A Heart's Treasure (25 page)

“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 give 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.”

If the use of her nickname moved her for good or ill, Penelope’s brow remained smooth. “Oh, he never really says,” she said, a little gesture of her hand flicking the subject away.

“I know. That’s why I’m asking.”

Now her jaw tightened, and she was silent for several beats. “It’s a matter of honor, you see.”

“In what way?” Kenneth pressed.

Penelope turned her full gaze on him, silently reproaching.

“It’s a matter of honor to not reveal what happened,” she said crisply.

“But
why?
”

She half-turned in her seat, looking determinedly out the window. “If you wish to know, you must ask Xavier.”

“But he won’t say,” Kenneth insisted, his tone plaintive.

“That is his prerogative.”

The coach’s interior fell silent, a silence Genevieve believed she understood, even though she knew no more than Kenneth: for whatever reason, Penelope didn’t care to speak in front of Summer, the woman he loved, of an injury that her brother chose to cloak in silence.

Her mouth set grimly at the thought that Penelope had noticed the growing attraction between the two as well.

Kenneth sat back with a sound of annoyance.

Conversation became infrequent and general again as Genevieve, too, stared out the window at what Kenneth had assured them was alluvial plains.

A nighttime fog greeted them as they rolled into the city, reminding them they were no more than about six miles from the Rivers Dee and Mersey, and the Irish Sea was not so very far to the north. The fog brought with it a dampness that tended to chill, so that the ladies reached for their shawls.

The inn they stopped at was large and graciously appointed, causing Kenneth to frown where he sat across from Genevieve. He’d be thinking of his slim purse, of course, which would be slimmer yet after this night. “Ought we find another inn?” she suggested, to Laura rather than Kenneth, as if she had some good reason to object to this place.

“Certainly not,” Laura cried, not at all grasping Genevieve’s intent. “I wish to be out of this conveyance at the earliest possible moment.”

Genevieve sighed to herself, but didn’t pursue the matter. Haddy returned from his usual task of attaining rooms for them, offering a hand down and thereby put a period to any further discussion of the matter anyway.

As they moved toward their rooms, they murmured about how the evening fog was growing denser. Michael complained about having had no company, riding alone atop the first carriage all day while Kenneth sat within, and Haddy and Xavier had brought up the rear. He insisted everyone join him in a parlor he’d bespoke for supper, and although undoubtedly a bit weary of one another’s company, they all agreed.

Supper was slow in arriving, leaving a group of people alone who could think of little to say to one another. Only Haddy waxed eloquent, going on about the various hunting that was available in this county.

Michael seemed restless, sitting then standing, moving to a window, then back to his seat. When he ceased pacing to stare out at the fog through one of the two bay windows of the parlor, Genevieve moved to his side. She spoke quietly, that her voice not carry beyond their immediate small circle. “What is it, Michael?”

“My restlessness?” He gave a here-and-gone-again smile to his sister. “Ennui, quite simply,” he said.

“Yes, everyone wishes we were already at Brockmore. It fair makes me shudder to think of the return journey to London. But, of course, that will not be until after we’ve rested for a week or better at Kenneth’s estate.”

He nodded, his hands thrust deep in his pockets as he continued to glower out the window. She prodded herself into continuing. “Michael?”

“Hmm?”

“What did you mean when you told me there was more to Summer than met the eye?”

He laughed, a quiet laugh not necessarily meant to be shared. “Lady Summer Rose Dillonsby is all that’s delicate and sweet and charming and good—but she’s more than those things as well.”

“Do you mean you don’t care for her character?”

Now Michael let his mouth turn down and his shoulders go up, a half-body shrug. “Oh, no. That is to say, I like her character very well. I’m just saying she is also intractable, stubborn, and determined to have her way.”

Genevieve stared at him, not sure if he was gammoning her. “Why, she said much the same of you.”

“Did she?” He turned to face her, a light surprise on his face. “Well. Although I cannot claim I’m utterly shocked to learn it.” He rocked on his heels, then uttered a short laugh, and shook his head.

She reached up one hand, touching his sleeve. “Do you love her, Michael?”

“Quite.”

“I mean,
truthfully
. Do you really love her? I…I don’t believe I’ve ever heard you come out and say it.”

“But a gentlemen doesn’t,” he said, drawing one hand from his pocket to tweak her nose. “Not to his sister.”

She grabbed his hand. “It’s important, for her, Michael, to hear it, to know it.”

His eyebrows danced once, but his brown eyes were almost serious. “Ah, that’s what you’re going on about? Summer’s feelings? You two’ve been talking, I see. No, not another word, sister dear. You’re quite right to think a moment of confrontation is approaching. Know that I’m aware of it. But it’s not for now. Brockmore, I think. That would be logical. Bide your time, as I must bide mine.”

When she parted her lips to press on, he held up a warning finger, halting her, and turned to the room at large, calling out loudly. “Let us dance! We have the room, we have the music-maker—” he signaled Haddy, who nodded “—and we have the time, if not so much the energy. Something slow, maestro?”

Haddy nodded again, extracting the piccolo from his inner pocket, which he blew into several times until he was satisfied and began to play in earnest.

Michael turned back to Genevieve. “I don’t care to dance with either you or Summer,” he declared.

He walked away, leaving her—no doubt without any kind of regret—rattled, and watched him put a persuading hand on Penelope’s elbow. The two swung into the dance at once, as Xavier turned to Laura, who was beside him, and Kenneth to Summer. Genevieve stood alone, stepping back into the curtains at the window, turning her head away from the dancers. She stared out at the blackness, ignoring her own reflection to peer into the night. She was more than a little angry with her brother’s smug dismissal—and acutely aware Xavier hadn’t bothered to cross the room but rather sought the nearest lady with which to dance.
At least he hasn’t sought out Summer to dance with…yet…

The music changed, and a hand touched her elbow, causing her to jump. She spun to find Xavier there. Laura was taking a seat, waving the pretty painted fan she’d brought down with her, joining Summer in taking up a glass of wine.

“A dance, my lady?” Xavier asked, offering the hand that had touched her arm.

“As you please,” Genevieve said, perversely shy of a sudden even while she accepted his hand. The music suggested a waltz, and they were joined now only by Kenneth and Penelope.

Genevieve tried to pull back a little, but Xavier’s arms didn’t relax. Reluctantly she brought her hand up to lie along his arm, her fingers nearly touching his shoulder, as the dance demanded. In a moment they were moving. She stared over his shoulder, getting flashes of the sight of her brother, Laura, and Summer, sipping from their glasses and talking quietly.

She sneaked a look up at him. “Did you ever speak to Kenneth…about Penelope?”

“And how they went off alone together? Yes.”

She glanced their way, and chanced a tiny smile. “I see he remains alive and well. So he gave you a satisfactory explanation?”

Xavier nodded. “It was exactly as we supposed, they were saying good-bye.” He lowered his lashes, peering at her from between them. “I suspect it involved a kiss.” He gave a dismissive little roll of his shoulders. “But I find I cannot begrudge them that.”

“Nor I.”

“Genevieve,” Xavier said, his voice going very quiet, a deep rumble in his chest, which was far too near to her own.

“Yes?” She glanced up again, meeting his gray gaze, then looking away again.

“Will you be my partner?”

She stumbled in his arms for a moment, before he guided her again in the pattern of the dance. “What?”

“Will you trade partners, so that Summer might be Michael’s?”

“Oh.” For a moment she couldn’t think what to say. She searched his face. “What? Why? Do you truly wish to do that?”

“I do.” He smiled.

A smile? What did that calm, coaxing smile mean?

“I don’t see how we might. You and Summer have one more token than do Michael and I.”

“I’d be happy enough to surrender the extra token to Summer.”

“But why?” she burst out, her hand tightening along his arm.

Now he gave a couple of tit-for-tat tilts of his head. “Perhaps this journey has made me indulgent of romantic notions. One last summertime adventure. A good-bye kiss. A bond made stronger through partnership.”

“Xavier,” she said, her gaze dropping to fix on the top button of his waistcoat. “I feel I must say… It won’t do!” she said quietly but with vehemence. “If you love her, you must not surrender her. You must be most direct about it.”

He didn’t answer, but she would swear a silent laugh rippled through his chest. She dared to lift her eyes when he pulled her just the tiniest bit closer.

“Genny,” he said.

“What?” her voice shook.

“Genny, I do
not
love Summer.”

Perhaps the music ceased. Perhaps she no longer danced. She couldn’t say. All she knew was his face was right before hers, peering down at her, demanding, even in his humor, that she believe him. “You don’t?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

He laughed aloud now. “Yes.”

“What’s all this then?” a voice asked at Genevieve elbow’s. Belatedly she realized her brother spoke to her, that there was no more music. She and Xavier were the only couple still standing partnered.

“Time for bed,” Michael said a bit loud, probably repeating something he’d already told her.

Genevieve felt Summer slip an arm through hers, with a small tug to urge Genevieve to come along.

“We’ll present our plan tomorrow,” Xavier’s spoke softly to her.

“Plan?” Michael echoed, looking from face to face.

Xavier merely shook his head with a little smile. “Good night,” he said to the room—although Genevieve would have sworn he said it just to her. He gazed at her unblinkingly as Summer gently tugged at her. She suddenly wished nothing quite so much as to step back to his side, and reach up and touch his face, just to see what his reaction would be to such a caress. Just to see if his mouth would turn into her palm as she suddenly, fiercely wished it might.

“Good night,” she responded automatically, and then, too soon, far too soon for clarity, Summer pulled her away toward the stairs.

She undressed silently, donned her night rail, and crawled into the bed next to Summer.
He doesn’t love Summer. He said so.

That lady wasn’t inclined to chat either, leaving Genevieve to her own befuddled thoughts. The other girl was soon fast asleep, but Genevieve lay awake as her faculties began one by one to function properly again.

Oh my.
Xavier had said he didn’t love Summer. And there was something in the way he’d said it that made her want to believe it, made her want to conclude he’d
never
loved the girl.

Or was he just being noble? It would be very like him. He would see he mustn’t interfere in Summer’s happiness, and he would step away, would extinguish his own longings…

But, then, why tell
her?

There had been something else in the way he spoke also, something of warmth and encouragement—or was she mistaken about that as well? Was she wishing for and hearing things that weren’t in the few words he uttered?