Page 59 of The Lady's Guide to Marrying a Viscount
And his heart fell to his stomach.
For the most part, the room had been cleared. Her perfume and hairbrush were no longer on the dressing table. The wardrobe door swung ajar, revealing an empty interior.
She was gone.
CHAPTER 27
Lisette had been farfrom happy, being instructed to pack up everything at such short notice. Geneviève had helped, bundling possessions into the trunks. It wasn’t ideal, and unfair on Lisette, who’d been looking forward to Christmas in the servants’ hall. However, it was unthinkable for Geneviève to remain.
She could bear no more, and leaving was the only answer, regardless of how inconvenient that might be.
Lisette was sulking now, staring resolutely out of the window on the other side of the carriage.
Taking a last look at Wulverton Hall, as the coach reached the top of the avenue, Geneviève thought back to when she’d first entered the gates. Had so little time passed?
Since then, much had happened. Most importantly, she’d come to know a man unlike any she’d met before. Despite a past that might have embittered him, he remained generous-hearted and honorable. As master of these lands, he offered neither condescension norarrogance, but sympathy and protection. Admiring him more than she could say, she’d wanted to become part of the world she’d glimpsed through his eyes.
But, she’d offered him all her faith and hope, and it hadn’t been enough.
She wiped away a welling tear. No matter that her heart was breaking, she wouldn’t cry as she had over her mother. Better to have no heart. Better never to show her true self to anyone again.
What use was there to think of it? He’d made himself clear, even while stumbling to choose the words. He believed she would betray him. Perhaps not straight away, but eventually, and he wasn’t prepared to risk his heart.
He wanted everything to be safe! As if love could ever be that.
Not that she was an expert, but all things precious were worth fighting for, were they not?
She told herself to stop. The affair was at an end and that was that.
It had begun to snow—thick, fat flakes falling steadily, quickly dusting the heathland in a layer of white. The tops of the hills were already covered. Quite beautiful, though it would make her onward journey difficult on the morrow.
Despite being Christmas day, she’d been assured there would be a coach she might join early in the morn. As to where she’d sleep tonight, she hoped the inn would have a room. She and Lisette could share if necessary.
Where she’d go, she wasn’t sure, but she needed anew beginning. It just wouldn’t be here, on the moor, with the man she’d come to feel so deeply for.
Scroggins was drivingthe countess himself, the stable lad told Mallon, taking her as far as The Saracen’s Head. Mallon thought of several things he’d have liked to have said about that, but bit them back. He wasn’t his father, taking out his temper on those who were blameless.
And there was still time to catch them on the road. They’d been gone not half an hour, and it took but a few minutes to saddle his stallion.
Riding out, he was thankful for the moon. How long had it been snowing? Long enough to already be covering the wheel tracks from the carriage ahead.
Mallon had thrown his heaviest coat over his shoulders but, in his haste, had ignored the need for hat or gloves. He gritted his teeth against the snow blowing into his face and the biting cold on his fingers. All that mattered was having the chance to tell her what a huge fool he’d been and to beg her forgiveness.
He urged his horse up the hill, clearing the summit. From there, he could see some distance. Princetown, far off, and the prison, closer. There wasn’t time to linger, but Mallon sent a silent prayer for those men incarcerated. He wished some small light of hope might penetrate their bleak lives.
One, at least, would be spared, for Silas had been put to bed in one of the rooms usuallyreserved for visiting servants. He’d be safe there, and have time to recover his strength.
Mallon scanned further down the road, and his heart leapt. He saw the carriage. Giving his horse a swift kick, he galloped down the hill, hoping the stallion’s footing would remain sure.
“Scroggins!” Mallon called as he drew closer. “Stop, I say!” His voice was swallowed by the whirling snow on his first shout, but the second did it, and the carriage pulled to a halt.
Someone else had heard him, too, for the carriage window was drawn down and a head appeared, looking back at him.
As he brought himself alongside, he saw her nose was pink and her eyes a little bleary, but she had never looked more beautiful to him.
He hadn’t known what to expect. Tears perhaps. Instead, she was looking at him in just the way he’d hoped, her eyes full of tenderness. He felt a rush of wonder, tumbling headlong into her gaze.
However, she suddenly turned to sneeze, fumbling with a handkerchief, and when she looked back, she appeared rather cross.
