THE EARL'S PREGNANT BRIDE (13 page)

“But it’s the middle of the night. Where are we going?”

“You’ll see. Come on.”

So she put on the kimono and slippers. Then he grabbed her hand and led her out into the sitting room, where he got a flashlight from a side-table drawer. He went to the outer door, pulled it open and waved her out.

She gave in and simply went out ahead of him.

He shut the door and took the lead. One hallway led to another. In the soft light from the wall sconces, they worked their way toward the glorious State Rooms at the heart of the house and then on from there, along a central hallway to the damaged West Wing.

In the West Wing, he turned on the flashlight. No one lived or worked in the West Wing. At night, the dim hallway wall sconces were left off.

It was sad, really, even by flashlight, even when they were sticking only to the hallways, to see the water stains on the ceilings and walls, the emptiness where marble-topped hall tables had stood and beautiful art used to hang. Yes, much of the West Wing had once been servants’ quarters, but the central hallways used to be as finely put together as the rest of the house. There was the faint smell of moisture there now. For the sake of the West Wing, winter and the new roof couldn’t come soon enough.

Rafe led her up the stairs and along another hallway until finally they came to the West Wing Gallery, a long red room on the top floor with all its furnishings intact. The gallery and the rooms below it were protected by a small section of undamaged roof replaced forty years before.

The West Wing Gallery was not among the finest rooms at Hartmore. All the most treasured paintings and portraits hung in the State Rooms or in the East Wing where the family lived and could enjoy them. The West Wing Gallery was for all the pictures no one really cared all that much about, for portraits of forgotten ancestors painted by unimportant artists. For undistinguished landscapes by painters no one remembered anymore.

Rafe turned on the lights.

Genny stood in the middle of the room and stared up at the beautiful painted ceiling. The El Grecos, the Titians and Turners were in other rooms. Still, there were gorgeous gilt mirrors here and serpentine columns flanked the arched windows.

Rafe came up behind her and clasped her shoulders. She leaned back into the solid heat of his body—but only for a moment. Because he ran his palm down her arm and caught her hand again. “Here. Let me show you....”

He led her to a shadowed corner, to a grouping of mediocre portraits in unremarkable frames. “This one.” He shone the flashlight on a portrait of a young, powerfully built dark-eyed man with thick black hair and sideburns. The fellow wore a fitted, single-breasted tailcoat. There was a spill of snowy-white—what they used to call a cravat—at his throat. His doeskin breeches tucked into shiny black Hessian boots and he held a silk top hat to his breast. He stared into the middle distance with an expression of great seriousness.

It wasn’t a very good painting. The eyes weren’t quite right and the proportions were odd. But the likeness was still striking—eerie, even.

Genny’s heart was suddenly racing and her mouth had gone dry. She said in a whisper, “Rafe, he looks just like you.”

“He does, doesn’t he? This was painted in 1819.”

“But...who is he?”

“Richard DeValery, a second son. Like me, he was never expected to inherit. But then his older brother, James, died in a hunting accident. And that left Richard to become the fifth earl of Hartmore.”

Chapter Ten

G
enny stared in amazement at the portrait of Richard DeValery. “How long have you known about this?”

“I was ten when I first saw it.”

“But...how did you know to look here?”

“Granny brought me here.”

“Eloise.” That made perfect sense. “Of course. Had someone said something to you then, about the old rumors?”

“My father had called me an ugly, hulking bastard. He’d muttered under his breath that I wasn’t any son of his.”

“Oh, Rafe...”

“And he’d beaten me again for no reason that I could understand. I had been trying to behave in a civilized manner. To pay attention at school. But it didn’t help. I couldn’t catch a break with him. That day, I can’t remember having done anything to make him furious with me—other than just being there, in his sight. Afterward, Granny found me crying like a baby in the stables. She wanted to know if I was injured. I told her no. And I wasn’t. The beatings hurt, but he never broke a bone or made me bleed. It was the way he looked at me, and the verbal abuse, that killed me. He was a master at that. Anyway, when Granny found me in the stables, I told her to go away, to leave me alone, that I wasn’t a true DeValery and everyone knew the truth about me.”

“But she wouldn’t go.”

“You know Granny....”

Genny did know. “She would have had a little lecture ready, I’m guessing.”

“Yes, she did. She said my father was a cruel and narrow-minded man and sometimes she was ashamed to call him her son. But that
his
father had been a cruel man, too. ‘And the best revenge,’ she said, ‘against a cruel husband or father is to live a productive, rich life anyway, and to hell with them.’”

“What did you say then?”

“I just told her again to leave me alone.”

“But she wouldn’t.”

“Not Granny. She held down her hand to me and said she had something I needed to see. I tried to ignore her. But she only waited, her hand outstretched. Finally, I took it and she brought me here, to the West Wing Gallery. She showed me this portrait and she said, ‘You are just as much a DeValery as your father or your brother or your little sister and you must never, ever forget that you are.’”

Genny swallowed down the lump that had formed in her throat. “I do adore Eloise.”

He nodded toward the portrait. “Lord Richard was rumored to be the child of one of the gardeners.”

“And two hundred years later, they’re saying the same thing about you. It does make you wonder...”

“What?”

“Well, who’s to say Richard wasn’t legitimate, too? Who’s to say he didn’t just take after some other long-ago, long-forgotten ancestor way back in the DeValery line?”

He put on a severe expression. “Because a true DeValery isn’t built like a common laborer. He doesn’t have a broad nose, dusky skin and coarse black hair.”

“Rafe, that’s just so much crap.”

“It’s good you never let my father hear you talk like that.”

“It’s strange. He was so awful to you. And yet, I was never afraid of him. Toward me, he was always kind and gentlemanly.”

“Because you’re someone who matters, a princess of Montedoro—even if your father is a damned upstart American.”

She sighed. “He was not only cruel, your father. He was a terrible snob, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, he was.” He gathered her close to him. “My father was a very proud man. And every time he looked at me, he was reminded that we all—all of us proud DeValerys—might have a common gardener’s blood running in our veins.”

* * *

The next morning, Saturday, Rafe woke her with kisses.

She sighed in pleasure and twined her arms around his neck.

He kissed her again—and then shoved back the covers.

“Rafe!” she protested.

He only laughed and jumped from the bed. “Come on. The sun’s out. Get up. No laying about. Get dressed. Wear riding gear. We’ll go after breakfast, a nice ride around the lake, to the deer park, maybe to the castle—and we’ll take it slow, in consideration of your delicate condition.”

She leaned out between the curtains on her side of the bed, grabbed up one of her slippers and threw it at him as he strode for the dressing room. He dodged before it hit him in the shoulder. “Missed me,” he said smugly, without bothering even to turn around. He put the dressing room door between them before she could find something else to throw.

They went down to breakfast together. Brooke, Fiona and Melinda all came down a few minutes later.

Fiona behaved as though the incident by the powder room the night before had never taken place. She had coffee and a brioche and talked about the County Show at the show grounds near Elvaston the next day. She and her husband would be taking their boys.

“Besides all the horse competitions and the livestock show, there will be the usual tractor show and vintage car exposition.” Fiona hid a yawn. “Gerald loves old cars. And then there’s the carnival. The boys are like wild animals over candy floss, toffee apples and the giant blow-up slide.”

Brooke said, piling on the sarcasm, “Don’t forget the hedge laying and dry stone walling exhibitions.”

And Genny couldn’t resist throwing in somberly, “Hedge laying matters, Brooke. Hedgerows are important habitats for wildlife. They make natural fences between fields and properties. They serve as a windbreak for cattle.”

Brooke sent her a quelling look and said, “I know Granny will want to go. Rafe?”

He looked at Genny, one dark brow lifted.

Brooke groaned. “You two. It’s becoming embarrassing. Are you joined at the hip now?”

After last night, Genny felt closer than ever to Rafe. Even Brooke’s scorn couldn’t get to her that morning. “We’re newlyweds. Being joined at the hip is what newlyweds do—and yes, I think we should all go together.”

“Good idea,” said Rafe.

“I never said
I
was going,” Brooke shot back.

“We’re
all
going,” said Eloise from the doorway. “Together. So that’s the end of that.”

Nobody argued. Eloise rarely laid down the law, but on the rare occasions when she did, they all went along. She crossed to the sideboard and began filling a plate.

Fiona ate the last bite of her brioche. “I’ve got to get back to Tillworth. Gerald will be home from London by eleven. And it’s Saturday, which means the boys are there.” She added sourly, “They’ll all be expecting me for a little family togetherness.” She left them to grab her things.

Melinda said wistfully, “I wish I could stay for the County Show. It’s been years and I’m feeling so...sentimental about old times lately.”

Brooke’s eyes lit up. “Why don’t you? You can come with us.”

“But I need to get back.”

“So go. Come back in the morning. Isn’t Fresh closed on Sundays?”

“But it’s a long drive, hours each way.”

“Take the train.”

“On Sunday? It’s not practical.” Melinda sipped her coffee. “It’s so strange. As the years go by, I find I miss home—and Hartmore Village
is
home to me—though when I was growing up, I couldn’t wait to get away.”

Eloise set down her full plate and pulled out the chair on Genny’s left. “Why not just stay? Have a nice, relaxed visit with your parents in the village. Go back on Monday—or tomorrow evening, if you must. You won’t make it to London before noon today anyway.”

“Granny’s right,” insisted Brooke. “You’ll have more time with your mum and dad. They’ll appreciate that. And then you’ll stay with us here at Hartmore, of course.”

About then, Genny was starting to feel like a jealous cow. She ought to behave like a proper hostess, to chime in and urge Melinda to stay, as the woman so obviously longed to do. But both she and Rafe had sat silent through the whole discussion about whether or not Melinda ought to go. Genny, because she suspected Melinda was after her husband. Rafe, because he knew what Genny suspected.

And truly, Genny now doubted herself on the issue. There had only been that one glance the other morning. Was she really so certain she’d seen it at all?

Melinda murmured hesitantly, “I
could
call my store manager, see if she’s getting on all right without me....”

And Genny couldn’t take it anymore. “Yes, why don’t you? Stay the weekend. We’d all love to have you.”

* * *

“Not one word,” Genny muttered out of the side of her mouth as she and Rafe walked beneath the oaks on their way to the stables.

He grabbed her arm, pulled her off the path and backed her up against one of the enormous old tree trunks, bracing his hands to either side of her, boxing her in. “It’s your fault she’s staying, you know.” He looked infuriatingly pleased with himself.

She made a face at him. “Oh, don’t rub it in. It just seemed rude, the two of us sitting there not saying anything...”

He leaned closer, whispered, “Admit it. She’s a nice woman with no interest in me whatsoever, beyond a pleasant sort of friendliness. You had it all wrong about her.”

“But I could have sworn...”

He bent even closer. Now his wonderful mouth was just inches from hers. “Admit it.”

Genny gave it up. “Fine. Maybe I misunderstood that look she gave you.”

He brushed his lips against hers. She tried not to sigh in delight and leaned into him. He pulled back. “Only maybe?”

She turned her head away. “I don’t want to kiss you anyway.”

“Liar.” And he caught her chin in his hand and turned it back.

And then, at last, he kissed her. A lovely, lingering sort of kiss. A kiss just deep enough to make her knees go to jelly and turn the butterflies loose in her stomach.

When he finally lifted his head she stared up at him dreamily. “Melinda? Who’s Melinda?”

He laughed.

She studied his wonderful wreck of a face. “You seem...happier lately.”

He rubbed the back of his index finger along the side of her throat, bringing a sweet little shiver to skitter beneath the surface of her skin. His eyes gleamed as black as polished agates. “Marriage must agree with me.”

Her heart lifted and the words were right there, at the base of her throat, pushing to get free.
I’ve fallen in love with you, Rafe. I’m so happy that I married you.
She longed to say it. It should be so easy. How could she go wrong to tell him she loved him?

No matter if he didn’t feel the same, he would never be cruel about it. He would let her down gently, at least....

But gentle or not, it would hurt if he didn’t feel the same. It would hurt no matter how kind and understanding he was about it.

And that was ridiculous. Because he seemed happy. And she
was
happy.

And maybe rather than bringing the big, fat
L
word into the equation, she ought to exercise a little good sense and leave wonderful enough alone.

His eyes had grown guarded. “What’s the matter?”

And she said, “Nothing. Nothing at all.” And really, there wasn’t. Just her silly heart aching to know if he loved her as she loved him. She slid her hand down his arm and clasped his fingers. “Come on. Let’s have that ride.”

* * *

They rode around the lake and the village, and then they circled back toward the house, going on past it and the chapel, too, to the deer park and the castle. Later, he went to his study to catch up on some paperwork and she helped the house team with the tours and a late-afternoon wedding.

Rory called just after the wedding party had moved to the terrace for the reception. Genny excused herself and left the team and the caterers to manage the party.

There was always a deserted room somewhere at Hartmore. She found a bedroom overlooking the terrace with a nice window seat and a view of the wedding party, and she and Rory talked for over an hour.

It was nice to talk to someone from home. She and Rory had always gotten along well, though they’d never been all that close. Not like Rhia and Alice, who’d been best friends practically from birth.

Rory’s big news was that their eldest brother, Maximilian, was engaged to be married again. Max had lost his first wife, Sophie, several years ago and had made it clear to everyone that he would never remarry. So his engagement was something of a shocker to Genny. That he was marrying the former nanny, Lani Vasquez, was kind of rich, too.

But everyone loved Lani. And Rory said Max was happy again, at last, after all those years of dragging around looking like someone had cut out his heart.

It was to be a Christmas wedding.

“So mark your calendar,” Rory instructed. “You and Rafe will be coming. I hope Eloise can make it, too.”

And Genny said regretfully, “I doubt if we’ll make it.”

“Why not?” Rory demanded. “It’s going to be beautiful. And it’s Christmas. Everyone will be expecting you.”

“The thing is...”

“Oh, my God. Are you all right? What...?”

“I’m pregnant, Rory. The baby is due December 20.”

Rory gasped. “Why, you little...”

“I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner.”

“Mother and Father...?”

“Yes. They know.”

“Wow.”

Genny groaned. “Really. We were careful. But I think the condoms were expired.”

Rory confessed, “Well, I did kind of wonder. I always thought that you and Edward...”

“Yes. I was wrong about that. Way wrong.”

“So you
are
in love with Rafe?”

“Absolutely. I...just haven’t drummed up the courage to tell him yet.”

“This all sounds beyond delicious, I have to say.”

“I
am
going to tell him,” Genny insisted, and knew she sounded defensive.

The always bubbly Rory was silent. But only for a moment. “Are you happy?”

That was easy. “Yes. I am. Very happy.”

“Well, then, that’s what matters. Everything else will work itself out.”

* * *

That night, Genny and Rafe went to dinner at a nice hotel in the Peak District, not all that far from Hartmore. It was just the two of them. After the meal, they strolled the gardens around the old inn, holding hands, whispering together, laughing often.

The next day was the County Show. Genny had a great time. She especially enjoyed the horticulture exhibits and the beekeeping exhibition, and the displays of rural crafts always impressed her. She and Eloise made a point to attend both the hedge laying and the dry stone walling demonstrations.