TAKING ACTION
Genevieve went downstairs to the parlor, heart fluttering in her chest. There was nobody about, and she hesitated in the doorway, feeling unsure. Who would she tell?
Arabella was her first choice, but she knew her cousin had gone out that morning. She had no idea when she would be back. Failing her cousin, she could try and find Richard. She couldn't confide in him the particulars of her mission, but she could let him know about the danger she faced.
He won't ask too many questions. I'm sure his first priority is to keep his family safe.
Genevieve hurried past the empty parlor and up the stairs again, heading for the drawing room. If Richard wasn't there, she'd check the library, then the gallery, and then his office. He had to be in one of them, if he wasn't off with a party of riders.
“Richard?” she called as she neared the drawing room. No answer. She stuck her head around the door. That room, too, was empty. Fighting the rising fear inside her, she headed along the hallway toward the library.
As she passed the room, someone stepped out into the hallway. She paled as she found herself looking at MacCleary. He bowed.
“Good morning,” he said.
“I'm looking for my cousin, Richard,” Genevieve said automatically. “Have you seen him?”
“He's gone riding, I believe,” MacCleary said lightly. His pale eyes bored into hers. “You're in some haste to find him? What happened?”
“It's a personal matter,” Genevieve said tightly, resenting his intrusion into her business. “I need to speak with him urgently.”
“What can be so urgent, eh?” MacCleary asked. She bit her lip and stepped backwards, trying to get away. She felt crowded, his body too close to hers. He let her brush past him, back into the hallway.
“I have business to discuss with Richard alone,” she said in a firm voice. She tried to keep it steady, not wanting him to hear the slight tremor in it. She was frightened.
Someone has been into my room, gone through my personal belongings. I am in danger of being identified as a foreign Jacobite spy. I do not need your dalliance to worry about too.
She glared at him. He bowed.
“Well, then, milady,” he said lightly. “Since Richard is not here, and is unlikely to return before four of the clock, may I ask – is their aught that someone else could do to assist? Myself, perhaps?” He raised a brow.
She looked away, annoyed. “Since no one else is in charge of this particular household, no, there isn't,” she said, more tersely than perhaps was polite. She didn't care. At this moment, all she wished was for this odious man to get out of her way and let her get past him, up the stairs to the gallery. Perhaps Ascott was there, or even Adair. They might not be in charge of the household, but they would give her time to think.
He grinned at her, though his eyes were cold, and she could see he was affronted.
“Well, then. Since nobody save the head of the household will do, I suggest you go back to the drawing room to wait. He will be many hours yet.”
“I do not intend to wait on this matter,” Genevieve said tightly. “Sir, kindly move yourself from my path. I wish to go upstairs.”
His brow shot up and this time he did nothing to conceal the anger on his face. “Fine,” he said, and stepped out of her way.
She still felt her arm brush against him as she pushed past. She didn't care. She walked quickly up the hallway and up to the gallery.
“Adair?” she called in softly through the door. “Are you here?”
No answer. As she might have expected at twenty minutes past twelve in the morning, the gallery was deserted. Pale sunlight filtered by the clouds spilled through the big windows, lighting the place with pale gold. Today, she barely glanced at the portraits, though she could feel the watchful gaze of the one who bore such a striking resemblance to her mama.
“Keep your eye on me,” Genevieve asked firmly as she walked past it. She needed it today.
She walked down the stairs again and back to the landing. Richard's study was across the way, but she could see from here that it was empty, the chair neatly pushed in. MacCleary was right, Richard was out riding.
“I wonder who he took with him?” she queried aloud. Henry, Francine's husband, probably: the two seemed firm friends and were brothers-by-marriage, after all. Ascott, perhaps. He often joined their rides.
She tiptoed down the hallway, intending to knock at the door of Adair's chamber.
A thought struck her – an unpleasant, horrible one.
He knew I was planning to write today. He took me riding.
What if it had all been a ruse? What if, as she had thought originally, he was working against her all along? What if he'd deliberately taken her out, while someone else – his accomplice – searched her rooms?
It was too obvious.
Genevieve shook her head, her lip bitten down between her teeth, pained. How could she have been so careless?
“So stupid,” she amended aloud. She had been stupid.
Trust is stupid. Trust lets you get hurt. If you trust, people will take your heart and spit on it and leave you with nobody to turn to.
She wanted to shout. How could she have allowed herself to be so blind?
“Damn you, Francine,” she hissed. If not for those sweet words, she would have stayed as she always had been, not trusting anyone.
And then you would have never known happiness, however brief. Was that truly worthless?
She frowned. Her own question surprised her.
“I might get myself killed, because of this,” she muttered bitterly.
Would you not rather have lived, before you die?
The question was another one that had no answer, and Genevieve thrust it savagely from her mind, stalking down the hallway. She had an idea.
If Adair took the letter, it will be in his chamber. I can sneak in, have a look round. If I find it, I will know.
She tiptoed up to the door she knew was his. She knocked. No answer. He must be downstairs at luncheon, she realized.
“Hello?” she called out. She couldn't risk walking in – if he was in there, she might be in mortal danger.
“Hello?”
She was about to put her hand on the door-handle when it opened. His face appeared. She almost screamed. She looked up at it, distress souring her joy in seeing him.
“Genevieve.” He stared at her, blinking in amazement.
Was that tension because he guessed she knew? She frowned.
“Adair,” she said stonily, thinking fast. “I was looking for you to ask if you were going down for luncheon.”
“Yes,” he said, frowning, clearly bewildered. “I am – as we discussed, a few minutes ago.”
“Yes,” Genevieve said levelly. “Well, I thought you might have changed your mind. I'm going down now,” she added, turning away.
“I'll join you in a moment,” he said quickly. “I just want to set some things in order.”
Oh. Some things. Like copying my letter? She tried to school her face to neutral.
“Fine,” she said.
She walked off, heading briskly down the stairs.
In the dining room, the maidservant was just finishing laying the table. Genevieve nodded to her and she beamed. “Och, milady! There's someone in this house as is punctual for meals. Bless you.”
“I think the rest will be down shortly,” she said.
“Och, what rest?” the older woman continued blithely, surprising her as ever. No servant in her household at home would take such license. “I reckon it's just you and the young laird, Adair, here today. The rest is all out, or so I heard.”
“Oh?” Genevieve raised a brow. That was interesting. “All of them?”
“Aye,” she nodded. “Or at least, so I was told. I could be mistaken. I've had enough prepared for four of ye, just tae be sure. You never know, with guests.” She grinned, albeit quirkily.
“No,” Genevieve nodded absently. “You never know.”
She went to the window and looked out over the garden, heart thudding in her chest. She tried to make a plan. She couldn't stay here.
I will take a horse from the stables, head out south. If I start after luncheon, I can reach the inn. I need to leave this place. Someone will find me.
She shivered. Someone walked up the hallway and she heard footsteps enter through the door, behind her. She turned around. “Adair,” she said flatly.
His face fell. “Genevieve,” he said, bowing low.
He had changed from his brown riding-suit she knew so well by now, into a black suit with gold bands at the cuffs – a trifle overdone for luncheon, she thought automatically, but suiting him.
“Milady,” he said, going to the table. It had been laid for four guests, as the older woman had said. He pulled out a chair and, woodenly, she crossed the floor to take a seat. He sat down opposite.
“Milady, what is it?” he asked, as he lifted a jug of cordial from the middle of the table, pouring it into a glass. “You seem...distressed.”
“It is no matter,” she said hollowly.
I'm not going to let you know of my troubles. You don't need to know I know – not yet.
“You are distressed,” he pressed. He reached for her glass, but she put her hand out, stopping him.
“I will drink water instead,” she said, reaching for the beaker of clear water that stood there, intended for diluting cordial, or wine. She didn't trust him.
It would be too easy to slip something into the glass out of one hand while pouring into it.
He raised a brow, surprised. “You are abstemious,” he commented.
“Not really,” she said dryly. “I am simply thirsty, and cordial will sit a little heavily on my stomach.”
He raised a brow, but said nothing. Laid his napkin on his knee and reached for a bread-roll, setting it on the small plate beside his own.
She sipped her water gratefully. She had been thirsty, and the chill coolness of it cleared her head. She reached for a slice of cheese, laying it on one side of her plate. Her plan was to eat more than usual at luncheon, just in case she needed to ride long before dinner.
I am going to leave this house before nightfall today.
She couldn't risk anything else. Not now.
As Adair ate, she watched him, trying to fathom how much he knew, and how much of his confusion was acted. If it was an act, she had to admit there was a playhouse missing out on its lead actor – the fellow was talented. She was sure that his tender confusion, his shifting uncertainty, would have graced a Shakespearian tragedy. He'd be a consummate Romeo. Or maybe Iago.
“You plan another ride today?” he asked, reaching for a butter dish.
“I am still undecided,” she said archly. She saw his eyes kindle briefly and wondered, acidly, what he was planning.
I should do my best to make him uncover himself before I go. There's little he can do to me right here, and by the time he seeks to act, I will be far gone.
“I considered a ride,” he said woodenly.
“Oh?” she queried. He looked distressed, all the puzzlement in the world gazing out of those pitch black eyes.
Don't believe it. Don't let him take you in so easily – never again.
She looked down at her plate, unlocking her gaze.
“I thought mayhap to go along to the village. Lowburne, I think the name is. Very pretty.”
“Oh,” she said, sounding disinterested. “I have little desire to see another village. One sees so many of them.”
“Oh,” he said, frowning. He seemed utterly distressed by her transformation. She felt a grim satisfaction.
I can play at this too. I might not be as good an actor, but I can conceal my heart. I've been doing it for twenty years.
She reached for her glass, sipping slowly. It felt almost comfortable, to be back in her hard, cold self. She hadn't learned to walk in the new world – the open one, the one where love was real, and good, and she could feel. In this world, where she had no feelings, she could at least stand her ground.
“You will join the dinner, later?” he asked. “I believe there is a bit of a party planned, or so my manservant mentioned.”
“Oh. That's a surprise – I had thought, with my cousins absent, nobody would organize a party.”
“Mayhap Arabella left instructions,” he said dully.
“Mayhap.”
Genevieve reached for a slice of bread, concentrating on her meal. She had to make sure she kept her strength up – she was going to be riding hard, across country, very soon.
Opposite her, Adair seemed to have given up probing for information, and she heard the sound of his butter-knife, clinking on crockery, as he buttered more bread and set it aside.
I wonder what I can say to make him give away his secret?
It was a game they were playing, she realized. A dangerous game, in which, if she lost, she would die. She didn't intend the same fate for him. If he lost, she would simply report that there was a spy at her cousin's home, not who he was or where he worked.
She didn't wish a bad death on him.
It occurred to her, as she sipped her water, that she didn't know if he would show her the same courtesy. It didn't matter to her – she had principles, even if nobody else did. “You had time to relax a little, after we returned?” she pressed.
He frowned. “I went to my chambers, settled some business, changed my clothes...” He shrugged. “Nothing much.”
“Oh. Good,” she said lightly. “Successful business?”
“I wrote to my steward,” he said. She frowned.
“You did?”
“Yes, I did,” he said, with a touch of impatience fraying the words. “Should I not have done?” His eyes were wild.
You are very uncomfortable, aren't you, being questioned?
She felt her lips lift with a smile. She paused, watching him. “You're usually very quiet,” she continued.
He looked at her. She saw a wound open in the depths of his eyes. She ignored it, though she could feel the pain of it in her own soul.
It doesn't matter. Nothing matters, but the work I was sent here to do.
“I was,” he whispered.
“I must admit I always wondered why,” she said remorselessly. “It seemed very unusual, and I had to ask myself – why should a fellow so capable of speech be so aloof. So, tell me.”
He stared at her. He had gone white. He pushed back his chair. His eyes were two holes, bored in parchment, leading to an eternal depth of pain. He stood.
“How could you ask me that?” he choked. She said nothing.
Wordlessly, he turned and walked from the room. His footsteps were hurried and she listened to them, becoming tangled and staccato as he reached the door, becoming a sprint.
She made herself stay where she was, sitting very still.
Her heart felt empty, like a wind could blow through it. She felt a cool satisfaction. That was as it should be. That was as it had always been. The other world – the feeling one – was dangerous. This world was cool, and dark, and safe.
That was interesting, she made herself think, reaching for her water-glass. He has just given himself away.
Oddly enough, the thought gave her no peace, only added to the yawning landscape of pain in her own heart: the one she could no longer feel.