Читать книгу The Earl's Pregnant Bride - Christine Rimmer - Страница 10

Chapter Four

Genny’s stomach lurched. “Geoffrey...ran away?”

Rory nodded. “Rafe, Eloise, two of the gardeners and a stable hand are out beating the bushes looking for him. I offered to help, but Eloise turned me down. She said maybe later, if they don’t find him in any of his favorite places.”

“What about Brooke? And Mother and Father?”

“Brooke’s in her rooms having her nineteenth nervous breakdown. Mother and Father are out on the terrace, waiting for Rafe or one of the others to come back—hopefully, with Geoffrey in tow.”

Genny pushed back her chair. “Where did they go to look for him?”

“They mentioned the lake trail and the boat jetty, the walled garden...a couple of other places, I think.”

“What about the castle?” Built in the thirteenth century, Hartmore Castle was now a roofless ruin. She and Geoffrey had spent an afternoon exploring there last summer.

“No,” said Rory. “I don’t think the castle made the list—and where are you going?”

Genny was halfway to the door. “To check the castle.”

“I’ll come!”

“No, stay here. I’ll be fine....”

Rory grumbled that she hated getting stuck at the house, but Genny hardly heard her. Caesar left Rory’s bodyguard by the door and fell in behind her as she ran to her room to change into a pair of jeans and some trainers. She left the house from a side door and took off on foot across open parkland in the quickest, most direct route to the castle. Caesar followed close behind.

She felt terrible about Geoffrey. She’d promised herself she’d make time for him yesterday. But in the last rush to get ready for the wedding, she’d never quite managed it. If she found him at the castle, they’d have a few minutes together. She could apologize for yesterday. And she could try to make him see that running away solved nothing. With a little coaxing, she hoped she could get him to return to school voluntarily.

On foot, at a steady clip, it was a good half hour to the ruins, past Saint Ann’s, through the old cemetery, onto a public footpath that once was a turnpike road. The path cut through the former pleasure grounds of the estate, from back before the construction of Hartmore House, when the DeValerys lived at Hartmore Hall, long since demolished. From the path, she crossed the deer park, and from there she took a heavily wooded trail that wound in upon itself, with the ruined castle at the center.

Before she rounded that last curve in the circular track, she turned to her bodyguard. “I’m hoping Geoffrey is at the castle and I want to speak with him alone. Will you stay out of sight unless I call for you?”

“Of course, ma’am.” The bodyguard stepped off the path and into the trees, vanishing almost instantly from her sight.

She turned again for the castle, emerging a few minutes later into the open space where the crenellated ruin loomed against the sky. The stone hall and courtyard fortress were beautiful in their stark, gray, weather-beaten way. The tower still stood, though the lower wing had been plundered over the centuries to get stone for other buildings. The empty rectangular windows and door arches gaped like dark unseeing eyes.

Genny opened her mouth to call for Geoffrey, and then shut it without a sound. Even on a sunny, almost-June morning, the place had a haunted, otherworldly feel about it. She didn’t want to scare him off.

And surely he wouldn’t go inside. He’d been warned, and sternly, that it wasn’t safe in there. More stones could topple at any time.

The castle was built into the side of a hill. She circled the structure, climbing the steep east slope, crossing around behind it on the tower side, keeping her eye out for Geoffrey along the way.

She found him as she started down the west slope. He was huddled against the outer wall of the castle, his legs drawn up, thin arms wrapped around his knees. He looked unhappy, but unharmed.

Relief, like cool water on a sweltering day, poured through her. “Hello, Geoffrey.”

He had a streak of dirt on his cheek and he glared at her mutinously. “Now you have time for me.”

She went over and dropped to the damp, patchy grass at his side. “Yesterday, it was just one thing after another. I kept meaning to...” She stopped herself. He deserved better than a bunch of lame excuses. “Geoffrey, I messed up. I didn’t make time for you. And I’m so sorry. Sometimes... Well, sometimes even a true friend will mess up.”

He pressed his lips together and looked away. “I’m not going back. I’m running away forever and I’m never going back.”

“I wish you wouldn’t run away. We would all miss you way too much.”

“Oh, no, you won’t. You won’t miss me in the least. You don’t even care about me. Nobody does. My father has new children. He’s forgotten all about me. He lives all the way over there in America and if he never sees me again, it won’t matter in the least to him.”

She wanted to demand in outrage, Who told you that? But she had a very strong feeling that Brooke might have done it. Brooke too often forgot that she was supposed to be a grown-up. “Your father loves you,” she said, for lack of anything better. Geoffrey’s reply was a scoffing sound. She asked, “Do you want to go and live with your father?”

Geoffrey gasped. “No! I want to live here, at Hartmore, with you and Uncle Rafe and Great-Granny Eloise.”

“And you do live at Hartmore. But you go away to school.”

“Because nobody wants me here.”

She braced her arms on her knees and rested her cheek on them. “That’s not true. We want you here and we love you, Geoffrey. I love you. I know I let you down yesterday, but if you think back to all our times together, you’ll remember that I do care about you, that you’re very important to me. And if you left, if you ran away, well, I just couldn’t bear it.”

He looked at her then, narrowing his eyes, as though trying to see inside her head and determine whether she really meant what she said. Finally, with a heavy sigh, he leaned her way, sagging against her.

She dared to hook an arm loosely around him, and he rested his head on her shoulder. He smelled of dirt and clean sweat and she ached to grab him hard and close and never let him go.

“I hate boarding school. I’m only almost nine. Most of the boys my age there are day boys. I have to live in a house where everyone is older and they treat me like a baby. Why can’t I stay at Hartmore with you and Rafe and Great-Granny? Why can’t I go to the village school and have my tutor back until I’m at least thirteen like Uncle Rafe was when he went away? Or even go to St Anselm’s in Bakewell, like the Terrible Twins?” He meant Dennis and Dexter, Fiona Bryce-Pemberton’s ten-year-old sons. “Why can’t I just wait to go away until I’m old enough to attend St Paul’s?”

“Because you are very smart, that’s why. And it’s important for you to get the best education possible.”

“St Anselm’s is one of the top prep schools in the country. It’s not fair. Mum just wants to get rid of me.”

Even Genny, who was no fan of Brooke’s, didn’t believe that. Brooke was self-absorbed and a hopeless drama queen, but she loved her son. She just didn’t know how to deal with him. “No, your mother does not want to get rid of you. Your mother wants the very best for you and your new school is the very best.”

“I hate it.”

“Well, then, you will have to find ways to learn to like it.”

“I will never be able to do that.”

“Yes, you will. Also, I know it must seem that you’ll never get home, but doesn’t the summer term end soon?”

“No. It’s forever. It’s practically a whole month.”

“Well, a month may seem like forever now, but it will pass. You’ll be home for all of July and August, here, with us. I’ll be looking forward to that.”

“All the boys are awful. I don’t have any friends.”

“Well, then, you will find a way to make some.”

“Making friends takes effort,” said a deep voice from the ridge above them. “But you can do it.”

“Uncle Rafe!” Geoffrey jumped up, so happy to see Rafe that he forgot to be angry.

Looking much too big and manly for Genny’s peace of mind, Rafe hobbled his Belgian Black gelding and came down the slope to them. His gaze found hers—and then they both looked away, to Geoffrey, who stared at Rafe with mingled guilt and adoration. Rafe knew what to do. He held out his arms.

With a cry, Geoffrey flung himself forward. Rafe scooped him up, hugged him and then put him down again. They both dropped to the ground, Geoffrey on Genny’s left, Rafe on Geoffrey’s other side.

Rafe took out a cell phone and called the house. “Yes, hullo, Frances.” Frances Tuttington served as housekeeper for the East Wing. She took care of the family. “Will you tell my sister we’ve found him?...Gen did, yes.” He gave her a quick nod and she felt absurdly gratified. He spoke into the phone again. “He’s fine. He’s well. We’re at the castle....Yes. We’ll be heading back there soon.” He put the phone away.

Geoffrey was looking sulky again. “I mean it. I don’t want to go back.”

“We can see that,” Rafe answered gently. “But you will, won’t you? For me? For Gen? For yourself, most of all.”

Geoffrey groaned and looked away.

Rafe said, “You know, I hated school myself when they first sent me away.”

“But you were older.”

“I was, yes, a little. But still, I hated it. Until I started realizing that I could learn things there I couldn’t learn at Hartmore.”

“I like science class,” Geoffrey grudgingly admitted. “I don’t much care for cricket. But aikido is interesting.”

“Ah,” said Rafe. “And you wouldn’t be studying aikido at the village school, now, would you?”

Geoffrey picked up a twig and poked at the mossy ground with it. “Did you...make friends at St Paul’s?”

“Not at first. I was sure they all hated me and I was determined to hate them right back.”

“Yes,” Geoffrey muttered. “Exactly.”

“But then I found out that some of them missed home as much as I did. I found out that they were a lot like me.” He chuckled low. “Or at least, more like me than I had thought at first. It worked itself out. By second term, I got on well enough. I even made a lifelong friend or two during my years at school....”

Genny watched the two of them—the blond, delicate-featured eight-year-old boy and the scarred, dark giant. Rafe didn’t hurry things, didn’t rush them back to the house. He took his time. Watching him being so good to Geoffrey, saying just the right things to ease a confused eight-year-old’s loneliness and fear, Genny couldn’t help but be reminded of all she so admired about him.

Surely they could overcome this strangeness and distance between them and forge a union of mutual love and respect.

“All right,” said Geoffrey at last. “I guess they’ll all be waiting, wondering. Mum will be crying. We should get back.”

“Excellent,” said Rafe.

They stood up and brushed the bits of grass from their clothes.

* * *

They all three walked back together, the gelding trailing on a lead behind Rafe, Caesar taking up the rear. As they approached the East Wing, a groom appeared and took charge of the horse.

Brooke was waiting in the East Entrance Hall, still in her dressing gown, crumpled on a delicate white-and-gold side chair, sobbing into her hands, her long hair falling forward. At the sound of their footsteps on the inlaid floor, she yanked her shoulders up and raked all that hair back off her forehead. “Geoffrey. My God. You have scared me out of my wits!” She leapt up and ran to him. Dropping to a crouch in front of him, the long, filmy skirts of her robe fanning on the floor like the petals of some giant flower, she grabbed him in a hug and sobbed on his small shoulder. “How could you?”

Genny and Rafe shared a glance. She knew he wanted to intervene as much as she did, to try to get Brooke to ease off. But intervening would most likely only make things worse.

So they said nothing as Brooke cried, “You horrid, cruel little beast!”

Geoffrey turned his head away and mumbled in obvious misery, “Sorry, Mum....”

“Sorry? Sorry!” She grabbed him by the shoulders and glared at him furiously. “Don’t you ever, ever—”

“Brooke.” Rafe did cut in then. “He’s back. He knows he did wrong. Could you dial it down a notch?”

Brooke gasped, released Geoffrey and surged to her feet. She shot her brother a venomous look—a look that seemed to bounce off his huge shoulder and end up aimed straight at Genny. “You...” She let out a hard, ragged breath full of pure venom. Her blue eyes shone with righteous fury. “Rory told us you took off for the castle without telling a soul.”

“Well, but you just said it yourself, Brooke. I did tell Rory,” Genny reminded her hopefully.

Brooke sniffed, all wounded nobility now. “The point is you should have told me. I’m his mother after all. I’m the one who has the right to know every bit of new information first in a terrifying situation such as this. But you didn’t tell me, did you, Your Highness? You didn’t say a word to me. You just ran off to save him, to have all the glory for yourself.”

Rafe said warningly, “Brooke...”

Genny silenced him with a touch of her hand on his big, hard arm. “I apologize. I’m sorry you weren’t informed.” She spoke gently, hoping to diffuse the coming tirade before it really got going.

But that only brought another outraged gasp from Brooke. “Oh, please. You’re not the least sorry and we both know that.” Right then, Eloise and the housekeeper came in from the hallway behind Brooke. Brooke never turned, never even paused for breath. “I know you, Genevra, so sweet and sincere. So very kind to everyone.”

Geoffrey tugged on her robe. “Mum, don’t...”

She ignored him and went right on while everyone watched, struck speechless, like witnesses to a horrible accident. “They all adore you, don’t they? You are just the sweetest thing. And yet somehow you never fail to find a way to make yourself the center of attention.”

“Enough!” Rafe roared.

And Geoffrey fisted his small hands hard at his sides and shouted, “Stop it, Mum, you stop it! You leave Aunt Genny alone!” And then he whirled on his heel and fled up the stairs.

Brooke let out a cry. “Geoffrey! Oh, darling...” The waterworks started in again as she lifted the long hem of her robe and took off after him.

That left the rest of them standing in the entrance hall staring at each other. Genny felt awful, as though she’d been somehow at fault for Brooke’s tantrum. Worse than that, she worried for Geoffrey. What a nightmare.

Rafe reached out and drew her into his side. She went willingly, their troubles of the night before forgotten in that moment. He was so huge and warm and strong and just his touch made her feel better about everything.

Eloise shook her head. “So much drama, and it’s not even noon yet.” She went straight to Genny. “My dearest girl. Are you all right?” Genny pressed her lips together and gave a quick nod, to which Eloise whispered, “But of course you are.”

The others—Genny’s mother and father and Rory, too—appeared from the hallway then. They all three looked a little bewildered. No doubt they’d heard the shouting.

Eloise said. “Frances, do make sure that everyone has eaten.” She turned for the stairs. “I’ll just go and assure myself that things have settled down....”

* * *

They all went to the Morning Room. Genny and Rafe had breakfast. The others poured fresh cups of coffee. They visited, chatting about everyday things, everyone determined to put a better face on the day.

Eloise joined them. She said that Brooke would ride along with Geoffrey back to London. “And how about we all go out to the lake later?” Everyone agreed that the weather was beautiful and a day at the lake would be lovely. “We’ll have a picnic.”

“I’ll get a few more candid shots,” said Rory.

Adrienne nodded. “It’s an excellent idea.”

Brooke and Geoffrey appeared a few minutes later. Brooke was fully dressed, her makeup perfect, her manner subdued. Geoffrey’s hair was wet and slicked down. He wore his school uniform.

Eloise said, “Come along, you two. Eat before you go.”

So they filled plates from the buffet and joined the group. It wasn’t too bad. They all did their best to pretend that nothing out of the ordinary had happened. It worked, more or less.

Brooke ate hardly anything. When she slipped her napkin in beside her plate, she turned a somber face to Genny. “Genevra, I wonder if I might have a word with you.”

Rafe started to say something, but Genny beat him to it. “Of course.” She pushed her chair back and followed Rafe’s sister out to the terrace garden.

They found a bench by one of the fountains. Brooke sat on one end, Genny on the other, with plenty of space between them.

There was a long, bleak silence.

Finally, Brooke said, “I’m sorry, all right? I’m a hopeless bitch. Everyone knows it. I’ve embarrassed myself and my family in front of Princess Adrienne and your father. I don’t know what gets into me.”

Genny tried to decide how to respond. Best to patch things up.

But anger, like a burning pulse, beat beneath her skin—for Geoffrey, for all that the woman at the other end of the bench insisted on putting him through. She tried to remind herself that Geoffrey was doing fine overall, that Brooke did love her son, she just didn’t really know how to love. Brooke inevitably managed to make everything that happened all about her.

Genny understood that Brooke felt left out of her own family. Edward had been the old earl’s favorite. Their mother had adored Rafe. Brooke had never been anyone’s special darling.

And then Genny had come along. From the age of five, Genny had been the princess of Hartmore. The earl had pampered her. Brooke’s mother had lavished affection on her and Eloise had welcomed her with open arms. Brooke remained nobody’s favorite—only from then on, she had Genny to blame.

Plus, there was the Geoffrey situation. Genny would have been wiser not to pay so much attention to him, not to love him so completely. But how could she help it? He was sweet and smart and funny. Genny’s heart had been his from the first time she saw him, the summer he was three, when Brooke had divorced her American husband and brought Geoffrey home to Hartmore.

“Nothing to say to me?” Brooke muttered, growing surly again.

Genny turned and faced the other woman squarely. “I accept your apology.”

Brooke stared back at her, defiant. She made a scoffing sound. “As if I believe you.”

Genny had a very powerful urge to scream. “What do you want from me, Brooke?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Everything you took from me?”

A sudden wave of nausea rolled through her. The baby didn’t like all this tension. She stood. “I know you resent me. I even understand why. But in reality, I didn’t take your place, and we both know it. That you feel somehow...left out, well, Brooke, that’s your feeling. You would be dealing with the same emotional issues whether I was here or not.”

Brooke sighed. For once, it wasn’t a dramatic sigh. She let her shoulders slump. “I promised Granny I would make things up with you. And I promised Geoffrey, too. Somehow, we have to learn to get on together.”

Genny put her hand against her belly and took a slow breath. “Fair enough. Let’s call a truce. Put some real effort into getting along with me. I’ll do the same. We’ll muddle through somehow.”

Brooke regarded her, narrow eyed, her head tipped to the side, her dark hair tumbling along her arm like a waterfall of silk. “You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”

Genny longed to deny it. She didn’t want to give Brooke the satisfaction of knowing for certain why Rafe had married her. But please. Brooke would know soon enough anyway. “Yes, I am.”

“Suddenly it all makes sense.”

Genny refused to rise to that bait. “Rafe and I are thrilled. So is Eloise.”

Brooke produced a slow, mean smile. “Allow me to congratulate you.”

“Thank you.”

“Granny’s asked me to go away, did you know? For a week. I’ll stay with Fiona.” Brooke’s lifelong friend had a house in Chelsea. “It’s partly a reprimand for my behavior this morning. But it’s mostly for you, of course. To give you time settle in as countess of Hartmore without having to deal with me.”

“Do you want me to tell Eloise to let you stay, is that it?”

“Oh, no. I wouldn’t dream of that.” Brooke stared up at her, defiant.

“Brooke, I’m not going to beg you to stay.” And who was she kidding? It would be a relief to have the woman gone.

“It’s fine.” Brooke gave a lazy shrug. “Time away from here with someone who loves me is just what I need about now.”

Genny wanted to grab her and shake her. “Why does it have to be my fault that you feel unloved at Hartmore?”

“Did I say I felt unloved?”

“You didn’t have to.”

Brooke made a humphing sound. “Well, you can take what I said however you want to.”

Genny asked with excruciating civility, “Was there anything else you needed to discuss with me?”

“Not a thing.”

“Then, let’s go back in.”

Brooke swept to her feet and they turned together for the house.

* * *

The remainder of the day passed uneventfully. Brooke and Geoffrey left for London.

In the afternoon, the rest of them walked down to the lake, where they threw sticks for the dogs to fetch. Rory took more pictures and they shared a picnic. And that night, they all enjoyed a lovely dinner in honor of the bride and groom and the visiting Bravo-Calabrettis.

After the meal, Genny’s father and Rafe disappeared into Rafe’s study. Eloise pleaded exhaustion and went to bed. Genny, her sister and her mother went out to sit at an iron table under the stars in the terrace garden. It was good to have a little time together, just the three of them.

At a quarter past eleven, her father and Rafe came out. Genny glanced up and Rafe met her eyes....