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Eloise patted her hand. “Oh, yes. God knows, we all loved Edward, rest his soul. But he was never a planner, was he? Not one to look ahead and decide what will need doing, not one to apply himself to the basic questions of survival. He was a beautiful charmer, that one....”
“Yes.”
“We’ll miss him. But we must count our blessings. And Rafael is very much among them.”
Genny longed to confide in Eloise, to tell her about Fiona’s drunken ramblings last night, to ask if Eloise thought the old story about Rafe’s parentage was true.
But she hardly knew how to start such a difficult conversation. Surely Eloise had heard the rumors, too. Still, what if she hadn’t? It wasn’t the kind of thing the old woman even needed to know about. Whatever the truth of his birth, Rafe was the earl of Hartmore now. Digging around in the secrets of the past wouldn’t change that.
Better to let it go.
Or, if she just had to discuss it with someone, it really ought to be with the man himself. Maybe. Someday...
Eloise asked, “Shall we go, then?”
They got up and left the garden, taking the lake path back to the house.
That evening at dinner, Brooke was downright pleasant. She mentioned Geoffrey’s birthday, which was about a month away, on the first Saturday in July. He would be home from school by then. She’d decided to throw a birthday party for him.
Eloise reminded Brooke that Geoffrey didn’t like a lot of fuss. “But if we keep it small and simple...”
“Of course,” Brooke said brightly. “That’s exactly my plan.”
Genny agreed that a party would be nice. And she decided to take Brooke’s new attitude for a good sign that Rafe’s sister really was trying to get along, that things would be better between them from now on.
Rafe was due back on Wednesday in the afternoon. Genny woke early that morning thinking, Today, he comes home.
All morning, she had that edgy, excited feeling, like a child who’d been promised some special treat. She kept busy, spending most of the morning in the center of the house, helping out wherever she was needed. They had a steady stream of visitors that day.
By one, she felt downright anxious. She couldn’t wait to see him. It was almost embarrassing—the sense of longing, the way her heart seemed to have got stuck up high in her chest at the base of her throat. It was pounding away in there, yearning and burning. And her cheeks felt much too warm.
Ridiculous. Really.
She decided she needed exercise. She would work off some of the tension caused by all this crazy anticipation. It was a clear, bright day. Perfect for a run. She changed into shorts and a pair of trainers and put her hair in a ponytail. Then she took Moe and Mable and headed to the lake.
She ran half the way, the dogs bounding on ahead, circling back and taking off again. When she couldn’t run another step, she found sticks and threw them for the collies to fetch. Now and then, she passed a visitor or one of the gardeners or someone from the village. They all smiled and waved as she raced by, the dogs at her heels. No doubt she’d get a bad reputation: that wild, young princess who married the earl.
By the time she was on her way back to the house, she dripped sweat and her hair was falling down. She had mud spattered all over her trainers, halfway to her knees. She needed a hot shower and clean clothes.
But she did feel more settled within herself, not so achy and hormone crazed. Funny, how it was all turning out. Even with the things that lay unspoken between her and Rafe, even with the guilt she felt over getting pregnant during their four-day fling, even given the sadness and regret over Edward’s tragic death, she was glad, so glad that she’d married him.
And not because of Hartmore, either.
Really, who did she think she was kidding? The truth was so simple. She not only loved him, as she always had, as her dearest friend in the world. No. It was more than friendship for her now. She was falling in love with him.
How could she not? He was so smart and true and good at heart. She loved how he looked out for Geoffrey, how he treated his grandmother, with respect and real affection, how he was patient and forgiving with Brooke, who, let’s face it, was the kind of woman who could try the patience of a saint. He was also thoughtful and kind to the staff and the local people. Not to mention way better in bed than any man had a right to be.
She wanted to tell him, to just say it right out: Rafe, I’m falling in love with you. I’m falling deeper and deeper every day.
But then she had no idea how he would react to such news. And she felt like such a complete fraud, after all those years of waiting for Edward, telling herself she was in love with him. Wasn’t it way too convenient that she’d suddenly decided she loved Rafe now?
