Page 93 of A Bluestocking’s Secret Courtship

In ancient cultures, there would be a ceremony for returning warriors involving dancing, chanting, bellowing at the sky.

Perhaps it was a way to tell the stories of their battles without needing words, she had offered.

He was fascinated by her insight. In those moments, he fantasized about working alongside each other in the field, knowing it could never happen but wishing it nonetheless.

She glanced away. He studied her, memorizing the roundness of her cheeks and how the firelight illuminated her curls, making them appear more red than blonde. He’d thought her pretty when he first spotted her at the docks, but now she was stunning.

Hair mussed and wild.

Dust stains on her gown.

Skin pink from the sun.

“How did it happen?”

Jonathan jumped. He cocked his head, trying to make sense of Wedmore’s question. How had he fallen for Evangeline?

“Farrin recruited you,” Wedmore said, “because I didn’t.”

Evangeline lowered the skewered meat, lips parted.

“He always went after vulnerable young men,” her uncle said. “What happened in your life before he recruited you?”

“My—” He coughed into his fist. “My parents died, but it wasn’t like that. Farrin knew my father from Oxford, and he came to pay his respects after my mother passed.”

Both parents had developed a lung fever soon after their last expedition as a family, but Jonathan never contracted it. The illness took them within a week of each other, and his world flipped upside down.

Wedmore’s lips thinned. The earth shifted beneath Jonathan again, and when Wedmore spoke, his voice was faint as if Jonathan was deep inside a cave.

“Farrin never attended Oxford.”

Evangeline set her food aside.

“What did he promise you?” Wedmore asked.

“Uncle Charles.” Her tone was a gentle rebuke that didn’t stop him from digging.

“I’ve witnessed Farrin do this time and again. Sir Jonathan needs to know the truth about whose orders he’s following. Farrin is conniving and⁠—”

“Give him a moment.”

She held Jonathan’s gaze a breath before looking away. The loss of her warmth left him hollow. He had felt the same when Farrin called at his family’s country estate.

Alone, empty, a gnawing at his insides.

In those first weeks, he’d retreated to the meadow and raged toward the stars. The sounds were animalistic. Raw. He hadn’t wanted the servants to hear. They already avoided him or looked through him like he was a ghost if they were unfortunate enough to cross his path. Then Farrin had shown up, and he saw Jonathan.

“He told me stories about my father I’d never heard. From when he was younger.” He rubbed his itchy eyes. “Are you certain about Oxford?”

Wedmore’s face softened, his eyes dulled with pity. “I’m sorry.”

Jonathan notched his chin. “I’m not a victim. Farrin gave me an opportunity to continue my father’s work and serve my King.”

“And he lied to you.” Wedmore sighed. “It’s what he does. He is a predator, and he has proven it more than once. He waited until I was out of the country to recruit my godson.”

Evangeline gasped. “Margrave too? Heavens above! Do I know any men who aren’t spies?”

“Your father wasn’t,” Wedmore said.