Page 53 of A Bluestocking’s Secret Courtship

Dom drew back, mouth agape. But when Evangeline chuckled into her glove, his expression softened and he laughed, catching on that she was having a bit of fun.

“It seems we are birds of a feather, Miss Darlington. Neither of us minces words.”

“That we do not, sir.”

Once they were alone, Evangeline turned to Jonathan. “Did it work?”

“Partially,” he said.

“Oh,” she whispered, her eyebrows shooting up.

Jonathan stood. “Accompany me to my study, and I will show you.”

They encountered no one as they walked the corridor in silence. Upon reaching the private sitting room he used as a study, he ushered her inside and closed the door.

“Your mother’s name garnered results, but it isn’t complete. Come see.”

He retrieved her uncle’s journal and the papers he had been deciphering before supper. She sat at the desk once more to peruse his work.

“I see what you mean now. There is something more.” She glanced up. “Perhaps her surname? Isabelle Darlington…or Wedmore.”

“Should we try both? You take Darlington.”

She picked up a quill, already jotting down the alphabet. Jonathan pulled a chair to the desk and sat at her left. Unfortunately, neither surname yielded results.

“Drat,” she muttered.

“Do you have any idea what the code might be? Isabelle…”

“My mind is blank right now.” She tapped the end of the quill to her lips, drawing his attention from the paper. “What if we fill in the missing letters to make complete words? Maybe it will make more sense.”

He shifted on the chair and pushed his paper closer for her to inspect.

“Look,” she said, pointing at a string of letters.

Their heads leaned together for a better view. Her sweet scent drifted across the sliver of space between them.

“This appears to be a date,” she said, touching a fingertip to the page. “And does this word look like ‘passenger’ to you? Perhaps it’s the date he left London.”

She truly was brilliant. The date matched when Wedmore was observed leaving his town house. Later, he boarded a ship bound for Alexandria. Ten days after that, Jonathan was on his trail.

“What do you make of this part?” He shuffled through the papers until he found what he wanted. “D-E-A-T-H.”

She stiffened, setting him on alert. He studied her closely.

“What is your uncle referencing? Did you lose someone recently?”

“Erm…” Her tongue darted across her lips, leaving them shiny in the lamplight. “I—I believe he means the Black Death.”

“The plague?” he asked cautiously.

When she shook her head, his heart sank. She shouldn’t know about the mercenary group.

“They are a group from ancient Egypt,” she said. “A fable.”

He kept his expression neutral, not daring to interrupt.

She took a deep breath, glancing toward the doorway before speaking in a quiet voice. “Uncle Charles is trying to prove they truly existed, and someone is after his work. It started in London, and now they have followed him here.”