Seemingly mollified, Honoria pursed her lips in thought. “About ten years now. But there has not been anyone at Caulnedy in all that time.” She turned to Adelaide and snatched a biscuit from the plate on the low tea table. “You’ve been on the Isle longer than any of us, as you came here when you were just a girl. Do you recall hearing anything of Caulnedy or its owners?”
“Not a thing. My Aunt Bea would have known, having been born here,” she said, referring to her great-aunt, who had owned the Beakhead before her and taken an orphaned Adelaide in when she was a child. “But she never mentioned anything about it to me.”
“I am sorry for not learning more,” Bronwyn said quietly, feeling as if she had somehow failed her friends but not quite understanding how. Which was always the way of things with her, it seemed. She felt one step behind everyone else, even with these people she loved so well. The realization was lowering indeed, that she might never fully have a place in this world.
Blessedly the others, while not completely understanding her, never failed to ease her mind.
“Nonsense,” Seraphina said in that bracing way she had that sounded dismissive and abrupt though Bronwyn knew held affection in it. “You have given us more information than we previously had. And,” she continued, a smile in her voice as she leaned close to whisper in Bronwyn’s ear, “you have succeeded in helping me distract Honoria.”
“There must be someone on Synne who might remember the original family,” Honoria mused, oblivious of the whispered words being said about her. She snatched another biscuit off the quickly dwindling mound. This time, however, she passed it to Mouse, who had been closely watching her the whole while, a long string of drool hanging from his jowls. He happily inhaled it without chewing.
“Oh, Honoria,” Katrina fretted, grabbing at Mouse’s collar as he dove for the rest of the delicacies that dared to sit uneaten on the plate, “I do wish you wouldn’t feed him scraps. He’s hard enough to control around food as it is.”
“Poppycock,” Honoria countered. “He deserves it, don’t you, you adorable lummox?” She scratched Mouse behind the ear, earning her a deep sigh and a huge head in her lap as the dog leaned in for his massage.
“Honoria is right,” Adelaide said, her voice contemplative. “There has to be someone on the Isle who remembers.”
“Would someone please mark the date and time that dear Adelaide admitted I was correct in anything,” Honoria drawled with a grin.
“Cheeky,” Adelaide said with a chuckle. “But truly, who better to ask than the reigning matriarch of the Isle and your own employer, Katrina?”
“Oh, yes!” Katrina said, her pixie face lighting up with understanding, delicate blond curls bouncing in her excitement. “If anyone knows anything about Synne, it is Lady Tesh. I’ll ask her when I return to Seacliff.”
They all burst into talk at once, their excitement restored. Bronwyn, for her part, sat silently, passing Phineas more of the nuts she had brought specifically for him from her pocket, her mind wandering back to those two young girls. They had seemed cheerful enough, and eager to learn about her scientific studies. Even better, she had liked them immensely, so much so that she had promised them she would return. Of course, she silently mused, disheartened, first she had to wait for another occasion where she might sneak off. And those were now few and far between, as her parents were becoming increasingly strict about any endeavor, no matter how mundane, they deemedunladylikein their increasingly focused attempts at finding her a titled husband.
Perhaps, though, they might allow her to call on the girls in a social manner. For under the young girls’ cheerfulness, Bronwyn had recognized a loneliness that she had felt much too often herself in her youth, and that still plagued her as an adult.
The tea had just been drunk and the food finished when the door to the small office opened a crack. Miss Elspeth Athwart, Seraphina’s youngest sister, poked her auburn head, a perfect match in hue to her elder sister’s, into the room. “Seraphina, the latest edition of theGaia Review and Repositoryhas arrived, and there is already a crowd of people waiting for their copies,” she said, a bright smile lighting her round face. “That serial by S. L. Keys is incredible; people cannot get enough of it.”
Seraphina looked at the clock above the mantel with a start. “Goodness, is that the time? Forgive me, Elspeth dear. I’m afraid I completely lost track. I’ll be there right away.” She stood, patting her chignon and shaking out her skirts. Phineas, never far from his mistress, took off from his perch and flew to land on Seraphina’s shoulder. She reached up to absently scratch the bird’s neck while turning to the rest of the group.
“It has been a joy as usual, ladies. Until next week.”
Suddenly she turned to Bronwyn, laying a comforting hand on her arm. “Don’t fret. We won’t let them take these meetings away from you.”
As their small party, chattering like magpies, stood and collected their things, Bronwyn swallowed down tears. She had managed, for a short time, to forget her parents’ increasingly cruel efforts and restrictive measures to force her to marry. They had never been easy to deal with, her mother’s tenuous connection to a baronet and her father’s extensive finances making them feel superior to those who were previously of their class. But there was no escaping it, for Bronwyn, as they had long stated, was their one chance to truly insert themselves into the nobility, a position they felt was rightfully theirs. And the older she became, the less likely they were to see that dream realized—no matter it wasn’t a dream Bronwyn shared. Now that she had not only lost the chance at a literal duke the year before, but had then also gone through an entire summer season on Synne, as well as a twenty-fourth birthday, without a single whiff of interest, they were becoming desperate. And Bronwyn, by extension, was being made to suffer.
Securing her bonnet back on her short curls, she gathered up her bag, all too aware of the familiar ache in her chest. It was a common occurrence whenever their weekly meetings adjourned, though now it had increased to a painful degree. What if this was her last meeting with her friends? What power did Seraphina, or any of them, have in changing her parents’ minds?
Saying her farewells, Bronwyn made her way through the crowded Quayside and to Admiralty Row beyond. So engrossed was she in attempting to control her self-pitying thoughts that she quite forgot to make certain the walkway was clear before stepping out onto it.
A young boy went flying by in a blur of brown. Blessedly he was able to veer off course and just managed to keep from sending her to the pavement. Unfortunately, his course correction came an instant too late. He knocked her bag from her shoulder. It landed on the pavement with a clatter, its contents spilling out in a jumble at her feet.
“Your pardon, Miss Pickering!” he called over his shoulder, not breaking pace for even a moment.
Bronwyn let out a frustrated growl as she dropped to her knees, desperate to gather up her precious research, as well as the glass jar, which by some miracle hadn’t shattered in the collision. “William Juniper, you’re lucky you’re fast,” she yelled after the boy.
His delighted laugh trailed back to her as he rounded the corner. She hardly heard it, however, for the gasp of dismay that burst from her lips to find that the bit of muslin she’d tied about the lip of the jar had come loose. And her beetles were nowhere to be seen.
“No,” she mumbled, her eyes scanning the ground with increased desperation. “No, no, no.” Had she kneeled on them? Had they been crushed? They were so small, so delicate. She lurched back onto her posterior, her skirts billowing about her in a dark blue mass. Just when she thought all hope was lost she finally spied them, the shimmering green of their elytra catching her eye, glinting up at her from her dress like two brilliant jewels.
She didn’t have time to breathe a sigh of relief, however, before a deep voice sounded in her ear. “Stay still, miss, and I shall remove them from your person.” And then a large hand was reaching for her skirts—rather, she noted in horror, it was reaching for the beetles in an effort to swat them away.
“Don’t you dare!” she cried, slapping at his hand. The man pulled back, no doubt stunned by her use of brute force. But she truly couldn’t have cared less for his wounded pride. Turning her full attention to the insects, she took up the jar and gently nudged them within, securing the muslin back in place with a bit of twine, giving it an extra firm tug for good measure. Then, gathering up her scattered notebooks and drawings in her bag, she scrambled to her feet, holding the jar close to her chest while dusting off her skirts with her free hand. The scare of the moment before was rapidly transforming into outrage that her specimens had nearly been damaged. It was with that soured attitude that she turned to the man who had dared to swat at her beloved beetles, a sharp retort rising to her lips. It died a swift and complete death, however, at the sight of him.
Dangerouswas the first word that popped into her head. Not that there was anything threatening about him. His clothing was expertly tailored and of fine quality even to her undiscerning eye, his entire person neat and orderly.
And yet there was something about him that made every nerve in her body come alive. There was nothing remotely soft or pampered about him. His shoulders were broad and filled out his dark blue wool coat with impressive breadth. His buckskin breeches, too, left little to the imagination.