxie would show up and they’d spend the day in the garden, picking flowers or drawing. She’d return just in time to help her mother prepare meals for her father and brothers. She learned other chores, such as washing clothes and gardening. Her afternoons varied. Sometimes Damon would come by and stay for supper, or they would pack food in a basket and go back to Windsong. But most of her evenings were spent with her family. Over meals, they would talk endlessly, with no time to care because she was no longer chasing it.

When she first arrived, she slept with her mother in the same room, her father with one of her brothers, until they completed the small room they built. She decorated it with flowers and filled with books she collected and haggled for in the fair. And it was in those nights when she was alone in her room that she thought about her aunts again. She’d wonder how they were doing, or how they had taken the news of her departure from Summerfield.

A month after her arrival in Abberton, Gwen finally showed up, tears in her eyes. The woman embraced her, all the while telling her she was sorry for having not done anything to the stop the men who took her. Geneva had to reassure her it was not her fault.

“How are they?” she asked.

Gwen’s lips pursed. “I can tell you that they’re regretful or that they’re angry, but I can’t lie. They’re not showing either of those. They’re utterly the same. It’s fascinating how they can be so calm after the letter from Summerfield came.”

Geneva sighed. “They don’t show their emotions, Gwen, but that doesn’t mean they don’t feel anything.”

“Well, I don’t know. I’m only staying because I’m still hoping for things to change.”

“That I might return?”

“What? No, of course not! Look at you! You look healthier and happier. I would not wish for you to return. I only—”

“Only what?”

“I simply hope they will accept you. I’d like to see that happen before things are too late.”

Geneva reached for Gwen’s hand and squeezed. She didn’t say a word, but she was afraid. Many times, she had thought about visiting her aunts. But what if they would use their influence on her again and convince her to return? What if they told her to go back to Summerfield because it was best for her? And what if she obeyed them like she did these many years?

As Gwen told her more news about the staff in the Withers House, Geneva’s mind wandered. By the time the maid left, a choice plagued her. If she wanted to move on, she would have to face them. She could not live the rest of her life wondering about her aunts, or regretting ever trying to be a part of their lives again. What they had done to her was unforgivable, but she could not fully blame them. It was the only way they knew how to deal with their fears. Summerfield was the only place they knew they could keep their loved ones safe because in their heads, they believed their own lies. Lies they created to protect themselves from the pain and loss.

Thus, three days after Gwen’s visit, Geneva asked Matthew to go with her to the Withers House.

“Why in the bloody hell?” he asked.

“Because I need you to be there to help me escape. Just in case.”

“I mean, why bother go there at all?”

“Because they are still our aunts. And they raised me. I still love them despite everything.”

“Well, I don’t consider them family.”

“You don’t have to,” she said. “Although I can feel that they will grow to like you.”

“Which will be unfortunate because I don’t think I’ll ever like them.”

“Come now, Matthew,” she said, pulling his arm. “The possibility is endless.”

“The possibility of me committing a crime against two elderly women is indeed vast,” he murmured.

“Matthew!”

“What? You said it yourself—the possibility is endless.”

She argued with him all the way to the Withers House, and when they reached it, they stood outside the gates and looked up. Her brother was utterly disinterested as she knocked on the door. The footman’s face brightened when he saw her. He led them to the drawing room and rushed upstairs to call her aunts. As they waited, Geneva smoothed her skirts and fixed her hair.

“Stop doing that,” Matthew snapped at her over his shoulder before resuming his scrutiny of the figurines on the shelf. He picked one up, turning the small porcelain in one hand. “I swear this one looks like Jasper.” He showed it to her and they both snickered because the figurine of a man with large eyes did have features similar to their brother.

“Put that down,” a stern voice from the doorway said. Matthew whirled around in surprise while Geneva jumped to her feet, unconsciously righting her dress. “Now,” Barbara ordered, eyes fixed on Matthew.

Geneva held her breath until her brother safely returned the figurine on the shelf and stepped back. Then she bit her lips when he said, “Beautiful house you have here,” smiling at their aunts. “Interesting figurines, too.”

It was Prudence who spoke, facing Geneva. “What are you doing here? Have you not smeared our name enough that you had to return and bring your brother—”

“I’m only here for a visit,” she cut in before her aunt spoke anything that would outrage Matthew. “I hope to still be able to visit.”

Barbara looked at Prudence, who only stared at Geneva with a blank look in her face. “Why? Is your family’s little cottage a little uncomfortable for you?”

She stepped forward just as Matthew did and spoke before her brother could. “No. They’re taking great care of me.”

Barbara faced her with a frown. “Should you not be angry at us? For what we did?”

“I was, but I soon realized you only did what you did because you cared for me.”

Prudence slowly shook her head. “You have already made your decision, Geneva. You showed us the path you wish to take. We don’t approve of it, but as you and your counsel said in Summerfield, we are not your legal guardians. We have no authority over you, nor should we be obliged to feel responsible for your wellbeing. As should you.” She stiffly turned away, saying, “Barbara and I can take care of each other.”

“Aunt Prudence—”

“It is best you leave,” Barbara said, gaze jumping from her to Matthew. For a few quick seconds, her eyes lingered on the young man with interest before they veered back to Geneva. “Know we have no other plans that are against your will. You are free to do what you want from this day on.”

“But I worry about you. I still care for the both of you. We can still be a part of each other’s lives,” she said, hot tears behind her eyes. It hurt her to see her aunt block any emotion because she knew how hard it was to do so.

Barbara only shook her head. “Go. You’re free.”

---

But she didn’t feel free. Not when a part of her still longed for her aunts. Not when she lived happily with her family and yet felt her life was not complete.

Therefore, as much as Matthew didn’t enjoy it, he would accompany Geneva to the Withers House every morning to deliver fresh goods and greet their aunts a good morning. It took a different kind of courage to ignore their resistance, but as time went on, each visit changed.

Their coldness turned to annoyance, mostly at Matthew, who was the only one courageous enough to say his mind in the presence of their aunts. He would complain about the long walk he had to take, how he was tired of their coldness and indifference, and even the drafty drawing room. One time, he even surprised everyone when he opened the windows, letting fresh air and sunlight into the room. And before Prudence or Barbara could reprimand him, he smiled at them and said, “There. Better! See? You both look better in the natural light. Your place is too dark, really. How do you even see your way around here without tripping and breaking bones?” But as always, before they left, the windows were pulled back again, much to Matthew’s disappointment.

That evening, while she and Damon were taking a stroll, she saw her Aunt Barbara’s bedroom window open. By morning, when she and Matthew returned, they were closed again.

“Proud women,” Geneva murmured to herself with a shake of her head.

Although it took months to eventually be invited for breakfast, Geneva felt hopeful things were working out well. Her days felt better, and she could not be happier with each passing season.

However, she knew it would take longer for her aunts to welcome the others, particularly her parents. But Theodore and Constance Vernon were patient, or, as her mother said, “I’m sorry to say this, darling, but I’m no longer too keen on building a relationship with my aunts. But I am open to it if they are. After all, I’m still grateful that they took care of you the best way they knew how.”

But as Christmas neared, her mother one day asked if she could come with her and Matthew to the Withers House. Their aunts were not so pleased to see her, but they reluctantly allowed her to join them for breakfast. Matthew’s presence was perhaps the one good thing during that very awkward meeting. He filled the table with stories about his plans to study in Coulway.

“Mr Priest convinced me to do it.”

“And who will pay for your studies?” asked Prudence with a frown.

“Mr Priest,” Matthew said. “He’s quite hopeful about my future.”

“You mean you will be indebted to them Stratfords?” Barbara asked.

“In a way, yes.”

A brief silence followed. Then Prudence surprised everyone by saying, “We will pay for your studies, young man. Need not beg help from others.”

“But I’m not begging. They’re offering it because they want the best for me and my future. And what would I have to do if I accept your help?” Matthew asked, brows arched high.

“Nothing.”

“I don’t believe it.” Matthew narrowed his eyes at Prudence. “I know you can be quite cunning, the both of you,” he said, pointing his fork at them. “Don’t say you aren’t. I’ve played chess with you too many times.”

Prudence rolled her eyes. When they landed on Constance Vernon, she said, “Convince your son.”

“My son will do what he thinks is best, Aunt Prudence.”

Geneva thought that was the end of the discussion, but Matthew surprised them more a fortnight later, saying, “If you intend to help me with my studies, you have to invite us to a Christmas dinner.”

“What?” Barbara asked incredulously.

“Listen, Aunt Barb,” said Matthew, “My family and I have been going to this house every year for a long time, and every time, you never let us see our sister. I’d like us to have a proper dinner together where you welcome all of us Vernons to your house.”

And that was that. Geneva had her first happy Christmas.

27. the most favorite

Too much had changed since the night Geneva dared to venture out of the Withers House. Since that Sunday morning she told Damon Priest her secrets and fears. It seemed only yesterday when she started to think of possibilities, of forgiving herself, her parents, and her aunts. For being free of guilt for the little pleasures. Of wanting adventure and excitement despite the sadness and pain.

Two years and yet it still felt so fresh. The feelings. The memories.

But so much had also happened since then. Ever since the Christmas dinner she shared with her family, things had fallen into place for her. Not without challenges, of course.

When she told her aunts that she wanted to go with Matthew to Coulway to try acting, they were horrified. Scandalized.

“I’ll visit you often,” she promised them.

“No, you will not. You’ll get married. You’ll get pregnant. Build your own family with the Stratfords.”

“But I’m not quite ready to be married. I am yet to live my full life,” she enthusiastically told them.

Her Aunt Prudence merely shook her head. “She’s too much like Adeline,” she said to Barbara.

That conversation was still as fresh as all the others in her head. Even now as she absently stared at the paper in front of her, she smiled, imagining her aunts’ reaction to her latest letter. They might burn it or feed it to the birds, she didn’t care. She wrote about her exciting week and she wanted to share it.

People passed around her in a blur as she immersed herself in what she was reading. She was aware of people rushing by with packages, of chatters that became muffled as the story on the page filled her senses. She was also quite aware that there were gentlemen from across the bazaar who had been studying her with interest for some time now. Yet she didn’t care. Her mind was elsewhere, transported in a different place and time.

But when the gentlemen started talking loudly, she started to lose focus. It was obvious they were trying to get her attention. She would not have assumed it if she was uncertain, but for days now, they had tried to talk to her. She could have avoided going to the bazaar, but then she was not quite willing to give up her favorite place because of them.

When she felt a shadow fall upon her, she gritted her teeth. But when the owner of the shadow spoke, her head snapped up and her eyes widened.

“Are you aware that you have admirers three tables away?” he asked, his brown eyes smiling and glinting down at her. His curly brown hair was a mess from the wind outside.

“What are you doing here?” she asked in wonder, jumping to her feet, throwing her papers on the table.

“I came to see you, of course—Geneva, people can see us,” he said when she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Well, I don’t care!” she cried out, burying her face in his neck. “I missed you.”

His arm went around her, his chest vibrating with laughter. “I missed you, too.”

“Now, tell me why you’re here,” she said, pulling away from him, ignoring the curious stares.

“I missed you,” he said, taking the seat across from hers. Damon looked around. “Where’s Matthew?”

“Probably still with his physics teacher,” she said, resting her chin on her palm, smiling at him with wonder. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

“Stop staring,” he said, leaning back with a chuckle.

“I can’t help it. It’s been months.”

He rolled his eyes. “I shouldn’t have tried so hard to make you fall in love with me. You’re such a hopeless case.”

“Not hopeless enough to forget my lines tomorrow,” she said, reaching for his hand. He took it and she smiled when he gave it a squeeze. “You’ll be in the audience, yes?”

“Right at the very front. But not the center.”

“What do you mean?”

“I heard your character stay mainly on the right of the stage.”

She felt her face flush. She had long assumed that the feeling would never go away. Damon Priest would always make her blush. “What do you wish to do tonight?”

“If we’re in Abberton, we’d go to Windsong. Or walk down Stratford Road. But since we’re in Coulway, what do you want to do?”

She shrugged. “You tell me.”

“Catch stars?” he asked, grinning at her.

Her shoulders shook with laugher. “But you’ve already caught me, Mr. Priest.”

His laughter rang around the bazaar. “I see you’ve gotten very good at throwing lines, Miss Geneva.” He stood, taking her hand. “Come. Let’s go for a stroll.”

“We should buy something for supper,” she said as they walked past her three gentlemen admirers. “We hardly nothing to cook in the apartment.”

“You need to work harder, darling,” he said.

“I hardly have anything to pay Gwen, but she’s staying because we’re in Coulway and she needs a place to stay while she finds Mr. Stiles.”

“Has she any leads on where he might be?”

“Nothing concrete, but she’s certain she will find him soon.” They crossed the bridge and walked to the market. She bought flour and meat, and everything else she needed for tonight’s pie. She could not rely on Matthew to do the shopping because her brother was too immersed in his studies. “Sometimes he forgets to eat,” she complained to Damon. “Gwen and I found him three days ago in his bedroom, lying over his notes, too weak to even speak. We thought he was dead! We had to force food down his throat.”

He smiled, patting her hand wrapped around his arm. “It was a good decision you came with him.”

“I did not do so entirely for him.”

“Of course, you didn’t. You’re here to become a star.” He kissed the top of her head. “You’re already shining.”

They walked down Picadilly Street talking about things they missed from each other’s letters. He filled her in with news about the devils and their play.

“I know,” she said with a laugh. “They send more letters than you asking if I could be home in time for their Christmas play.”

“They’re selling tickets now. Price’s idea.”

“They promised to give me two free passes for my aunts if I say yes to their proposal.”

“And what role did they offer?”

“A killer.”

He stopped dead in his tracks. “You cannot be utterly serious.”

“I’m not jesting. They’re writing a crime story.”

“No. Of course, they are. That’s hardly a surprise. You can’t be a murderer.”

“Oh. Well, I quite like the role. It’s something I’ve always wanted to try.”

“Murder?”

“No!”

He laughed and stole a kiss. “I will see you for dinner?” he asked as they walked up to the steps to the door.

She nodded, opening the door. “Yes.”

He looked up at the apartment Daniel owned. “I can’t believe you took his offer, but not ours.”

“My aunts cannot be indebted to the Stratfords,” she said, pushing the door. “But they cannot say no to a duke.”

He chuckled and jogged down the steps to run next door.

Geneva called for Gwen, who popped out of the kitchen with brows raised high. “Did you buy meat?”

“Yes.”

“You’re smiling too much,” Gwen said, frowning. “And your face is flushed. He’s in Coulway, isn’t he?”

She nodded, turning around to rush to the stairs.

“You should just marry the man, Miss!” Gwen shouted after her.

When she burst into the duke’s old bedroom, she laughed to find Damon already standing in front of his sister’s old window. “Hello,” she said, walking nearer.

“I’ve figured what we should do after dinner,” he said, sitting down Simone’s old chair.

“What?”

“Let’s get married.”

Geneva laughed. “Mayhap in a year.”

His brows cocked high. “You cannot take that back.”

“I said mayhap.”

“Stop teasing, Geneva.”

“Why? I love teasing you. It’s one of my favorite things.” She then drew the curtain closed, saying, “Hurry and come here for dinner.”

Not an hour later, Damon was in their apartment for dinner. Halfway through, Matthew arrived, dragging his feet down the corridor to the dining room. Geneva met Damon’s surprised look and rolled her eyes. “I told you, have I not? He works too hard.”

“No, I don’t,” her brother said, taking the seat next to her. “I simply have no energy for unimportant things.”

Smiling wryly at Damon, she said, “Have I told you he also thinks he’s really smart now?”

“Too smart to agree and irk my sister,” Matthew said, smiling as he reached for a fresh slice of bread. “When did you get here, Mr Priest?”

“Just in time to save my fiancée from other men.”

“Fiancée now, is it?” Matthew asked, turning to Geneva.

“The title holds until next year, I’m afraid,” Damon said with a sigh.

“I wager it won’t be long, Mr Priest. Just you wait and see.”

“How do you say so?” he asked with interest, ignoring Geneva’s scowl.

“All her friends in the theatre are married. Most have kids as well. And you should see the look on her face whenever they talk about their wives or husbands or when their kids come to visit.” Matthew pointed the last piece of his bread at his sister. “She’ll be begging you to marry her before the year is over.”

“I’ll only do so to get away from him,” Geneva pointed at Matthew. “Mother should have told me I’d be taking care of a big child in Coulway.”

Matthew wryly laughed. “You shall not have the same opinion once I become an inventor.”

Geneva shared an amused smile with Damon. “If you say so,” she said with a shrug.

---

“You are going to be late, Miss!” Damon heard Gwen say as he waited in the parlor the next morning. He stood when he heard hurried footsteps and smiled when the maid jumped the two remaining steps carrying two satchels. “She’s always late! Always!” she said to Damon as she rushed past him and out the front door.

“She’s always in a hurry,” Geneva said with a giggle, landing at the bottom of the stairs with grace.

“You look beautiful,” he said, offering his hand.

She took it with her undying smile. “It’s because I’ll be playing a man’s new bride.”

Damon stopped, eyes wide. “You got the role?”

“I did!” she said, jumping with excitement. “Just yesterday!”

“Miss!” Gwen shouted from outside. “You’ll be playing a very late bride if you keep dallying!”

Damon and Geneva rushed out to the carriage. When they reached the theatre, Gwen jumped out, saying, “I’ll put your things in the back.”

Damon climbed out of the carriage, but instead of hurrying, Geneva held him back. “We have time.”

“But you need to be ready.”

“I’m ready,” she said, hooking her arm around his.

He looked up at the theatre and the line of guests outside. A few saw Geneva. “You’re my new favorite, Miss!” a man shouted, followed by more.

Geneva waved at them and led Damon to the back entrance.

“You’re their favorite now, are you?” he teased.

“It’s the role, not me,” she said.

“It’s you. You’re carrying the role.”

As crew and staff of the theatre rushed around them, Damon smiled. “What else are your new favorites?”

“What?”

“Last night you said teasing me is your new favorite thing. What else?”

She looked up. “The theatre.”

He stared down at her glowing face and smiled. “What else?”

“Acting.” When he said nothing and simply waited, her face flushed and she looked away. “Walking with you around Coulway.” Damon chuckled and kissed the top of her head. Her arm tightened around his. “Like so.”

“I can sense. What else?”

“‘Mornin’ Miss Neve!” a crew greeted, tapping his hat as he passed.

“Good morning, Mr Sprouse,” she greeted back. Looking up at Damon, she wiggled her eyebrows. “My stage name’s another favorite.”

“Beautiful name. Thank the man who suggested it.”

She kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

“The stage,” she said, continuing her list of favorite things. “Windsong. The well. Our tree—”

“Our?” he interrupted.

“Our,” she said matter-of-factly. “What else? I have quite a few.”

“Me?”

“Do you consider someone you love your favorite?”

He laughed. “You most certainly should.”

“Well, then, I think I can squeeze you in.” She unhooked her arm when Gwen reappeared, looking flustered. “I must go. Sit by the far right.”

“I will,” he said, catching her hand before she turned. The expectant smile on her lips felt both surreal and exquisite when he kissed her. “I love you.”

She playfully narrowed her eyes at him. “But I’m still your favorite, yes?”

“For as long as you allow it.”

“You both are hopeless,” Gwen groaned, pulling him away.

The maid led me into the theatre before any of the guests were allowed entrance and pointed to the right side. “She said sit at the very front.”

He took a seat and waited until the theatre was full. And as the lights went out, and the stage lit up, everything else was nonexistent as his most favorite glided across the stage with the confidence she harnessed by herself and he could not be any more proud.

He was the first to stand and clap when the curtains fell. And he was there when she searched for him in the crowd after.

“I change my mind. I think you’ll make a terrific murderer for the Christmas play,” he said later that night as they strolled down Picadilly Street. “Yes. You just killed the entire population of men in the theatre earlier.”

She laughed. “You exaggerate.”

“Did you not hear their howls of agony when the curtains closed?” He hooked her hand in his arm. “But I’m afraid I was the last man standing.”

“You would have to be.”

“Until next year, I’m afraid.”

“Are we talking about our wedding?”

“We are, darling.”

She let out a dramatic sigh. “I will have to talk to my parents.”

“I can sense their approval from here.”

“My brothers—”

“I should have you know that I already celebrated with your brothers.”

“My aunts?”

He paused while she chuckled. Then he shrugged. “I have a year to work on that.”

Her laughter rang down the street, and he wrapped his arm around her. “Quiet. You’re being too loud.”

“I don’t care. I’m quite happy!” She looked around, ignoring the curious glances thrown their way.

“I’m glad you are.” Damon smiled. She was no longer confined in one place or future. She had nothing but the freedom of a woman who knew her many possibilities.

“I’m glad we are,” she corrected.

He looked up at the night sky. He wasn’t certain if it was possible, but if his parents were somewhere watching, he knew they agreed with her. If anyone could understand the immense joy he felt, it would be them because no mortal word could ever express such a profound thing.

“I think she’s watching,” Geneva said, also looking up. “Aunt Deborah. And I think she’s happy for me.” Her eyes were filled with tears when they met his. “I did what she said. I went across the hill.”

He smiled down at her. “You bravely did.”

“I’m brave, am I not?”

“You’re everything.”

“I will never get used to your adulations,” she said with a shiver. “Never.”

He laughed and caught her hand when she tried to escape. “Then I’ll just keep it among your other secrets.”

Geneva squeezed his hand. “I’m glad I told you my secrets, Damon Priest.”

He smiled down at her with a gentle smile. “And I’m glad I get to keep them.”

-the end-

Author’s Note

Thank you so much for reading this work! The Abberton series feels like the safest and warmest place for me. It gives me just the kind of soft, lazy warmth I need on a bad day whenever I’m writing for it, and I hope that it delivers the same feeling for you.

The next story will focus on another Stratford, of course. And this time, it will be Lydia! However, for now, I’ll take a break and focus on my next story, Wake Up, Witch! I hope to see you there! Or if not, see you on the next Abberton story!

Spilling tea and secrets always,

J.D. Ruiz (greenwriter)