A Heart's Treasure

by Teresa DesJardien

  Genevieve had walked with him—dare he even say flirted with him, just a little? She’d smiled, and even leaned into him once, laughing at some small witticism he’d made. Too, despite the opening he’d given her, she’d turned the conversation before it had ever gotten to the “what did happen to your eye?” moment.

  She’d never asked that vital question, not since he’d rebuffed her as a very young girl, and even though he’d read the curiosity in her eyes today, she’d turned away from opening that creaky old door. It didn’t really mean anything, of course—she could alter that grace in a moment, but part of him seized on today’s circumspection with both hands.

  Too, he was relieved at the chance to force aside the image of a sun-touched Genevieve, lips parted, face aglow, to gather his wits, to be reform his usual bearings. He knew how to tell his tall tales, how to deflect. He just had to remember to keep on doing it.

  What he didn’t want to do was look at the lock on his heart, afraid the new pain in his chest meant the hasp had been broken. He could only be grateful Kenneth and Penelope had saved him from revealing that fact to Genevieve.

  Chapter 15

  Love is blind, and lovers cannot see

  The pretty follies that themselves commit.

  —Shakespeare,

  The Merchant of Venice

  “Why do they burn the fields?” Summer asked, swaying against the side panel of the carriage as it took another dip through a rut in the road. Genevieve peered out the window as night settled around them, but could see virtually nothing of the blackened fields, for the lanterns on the exterior of the carriage obscured her vision as much as did the night itself. She turned her attention again to the carriage’s interior, dimly lit by the lanterns without, to see Summer’s dainty nose wrinkled in distaste at the caustic smell still hanging in the air.

  “The ash is good for the soil. And besides, it clears the field of weeds,” Laura explained. She frowned, not at Summer, but at Penelope. “You’re terribly quiet since you and Kenneth came back from your walk,” she said, brows lowered.

  Penelope just shrugged one shoulder, scarcely bothering to lift her eyes.

  “What were you and Kenneth doing?” Laura demanded.

  “Walking.”

  “And?”

  Penelope began to frown, too. “Other things.”

  “What manner of other things?”

  “Perhaps this is not the topic for the moment,” Genevieve interjected. They were all tired, and a little concerned that they had not found an inn for the night. Everyone was growing testy.

  “I say it is,” Laura countered. She leaned toward Penelope. “I hope you settled your differences.”

  “What differences?”

  Laura pursed her lips, but sisterly protectiveness overrode discretion. “I think Kenneth offered for you. Some weeks past. I think you refused him.”

  Summer gasped. “Kenneth made you an offer?”

  Laura waved her to silence. “I think you’ve been unkind to him since,” she said to Penelope. “And he wishes to, I don’t know,” Laura suddenly looked unsure of herself, “make amends, but you won’t let him.”

  “Ridiculous,” Penelope muttered, and now she really wouldn’t meet any of their gazes.

  “It’s not ridiculous. Everyone has been talking about the tension between you two.”

  At last Penelope looked up, shooting a question at Genevieve.

  “Well, not talking so much as, um, noticing,” Genevieve said weakly.

  Penelope looked stricken and a tad offended.

  “Well, I for one wish the two of you would settle your differences—”

  “How can we settle ‘our differences?’” Penelope suddenly cried. “Either we may marry or we may not. And Papa has said we may not. There is nothing left to settle.” She looked out the window, crossing her arms over her breasts to signal that was an end to it.

  Genevieve bit her lip, Summer covered her mouth with her fingertips, and Laura sat back hard. She had to reach up and adjust her bonnet, which she’d knocked against the squabs, making it tilt down onto her forehead. “Ah. Well, I am sorry if I implied it was…ah, your fault. But,” she seemed taken aback for a long moment, but then she rallied. “I mean to say, I see you mean to be sensible about…all this. I for one cannot bear to have people mooning about. Get on with the business of finding suitable partners, I say.”

  Genevieve might have given the elder girl a glare of reproach, but after all Laura did know what it was to almost be a pair and then lose that connection—but one would think her loss through death might have softened her words a trifle.

  She seemed to realize that very point, for she flushed pink. “I’m only thinking of them both,” she explained. “I admit my brother is the sort to…well, to have hopes, even when they are plainly idle hopes. I hope this ‘talk’ of theirs today set him quite straight on the matter. I have every reason to think you, Penelope, are not the sort to…well, to lead a fellow along the primrose path.”

  “Laura,” Genevieve hissed. This was speaking too plain.

  But Penelope nodded her head. “Yes. You may rest easy on that account, Laura. I’m not the sort to lead a fellow along.”

  Laura sat up straighter. “Then all is well. It is settled. You two had a little chat, and you are both clear that affection, in this case, is to give way to duty to one’s family. I cannot fault your father’s logic,” she said, even if her expression said she had a different opinion as to her brother’s suitability as a groom. “And you may all cease looking daggers at me. It’s that much more pleasant once the air has been well and truly cleared. Do you not find that to be true?”

  No one answered her, not even Summer, who had taken to fanning the air with her handkerchief.

  Completely devoid of conversation, the carriage slowed to a halt at the next village, and then again the next, but both times they were told there was no room to be had. It seemed there was a local fair set to occur the next day, and all the rooms for hire had long been taken.

  “What do we do?” Summer asked of Haddy out the carriage window, which they had finally opened with relief once they were clear of the smell of smoke.

  “We drive until we find a place,” he answered gruffly. “Lichfield is only another four miles or so, and there is bound to be room there, if not along the way.”

  They purchased some more lantern oil, replenished the level in the lanterns—while Haddy made terrible growling sounds when some of it spilled onto his boots—and set out on their way once again. Summer fell asleep in the corner against the squabs, and Penelope nodded off as well, having not spoken another single word. Laura, too, kept her own counsel, except for the occasional sigh.

  For herself, Genevieve worried her lower lip, wondering why the world sometimes seemed so very unfair. Michael’s betrothal to Summer was on shaky ground; Xavier had become disturbingly unfamiliar in his behavior; and Kenneth and Penelope struggled to become friends anew after what must be the most supreme awkwardness of rejection.

  And she, Genevieve, was infatuated with the man who sometimes seemed to threaten her brother’s future happiness. If she was honest and didn’t wrap up the truth in clean linen, she had to admit she was drawn to Xavier. It wasn’t all about guarding Michael’s interests. She found herself watching Xavier all the time. There was a certain timbre to his voice sometimes that made the hairs on the back of her arms stand up, that made her want to lean toward him, to believe the warm voice was intended just for her ears alone. There was a light in the back of his one good eye that held her in place, did not let her breathe easily, that confused her more than she cared to admit. She was drawn to him, yes, despite the evidence of her eyes, those eyes that saw how he solicited Summer’s attention, how he placed himself in situations where he could aid her, how he attempted over and again to win the fair girl’s approval or appreciation.

  It was beyond exasperating. It was past worrisome. It was a kind of tingly hurt that went too deep for clear-eyed exami
nation.

  The carriage clock’s chimes told her it was half an hour later when they drove into Lichfield. The main street was dark and unwelcoming. Summer and Penelope stirred when the carriage halted, and they all waited together in a dejected silence as Haddy went within to attempt to find rooms.

  They startled when the carriage door was yanked open, and Haddy loomed into the darkness of the interior. “We have rooms!” he declared, the relief obvious in his voice, echoed by Summer’s audible sigh. “We’ll be crowded, but at least we’ve beds for the night.”

  There was little conversation as they moved inside the inn. Laura didn’t even demand that her trunk be brought up. Genevieve trudged after her up the stairs, at the foot of which she heard Xavier request that a simple meal be sent up to the ladies, and one to the men’s room belowstairs.

  The four women found they’d been assigned one room, not near so large as the one they’d shared in Long Itchington. Two beds were pressed right against each other, leaving just enough room at the foot for one person to pass along the wall. Opposite the outermost bed, there was just enough room for one dressing table and four elbow-to-elbow females to stand. The single window was closed, and the air in the room was too warm and stagnant, until Laura threw it open.

  “We’ll have to dress and undress only two at a time,” Penelope declared sourly.

  “Oh dear,” Summer said. “But at least it’s only for one night.”

  “How many more days is it until we come to Brockmore?” Genevieve asked, not able to keep a tartness from her voice.

  “If we travel no faster, and the roads don’t improve, as much as four days,” Laura replied hollowly.

  Everyone made a face, except Summer. “Michael will not take so long as that,” she said. “He’s quite a creditable whip, in case no one has noticed.” Her face glowed in the candlelight.

  Genevieve frowned at that glow, then reached out and took Summer’s arm. “There’s no room to take a meal in here. We’ll need to descend to the common room once more, unless by some miracle a sitting room may be hired. Summer, let us sit upon the beds and leave room for these other two to change into something suitable for supper.”

  They crawled over the beds as Penelope moved to unfasten Laura’s dress ties. If she yet resented the conversation they’d had, Penelope didn’t let it show.

  Penelope and Laura donned simple muslin dresses, a bit wrinkled once they were pulled free of their cases, and no amount of shaking would make them less so. The ladies brushed out their hair, and pulled each other’s into simple knots to save time and energy, completing their toilettes just as there was a knock at the door. Laura opened it to find the inn’s mistress with a large tray in her hands, an assortment of foodstuffs arranged thereon.

  “My good woman, have you a sitting room where we might dine?” Laura asked.

  “No, m’lady.”

  No one sighed because they’d not expected better. “Then we’ll take our meal in the common room, please.”

  In one way it was a relief when Laura and Penelope left the room, but in another way Genevieve could wish them back. As she’d waited for room to stand, she’d pondered the row in the coach. Hearing outright that Penelope had been offered for by Kenneth, and directly seeing the dear lady hadn’t been unaffected by the offer and her parent’s refusal, had made Genevieve consider not just how Xavier felt about Summer, but how Summer might be coming to feel regarding Xavier.

  As she stood still, allowing Summer to undo the multiple buttons down the back of her bodice, she opened her mouth to speak—but was interrupted.

  “Genny, what do you think of Xavier?” Summer said in a quiet voice.

  “Xavier?” Her voice was hollow, for her heart had started to pound wildly at the sound of that name on Summer’s lips.

  “Yes.”

  “What do I think of him?”

  Summer made a clucking sound with her tongue. “Yes. What do you think?” she pressed.

  “He is very cordial.”

  “Yes. What else?”

  Genevieve frowned fiercely since Summer couldn’t see her face. “He’s polite. Congenial. Gentlemanly.”

  “Indeed. It was so very good of him to look after me during the rain, was it not? I thought I’d shiver myself to pieces until we shared that lap rug. He’s very thoughtful.”

  Genevieve made an assenting noise, although every nerve inside her body was tingling, just as it did when she thought she was about to fall off her mount. She wanted to tell Summer to cease, to leave the subject be, to not reveal that she was becoming aware of a man other than Michael.

  Summer went on, “And handsome, too, if one discounts the scar and the patch. Although they do lend an air of mystery, do they not?” She patted Genevieve on the back, a signal she was done undoing buttons. “And he has plump pockets as well. Not as plump as does Michael, but—”

  Genevieve spun around, disregarding that her dress threatened to slide from her shoulders. “Summer, do you love Michael?” she cried bluntly.

  “Oh yes,” Summer said, eyes widening a little at Genevieve’s anxious tone.

  “Completely?”

  Summer blushed red. “I rather suppose, yes.”

  “But…do you ever…?” Genevieve’s voice caught as words failed her. She cleared her throat and began again in a calmer tone. “I mean to say, do you ever think what it would be like if you didn’t care for him? If you weren’t betrothed to him?”

  “What an odd question, Genny,” Summer laughed, an unsteady sound. “No, I don’t think about that, not really.”

  Genevieve met Summer’s eyes for a moment before the blonde girl turned decisively and presented her own buttons.

  Genevieve began to work the buttons before her. “I suppose what I’m asking is…what I’m saying is…,” she finished quickly, “do you ever wonder what it might be like to kiss someone other than Michael? Or hold someone else’s hand? Or marry someone else?”

  Summer looked over her shoulder, beginning to frown. “Don’t tell me you don’t wish me for a sister-in-law?”

  “Oh no. That’s to say, no, I don’t mean that at all. I know we’d continue to get on famously. I think Michael is most fortunate you accepted him. It’s only that, well, I suppose I have been wondering if you’ve regretted…anything…recently?”

  Summer turned her face away again, staring out into the room somewhere above the beds. “You mean, because it’s been so long since the banns were read.”

  “Well, yes.” Genevieve stared at her fingers as they worked the buttons; they were almost as clumsy as her tongue.

  “Yes,” Summer said quietly.

  “Yes?” Genevieve echoed faintly.

  “Yes, sometimes I regret having accepted him. Michael’s not tractable. He’s stubborn. Sometimes to a fault.” She turned to face Genevieve, her blue eyes sparkling with something perilously close to tears. “In all this time, he’s yet to tell me he loves me. Not even when he proposed. He said it would be a ‘fortuitous arrangement resulting in the blending of our affections.’”

  “Oh, Summer, no, he couldn’t have.”

  “He did. At the time I thought it rather charming. But now…”

  “What are you going to do?” Genevieve whispered, for her throat was tight with tears that echoed Summer’s threatened ones. She heard the dread in her own voice.

  “Do?” Summer drew back her head, a gesture that questioned Genevieve’s common sense. “Why, nothing. I’ve accepted Michael. I shall go to the altar with him, of course.”

  And that was right where she ought to leave it, Genevieve knew. She’d no business interfering, and indeed, was afraid of more than one consequence if she did. But there were tears glittering in her friend’s eye yet.

  “But what…what if there were another? What if someone else loved you?” Genevieve closed her eyes, to hide from her betrayal of her brother, as well as a betrayal of a secret corner of her own heart.

  Summer gave no answer at all, so that Geneviev
e was forced to open her eyes. She found Summer staring at her, hard, or as hard as those genteel blue eyes could stare. “What are you talking about, Genevieve?”

  “Love. Real love. We all deserve it, surely,” Genevieve went on a little wildly. “Papa says the notion of choosing a marriage partner only based on affection is poor management of one’s estate, but I find I happen to agree with the poets. I find I cannot bear the thought that…you…or Michael…need marry for anything less. For happiness. For joy. Am I too terribly foolish?”

  The blonde girl’s eyes searched Genevieve’s face for a long minute, and by the time she turned away, she’d lost all signs of anger or tears in those eyes. “Oh, Genny,” she said on a sigh that had the faint edge of a laugh in it. “You have some romantic notions in your head. But we’re not talking about Michael at all, are we?”

  “Well…I—”

  “Please don’t fret. Everything will be fine. These things always work themselves out for the best, often in ways that surprise us.” Summer pulled the dress over her head, and tied the strings at the neckline and under her bosom, fitting it to her lithe form. She glanced in the mirror, all poise utterly restored. “My hair is quite well enough. Do hurry down, Genny love, or we’ll not leave you a bite to eat.”

  “But—”

  Summer didn’t wait, lifting a hand in a delicate wave of farewell, then ducked out the door, closing it behind her with a decided click.

  Chapter 16

  The heart has its reasons which reason knows nothing of.

  —Blaise Pascal,

  Pensees

  Xavier, glass of ale in hand, looked up when a lady entered the room, and felt a little guilty at the shot of disappointment that lanced through him. It was Summer, not Genevieve who’d latest come to join them in the inn’s common room.

  I’ve no right to be looking for Genevieve’s company, he scolded himself silently.

  But…was that true? Out of mere friendship alone surely he had the right to look forward to any person’s camaraderie. He knew his restraints were self-inflicted—but need they be?