“Heavy,” he said. Irene was indeed wearing her knickers and was bending over Brock’s arm. “Make yourself as heavy as you can. Dead weight if you will.”
“I’m trying.” Irene’s head hung near the floor, her loose hair muffling her voice. Ginny could never remember seeing Irene so…childlike. The sight stole her heart.
“Now, walk your feet about, so my foot is between yours.”
She did as he instructed. Ginny couldn’t imagine what Lorelei and Maeve must be thinking.
“Take both of your hands and grab my heel. At the same time, sit on my knee. Yes. Now pull! Straight up.”
Brock’s patience with them stole deep within her soul.
She watched in morbid fascination as Brock fell hard to the floor on his backside.
“Then run,” he shouted, leaning back on his elbows. He rose gracefully to his feet. “Once more, then we shall allow Lady Cecilia a turn.”
They went through the process again, only faster this time. When Brock fell again, Irene’s delighted laughter reached across the room, shattering the hard shell around Ginny’s heart into a million fragments she could never piece together again. She backed quickly from the ballroom, blinking rapidly, her breaths coming sharp and fast. There was nothing Brock could have said or shown her to convince her more of the sincerity of his regard.
Maeve and Lorelei quickly followed.
“Ginny, what is it, dear?” Lorelei took her arm and led her back to the library. “I admit, the sight was shocking, but oh my, Brockway was brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.”
Ginny dropped in her chair, unable to stem her tears, her stomach coiled into knots at the realization that she was terrifyingly, devastatingly still in love with John Brown, the Marquis of Brockway. “Yes. He was, wasn’t he?”
“You know, you could do worse than Lord Brockway,” Maeve told her.
I already have.
“Again,” Brock told a surprisingly cheerful Irene. “We shall do this until you land me on my backside for real.”
The ballroom doors clanked shut, sending an echo through the empty hall. He’d seen Ginny and her companions steal in to observe. He’d almost laughed aloud at their gaping expressions. Then suddenly, Ginny had backed away and was gone, the others hurrying after her.Why had Ginny run? What had he done?
“I want my turn.” Cecilia was the most adorable child. He forced a small chuckle at her impatience. He hated the idea of Irene and Celia having to resort to these safeguarding lessons. It was a somber thought. He planted his fists on his hips, eyeing the spot near the vacated fireplace thoughtfully.
The new earl would eventually want to take up residence in Maudsley House. And Brock did not favor Ginny remaining as any part of that household when the time came. She belonged with him. T’was the bottom line.
Determination crystalized his resolve. Upon his return to London, he would set his stratagems in motion. There was no reason to delay; in fact, there was every reason to hasten. How else was he to protect what he valued most in this world?
He forced himself to concentrate on the now. It was important. To Irene and Cecilia. And to Ginny. This was for them. “Excellent, Lady Irene. Let us see if Lady Celia can affect the same result. She is much smaller,” he teased.
The children were abed, the house was warm, dinner superb. Despite his distraction with the girls, Brock still hadn’t been able to shake his uneasiness.
Lorelei had chosen to have dinner served in the morning room. “This room is much more intimate than the formal dining hall and easier to heat,” she’d said.
Now Brock met Kimpton’s eyes then looked around the table at the others, settling on Ginny. His entire body clenched with need.
Kimpton made the announcement. “Tomorrow we shall head back to London after the service for Corinne.”
Ladies Kimpton, Alymer, and Maudsley all frowned.
“Surely you don’t mean for all of us to attend the service?” Lorelei said.
Brock took up the explanation. “Yes. It feels too vulnerable in the country, too isolated.”
A slight smile touched Lorelei. “The rector will not like that. He is a stodgy old man, set in too much tradition when it comes to women and children attending a service for the dead.” She turned to Ginny, laying her hand over hers. “How do you feel about this, my dear?”
Ginny blinked back the shiny glistening of tears. “I hate it. I hate that Irene and Celia are forced to learn to protect themselves. I hate that danger hovers over us like a black cloud.”
Brock’s fist clenched in his lap.
