The Marquis’s Misstep by Kathy L. Wheeler
Twenty-Four
T
he next morning, Lorelei brushed a strand of hair from Corinne’s cold, clammy forehead. Though her smile was sad, Ginny was relieved to see the familiar strength flowing through her friend. The front parlor had been converted to one of mourning with black swags, dousing all light from the bay windows. Corinne looked more peaceful than Ginny could ever remember seeing her. She was laid out on a long table the servants had brought in and covered in the same black velvet that covered the windows. Ginny recognized Corinne’s dress from a painting Lord Harlowe had painted before his disappearance.
A tap sounded, and Oswald appeared in the door’s arch. “Lady Alymer, my lady.”
“Show her in, Oswald.”
Lorelei moved away from Corinne and met Maeve with a brief hug. “Oh, Lorelei. I rushed over the moment I heard the news. I didn’t know her well. At all, really, but you have my sincerest condolences.”
“Thank you, my dear.”
Not many people knew Corinne had been raised by Lord Kimpton’s former mistress, a high-class courtesan. Ginny could count on one hand the number who knew, including herself. Just the thought was scandalous enough to ruin them all. Yet, somehow Rowena Hollerfield had managed to keep not only the secret that her “sister” was Maudsley’s daughter from his first marriage, but she’d also managed, admirably so, to keep her out of the public eye.
An image of the look that had passed between Maeve and Brock at Griston’s house party had jealousy poking Ginny with the end of its fiery tip. She yearned to know the nature of that situation, and it irritated her to feel so… so vulnerable. Vulnerability had no place in her life.
As she listened to Maeve’s sentiments toward Lady Harlowe, they rang true. In a surprising turn, it struck Ginny that if Maeve did know of Corinne’s unseemly upbringing, Maeve was the sort who would take the secret to her grave.
Lorelei shifted to include Ginny.
“Hello, Lady Maudsley.” Maeve reached over and squeezed her hand.
On impulse, Ginny leaned in and pressed her cheek against Maeve’s. Whatever there was between Brock and Maeve, it didn’t appear to be of a romantic nature. “Since when did I become Lady Maudsley in private?” she said.
Maeve tightened her hand then pulled away, blinking rapidly, yet smiling warmly. She cleared her throat and spoke to Lorelei. “Will you bury her in Kimpton?”
“Yes. Spixworth is too far away. Should Harlowe be found, and wish to relocate her, we’ll deal with that issue at that time. The carpenters are building the box now. I suspect we’ll be leaving by day’s end,” Lorelei said. “Let’s adjourn to the morning room.” She glanced over at Corinne. “We can talk more freely there.”
Ginny followed her and Maeve out of the parlor and down the hall. After they’d made themselves comfortable, Lorelei called for tea. “Ginny, her daughters, and Lord Brockway will be accompanying us to the country.” Lorelei contemplated Maeve with a thoughtful air. “Perhaps you would like to as well. I hear your mother is on the hunt for another husband for you.”
Maeve rolled her eyes. “’Tis never ending.”
“Mothers. They are quite the nuisance,” Ginny agreed heartily. “When Irene and Celia come of age, please thump me on the head to remind me of this very conversation.”
Laughter rippled the air, then Maeve said, “I met the baroness at Lady Martindale’s tea yesterday. I found her… formidable.”
“Ha. I think the word is dogged. My parents had the unmitigated gall to install themselves in my house when we were in Colchester. I demanded they leave at once, but they completely disregarded my demands and still remain a nuisance. I shall probably have to remove myself to the dowager house and let the new earl to the paving stones.”
Maeve picked up her cup, eyeing Ginny with a sly look. “Will you remarry?”
Ginny forced a shudder, even as Brock’s image floated before her, and with it the tiniest sliver of hope. “And lose every shred of independence I’ve gained at my late husband’s demise? What a question,” she said, avoiding a direct answer.
Brock stopped, his ear tuned to the feminine laughter spilling from the Kimptons’ morning room. It felt odd and out of place, but welcome, filling the air with hope despite the previous night’s chain of events. Until Ginny’s words coiled around him like a hungry python suffocating its next meal to swallow whole, his light mood snuffed out with the pinch of a candle’s flame. He reminded himself of Ginny’s past and her plans for Irene’s and Celia’s futures. He’d known going in that it would not be easy convincing her he was nothing like Maudsley. That she needed him. That he loved her. She was a difficult woman, but a loyal one. She would be worth the wait, however long that proved to take, he reminded himself.
“The carpenters have completed the coffin, my lord.” Oswald’s words snapped Brock to his surroundings.
Kimpton ran a hand through his hair. “Fine, Oswald. Have the carriages prepared. I’ll send a note to the undertakers. We’ll strike out after them at their ready.”
“I’ll escort Lady Maudsley home to pack,” Brock said.
“Yes, my thanks. Lorelei will appreciate their support.”
