Page 7 of The Lady's Guide to Marrying a Viscount
“Mon Dieu! The soot! Forgive me, what a beginning! And I’d hoped to have thecafé au laitready for you when you came down.” Marguerite pulled the ropebeside the fireplace. “Or would you preferun chocolat chaud? I often take that myself at this time.”
“Either would be delightful,” said Geneviève, settling into a seat. “It’s so wonderful to be here, finally meeting you. I must thank you, before anything else, for your thoughtful letters. My marriage to your brother must have come as a… surprise.”
Geneviève had practiced her little speech many times but now faced with delivering it, she had the grace to blush. Her hostess was one of the few to have shown Geneviève consideration.
The fabrication of small lies had become second nature to Geneviève, but it did seem a shame to begin her relationship with Marguerite under a veil of artifice. Nevertheless, until she knew more of her sister-in-law, it was safest to keep to her intended script. “It was a surprise for me, as well. You know how I came to the château, of course, and I never expected…”
“Now, now.” Marguerite patted Geneviève’s hand. “We are women of the world and do not need to explain ourselves. You made Maxim happy, I believe, and for that, I thank you.”
A maid arrived at that moment, placing a tray between them. “We are widows together and shall keep our husbands in our hearts as we embrace whatever life has next in store for us.”
“Beautifully put,” said Geneviève, accepting her cup. “You’re all kindness.”
“Only in part.” The other woman smoothed her skirts. “Our meeting is long overdue, and I assure you that I have my reasonsfor bringing you from the sunshine of our dear Château Rosseline to this drear place.”
Geneviève replaced her cup upon its saucer. “I’m sure Maxim would have been pleased to see us become friends. I can think of nowhere else I’d rather be, especially as the festive season begins. I have no family of my own—at least none who care where I am or what happens to me.”
Though it was only what she’d rehearsed, Geneviève’s heart tightened, for there was truth in the sentimental little speech. However, she shook off her momentary self-pity. “It touches me greatly that you’ve welcomed me into your family.”
“Please, have modest expectations.” Marguerite sighed. “You and I probably have more brains and charm between us than the collective Society of the entire moor.”
“Then we shall make our own amusement,” conceded Geneviève. “And I look forward to meeting your son, of course.”
“Ah, yes! I have a feeling Hugo will be quite taken with you.” Marguerite gave a knowing smile. “And another will be joining us. With the late viscount’s passing, we await the arrival of his elder son, from far abroad.”
She leaned forward in a confiding manner. “An estrangement, you know, as can happen between headstrong men.”
Geneviève was about to inquire further when there was a flurry of sweeping tails and lolling tongues and hot breath snuffling. Two great, gray wolfhounds hadrushed in eagerly, dipping their heads into her lap, in search of crumbs.
“Tootle! Muffin! Stop that!” A man entered the room, tall and slender and as blue-eyed and blond as a baby, with a smooth chin to match. It seemed that he’d taken all his mother’s looks, for this was surely Hugo, the nephew of Maxim. He bore no resemblance to any of the de Wolfe ancestors in the portraits.
Geneviève rose to accept his welcome kiss, placed shyly upon her hand.
“What a pleasure to meet you…aunt, Countess... Aunt Geneviève.” He appeared flustered.
“Just Geneviève, please, and certainly not Aunt, since I’m barely five years older than yourself.”
“Of course, Geneviève.” Hugo took a seat beside her, and the dogs came to lie at his feet. “I’m so glad you’re here. I never knew my uncle, but I hope you’ll tell me all about him.” He gave each wolfhound a scratch behind the ears. “My mother mentions he had a reputation for being degenerate but she’s far too proper to reveal the details.”
Geneviève noticed that Marguerite’s eyes slid away to gaze at something of imaginary interest beyond the window.
“Maxim lived life to the full.” Geneviève assumed a forlorn expression, as she hoped was appropriate for a grieving widow. “My only regret is that we lacked sufficient time for me to give him the son he wished for.” She extracted her handkerchief, pressing it to the corner of her eye. “However, meeting you, I see that we can rest easy. Theestate will be in good hands.”
Hugo’s cheeks reddened. “I shall do my best.” He gratefully accepted a cup from Withers, burying his face below the rim.
“My brother’s solicitor forwarded the terms to us some months ago, soon after your letter arrived,” said Marguerite, betraying no reluctance to broach the subject. “Maxim was most generous in his provision for you.”
“He was.” Geneviève shook her head at an offered plate of tiny sandwiches. “Even if I marry again, I keep my share of the vineyard’s income. Maxim was so thoughtful.”
And rightly so, Geneviève couldn’t help thinking. Of course, she was grateful for his consideration, but the settlement was what she deserved, having paid for it with her body.
Marguerite seemed desirous of pursuing the topic, but Hugo interrupted her with a cough.
“And how do you find the moors?”
“Oh! So wild and beautiful!” Geneviève gave him the full benefit of her lashes, sweeping them in an alluring flutter. “Meanwhile, Wulverton Hall is so cozy and full of history. Quite astonishing!”
His lips tugged into a small smile. “How diplomatic you are, and I suppose you’ve noticed nothing of the draught coming in at your bedroom window and the unremitting gray landscape beyond it.”
