Chapter 12
CHAPTER 12
When Marguerite entered, Lisette was placing a gold-plumed aigrette into Geneviève’s hair.
“How pretty you look, my dear.” Marguerite took in the dark copper evening gown in heavy damask, its neckline sweeping low across Geneviève’s shoulders. For a woman neither born of aristocratic blood nor raised in a noble household, she carried the trappings well.
“You may leave us, Lisette.” Geneviève dismissed her maid.
Contemplating her guest through the mirror’s reflection, Marguerite saw that Geneviève wore the Rosseline diamonds—drop earrings, a three-stranded bracelet, and a delicate choker. Several centuries of jewels had passed to Maxim on their mother’s death. All were now in this young woman’s possession, according to the provision of his will.
Only on Geneviève’s death would their ownership revert to Maxim’s heir. Marguerite herself had received little more than a string of her mother’s pearls and a matching bracelet, the clasp of which had an annoying habit of coming loose.
With my plans coming to fruition, the injustice of the legacy will soon be remedied. Marrying the comtesse, Hugo will regain control of everything. In deportment, I cannot fault her, and she’s young enough to bear the necessary number of children.
Marguerite had been in the world long enough to recognize a woman’s coquetry. Geneviève appeared to be as keen on the union as she. This being the case, the issue would soon be settled.
There were no obstacles to the arrangement as far as Marguerite could see, bar the complication of Mallon’s return. It hadn’t escaped her notice that the new viscount had been displaying interest in their guest.
The sooner they announced an engagement the better. It really wouldn’t do to have him lure her to his bed, or for the hussy to decide in favor of the immediate title of Viscountess Wulverton.
“How well our family jewels suit you.” Marguerite placed her hand upon Geneviève’s shoulder.
“You’re too kind,” said Geneviève, looking down, somewhat coyly. “I thought Hugo might like to see me wear them.”
Marguerite resisted the temptation to roll her eyes. The time had surely passed for playacting. They were both aware of the other’s hand.
“Perfectly true. My son may be young, but he has excellent taste. ”
Geneviève looked up at Marguerite. “And he’s well-guided by those who have his best interests at heart.”
“Quite so.” Marguerite smiled. Bestowed with only one child, it was fortunate that she’d produced a boy. However, a daughter would have been such a comfort. After they’d moved to the chateau, she and Geneviève would be thrown a great deal into each other’s company. It was not an unpleasant prospect.
“To speak plainly, my dear, I’ve come to give you my blessing.” Marguerite moved to sit upon the chest at the end of Geneviève’s bed. “As Hugo’s mother, I know something of his nature, and his heart, and I see that you’d make a suitable wife. I need not enumerate the reasons. As you see, I hide nothing and encourage us to be candid with one another. In short, I approve the match.”
Geneviève’s eyes were alight with interest. “Honesty is always desirable—since it saves so much time—and I see we’re of one mind.” She appeared to consider how to phrase her next statement. “Hugo’s attentions are welcome to me, but they require encouragement. He’s almost too gentlemanly, I fear.”
Marguerite waved her hand imperiously. “In such a case, it’s up to us to exert our powers of persuasion. Yours, I’m sure, are adequate to the task. Tonight’s gathering may provide the opportunity, if you wish not to delay.”
She rose, taking some steps to leave. It hadn’t been her intention to mention Mallon, but Marguerite turned back toward Geneviève. “Of course, it would be na?ve of us to imagine that you have no other…choices, before you. It may amuse the viscount, for instance, to pay you some attention, and a man’s flattery can be just as inducing as our own.”
Geneviève sat up a little straighter.
“I wish only to warn you.” Marguerite rested her hand upon the handle of the door. “We cannot know the extent to which his past is littered with…unsavory behaviors, but we may surmise…” It was vexing to skirt around the obvious, but some things even Marguerite could not bring herself to spell out. God only knew what vices Mallon had indulged, living so long in uncivilized lands.
“Such men are not always to be relied upon, and I’d hate to see you lose your head.” She smiled tightly. “Or your heart, to one who might easily come to disregard it.”