"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.