"Not good," he said as he stood and planted his hands on his hips.

He frowned as if her foot had done the most terrible things. Geneva pursed her lips, dropping her skirts to cover her injury. "It shall go away."

"Along with your foot, it will." He said it with such certainty that Geneva stiffened in horror. She wanted to tell him he was wrong, but it was merely because she refused to believe him. In truth, she did not know the severity of her injury. But neither did he. He was not a doctor; didn't even look like one. But she didn't tell him that. How could she? She had already spilled embarrassing things to this man she barely knew and she wasn't ready to make a fool of herself even more. If she as much as vex him, there was no telling what he would do with her secrets. He might now believe she was insane and may be inclined to do the good deed and tell her aunts. Or worse, tell someone else who would then go about town telling others.

"I will go to the doctor on the morrow," she said instead.

"Proper idea," he replied, stepping back. A long moment of silence fell between them, with just the rain outside and the gentle rustling of the trees now and then. "Did you get your letter?"

"What?"

"Your letter. Did you get it back?"

She nodded.

"Did you destroy it?"

It's in my pocket. I mean to deliver it myself. I'm quite certain is a very bad idea, and you will most definitely agree because why would someone who was given away want answers that could potentially damage her more? But, of course, the words were only in her head. She had said enough in front of this man. So in answer, she only shook her head.

He looked convinced and turned away to work on the fire again. "It's not good for you to be walking in the woods at night in your condition."

Geneva kept her silence because there was no justification to her action. She did this to satisfy a curiosity. Too many things in her life should make her grateful, should make her ignore the one secret her great aunts kept from her. They had given her more than she deserved. She should at least let them keep their secret because they did it for her for certain. Everything they did was for her.

When Damon Priest straightened and turned to her again, the frown returned. But this time, it was more curiosity than judgment. "I never reckoned you to be the silent kind."

I'm not. And it was true. Geneva had many things to say all the time. But she had found that most often, people cared very little about her words. Most would just ask questions out of habit. Not many would truly wait for what she had to say. But it seemed that Damon Priest was among those who waited. "Whatever do you mean?" she asked when he did not add more to his words.

"I've heard that you lecture my cousins quite often."

"I apologize if I had crossed the lines often than necessary."

His brows cocked high. "Often than necessary. Interesting. And what would you consider necessary?"

She blinked a few times, turning her head toward the door. She wanted to escape, return to her warm bed, rest he foot, and forget the insanity of the past weeks. But Damon Priest was waiting for her reply. He was not grabbing the chance to express his disappointment regarding her behavior toward his cousins, nor lecturing her about how a lady should act when vexed. He simply waited.

A part of her wanted to argue and justify her past actions. But that would do her no good. He was a Stratford, therefore he was inclined to side with his family. He would merely give excuses for the girls. So, with effortless resignation, she said, "None, Mr. Priest. Thus I apologize for having had the audacity to lecture your cousins."

He was leaning against the wall now, arms crossed over his chest. "I'm utterly curious why you cross the woods at night."

She scowled. "You said you are not going to ask."

"I won't," he said with a hint of a smile. "I know how to keep my words."

"Then you won't tell anyone about this?"

"If you don't want me to."

"I don't."

"Then I shall not."

Another awkward silence. Geneva was starting to feel restless. She should set out now, but the fire felt so good. Would it be proper to ask him to leave? But he owned the place. She would appear ungrateful and callous if she demanded to be alone. And she was parched. Mayhap she should really leave. But he would see her limp her way back out of the woods and that may incline him to accompany her. And then someone might see them. The worse that could happen would be a forced marriage. Then he would hate her for the rest of his life for being trapped in a marriage after helping an injured woman who trespassed into his family's property. He would punish her for certain. She had heard many marriages of the same nature and none of them seemed happy at all.

"What is it?" he asked.

She snapped out of her thoughts and blinked at him. "What?"

His brows fused, the corner of his mouth curling in amusement. "I can almost hear whatever it is you're thinking, but I lack the talent to discern what it is."

"I was not thinking of anything."

He nodded in a manner so slow to indicate he believed her fully. "Were you trying to get to Windsong?"

Her brow furrowed. "Windsong?"

"Surely you know of the place."

Windsong was an abandoned manor on top of a hill, which was located at the edge of these woods. The most reckless young men of Abberton went there for little adventures. "You promised not to ask questions."

"I did not promise I will stop guessing."

Her brow twitched and her lips clamped together tightly. "Windsong Manor is not a place for ladies."

"And being in the woods in such ungodly hours is?"

Her eyes flickered away from him. This man was clearly taunting her, enjoying every second of it. The reason for it could only be left for her to guess because she could not will herself to ask.

As much as she loved the heat and comfort of the cabin, Geneva rose to her feet, minding to put most of her weight on her good foot.

"You're leaving?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, slowly making her way to the door. "Thank you for your hospitality."

"Will you be heading home?" he asked behind her.

"I decided it is the best option, yes." She replaced the hood of her cloak over her head, shivering as the cold cloth brushed against her cheeks.

"Then be safe," he said, causing her to stop. She was just preparing herself to refuse his company. Any gentleman would offer to walk her back to at least the nearest safe road.

"Thank you."

"And get that foot checked, Miss Withers."

Geneva did not respond. She did not mean to call for a doctor. What would she tell her aunts? Another lie?

***

He followed her to the edge of the woods, planning to return to the manor once he made certain she was indeed going home. Clucking his tongue, he cursed the rain. Or maybe he should blame the foot. It was causing her to walk slowly. She looked like a ghost haunting the Stratford Road.

Assured that she was on her way back to Withers House, he turned and headed to the manor. Ten or so steps later, he stopped and turned around again. Rain be damned. He was already wet. He might as well make very certain the woman was not going to change her mind and return into the woods and fall into more traps.

He walked slower than she did, muscles tight from the cold rain. She was just a tiny shadow now, weak in her strides. But she eventually reached home, disappearing to the side of the house, perhaps entering through the servant door. Damon, however, stayed where he stood, still utterly baffled by Geneva Withers.

She was like a ship, but one without a captain. She had enough sails, had wind and tide to keep her in motion, but seemingly going nowhere. No direction. Just the fear of the horizon. Now, he wondered, how she managed a storm. Tonight, she was different. She was as calm as his first impression of her. But was she really calm? He saw a different side of her this morning, and he knew it was not a display many people in Abberton had ever witnessed before from her—maybe not even by her great aunts. Mayhap Geneva Withers was a ship slowly drowning in the middle of a storm only she could see and feel.

He knew just how that felt. The only difference was that he was not alone. His family was with him and they were all thrown into the same wreckage years ago.

Shaking his head, Damon turned away and made his way back to the manor. Upon his return, he met Harry in the hall.

"Where have you been?" his cousin asked.

"Checked on the horses."

"And got terribly wet?"

"This rain in particular is a little deceptive. Never thought it would go down heavy," he said, fully aware his cousin did not believe a word. "And why are you here?"

"Had to check on the girls." Harry followed him up the stairs, adding in a low voice, "Did you double your wager?"

"Of course. Did you?"

Harry looked up at the second landing before nodding. "Old man said Cavendish will fold soon."

"He is on the brink as Price believes."

"I wonder what keeps him from pursuing Simone."

Damon scoffed. "Probably Simone," he said. "My sister does have odd qualities a duke should not want for a wife."

"Don't we all?"

"Precisely why I think you should go and double your wager now." He hastened his steps. "I'm retiring. Have a good evening, cousin."

***

Geneva woke up burning with fever. When she told the maid she could not come down to join her aunts for breakfast, another came back to tell her she should. When she weakly said she could not, the next person walking into her room was her Aunt Deborah.

The woman's gray hair was tightly tied in a bun, as it always fashionably was, her lips thinner with the way she pursed them with displeasure when she saw Geneva curled in bed.

"The maid said you look unwell," the woman said, walking over to touch her forehead. "And you most definitely are."

She tried to smile, but failed. "It will go away."

"What happened? How did you get sick? Was it last night's supper?"

"I'm afraid not." She had no choice, really, but to show Aunt Deborah her swollen ankle. The look of horror was expected, and so was the question. "How?"

"I tripped on my way down the stairs a few days ago," she lied. "I thought it would go away, but it didn't."

"Why did it happen?"

"I was in haste."

Aunt Deborah clucked her tongue. "That's why." Then she sighed. "We've always told you to be careful."

They indeed told her every chance they got that she had to mind her steps. Her words. Her actions. Even her thoughts.

"If you have been, this would not have happened." She reached down again to touch Geneva's forehead. "But what else can we do? It happened and we have this problem."

Geneva's lids lowered. "I'm sorry."

Aunt Deborah shook her head slowly. "We'll have to call for the doctor."

Good. That's all she wanted to hear. And she hoped Doctor Peters would not find the need to cut off her foot.

Later, while Geneva ate her food in her room, Aunt Prudence and Aunt Barbara walked in looking concerned. "Are you feeling fine?"

"Yes," she replied.

"Doctor Peters is on his way," Aunt Prudence said, sitting beside Geneva.

"Do you feel strong enough to go to church this Wednesday?" Aunt Barbara asked, looking around her room and walking over to the window to close the curtains. "What did I tell you about the windows? Always close the curtains because you don't know who might see through your room. You are not careful enough, Geneva, dear."

"I wanted fresh air."

"You need to eat more," said Aunt Prudence.

"Do you think I can keep my foot?" she asked

"Well, of course, dear! Whoever told you otherwise?"

She bit her lips and continued eating until Doctor Peters arrived.

While the man inspected her ankle with her aunts hovering close by, Geneva could barely breathe. She felt everything she just ate rise up to her throat while her heart continued its rampage inside her chest. Doctor Peters was not saying anything as he looked at her injury. She wanted to ask, but feared that she would only burst in tears as she begged him to save her foot.

"You say you tripped down the stairs, Miss Geneva?" asked Doctor Peters, speaking for the first time since he arrived.

Her eyes met his and she instantly knew she was lying when she nodded her head. Now, her heart was at her throat and she was ready to throw up. But she tried her best to compose herself. Eyes flickering to her aunts, she was helpless. And a little afraid. If Doctor Peters contradicted her claims, Geneva would be in trouble.

Doctor Peters slowly nodded, much to her relief. Then he looked up and smiled at her aunts. "I'm afraid I will have to work on Miss Geneva's ankle for quite some time. You can all wait outside."

Aunt Deborah started to protest, but Aunt Barbara, who did not have the best patience, started for the door, followed by Aunt Prudence. Finally, the eldest of the three conceded and left the room, leaving the door ajar. A maid was outside, waiting for orders.

Doctor Peters shifted in his seat and looked at Geneva. "Well? How did it really happen?"

She blinked and moistened her lips before letting out a nervous chuckle. "I do not know what you mean, Doctor."

Doctor Peters sighed and allowed a patient smile. "Miss Withers, I've been tending the Stratford cousins for years. Their injuries are always supposedly from a fall down the stairs even when I have to pluck pine needles off their skin. Most of the time, I don't ask them where they get their injuries, but there are moments when I have to. Such in your case. I need to know how you injured your ankle so I know how to fix it."

"Then you can fix it?"

"If I know how it came about." He looked down at her foot. "But seeing this very familiar injury, I can guess you fell into a hole in the ground."

Her eyes rounded with wonder. "How did you know?"

Doctor Peters scoffed. "I've treated dozens of this kind." His eyes narrowed. "You were in the Stratford woods?"

She bit her lips and Doctor Peters nodded as if he heard enough.

"You have scrapes around your leg. Did you fall into a hole with spikes?"

Her mouth fell open. "How did you—"

"Old traps," he said, more to himself than her. "The earl had long prohibited them from spiking their traps, but some forgotten ones still remain," he murmured as he bent closer to check her wounds. "You will need some concoction to fight the infection."

"But I get to keep my foot?" she asked, no longer caring if she sounded insane or stupid.

"Of course, Miss Geneva," Doctor Peters said. "I've seen far worse."

"With the Stratfords?"

"Of course. I always tell them they'll someday kill each other, but they never listen," he said, shaking his head. "They always carry each other around with that wheelbarrow because they fear they'll be found out if they use one of the carriages," he added with a laugh. "But don't tell the earl. I quite enjoy seeing them wheeling that thing around."

Geneva bit her lips to fight off a smile. She had seen the Stratfords carrying one of their own in a wheelbarrow on more than one occasion and had always thought they were just doing it to attract attention.

"Submerge your ankle in cold water every day and wrap it tightly with a bandage. I'll show your maid how to do it." He did just that in the next hour.

As he worked, Geneva watched him intently. "Will you tell them?" she asked.

"That your injury is not as serious? Of course." He looked up and gave her a gentle smile.

Geneva smiled with gratitude. "Thank you."

And just like that, a secret passed between her and the doctor. Geneva was aware that the man knew more about her and her family. He had been around Abberton too long and must have been here when her mother went away. And he must have looked after her grandfather as well.

"Is there more you wish to ask?" he asked.

She opened her mouth, the questions almost tumbling out. But she shook her head and kept her silence.

In the next few days, Geneva stayed in her room. All the while, her fever persisted. She missed meals with her aunts, a few tea parties, and one day of church. She was trapped in her room reading the same book she stole from Mrs. Newton's library, or writing or drawing the entire day.

And it felt like heaven.

***

The next Sunday, Geneva Withers' absence was gone unnoticed much to Damon's curiosity. The lady was a fixture in church along with her three great aunts. But no one said a word when she missed mass that day.

The other Stratfords were still confined inside the manor, perhaps more to their liking than Harry would have intended. He would have not attended as well if the old man did not insist for his company.

Before the mass ended, however, he saw Doctor Peters and blocked the man's path.

"Doctor," he greeted nonchalantly.

"Mr. Priest," greeted the man with a slight nod before turning to the left to escape him. But he persisted and walked beside the aging doctor. "What do you need now, boy?" Doctor Peters asked, eyeing him sideways.

"Nothing," he said with a smile. "But I do have a question."

"By now, I believe that you Stratfords should be experts on treating your injuries. What more could I impart to you that I already have not through the years?"

"Come now, Doctor," he said with a chuckle. "You should know we never learn a thing. That's why we keep showing up at your door."

Doctor Peters stopped and faced him with a wry look. "What is it, young man?"

He looked over his shoulder before asking, "Have you been called to the Withers?"

The man's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

His smile grew wider. "So you were." When Doctor Peters merely grumbled, he stepped closer. "How is she faring?"

"Better is all I can say," said Doctor Peters, turning away.

"Then she is fine."

"As long as she keeps away from the woods."

"Good," he said, pausing in his steps to let the man go.

But Doctor Peters stopped, pausing for a moment in consideration before facing him, concerned face shadowed by his bowler hat. "She is a frail one, Mr. Priest. In many ways. It would be my greatest pleasure if you allow her peace once she returns to good health."

"I mean nothing but her wellbeing."

The man looked at him long enough to cause him discomfort. "She is not one who receives the same understanding as you Stratfords receive from your old man."

Damon stiffened at the doctor's stern words and slowly nodded. "I understand, Doctor."

Doctor Peters turned away. "Have a good day, Mr. Priest."

The following Sunday, Geneva Withers was still absent from church. And this time, someone did notice and asked the three Withers sisters. "She had been a little careless and fell down the stairs. She is currently recuperating, but will be back next week," Lady Deborah replied to a friend. Damon had to lean a little more over his grandfather to hear each word.

That evening, while everyone in Abberton House went about their nightly activities, Damon went for a walk in the woods with Price. His brother wanted to discuss their matchmaking plans between the duke and Simone.

"It is quite too obvious they are a match, but something stops them," mused Price. "It could be the bet. Sisi must have told him and they are waiting until they win the wager."

"Possible," said Damon. "Daniel expressed earlier that he needs to go to Coulway."

Price stopped in his tracks. "No. He cannot!"

"Well, he is. You can't stop him."

"Then we should do something."

"I'm certain you'll come up with something soon enough."

They walked quietly for a few minutes. Then his brother asked, "But do you agree with the duke? We are, after all, talking about our only sister, Damon. Sisi should marry a man who can keep her happy."

"Are you questioning Daniel Cavendish?"

"Web says he is a decent and honest man."

"Then he only has to love Sisi more than she already loves him."

Price scoffed. "She pretends she has forgotten about him."

"So does he," he absently said as his eyes scanned the surrounding woods.

Price was saying more, suggesting better ways to push the duke toward their sister, but Damon was more focused on the shadows that moved between the trees, most of which were leaves. He walked further as his brother's voice faded in the background of his own thoughts. It was a little odd that he was being curious about Geneva Withers in the recent days. Was he getting bored? Should he join Webster in Birth to manage the business?

This was not the first he was curious about a woman, but this was definitely the first where he was not driven by attraction. His interest in Geneva Withers and her secrets were more on how they came about. He was not searching the woods for a woman to bed. He was searching because he wanted to know where she was going.

And if this was his way of fighting off boredom, so be it.

"Are you listening?" Price asked. "What do you think?"

"It shall work," he absently said. "You should go back to the manor."

"Very well," said Price, turning around. One thing the Stratfords never did was question the time they spent in the woods. After all, it was here where they had their treasures, things from their parents they kept inside a chest for them to visit now and then. Whenever they wished, they could go to cabin where it was kept and dig through its depths and remember the people they had lost in the shipwreck. Damon wishing to stay a little longer in the woods was not suspicious at all, even for Price who always had excellent sense.

He found his way back to the same cabin where he encountered Geneva Withers. For three nights, he had been coming back here. Tonight, he was not even expecting her. But he hoped she'd show up.

Sitting on a chair on the deck, he waited with his feet resting on the railing. The silence of the woods was nothing new, the tiny footsteps and slithers of animals familiar.

But not the tiny light floating in the distant shadows; not the cloaked figure walking closer, this time without a limp.

Damon fought off a smile as he shook his head in both disbelief and awe.