Genevieve set her gloved hand in his. Waltz strains wound about them as the vampiric grace allowed them to nearly float over the ballroom—or perhaps that was just how she felt in his arms. Lighter than air.
“I think it’s safe to say your ball is a success,” Kendrick rumbled.
“Don’t tempt fate so early in the night,” she begged, half-laughing.
“No chance of that. Shall we sing ‘Auld Lang Syne’ at midnight? It is Hogmanay, though MacPherson is guarding the door like a bulldog to make certain we get no first-footers he does not approve of.”
“Perhaps the orchestra can play it.”
“How are they doing?”
“Quite well. I think Monsieur Dupont came to a compromise with the more eccentric instruments. We’ll have a few minuets, waltzes, and quadrilles and then move to country dances and some older styles, such as galliards and allemandes.”
“You dance very well, Genevieve,” Kendrick said, his eyes shining.
“So do you. When have you had the opportunity to waltz?”
“Not often in recent years, but Elspeth helped me brush up.”
“Kendrick,” Genevieve said in a whisper. “You’re sweet.”
“Our secret,” he said, dipping his head to brush her nose with his.
Later, as Genevieve was speaking civilly with the Montmorencys, Winnie appeared in the doorway of the ballroom, her gaze sweeping the room. When she spotted Genevieve, she froze—but then set out across the room.
Genevieve gracefully extricated herself from the conversation and met Winnie halfway across the floor. “Winnie—welcome. I’m glad you came.” She stretched out her hands and Winnie placed hers in Genevieve’s.
“Thank you for the invitation,” Winnie said. “Is it all right if—could we speak for a moment?”
“Of course.” Genevieve led her onto the ballroom’s terrace over the back garden. “You look lovely, by the way.” Winnie wore a yellow gown that complemented her skin and was reminiscent of a daffodil.
Winnie wrung her gloves. “Joseph bought it. Commissioned it, rather. From the dressmakers. It was very kind of him.”
Genevieve made a noncommittal noise and waited.
“I—I wanted to apologize,” Winnie finally said, gazing over the back garden. “Not just for one thing. For…oh, for the last several years I’ve known you, Genevieve. I’ve been a selfish brat, with a sneering attitude. It’s a wonder you didn’t slap me silly any number of times.”
“What brought on this change of heart?”
Winnie looked up at her in some surprise. “Yes, that’s what it was, exactly: a change of heart. I had…purposefully hardened my heart to people. But I started going on Joseph’s rounds with him, offering medicine and aid to those in the slums, and I had to really look at the people who were suffering. Not just assess who would make a convenient meal. I had wrapped myself in my own anger and hurt and let it numb me. The height of selfishness. But on those long nights, I either had to wrap myself in my pretension to keep my distance or let the façade crack. It cracked.”
Genevieve reached for her hand, squeezing it. “I’m glad, Winnie. We need soft hearts to connect us to the world.”
Winnie cleared her throat, her eyes glittering with a wet sheen. “It was just easier to make the world my enemy when I was hurting.”
“I know.”
“Did you know what would happen when you sent me to Joseph?” she asked.
“No. But I hoped.”
All the windows of Carmine House glowed with bright candlelight. Laughter echoed through the walls. The musical strains of the orchestra flowed from the house, filling the street.
It infuriated Laurent. He stood in the dark, watching the house, gnashing his teeth. All those traitors who had turned away from him…! And Genevieve, that instigator of it all. She wanted to see him crawl. She wanted to see him suffer.
Well, he wouldn’t have it. He’d show her. He’d make her see that all this…could be brought to nothing.
ChapterForty-One
