“I can come back if you are indisposed, Lady Genevieve,” Simone said, now wondering what exactly she would say when faced with the woman.
She heard the scrape of the bolt being drawn back, and the door swung open, revealing a pale Genevieve, a ghostly smile on her lips. “Of course not, darling,” Genevieve said. “Come in.”
“I did not wake you, I hope,” Simone said, entering the chamber and eyeing the rumpled bed coverings.
“Oh, nay.” The blond woman gave a weak laugh. “I must admit to merely being slothful.” She shut the door after Simone and threw the bolt once more. Simone thought it odd that the lady would lock herself in her own chamber but said naught of it.
Behind Genevieve’s easy words, Simone sensed a desperate panic, and she grew more nervous about broaching the subject of her father. She looked around the chamber instead, noting the soft buff color on the plastered walls, the small tapestries depicting scenes of battle and horses and scripture. The bed was significantly smaller than Nick’s own, the wood polished to an almost red sheen, the headboard sporting the insignia of the Baron of Crane.
“This was Nick’s room as a boy,” Genevieve offered, moving to the bed and pulling the furs to order. “I spent so much time here when he was young, ’twas the only room I felt comfort in after Richard’s death.”
“It is a good room for a boy,” Simone said, a genuine smile curving her lips. She could just imagine the dark-haired young rogue playing on the wide window ledge or pretending battles on the faded and scarred map of England painted expertly on the wooden floor. Genevieve had not changed the room to suit a woman in any way.
“He did love it,” Genevieve admitted. “After Richard died, I could come in here and sleep, and pretend that Nicholas was still a boy. That he was having nightmares and needed me.” She walked to the window and looked out, presenting her back to Simone. “It felt…normal. Sleeping in that big bed in your chamber without my husband did not.”
Simone did not know what to say to the poignant admission. She had been without Nicholas for only one night—she could not imagine knowing he would never lay by her side again.
“You still miss him very much, then?”
Genevieve turned, her smile so achingly sweet that Simone felt tears welling in her own eyes. “With every breath.” She sighed, walked to the bed to stroke one tall post. “He made this for Nicholas, with his own hands. Richard was considerably older than I when we wed, and he was resigned to the fact that he would never have an heir. When Nick was born, Richard…Richard thought the sun rose and set in that boy. As did I. We both doted on him, likely to excess. Look,” she said, turning and crossing the room to the largest tapestry covering a far wall.
Simone followed the woman to the woven piece as she pulled it aside, revealing a short wooden door. “’Twas Nick’s own secret passage to the bailey, only steps from the stables. He thought I didn’t know about it, but Richard told me. Nicholas would be sent up for his nap by his nurse and then sneak away to wherever Richard was. In this hold, Nicholas was a prince, a king.” Genevieve let the tapestry fall once more. “I fear we may have made him overbearing, and not a little demanding.”
“Nicholas is a good man,” Simone said. “He has shown me great kindness, and I admire him very much.”
Genevieve cocked her blond head, meeting Simone’s gaze directly. “But do you love him?’
Simone swallowed, opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it once more. This was not going at all how Simone had planned. ’Twasshewho was supposed to be asking Lady Genevieve questions, not the other way around. Now it was Simone who walked to the window. “My lady, I—”
“I know the tale of your hurried betrothal.” The strong tone of Genevieve’s voice indicated that she still studied Simone. “I cannot claim that Nick’s behavior on the night you met surprised me in the least. I am rather shocked, however, at the easy way you seem to have taken to each other’s company.”
Simone could not bring herself to meet the lady’s eyes, and her cheeks warmed. “I hope we have reconciled our differences from our initial meeting, my lady. Nicholas is most companionable, and I am pleased to have married him.”
A beat of silence, and then Genevieve repeated her earlier question. “But do you love him?”
Simone did not know why the lady was pressing her so about such a private and complicated matter, but it set her already raw nerves singing. How could she relate her feelings about Nick when she herself remained so tangled in confusion? Nothing was simple now, it seemed, and Simone was unsure if or how deeply to bare her heart to this woman, still so much a stranger to her.
“I do not judge you, Simone.” Genevieve’s voice gentled. “And know that your answer is for my ears alone.” Simone glanced up as Genevieve joined her at the window. The lady pulled Simone’s hands from their viselike grip on each other, holding them tightly in her own. “But I must know.”
When Simone raised her head to fully face Nick’s mother, she was shocked at the hot, heavy tear that fell from her lower lashes. “Yea,” she whispered, meeting Genevieve’s hungry gaze. “I fear I do love him.”
“Oh, my darling,” Genevieve soothed. “’Tis naught to weep for.”
“He doesn’t seem to trust me. I…I fear he will turn from me.”
Genevieve drew Simone into an embrace, her voice low and steady over the crown of Simone’s head. “There, now. These things take time. Nicholas has had much weighing on him since his father’s death.” She paused, patting Simone’s back, as if searching for the right words. “He was hurt very badly by someone close to him.”
Simone reluctantly pulled away from Genevieve. Although the comfort was badly needed, Simone already felt the fool.
“Evelyn.”
Genevieve’s eyebrows rose. “He spoke of her?”
“Only briefly.” Simone drew a steadying breath. “But I am not so dense, my lady. I, too, have my own shallowly buried heartaches.”
“Oui.Nick told me of your broken engagement.”
It was Simone’s turned to be shocked. “He did?”
