“Sounds believable to me,” Laura agreed. She raised her eyes to meet Kenneth’s. “Is it Middlewich?”
“Sorry. Ha!” Kenneth chortled. “And that after half-cheating.”
“Oh, Haddy,” Laura sighed, giving her partner a lowering glance.
“You agreed,” he defended himself.
“Forfeit!” Michael cried, earning for himself another of Laura’s dark looks.
Kenneth went to reach for his forfeits purse, but Genevieve stopped him. “That can wait until we’re returned to the inn. For now let us solve the clue.”
“Very well,” Kenneth agreed, stuffing the little bag back into his pocket.
Genevieve reached between Haddy and Laura, taking the map, which she presented to Xavier. He looked at her questioningly.
“It’s your and Summer’s turn. I think you should have a chance at the map as well.”
“Thank you,” he said. What it her imagination or was his voice warmer than usual? Regardless, it made her shiver, and she handed over the map with curiously numb fingers.
He pointed at a town north of Nantwich, seemingly randomly.
Summer made a small movement with her shoulders that suggested she’d no alternate opinion, so he peered more closely at the tiny, cribbed writing. “Would it be Chester?” he asked Kenneth.
“So it is.”
“Huzzah!” Summer cried.
“I’m sorry. I’ve no card to give you at the moment, but I shall when we return to the inn,” Kenneth said, patting his pockets idly even though he’d not thought to bring their token with him.
They gathered up their lanterns and fell into twos, with Michael taking Summer’s hand upon his arm. That left Xavier offering his to Genevieve.
They walked in silence, falling behind the others, who seemed eager to return to the inn now that the night’s sport was done. Genevieve could think of nothing to say, nothing that would not be a demand to know the depth of Xavier’s feelings for Summer. And he seemed in something of a peculiar mood tonight, so that she was even more loath to speak.
At length she grew embarrassed for herself, so incapable of light conversation, and looked up to see Xavier’s profile. He was staring ahead, his attention focused outward. “What is it?” she asked at that alert posture, turning her own head to see what it was that held his attention.
“Nellie. And Kenneth,” he replied, inclining his head to indicate a direction away from their larger group. “They’re not returning to the inn.”
She saw it was so, that the two forms had melded into one dark shadow, moving perpendicular to the way back to the inn. Even as she watched, they slipped between two buildings, lost from sight in the dense shadows there.
“I cannot find this…acceptable,” Xavier said, stopping just short of sounding angry. “I must follow.”
“I’ll go as well.” At the quick shake of his head, she nodded her own toward the four travelers still visible, but at least a hundred feet ahead of them. “You cannot leave me in the dark alone.”
His jaw tightened, but he nodded. “Perhaps I should take you to the inn first?”
She answered him by moving toward the two structures Kenneth and Penelope had slipped between.
He stepped at once to her side, offering his arm anew, which she accepted. “Be careful,” he said, “these cobbles are uneven.”
She warmed at his solicitous actions, even if they were nothing more than he would offer any female.
They emerged from between the buildings onto a narrow, dark street, which was entirely empty of visible life.
“Where could they have gone?” he said in a low voice. “Why didn’t I take up one of the lanterns?” He pointed to his left. “Let’s go this way.”
The street remained as still as when they’d first stepped onto it, despite the fact they patrolled up one side and returned down the other.
“It’s pointless. We’ve lost them,” he said, standing in the center of the street, gazing up and down the silent avenue. “There are a dozen side streets they might have taken.”
A faint light came from above them. “’Oo’s there?” a tremulous voice called down from a window. “’Ooever ye are, get ye gone, or I’ll set the Watch after ye, I will.”
“Come along,” Xavier said to Genevieve, taking her arm. “There’s no point in staying here.”
“Kenneth wouldn’t harm her, you know that,” Genevieve said as he led her forward.
“Not her person. But her reputation…?”
“They just went for a stroll.”
“It’s a strange time and place for a stroll, without so much as a candle to guide them,” he said tightly.
She slowed her steps, coming to a halt to gaze up at him, his face kept from deep shadow by the three-quarters moon in the cloudless sky above them. “I think Kenneth is in love with Penelope.”
He stared down at her, unblinking, until finally the set of his shoulders eased and he sighed. “I think so, too. I think he might be trying to persuade her to defy our father.”
Genevieve sucked in a breath. “Do you think she loves him as well?”
“I don’t know. I’m afraid so. But then sometimes…”
“Yes, sometimes I’m unsure, too. She’s been so very cool to him—but then she blushes like a schoolgirl the next moment. It all makes sense if you choose to believe they’re trying to hide their truer feelings. It’s really very sad.”
“They’re playing with fire. Papa has said he’ll not allow it.”
Her head tilted a little to one side. “Perhaps this is their last summer, too, Xavier. Perhaps they’re saying good-bye.”
He stared down at her again, until finally he nodded. “I think you must be right. It could be…just a good-bye.” His voice went even lower. “But it’s dangerous stuff, this being together when you know you must eventually part.”
Her heart fell slowly down into her stomach, where it sat and ached so that she wished to curl around it; he meant himself, and Summer, of course.
“Oh, Xavier,” she breathed, her voice cracking, because she couldn’t just stand there, so close to him, not without saying something, and the words that came, came from her heart. “Do you love her so very much then?”
He fell very still. “Her?” he echoed blankly.
She swallowed the tears that tried to form. “Summer. I know you must love her. I’ve watched you. I…I—” her voice wavered, then steadied as she rushed on “—I think you mustn’t let …let Michael stand between you. I’m not convinced his heart is truly engaged. I know you’ve so much to offer Summer. It’s probably for the best. She even said that, that things would work out for the best. I wish you…I hope you find every happiness, and—” she cut herself off abruptly, holding her breath as if she could so easily hold back her feelings.
“Genevieve,” he whispered. She could hear he was stunned.
“Oh!” she gasped, and a traitorous tear fell. As it did, she gathered her skirts, backing away from him blindly. She turned and ran.
* * *
He watched her go, unable to move, but thankful she was moving in the right direction, toward the inn. He ought to go after her, to be sure she arrived safely. Yes, he would. He would, as soon as his mind stopped spinning, and as soon as he could breathe again.
She thought he loved Summer! It was all crystal clear in a moment. How easy to see why she would think it. He’d ever had a gentle manner with Summer, knowing she was the sort who wished to be protected. His own code could allow nothing less than that she be assisted as she, however softly, demanded.
But that was not what was most astonishing, as much as it had surprised him to find Genevieve took it to mean something more. No, what kept him rooted now, unable to move for the shock of it, was that having admitted what she thought she knew to be the truth—Genevieve had shed tears. She’d cried to think that his heart was engaged elsewhere. She’d been brought to tears by the thought that he, this scarred wreck that he was, might have given his love to
another.
For a moment he felt as though his entire body was filled with quicksilver, that he must surely glow as he stood in the center of the dark and deserted street.
Then another thought struck him: perhaps she cried for Michael. Perhaps she thought she was witnessing the end of Summer and Michael’s betrothal.
The quicksilver turned to lead in his veins, and he shook his head, even more shaken to think this. Yet, it could be. It probably was. He was, no doubt, the biggest fool alive to have even thought for a moment that her tears had been shed for some secret affection she felt for him, for the one-eyed man lacking grace or wit.
And yet… She’d said she didn’t believe Michael’s affections were truly engaged. A subterfuge? But why? Better to say nothing if she truly hoped things would stand as they were, if she wished to support her brother’s interests.
He began to move, at first slowly, but then his stride increased, as though to match his tumbling thoughts. In a minute he was running, running the way he’d last seen Genevieve go.
He burst into the inn, drawing the attention of all to himself. There sat Penelope and Kenneth, both staring blankly, too innocently. Xavier let Penelope see his censure at her earlier disappearance, but then his eyes passed over the two of them, searching for one face in particular.
She was not there.
He bounded for the stairs, leaving the door wide open behind him, taking the steps three at a time. He ran down the short hall, his boot heels stomping, and slid to a stop before her door. He could hear someone crying within—and knew she’d returned. He raised his hand, prepared to pound the door from its hinges until she came to him, talked to him, explained it all to him—but then his arm froze. He backed away from the door, colliding with the opposite wall, where he stood still, breathing heavily.
What would he say? And even if he knew the words, what right did he have to say them? What did he really know?
No. He couldn’t bear it if he was wrong. Daring be damned. He couldn’t open himself up to that hurt, the possibility he was so very mistaken. Not unless he was so much more sure he’d not be offending her, or, worse, inviting her scorn.
He pressed against the wall, using its solid surface to lever himself back to a more or less steady stance. He weaved his way down the hall to his own door and opened it quietly, and then shut it carefully behind him.
Inside, he sat upon the bed, his head in his hands. He must leave. He must take his horse and abandon the hunt. He took his portmanteau from beneath the bed, opened it, and began to throw his clothes into it.
Anyway, he’d not been looking forward to sharing a room for the night with all four men crowded in. Because of the damned eye patch, as always…
His hands retracted from the bag, and he slowly sank onto the bed again. That was an excuse. An insignificance even. After all, he’d shared a room a thousand times before at school. What was a minor humiliation should his patch slip in the night here? What was such a stupid thing weighed against the confusion that now seized him?
If only he knew what her tears meant. How could he know? Crazier yet, how could he dare to hope…?
He lay back on the bed, his arms flung wide, his good eye staring upward sightlessly. It was a wide bed, intended for more than one occupant. It seemed to stretch on far beyond the boundaries of his own body, his own needs. Just as did his life, his future.
Then it struck him, that he’d reverted to fear and cowardice.
He wanted to change. He must change. Or at least he must try—regardless of the cost.
What was more important, truly, a future that was as it’d ever been—or a chance to expand it, to fill it, to share it? He mustn’t react by rote anymore. He must stand by his own determination to attempt what felt impossible.
How could he hope to gain her love if he never offered his own?
There was no going back, not even with understanding that the need to try imperiled his very soul.
Chapter 17
She never told her love,
But let concealment, like a worm i’ the bud,
Feed on her damask cheek she pin’d in thought;
And with a green and yellow melancholy,
She sat like a patience on a monument,
Smiling at grief.
—Shakespeare,
Twelfth Night
Genevieve didn’t come down for breakfast.
She would have liked to see Laura and Haddy fulfill their forfeit from last night—they were to give a penny to everyone, from the grandest guest down to a stable boy, that they encountered for an hour, a considerable and annoying task at a busy inn such as this—but she couldn’t bring herself to rise from the bed and dress to go down.
It was not until all the other ladies had gone down to find their morning meal that she forced herself to rise and wash and dress for the day. Then she stood at the window, gazing down at the courtyard below and the morning bustle there, letting the morning breezes wash over her, wishing they could cool her thoughts as well as they cooled her skin.
A knock on the door set her heart to racing as a voice announced it was time for the portmanteaux to be taken down. She opened the door with downcast eyes, which saw in a quick glance that a pair of less than perfectly polished pumps waited without. She dared to raise her eyes then, for this revealed it was not Xavier, but rather a post boy who’d come for the bags.
Just as the post boy left, arms full, Summer returned and helped Genevieve look about the room to see if they’d left behind any ribbons or other small items that could be tucked into their reticules. None were found, but instead of moving from the room, Summer sat down on the bed, patting the space beside her.
“Come, sit, Genevieve. Tell me,” she went on as the dark-haired girl sat, “are you not feeling well today?” She reached to touch Genevieve’s forehead with the back of her fingers.
“I feel well enough.”
“But you had no breakfast,” Summer said as her hand dropped, having found no fever.
“I wasn’t hungry.”
“Ah,” Summer said, and frowned.
“It’s the travel, I suppose.”
“Oh, yes,” Summer said, letting the weak answer stand. She slid off the bed. “Kenneth says Chester is about fifty-five miles from here, and we must doubt we shall make it such a distance all in one day, even though he says we shan’t take near so long a break for luncheon today.”
“And hope there will be no field fires.”
“And hope there will be good roads.” Summer tucked her friend’s arm through her own and led her down to the waiting carriage.
Haddy was in the yard, yet handing out pennies—heaven knew where he’d gotten a copious supply of them—but Laura was already in the coach. Xavier was there, assisting the other ladies into the carriage. Genevieve couldn’t be sure, but she thought his hand hesitated before it reached out to offer her assistance. She avoided his heavy gaze, and took his hand, touching it with just the ends of her fingers. She sat, and turned at once to Penelope to utter some inane thing about the weather. She didn’t watch as Xavier handed Summer up, although she did raise her eyes in surprise when Kenneth entered the carriage as well. He took a seat next to Laura, forcing his sister and Summer to be crowded next to him.
The day promised to be cooler, so they were content to leave the windows closed and thereby keep out some of the dust as the vehicle lumbered along. Summer revealed to the occupants that she and Xavier had earned an ace of clubs—to signify the supposed club that a giant such as Leon Gawer might have possessed—for their token. Laura denounced the comforts of the inn, Kenneth chimed in about the inferiority of the morning meal, and everyone wondered if the packed luncheon he’d secured might prove tastier.
“Did you enjoy having your breakfast interrupted every other minute?” he teased his sister
She rolled her shoulders to match the pained face she made. “I could scarce believe how many persons passed through the Dog and Vixen of a morning. And I tried to giv
e a penny to a man seated by himself. He was so deaf, I had to keep repeating I was paying a penalty and would he please accept the coin? He told me I was daft and threatened to strike me with his cane.”
Genevieve smiled sympathetically while Kenneth guffawed, but found she had little conversation today. She closed her eyes and pretended to sleep. It was not until they’d traveled for over an hour that it occurred to her perhaps Kenneth rode in the carriage because he, too, wished to hide from Xavier.
For awhile she watched Kenneth, and Penelope, but neither gave any indication of their thoughts or feelings that Genevieve could see. Why did you two slip away last night? Today I see only neutral looks and hear only polite phrases between you. Are the good-byes finalized? It disturbed her at some level to think they’d accepted what could not be.
The miles passed, and luncheon was indeed a simple affair at the side of the road, taking no more than twenty minutes. The ladies sat to one side, the men to the other, and conversation was decidedly scarce. Kenneth murmured something about wishing to arrive at Brockmore as soon as time would allow, and this created assenting murmurs from the group at large. As if by tacit agreement, all rose, packed the remains of the meal, and crawled back into or on top of the carriages, Kenneth yet crowded in with the women.
They’d driven for over eight hours, with luncheon their only stop, when Haddy called a halt to suggest that Chester was only an hour or so away, and as it was not yet dark, would the ladies mind if they traveled on? No one protested with any vehemence—despite some groans—so the drive was resumed.
Genevieve reclined into the squabs, eyes half closed, listening idly to whatever bits of conversation came along. Her eyes opened more fully, however, when she realized Kenneth was speaking of Xavier.
“Nellie,” he was saying, “do tell us how Xavier came to arrive at that scar and the loss of his eye. I’ve never heard the story, you realize.”
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