**THE BRAZEN SERIES is part of the GOLDEN UNIVERSE**
♦YOU MUST HAVE READ BOOK ONE, A BRAZEN MAIDEN, TO READ THIS SEQUEL!♦
♦♦It is ALSO recommended that you read THE GOLDEN GIRL/DUCHESS/PRINCESS & QUEEN to better understand events in this novel, as...
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♪ I breathe out I want you, there's no doubt ♪ {Ashlee Simpson—Undiscovered}
The news of Nestor's message didn't take long to reach Johanna. The butler, who loitered near Harriet's office, told a maid who told a kitchen aide who muttered it in passing to Johanna. And the instant she found out, she hurried to Harriet.
Sir Fletcher was there, as he had delivered the letter. He wielded a wad of papers to fan Harriet, who flumped in her seat, her cheeks red, her hair a mess. "Sir Oliver Newton is a traitor," she said, her voice feeble, her shoulders drawing inward.
"He has been working undercover for Sir Thatcher since the beginning," added Sir Fletcher, using a kerchief to mop the sweat from Harriet's forehead.
"Jacob," said Harriet, shocking Johanna—when did she start addressing men so informally? "Apprehend him." She pushed him aside and seized her quill, scribbling something on one of the rare blank parchments on her desk. "I saw him this morning, he cannot be far. Get him."
Sir Fletcher didn't hesitate and swooshed by Johanna as if she weren't there.
And Johanna hadn't seen him since then. Not that she usually did, but the staff liked to fret over him, especially the younger girls. The newer ones—that Johanna had recently hired—called him dreamy, and she often caught them gossiping between chores.
But a day had passed, and as she busied herself with work, the maids claimed the handsome Sir Fletcher hadn't slept in his bed since the night before. It wasn't Johanna's business to inform them the reason he had left in such haste, but it amused her to see the girls formulate theories about his absence.
During all the commotion, Johanna continued her own investigation; that of her origins. No other employees revealed anything of value to her; none knew who her father was, and few had known her mother. They weren't lying when they said so a few days prior. But the gardener had more information than anyone, and she yearned to extract it from him.
The gardener's assistant brought her more of her mother's belongings—half-burnt clothes and fabrics, impossible to read letters, a few of her favorite hats. The boy maintained the same secrecy and declined to divulge anything. Truthfully, Johanna doubted he had any inkling what any of it was about.
So she attempted—and failed—on several occasions to corner the gardener, but he evaded her at every turn. As if he knew her. For the briefest of moments, she wondered if he was her father... but he couldn't be. They had no resemblance whatsoever, and if he were related to her, someone would have known.
She'd always pictured her father as a man with raven hair and sharp eyes. Tall, sturdy, a kind face weathered by hard work, powerful hands chafed by years of farming or cutting wood. A man who would hug her, hold her, cry when he met her.
But that image wasn't real, and the more time passed, the more she feared it never would be. Was he still alive? Would he care that he had a daughter serving the new Vidame of Limesdale?
