Heat crawled up Brock’s neck, and he suddenly wished he hadn’t broached the subject at all. “Griston.”
Kimpton’s brows drew together. “The man is a menace.”
“Yes.” Brock rubbed the back of his neck. “I can’t abide him. On the upside, Ginny stood up to her father and refused to let him intimidate her. It was quite a sight to behold.”
“Your Ginny has surprised us all with her unerring strength.”
Brock glanced over to where Ginny had last been sitting. “Yes,” he said softly, proudly. “She doesn’t appear to need a man at all.”
“Understandable with what she’s suffered. Women value their independence. We want to protect them.”
“Something like that,” he mumbled in his drink. He wondered if Lady Kimpton had mentioned the girls’ safeguarding lessons to her husband. He wondered if his lessons were his only value to her.
The house quieted and Brock paced his borrowed bedchamber. His restlessness could not be stayed. It was beyond conscionable to sneak into Ginny’s room, but since he’d turned her over to her children after Maudsley’s death last year, they hadn’t a moment alone but for the single night in Colchester. He was going to explode if he didn’t see her alone. He’d already determined the location Lady Kimpton had placed her and had been gratified to note that, while it was not right next door, she’d been assigned two down from him.
With the emotional turmoil the entire house was in, he doubted even Irene and Celia would be inclined to interrupt them. That sealed it. In just his shirtsleeves and breeches, he peered out his door down the hall. A few of the sconces had been left lighted for practical purposes.
Her door was unlocked, as he knew it would be, in the event the girls needed her. He slipped inside and found her sitting on a cushioned bench near the window looking out at the steady pour of rain. She didn’t so much as move when he entered. Silently, he made his way over and set his hands on her shoulders.
“How could she do it?” she said softly. “How could she bear to leave her child like that?”
“Some women are not as strong as you, darling.” He lowered beside her, though her back was to him. He slid his arms around her waist.
Her hands moved, laying atop his arms. “The depths of her despair must have been infinite to take so drastic an action. Did she miss Harlowe so much? I feel… so… sorry for her.”
Brock rested a cheek upon her head and breathed in her floral scented hair. “Your compassion leaves me speechless. And humbled.”
Her body lurched and turned, her arms wrapping his neck. “She left her child. Help me understand.”
“I-I can’t help you. The thought of you leaving your own children even through death kept you from dying even when the odds were stacked so highly against you.”
“Oh, Brock.” Her mouth found his and he was lost.
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.
