Regardless of how the rumors had begun, the fact that she might have spent time in a gentleman’s hotel room in the middle of the night was clearly the topic of the day. The trio had been completely, utterly, and totally snubbed. Women whom Genevieve had known for years, girls she had gone to school with, cut her to the quick, refusing to say hello or even acknowledge their table’s existence. Some even physically turned their backs when Genevieve tried to smile at them in greeting. It was as though the three women were stranded on an iceberg in the middle of the Elmsbury tearoom, floating along by themselves while society swirled and paraded around them as if they didn’t exist.
“Maybe we should leave,” Genevieve whispered miserably.
“Nonsense!” Eliza hissed back. “I am not about to be chased out of the Elmsbury tearoom, and neither are you.” She looked for support from her comrades and found little. Callie was as deflated and gray as a glove left out in the rain, and Genevieve was so worn down she could barely muster the energy to hold her head high, let alone fight back.
This public humiliation was like nothing she had ever known. Her parents, who must have known the rumors to be true, given how late she had returned from the costume ball, had not broached the topic, but her mother, white-lipped, had barely spoken to her in days. In turn, Genevieve couldn’t bear speaking to her father, who simply regarded her with kind, sad eyes. But the rest of society seemed to have made up its collective mind. Even after her broken engagement, people had talked to her sympathetically. It was excruciating and bewildering to be ignored by people she had thought were friends. She just wanted to hide under her covers until … when?
Until the next person was killed?
If someone else hadn’t already been killed.
Because her biggest fear wasn’t for her own reputation, as exhausting and disheartening as it was to be the topic of so much gossip.
In truth, she was terrified for Daniel.
She hadn’t been able to find him.
At first she’d sent notes and telegrams to his house, pleading for a meeting so they could talk, saying she had been as surprised as anyone to see the story, saying she had a major lead in their investigations into Lexington Industries, even hinting at the discovery of the jeweled box, but from Daniel’s direction—wherever that was—there had been only silence.
She had followed these attempts with a knock on his door, hoping he would relent if he saw her in person. Charles had insisted on accompanying her, reminding her that she was in enough trouble as it was and that showing up unannounced and unaccompanied on Mr. McCaffrey’s doorstep was sure to set more tongues wagging. Dear, sweet Charles, who was normally so steady, was ready to find Daniel and knock the stuffing out of him for allowing rumors to circulate unchecked.
Daniel’s housekeeper, Mrs. Kelly, only kept repeating that Mr. McCaffrey was not at home. It wasn’t until Daniel’s secretary Asher appeared at the door and reiterated this information with a look of pure hate that Genevieve fully understood.
Whether Daniel was truly home or not, he had seen the article and wasn’t home to her.
Still, she was beyond worried. The paper had printed a retraction in Tuesday’s edition, removing Genevieve’s name from the previous article’s byline and apologizing for labeling Mr. McCaffrey as Robin Hood. He should have made contact by now, if only to let her know he was safe.
“Please, let’s leave,” she had begged her friends at the tearoom.
Callie looked at her with dull eyes. Eliza sighed and began to gather her things.
“Good afternoon, Miss Stewart.” It was Esmie, pinning back a length of heavy black veil that had been covering her face.
Shocked gasps and whispers arose around them—both because someone dared approach their table, Genevieve assumed, but also because Esmie was in a public place so soon after her mother’s death. Esmie held her chin steady, her simple, slim-cut black dress contrasting quite beautifully with her pale hair and skin, which glowed like a pearl.
It was, frankly, the best Genevieve had ever seen Esmie look.
“Miss Maple, Miss Lindsay, hello,” Esmie continued, taking a seat. She leaned forward and took Callie’s two hands in hers, looking her in the eye sympathetically.
“I was so, so sorry to hear of your family’s misfortune, Miss Maple. To have your home violated so.” Genevieve could see the other woman’s throat move as she swallowed. “I understand how you must be feeling.”
Callie’s eyes filled with tears. “Miss Bradley, please. You lost your mother. The situations are not comparable in the least. Do let me offer my condolences.”
“Thank you,” Esmie said. “But I have heard your grandmother is not well following the ordeal. Please know I am wishing for her speedy recovery.” Callie seemed so overcome by the other woman’s kindness that a sob burst from her, earning yet more censorious looks toward their table.
Eliza stood, flustered. “We really ought to leave.” She put her arm around Callie, who had begun to cry in earnest, and led her out of the overstuffed pink room. Genevieve stood also, counting out a few bills to leave on the table, and hurried after her friends, but a hand stopped her at the door.
“Wait, Genevieve,” said Esmie, who had followed her. Impatient, Genevieve paused, her hand on the doorknob of the restaurant. Esmie gestured her to one side.
Confusion joined her impatience as Genevieve stepped into a small recessed area of the entryway. Through the glass door, she saw her friends hail a cab.
“I should rejoin my companions, Esmie. It’s quite cold outside.” Adding insult to the injury of her dark mood, winter seemed to have decided to pay a return visit to their fair city. The temperature had been plummeting for days, the newly sprung crocuses
