Page 39 of The Lady's Guide to Marrying a Viscount
“You might live here all your life and never comprehend them. Its mysteries are matched only by those we hold within us.”
He flashed her another of his penetrating stares, and her heart lurched.
The previous evening, he’d made it clear he thought her a social climber of the worst sort, using her body to further herself. He meant, surely, to remind her of the deceits she’d perpetrated, exerting her charm over poor Hugo, who was as helpless in matters of love as an adolescent girl.
Geneviève knew that she ought to retire, before he broached what must surely be on his mind, but she couldn’t bear to leave.
He’d lent herthe book, of course. She might comment on that. “I can see why Conan Doyle came here, to research the enigmas of the moor, finding inspiration for his novel.”
In her recent nights of sleeplessness, she’d burnt her candle to the quick, reading of the Baskerville Hound and its terrible curse. She could see how cleverly the legends of Dartmoor had been drawn upon. “It makes for compulsive reading…and the ending! So horrible!”
A frown crossed his face. “The dangers of the moor are real.”
“Those damnable mires, waiting to suck you under?” She gave a laugh, but it emerged brittle, constrained too greatly by her nerves.
Wulverton remained serious. “Grimpen Mire, as described by Conan Doyle in his book, is inspired by the very place you almost rode into. If you hadn’t been thrown, your horse would have taken you where I couldn’t have followed. There would’ve been no saving you. It looks like solid grass but it’s an illusion. The quagmire moss is no more than a quaking blanket, concealing dark pools of liquid peat. One false step means death.”
The last he spoke with great emphasis. His hand shook as he reached for his drink, taking a deep draft.
She’d hardlychosento guide her horse in the direction of the mire. She’d not even known it was there! As for the speed at which her mount had taken her, that was entirely due to the viscount’s fearsome arrival.
Geneviève drew herself upright, intending to explain herself, but he interrupted as she began, hisexpression so stern she was obliged to close her mouth again to prevent her lip from trembling.
“You’ve heard, perhaps, more of my mother than I’ve told you?”
The directness of his manner obliged Geneviève to lower her eyes. Mrs. Fuddleby had been gossiping and she’d listened, wanting to know more. Now that she had the chance, she felt rather ashamed of herself.
“Among the graves I visited, beside the chapel, one bears her name, but there is no body. She ventured out to meet her lover—the man my father had employed to help him oversee the estate. They’d arranged to meet here, as it happens, with plans to elope. Having waited for several hours, he went looking for her. Like tonight, there was a mist, and she must have lost her way. Neither she nor her horse were ever found.”
“Surely not…” Geneviève experienced a shiver of horror, realizing what he was telling her. She’d assumed the late viscountess to have died of natural causes.
He paused, looking grim.
“Her just dessert, some might say, for abandoning her children, as well as her husband.” His face was hard. “My father never forgave us for being hers, nor did he remarry. The only affection Edward and I received was from our nursery maid and the other staff. As soon as we were old enough, he sent us away to Eton.”
His confession was startling to her. “Monstrous! Whatever the sins of your mother, you were not to blame.”
“True, but perhaps my fatherthought we weren’t his at all.”
Geneviève bit her lip. What right had she to comment upon the misdeeds of others, or the acts they were driven to through loneliness or betrayal?
Lord Wulverton angled his body away from her. “It wasn’t only we who suffered. There was our stableman, Withers’ brother, Silas. You recall I spoke of him? My father had him convicted of stealing, since he was responsible for the yard and every horse in it.”
He passed his hand over his face, looking all at once weary.
“My father should never have married her. She was unsuited to the moor, and they were unsuited to each other. The union was destined to unhappiness.”
He looked pointedly at Geneviève. “I’ve vowed never to find myself in a similar position, and my vow extends to Hugo. I’ll do all I can to prevent him from entering into an ill-advised marriage.”
He’d come to it at last and there was nothing Geneviève could say to defend herself.
CHAPTER 18
Mallon shrugged off his jacket,casting it onto the bed. What a bloody mess! He tugged loose his cravat. He hadn’t wanted to find himself in this position, of being so close to Geneviève alone.
Riding out to Fox Tor, he’d been ready to take her down several pegs—to revoke her invitation and ask her to leave. How could he have known that her horse would bolt, taking her off like that, to the west of the tor?
There lay the most treacherous of all the mires. He’d tried to stop her, but she hadn’t heard him calling, or had ignored him, or hadn’t been able to pull up her mount.
