The Earl's Pregnant Bride. Christine Rimmer

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      She smoothed her sleep-flattened hair and gave him a smile that only trembled a little.

      * * *

      An hour later, after her mother, her father and Rory had been properly greeted and shown to their rooms, Genny and Rafe met privately in one of the East Wing drawing rooms with Rafe’s grandmother, the dowager countess, Eloise.

      Tall, with the proud posture of a much younger woman, Eloise had a long, heavily lined face, pale blue eyes and wiry, almost-white hair that she braided and pinned close to her head. She lived in old trousers and wellies, her tricolor rough collies, Moe and Mable, trailing in her wake.

      Genny loved Eloise—absolutely and unconditionally. An amateur botanist, Rafe’s grandmother ruled the grounds and gardens. And she ruled well. Overall, the estate lands were in much better shape than the house—especially the West Wing, where roof leaks had necessitated the removal of many of the furnishings.

      “Moe. Mable. Go.” Eloise pointed to a spot by the fireplace and the collies trotted right over there. “Sit.” They sat. She lowered her hand, palm down, toward the floor. “Down.” The dogs stretched out obediently. Then she turned a glowing smile on Genny. “My dearest girl.”

      With a low cry, Genny ran to her.

      Chuckling, Eloise gathered her up in those long, capable arms. She smelled of lavender and lemons. Genny took comfort from the beloved, familiar scents. “So. We shall have you as our own after all.”

      Genny hugged the old woman closer. “It’s so good to see you.”

      “Let me have a look at you.” Eloise took Genny by the shoulders and held her away. “A little pale, perhaps.”

      “I’m fine. Really.”

      “That’s the spirit. We’ll soon put pink in those cheeks and fatten you up.” She pressed a rough, heavily veined hand to Genny’s cheek. “I’m deeply gratified that you will be my own granddaughter at last.”

      Genny bit her lip and nodded and didn’t really know what to say. “It’s all a little overwhelming....”

      There was a noise in the hallway. The dogs perked up their ears and the door flew open. “Genny!” Dressed in his school uniform, complete with blue vest and striped tie, eight-year-old Geoffrey came flying into the room. “You’re here! You’re really here!”

      “Slow down, young man,” Eloise commanded, hiding a grin.

      Genny held out her arms.

      He landed against her and hugged her good and hard. “They let me come from school because of the wedding,” he said. “And Great-Granny says you will be my aunt Genny.”

      “Oh, yes, I will.”

      Then he scowled. “Mum’s sending me back on Sunday.”

      Genny smoothed his tousled sandy hair. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

      He beamed her a big smile and she saw that he’d lost two baby teeth in front. “I’m so glad to be home.” Then he turned and flung himself at Rafe. “Uncle Rafe!” Rafe chuckled and lifted him high.

      “Put him down, Rafe.” Brooke DeValery Landers, Rafe’s sister and Geoffrey’s mother, stood in the open doorway looking stunning as always in turquoise silk leggings, a big-collared white tunic, ballet flats and a look of disapproval. “He’s way too excited, behaving like a savage. No manners at all.” She raked her long sable hair back from her forehead and turned her angry sapphire eyes on Genny. “Lovely to see you, Genevra.” Her tone said it wasn’t lovely at all. Brooke was divorced from an American, Derrick Landers. Her ex lived in the States. He’d remarried and had two more children.

      “Hello, Brooke.” Genny and Brooke had never really gotten along. The best they ever did together was a kind of cool civility. Genny put on a smile and went to her. They air-kissed each other’s cheeks. “You look well.”

      Brooke stared past her at Rafe. “I understand congratulations are in order.”

      “It’s true,” Rafe answered without missing a beat. “Gen has made me the happiest man on earth.”

      “Genny.” Geoffrey tugged on her hand. “Samson had kittens, did you know?” He gave her his jack-o’-lantern grin.

      Genny widened her eyes. “But how is that possible?”

      “Because Samson turned out to be a girl!” He chortled with glee.

      “Geoffrey, come along now,” Brooke cut in sharply. She held out her hand, snapping her fingers. “I want you out of that uniform before you get something on it.”

      His laughter died. He slumped his small shoulders. “But I want to take Genny out to the stables and show her—”

      “Geoffrey. Now.”

      Dragging his feet, he went to his mother. Herding him out ahead of her, she pulled the door closed as she went.

      Genny stared at the shut door and promised herself that she’d steal a little time with Geoffrey before he had to return to school on Sunday.

      * * *

      They had dinner at eight in the State Dining Room, with its Chippendale sideboards and urn-topped pedestals and the glorious old table that could seat forty.

      Geoffrey didn’t join them. Brooke said he was overtired and already in his room. The conversation was, for the most part, innocuous. Rory whipped out a camera and took several pictures right there at the table before the meal was served. She said she was headed to Colorado on Monday, to the town of Justice Creek and a long visit with Clara, her favorite Bravo cousin. Eloise spoke of her bedding plants and the vegetable border in the walled garden, which she couldn’t wait to show Genny. Genny’s mother and father were charming and agreeable.

      And Rafe was his usual silent, watchful self. He ate slowly, with never a clink or a clatter. When he set down his delicate crystal water goblet after taking a sip, the water within hardly stirred. Genny tried not to stare at him, not to get lost in inappropriate fantasies of those four days two months ago.

      Or in distant memories of the feral boy he’d been once, roaming the gardens and grounds, unkempt and unsupervised. His mother, Sabrina, had doted on him and refused to rein him in. His father, Edward II, had little to do with him, except to punish him for what the earl considered Rafe’s uncivilized behavior, punishments which were frequent and severe.

      Genny had met Rafe during her first glorious visit to Hartmore, when she was five and he was thirteen. He was still running wild then. He’d dropped out of an oak tree practically on her head and she’d run off screaming. The next day, when he’d popped out from behind a topiary hedge into her path, she’d somehow managed to hold her ground. Before the end of that visit, they were unlikely friends: the earl’s big, wild second son and the five-year-old Montedoran princess. Her mother, who had always encouraged her children to get out and explore the world, had allowed her to roam all over the estate as long as Rafe was there to look after her. He’d told her that he hated his father. And she’d admitted that she wished she could stay at СКАЧАТЬ