Page 44 of The Lady's Guide to Marrying a Viscount
Below was the prison, where the men would be taking a midday meal, just about now, alone, inside their cells.
She pushed down the window, suddenly anxious to feel the wind and the open air. The moor was looking lovelier than ever, the land falling, rising and falling again, bathed in sunshine yet crisp with frost. It smelled of December, and the promise of snow.
The landscape had come to be millions of years before and its grandeur would endure long after she was gone. She, andLord Wulverton, too. The ardor with which he spoke of the land, its traditions and its history, was among the things she most admired about him. He knew its wildness, too, and valued it for what it was, in its savage essence.
Before long, they were clattering into the hall’s stableyard. She’d asked the coachman to take her around, rather than dropping her at the front, wishing to check that the bolting horse had made its way back.
There was much bustle, room being made for the carriages and horses due to arrive that evening. A far grander entertainment was planned than the night before—a proper ball, with twice as many couples, and musicians from Exeter. A cold buffet was to be laid in the dining room.
Geneviève knew which loose box Artemis was stabled in and, sure enough, there she was. The mare surveyed Geneviève in a detached manner, continuing her teasing of hay from the rack upon the wall.
“Well, I’m glad you’re safe, even if you don’t much care the same for me!” said Geneviève. Scarcely had she spoken when there was a rustle from above, where the winter fodder was stacked.
“Hello?” Geneviève went to where the ladder rested, leading into the dark recess beneath the roof. A movement of air lifted some stalks of straw, sending them drifting down through the opening.
Geneviève squinted, peering into the dark, trying to see where the movement came from.
“Can I help ee, Ma’am?”
Geneviève jumped in alarm at the voice which camefrom behind her. “Oh, Scroggins! How light-footed you are!”
“So folks do say.” Scroggins tipped his cap at her. “Light in the saddle, too, I like t’think.”
“I’m sure…” Geneviève looked up again. The only sound was from the horses, munching on their feed and pawing their hooves. “I thought I heard something…”
“Up there, Ma’am?” Scroggins shook his head. “No’um has time to be up there today. Like as not, it were a rat. They be buggers in the winter… pardon my language, yer ladyship.”
“Yes, of course.” Geneviève moved away from the ladder, feeling rather foolish.
Scroggins stepped to one side, encouraging her to pass. “An’ pardon I for sayin’, but it were best if yer didn’t come over alone, to the barns and stables and whatnot. The animals can be skittish wi’ them they dunnat know.”
As Geneviève walked across the stableyard, she had the distinct feeling she was being watched—and not just by Scroggins.
CHAPTER 20
“Jolly fortunate you found her!”said Hugo. “Wonder what she was doing up on Fox Tor while the rest of us were enjoying a splendid hunt.” He meandered over to the library’s drinks cabinet, unstopping a decanter and sniffing gingerly.
Mallon raised an eyebrow. “You noticed she was gone, then? I did wonder if you might be anxious for her.”
“Well, yes—of course.” Hugo selected one of the lighter-colored single malts, pouring it into two heavy tumblers. “But by the time I realized, the mist was coming down. I just assumed she’d headed back. Then, later on, we got your message that you’d holed up at The Saracen’s. Very sensible, although mother seemed a bit miffed that Geneviève didn’t make it back for her special luncheon or the dinner. They’ve become super-friendly, you know—talkingFrançaiswhen they think no one is listening. Sharing tips on hats and gloves andbustles and suchlike, I expect. Rather nice for mother to have a compatriot to chat with.”
“Hmm.” Mallon took the glass from his nephew.
“To be honest, I was more upset about Slagsby,” Hugo admitted. “I didn’t even know he was gone until he didn’t appear for dinner. He’s never liked horses, so it was no surprise he didn’t bother with the hunt.” Hugo went to look out the window, as if doing so might summon back his friend. “Set off in his motor without saying goodbye…and he’d promised to take me for a spin. We used to rub along well enough at Eton, and he said he couldn’t face Christmas in Northumbria with his own family. Don’t think they get on too well.”
“Perhaps for the best he’s headed off. I wasn’t too enamored of him, myself.” Though Hugo seemed genuinely upset, news of Slagsby’s departure was music to Mallon’s ears. “I’ve meant to ask, what are your plans?”
He watched as Hugo took a tentative sip from his glass. Mallon knew full well his nephew didn’t enjoy spirits. Hugo was far too honest-faced to hide his reactions. Like so many young men, he thought feigning a taste for whisky would make him appear more mature, much like growing a moustache.
“Well, I might go for another ride. I do love a good gallop. And I suppose I’d better stir myself to wrap a few gifts.” He gave an apologetic grin. “Nothing too exciting, mind you. Bit limited in the choices hereabouts.”
“That’s marvellous, Hugo, but I was thinking rather longer term.” Malloninwardly rolled his eyes, and reminded himself to be patient. The matter of Hugo’s future was a conversation long overdue. He didn’t even know, for sure, how attached his nephew had grown to the countess.
“Oh, right. Got you!” Assuming a more serious expression, Hugo came to sit in one of the armchairs. “Might go and survey the inheritance. Those vineyards, you know. Mother seems eager, although there’s no need for me to be involved in actually running the place. The vintners have all that in hand, thank goodness. Don’t need the likes of me interfering!” Hugo gave a bark of laughter. “But wouldn’t do any harm to show my face, would it? Let them see the new lord of the manor…or should that be château?”
“Yes, that’s an idea.” Mallon gave a smile of encouragement. “A man should see a little of the world.”
“Just my thinking,” said Hugo. “Although my French is a bit rusty. Wasn’t even that good when I was at school...”
