Page 6 of The Lady's Guide to Marrying a Viscount
The Baroness de Boulainville may once have encouraged the ladies of her circle to make me feel unwelcome in the Society that is part of my home, but I shall show her that I’m not beaten. I shall take my place among them, and they shall beg for my invitations! I shall host the grandest of balls, and I shall welcome all but her!
To the rising howl of the wind, Geneviève closed her eyes and dreamt of sour matrons curtsying as she passed.
CHAPTER 3
Geneviève was wokenby Lisette placing a breakfast tray beside the bed. Walking over to the curtains, she gave them a good yank, creating a whirl of dust that made her cough.
Geneviève had gone to the trouble of teaching the girl some English, for who knew how long they’d be at Wulverton. It would be rather awful for Lisette if she had no mastery of the language at all. The effort seemed to be paying dividends already, for the tray was well-laden, including a pot of honey and several slices of ham.
Her trunk, meanwhile, had been hauled into the room, presumably while she slept, and the fire was well-established—though the room still felt chill.
Directing Lisette to bring her the warmest of her dressing gowns, Geneviève climbed out of bed. Slathering honey onto one of the slices of bread, she took it to the window. Great spatters of rain were obscuring the view, slapping steadily against the panes,which misted up as Geneviève attempted to peer through.
“Snow is coming,” said Lisette. “The cook, Madame Fuddleby, says.”
“I’m sure,” mused Geneviève. If it was anywhere near as cold outside as it was in her chamber, she was surprised the whole moor wasn’t iced over.
With a sigh, she surveyed the room. She’d a feeling Wulverton Hall was not a place that regularly accommodated overnight guests, for there was a mustiness that spoke of the chamber having been shut up for some time.
Nevertheless, running her hand along the dressing table, she found it clean, and the cushions Lisette was plumping upon the sofa seemed similarly without dust.
Returning to the bed, she opened the drawer of the bedside cabinet, curious as to whether some past occupant had left anything of interest.
It appeared empty but, reaching to the back, Geneviève’s fingers met with the hard cover of a leather-bound book.
Removing it, she read the title upon the cover: ‘The Lady’s Guide to All Things Useful’.
Pah! One of those insipid little tomes, full of condescending advice, designed to keep women mild and courteous. No wonder it was abandoned here. An unwanted gift, no doubt.
She’d been hoping for a novel of some sort—preferably the kind best read by candlelight, brimming with illicit liaisons and ghostly encounters.
In disgust, Geneviève threw the book back into the drawer.
Lisette was bent over the trunk now, from which she drew out a skirt and jacket in fine-woven wool, emerald in color.
“This one, Comtesse? It will keep you warm, yes?”
Geneviève nodded. The outfit was among those she’d most recently purchased in Paris, elegant and understated, the jacket being nipped at the waist with pleats to the rear, and black beading through the bodice.
She assumed that her sister-in-law knew every detail of her background, but first impressions were important. Marguerite had been most solicitous in her invitation to Geneviève. In fact, of all Maxim’s relatives, his sister had been the only one to send a telegram of congratulation on their marriage. Now, it was time to face her and assess the kind of woman she dealt with—a hindrance or an ally?
As Geneviève sauntered from her room, negotiating once more the long and draughty corridor, she noted that the tapestry of ships looked no less shabby by daylight. Several sections were quite threadbare, although the name of de Wolfe had been repaired and made bolder, taking pride of place in the upper center of the border.
Wulverton Hall was neither a place of warmth nor of particular comfort. However, Marguerite’s letters promised a gracious welcome.
Geneviève found the door of the morning room open and was met by an impression of vibrant colors and an amount of clutter,as if no one had ever thrown anything away. The de Wolfes were keen on dogs and horses, judging by the paintings and figurines littered abundantly. Most of the family portraits featured one or the other, their faces often more charming than their owners.
“Par tous les diables!” came a voice from beyond the sofa. A woman was on her knees, prodding the burning logs with a poker and uttering the most inventive curses. The reason was clear, for smoke was billowing into the room.
“Essayezceci,”cried Geneviève, running forward with a newspaper. Falling to the floor, she wafted frantically, then had the idea of opening the window. The draught worked immediately, drawing the fumes up the chimney.
“Maudite cheminée!”The woman sat back on her heels, passing the back of her hand across her forehead. “This fireplace will be the death of me!”
“I do hope not,” said Geneviève, helping her hostess to her feet. “I’m very much hoping to know you better.”
“Ah! Geneviève!” cried Marguerite, pulling her into a kiss for each cheek.
Geneviève saw the resemblance to Maxim at once. His sister had the same pale blue eyes, alight with intelligence. Her hair was fairer than Maxim’s had been and her skin paler, but the slender Rosseline nose was there, and the same haughty bearing.
