Summer's Bride. Catherine Archer
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Название: Summer's Bride
Автор: Catherine Archer
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Историческая литература
Серия: Mills & Boon Historical
isbn: 9781474016834
isbn:
He spoke hurriedly to forestall any more talk. “In view of the situation I believe I must leave as soon as possible. I will go by sea and take that exhausted Scotsman back with me.”
Kendran stood. “Surely not ere morning.”
“Nay,” Marcel shook his head. “I would not leave before then.” He pointed at the one small window. “’Tis soon that full dark will be upon us.”
Tristan motioned toward the door. “We’d best get back to the others. They will not want us keeping you to ourselves.”
He nodded and told himself that he was doing the right thing.
Yet as he followed Kendran and Tristan to the door, Benedict halted him. “Marcel.”
He paused and swung around to see the expression of deliberate resolve on his brother’s face. He asked, “What is it, Benedict?”
Benedict frowned, took a deep breath and said, “Roderick Beecham has made Genevieve an offer of marriage.”
The words hit Marcel with the power of a gale-force wind. He could not hide his shock. “But how? When?”
Benedict spoke softly. “A few weeks gone. They met at a tourney last year. Obviously he was quite taken with her.”
Marcel turned his back and forced himself to reply with deliberate calm. “Beecham is a good man, honorable and strong. There are none better. And there is no doubt that he is her equal in status and property, as he will become a baron on his father’s death.”
Benedict replied, “Aye, he is a very good man. Thus I…Marcel, you cannot play the role of merchant captain forever. You are a nobleman and in that guise would be of great use to us here at Brackenmoore. With my own and Raine’s brother’s, not to mention Genevieve’s lands to administer—”
“Nay, Benedict, I am not needed here.” He swung around. “But I am needed aboard the Briarwind There I am a simple sea captain, but I am respected for my own efforts, my own wits, not my name. And you will soon be rid of the responsibilities of Genevieve’s lands.”
Benedict frowned. “I did not—”
Marcel forestalled him with a raised hand, unable to hear another word with the knowledge of Genevieve’s marriage to another man making his heart beat so painfully in his chest. “Your pardon, Benedict, but I will thank you to say no more on this.”
Without another word, Marcel left the room. He needed some time to get hold of himself, to think on what was really disturbing him. To accept that Genevieve would be with another man.
Yet as he strode down the hall, he brought himself up short. Of course she would marry. Had he thought she would spend the rest of her life alone simply because he had gone away? She was a beautiful woman, one who deserved to be loved. He could never wish aught but the best for her.
He had a sudden and unwanted vision of the uncertainty in her eyes as she had looked at him before running from the hall. As always her distress moved him. He did not want her to think that they could not be friends. Perhaps it would be of benefit to both of them if he were to speak to her before he left Brackenmoore, make his position clear. He did not allow himself to think, for even a moment, that he simply wanted to see her once more before he went.
Chapter Two
Genevieve sat in her chamber staring out the high arched window. It was a very warm night, and the breeze that passed though the open window did little to cool her heated cheeks.
She cast a listless glance about the large stone chamber. It slid over the new moss-green samite bed hangings and draperies, the massive dark furnishings, the chests that contained her many garments, shoes and fine jewels. There was gold in the velvet purse she kept in her jewel chest. Though Benedict oversaw her inheritance, she had complete and unfettered access to all.
These signs of wealth offered little comfort this night. All she could think on was the fact that Marcel was home, that he seemed to have made no more than casual note of her existence. While she was as—
She started as a knock sounded upon the door. She called out, “Who is there?”
She recognized Lily’s voice as the other woman spoke. “It is me, Lily.”
Genevieve answered the door, her wary eyes meeting Lily’s gray ones. She said hesitantly, “Enter, Lily. You know there is no need for you to knock.” Though she had come to love the gentle black-haired woman in the past two years, she was not anxious to discuss what had occurred in the hall, which was exactly what she feared the other’s presence foretold.
Genevieve attempted to hide her agitation as Lily came in and stood quietly, her hands folded before her. Her demeanor only further convinced her that the other woman had something difficult she wished to say. At long last she asked, “Are you well, Genevieve? In the hall you seemed…”
Realizing that she simply could not speak of her confused feelings about Marcel, Genevieve quickly forestalled her. “Please, Lily, you came to Brackenmoore with your own secrets. I respected that. I ask that you respect my need to keep some things to myself, as well.”
The other woman bowed her elegant dark head, her gray eyes soft. “As you wish. Should you ever wish to talk I will listen.”
Genevieve nodded, her gaze grateful but resolute. “There is naught to tell. I am well and will be so.”
Lily met her gaze once more. “You are loved by all of us, Genevieve, will always be the sister of our hearts.”
With that Lily left the room.
Genevieve was glad, for she would not wish Lily to see her sadness. How easily those last words had fallen from her lips. How Genevieve wished that she was indeed a sister to this family.
She had first visited Brackenmoore with her parents when they stopped here on a journey north from their own holdings. Benedict’s family had been friend to hers. That brief stay had been one of the happiest times of her life. She did not well recall Marcel’s parents. Her memories were of the boys and the joy and freedom she had known with them, wandering the forest, wading in the sea, exploring the cliffs. She had never forgotten those experiences though she had been no more than seven.
At that time, she had not taken any particular note of Marcel. He had been one of the four magical and carefree creatures who had played with her and shown her their world for two whole days. Two days in which she had not heard her mother cry even once.
It had not been until just over two years ago, long after Benedict had taken her in and made her his ward that she had begun to see Marcel as anything but one of the Ainsworth brothers. He had been kind to her, shown concern for her when others were lost in their own troubles. And her feelings for him had changed. She had found herself looking at him in a new way, feeling a strange stirring when he was near.
She had never felt anything like that toward Tristan, no matter how certain she had been that their marrying was a good idea. To be an Ainsworth was all she had really wished for in her life. Until she had come to care for Marcel.
Though Genevieve knew СКАЧАТЬ