Nathaniel watched her closely. "And questions?"
Genevieve looked surprised. "Questions?"
"You are still searching for answers."
The fire crackled softly between them. Genevieve smiled sadly. "Yes." The admission came easily now. "Because something never felt right about the collapse. About everything." She leaned back slightly. "The missing records. My father's reaction. Victoria's interruptions." Her expression darkened. "Even my mother's questions before she died."
Nathaniel remembered Walter's warning: Some things are safer buried. "You think they are connected?"
Genevieve stared into the fire. "I think somebody wants me to stop looking."
Silence followed—heavy silence. Nathaniel considered everything he had observed since arriving at Carter Estate: missing documents, strange reactions, convenient distractions. The pattern was becoming impossible to ignore.
Another gust of wind shook the lodge. Genevieve shifted slightly in her chair. Her riding skirt moved just enough for Nathaniel to glimpse a pale scar extending along part of her lower leg: not dramatic, not disfiguring, simply real—a permanent reminder of a day that still haunted her.
Genevieve noticed his gaze. For an instant, embarrassment flickered across her face. She lowered the fabric automatically.
Nathaniel looked away. "I am sorry."
"Why?"
"I should not have stared."
To his surprise, Genevieve smiled. "Most people do."
"That does not make it polite."
Her smile softened. "No."
A long moment passed. Then she spoke again, quietly this time. "I used to hate it."
Nathaniel met her gaze. "The scar?"
She nodded. "When I was younger, I thought it ruined everything." The vulnerability in her voice caught him off-guard.
"It does not."
Genevieve laughed gently. "You are very bad at pretending to be a stable hand sometimes."
Nathaniel felt a dangerous spark of amusement. "Why?"
"Because stable hands do not usually sound like philosophers."
"That is disappointing for you."