THE EARL'S PREGNANT BRIDE (8 page)

Over the generations, earls of Hartmore had taken wealthy wives and sold off income-generating land to keep the house and grounds intact. The goal in this generation, Rafe, Genny and Eloise agreed, was to make it so that Hartmore could provide for itself.

From Colorado, Rory sent a wedding book full of beautiful pictures, not only of the ceremony and the reception, but of all of them out by the lake. There were pictures of the dogs and Eloise, of Geoffrey with a tiny kitten cradled in his arms. There were beautiful shots of Brooke. And of Hartmore in all its glory. And so many of Genny and Rafe. They looked happy in the pictures. They looked like two people in love. Seeing them filled Genny with hope for the future.

She called her sister. “The pictures are beautiful. Rory, I can’t thank you enough.”

“I’m so glad you like them. I sent you a link to all the pictures in an album online, too.”

“I got it, yes. Rory, I love them.”

“Be happy.”

“I will,” she promised, because she fully intended to be just that. She told Rory about the baby.

Rory congratulated her. And then she said, “Walker’s here.” Walker McKellan was a friend of the Justice Creek Bravo family, a rancher, fireman and search-and-rescue leader. According to Rory, he could do anything: communicate with mountain lions and speak the language of ravens, build a cabin with a pocketknife and some willow bark. “I have to go.”

“Tell the mountain man your sister says hello.”

“Will do. Later, then...”

The next morning, Genny went to see the DeValery family doctor in nearby Bakewell. He said that both she and the baby were doing well, gave her a prescription for prenatal vitamins and a due date of December 20.

The days were full. And the nights were magic.

No, she and Rafe had not spoken again of what had happened the night Edward died. Genny told herself she was all right with that. For now anyway. In time, she hoped her new husband would open up to her about the most difficult things.

But the here and now wasn’t bad at all. She knew a certain fragile joy, a sense of something very like fulfillment. She was finally living the life she’d always yearned for. Yes, all right. It was a life she was supposed to have led with Edward. But she was going to try to be like Eloise, to roll with the punches, as they said in America. Life had given her Rafe.

And it was working out just fine.

On the second Monday in June, Rafe left for a series of business meetings in London. Genny stayed at Hartmore. She watched him drive away at nine in the morning and missed him already—which was silly. He would only be gone for two days.

Brooke arrived home early that evening. Fiona Bryce-Pemberton came with her. The two had traveled down from London together. Fiona had green eyes, a turned-up nose and long, gorgeous red hair. She lived half the time with her banker husband in Chelsea and half the time at her country house, Tillworth, right there in Derbyshire. Her husband, Gerald, came to Tillworth on weekends and holidays when he could manage it. Her twin sons went to school in nearby Bakewell and lived at Tillworth, where there was always the staff to look after them while their parents were in London.

The weather was lovely that day, so they had dinner outside on the terrace, with the dogs lazing at their feet. It was just the four of them: Eloise, Brooke, Fiona and Genny.

Fiona had decided to stay the night. “Truly, I can’t deal with the boys just yet. I’ll see them tomorrow. It’s soon enough.” She took a big gulp of wine and flicked Genny a quick, disdainful glance as she set the glass down.

Genny always felt edgy around Fiona. She had the definite sense that Fiona didn’t like her, which wasn’t especially surprising. Fiona and Brooke were BFFs after all. No doubt Fiona disliked Genny as a matter of course, out of loyalty to her longtime friend.

Out past the terrace, a nightingale cried.

Brooke shivered. “It always seems so quiet at Hartmore, after London.” She aimed a forced smile at Genny. “Too bad Rafe’s run off. Married barely a week and he’s left you all alone.” Eloise sent a warning look in Brooke’s direction. Brooke waved a hand. “What? It’s just conversation, Granny.”

Genny spoke up. “He’s off on business.” She was proud of how casual and relaxed she sounded. “Just until Wednesday. He wanted me to go with him, of course.” Well, he
had
asked her if she’d like to go. “But I decided to stick it out here with Eloise. It’s so beautiful this time of year. The buttercups are in bloom now. The daisies and wild roses, too.”

Fiona hid a yawn. “Right. The country. Don’t we just love it?”

“Yes, we do,” replied Eloise strongly. She launched into an enthusiastic description of the success of the weekly market in Hartmore Village, of the upcoming County Show to be held in Elvaston Parish. It promised to be bigger than ever this year.

Fiona hid more yawns and Brooke got a glazed look in her eye.

When Eloise finished, Brooke started in about the new clothes she’d bought in London. “At Fresh,” she announced. “It’s a shop. A wonderful shop. Granny, you remember Melinda Cartside?”

“Of course. From the village. Nice girl. Melvin and Dora’s only daughter.” Eloise explained to Genny, “The Cartsides run the post office and village store.” She turned to Brooke again. “Melinda went off to Paris, didn’t she?”

“She did, yes. But now she’s in Chelsea and she is the genius behind Fresh.”

“Well, I’m so pleased to hear she’s doing well. Dora was brokenhearted when she went away.”

“Well, she needed to make a life that worked for her,” said Brooke, more than a little defensively.

“I know, I know,” Eloise replied mildly. “Children have to go out and make their own way.”

Fiona drank more wine and said that everything Brooke had bought was fabulous. And then Brooke told them that she’d invited Melinda for a visit. “Just a short one. Overnight.”

Eloise agreed that it would be lovely to see her and Genny tried not to wonder what Brooke was up to now—which was pretty small-minded of her, and she knew it. Why shouldn’t Brooke have her friends come to visit?

The meal wore on. Somehow, they got through it without Brooke or Fiona saying anything too awful. After the dessert of fresh berries and cream, Brooke decided to open another bottle of wine.

Eloise shook her head. “You’ll have a headache in the morning.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Granny. It’s just a little wine.”

“No, dear. You’ve
had
a little wine. When you finish another bottle, you’ll have had a
lot
of wine.”

Brooke only laughed. “And then I will most likely feel happier about everything.”

Fiona snickered. “After which, we’ll need
more
wine—to celebrate so much happiness.”

“And I will not be here for that,” said Eloise mildly. “I believe I shall call it a night.”

“Good night, Granny,” Brooke said much too sweetly.

“Yes,” agreed Fiona. “Good night. Lovely dinner.”

“So pleased you enjoyed it.” Eloise got up. The dogs jumped up, too, eager to follow wherever Eloise might lead them.

Genny started to stand. “I’ll come up with you.”

“Oh, no,” said Brooke, much too eagerly. “Genny, don’t go.”
Genny.
Brooke never called her Genny. Was it a good sign? Genny couldn’t help but doubt that.

“Yes,” agreed Fiona, flashing her pretty white teeth. “You must stay with us. Have a glass of wine. We’ll talk about old times...”

Brooke, Fiona and too much wine. Not a good combination. Genny knew if she stayed things could easily get ugly.

But her pride pricked at her. It seemed so cowardly just to run away from them. They resented her. To them, she had it all by a mere accident of birth. They were the same, of course. Born into good families, both had married wealthy men. But Genny’s luck beat theirs. She was higher born
and
had an enormous inheritance. Plus, as it turned out, Rafe’s fortune was nothing to sneeze at. So she’d married well, too.

Rafe.

She wished he were there. With him at the table, Brooke and Fiona wouldn’t dare go too far.

And then she felt like a spineless nothing, a total wimp, longing for her husband at her side to protect her.

Eloise laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. Genny glanced up into those wise blue eyes. “Thanks,” she said to Brooke and Fiona. “But I’m a little tired tonight.” She pushed back her chair and stood.

“Fine.” Brooke put on her sulky face. “Be that way.”

Genny went on smiling. “Good night. Brooke, good to have you home. So nice to see you, Fiona.”

The two nodded and smirked—and Brooke poured them more wine.

* * *

Genny had a long bath, put on her most comfortable nightgown and a comfy dressing gown over it and then watched television in the sitting room of the suite for a while.

By eleven, she still felt edgy and wide-awake. She missed Rafe, missed him terribly. Which was pretty absurd. He’d been gone just fourteen hours.

She had tonight and Tuesday night to get through without him. Her body ached for him. It was the strangest thing. It had been the same after their four-day fling or affair or whatever it could be called, in March.

Like withdrawing from some addictive drug, to be without him. Without his big hands caressing her, his broad, hard body curved around her when she fell asleep...

She let her head fall to the sofa back and stared up at the intricate plaster moldings in the ceiling. Yes, the bed would feel lonely without him. But at some point, she would to have to crawl between the covers and try to get some sleep.

Might as well get going on that now. She dragged herself to her feet.

And someone tapped on the outer door.

A prickle of alarm sent a shiver down her back. What possible good could come of someone knocking on her door at this hour?

The tap came again.

Rafe?
Her heart grew lighter in her chest.

But no. He wouldn’t knock on the door to his own rooms.

Genny gave up trying to guess who it might be and went to find out.

“Well,” said Fiona on a blast of winey breath. “All ready for beddy-bye, I see.” Brooke’s friend had her right arm braced on the door frame and a woozy look on her pretty face. She wore the same yellow sleeveless dress she’d worn at dinner, and her peep-toe Manolo Blahniks dangled from the fingers of her left hand. Clearly, a lot more wine had been consumed since Genny and Eloise had left the table. “May I come in?”

Whatever for? Genny couldn’t remember ever having had a private conversation with Brooke’s friend. “You know, Fiona, it’s late and I was just—”

“A little chat, that’s all, just you an’ me.” Fiona peeled herself off the door frame. “I won’t stay long, promise. Only a minute or two...”

It was either shove her backward and slam the door in her face—or go along. For now. Genny waved her in.

“Super.” Fiona dodged around her and headed for the sofa, plunking down on it with a huffing sound and dropping her yellow shoes to the rug. She lifted both arms and spread them wide along the sofa back. “I understand congratulations are in order.” There was definite smirking. “A baby. How nice.”

“Thank you.” Genny took one of the wing chairs. She wasn’t the least surprised that Fiona knew. No way Brooke could have resisted the temptation to tell her—especially not after the two of them had poured down large amounts of wine. “Rafe and I are very excited.”

“Oh, well, I’m sure you are.” Fiona listed to the left a bit, but then righted herself once more. “When are you due—if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Not at all,” Genny sweetly lied. “December 20.”

“Ah. A Christmas baby.”

“Yes.”

“Aren’t those good luck?”

“Christmas babies, you mean?”

“Yes.” Fiona blinked several times in rapid succession, apparently trying to focus. “I’m sure I heard once that...um...” The sentence wandered off unfinished.

This was getting a little scary. “Fiona, let me help you to your room.” Genny started to stand.

“In a minute, Yer Highness.” Fiona stared at her through narrowed eyes—because her vision was blurry or as a drunken attempt at a glare, Genny couldn’t tell which. “I have...things which I need to say to you.”

Genny slowly lowered herself back into the chair. Fiona looked pretty bad. Was she going to pass out? She needed to be in her own room before that happened. “Fiona, I think it’s time you let me help you to your—”

“A minute. Just a minute. I only, well, I wanted to tell you. How ver’ sorry I am. For Rafe. For...how difficult it must be for him...”

Genny really, really did not like where this was going. She braced for the big insult.

“So terrible,” Fiona barreled on, “knowing he’s not a DeValery by blood, but only the, um, bastard son of some nobody, some gardener.”

Genny gulped. Alrighty, then. Completely different insult than she’d been expecting. “That’s enough, Fiona. You’re talking nonsense.”

The awful woman wouldn’t stop. She only sniffed loudly—and kept on. “I mean, Rafe has a good heart. He means well. He tries. I know that. We all know that. And he must feel terribly guilty about the accident. It’s so obvious. I mean, that hideous scar he’s done nothing about. He’s leavin’ himself scarred as a penance for the accident, isn’t he?”

“Of course not. Fiona—”

“I know, I know.” She waved a hand. “He wasn’t driving. They have all those forensic things they do now. They proved, somehow, that he wasn’t at the wheel. But will we ever really know? Will we ever—?”

“Fiona. Hello!” Genny tried again to shut her up. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, don’t I, then? You’d be surprised what I know, what I’ve been through. How I’ve suffered.” The green eyes filled with tears. “What I have had that you will
never
get. Ver’ surprised. Oh, yes, you would.” The tears overflowed and ran down her cheeks.

“Fiona, it’s time for you to—”

“Who can tell, is all I’m saying? Who can know? Except that Edward is gone,” she sobbed. “And that leaves Rafe to ape his betters and pretend to be the lord and heir that he can never, ever be....” Her shoulders shook. She swiped at her streaming eyes. “It’s only that I can’t bear it, you see? Sometimes I wish I could die. Sometimes I just want to curl into a li’l ball of misery and die.”