Chapter 58
FIFTY-EIGHT
Ravenglass
On Boxing Day, the morning was cold and bright, the sky a pale winter blue.
Frost-covered grass crunched underfoot as Geneva set off for Rory’s cottage.
Her heart was heavy, but her mind was made up.
She would do her duty to her family. And after she spoke to Rory, she would share the news with Honor.
Her sister shouldn’t find out at the same time as everyone else at the New Year’s Eve celebration. She deserved better than that.
Rory smiled in welcome when he opened the door. He must have just shaved because his face was pink and there was a dab of soap just beneath his chin. He was still in his shirtsleeves and wore a towel over his shoulder.
“Geneva,” he said, his pleasure at seeing her evident. “I hope ye had a happy Christmas. Please, come in.”
She stepped inside the cottage, glad of the warmth, but suddenly became aware just how small the space was and how close she was to Rory.
He reached for her hand, but his arm fell to his side when she took a hasty step back, afraid he’d want to kiss her.
A look of hurt passed over Rory’s face but was instantly replaced with one of blank neutrality.
He was too proud to force his attentions on any woman, and he had probably already realized that she might be there to deliver bad news.
“Make yerself comfortable,” he said as he moved away. “Can I offer ye a cup of tea? The kettle’s only just boiled.”
Geneva was about to refuse, but realized she was shivering and a cup of tea would warm her and give her something to do with her hands.
“Thank you.”
Rory took her coat, hat, and gloves, and she sat at the table while he fetched two cups and saucers from the cupboard and went about making the tea.
“Are ye hungry?” he asked. “There’s bread and cheese.”
“You go ahead. I’ve already eaten.”
She hadn’t been able to eat much at breakfast and had just nibbled on a triangle of toast before excusing herself.
Rory was probably hungry, but he made no move to make himself breakfast. Instead, he sat across from her and, once it had steeped, poured them cups of tea.
He passed Geneva the bottle of milk before making his own tea.
She added a splash and was about to add sugar when she noticed that there were only two pieces left in the bowl. It seemed wrong to take them.
“One for you, one for me?” Rory asked when he peered inside.
“You have them.”
Rory added the sugar to his tea and stirred it slowly as he waited for her to speak. Geneva looked around the cottage. Rory didn’t have much in the way of personal possessions, but it seemed he had already started to pack, since the room was even more spartan than before.
“Did you have a nice Christmas?” she asked.
Rory shrugged. “I had supper at the servants’ hall, then came back here and read for a while before turning in.”
“I’m sorry. That sounds lonely.”
“I’m used to it. Besides, I won’t be alone for much longer.”
He gave her a searching look, and Geneva lowered her eyes and looked into her cup.
“Rory—” she began, but he interrupted her.
“I know what ye came to tell me. Ye’re not coming with me.”
Geneva looked up, glad he’d been the one to say it. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”
She’d expected Rory to look disappointed and sad, but she hadn’t expected the anger that flared in his eyes and twisted his features. He set his cup in its saucer with such force that tea spilled over the side.
“Can’t and won’t are two very different things.”
“All right, then. I won’t come with you,” she said, now angry herself.
What right did he have to judge her, when she had been given only a handful of days to ponder this new twist?
The choice had never been simple, and now an entirely new layer of complexity had been piled on.
It wasn’t as if they were speaking of moving to London or even Dublin, which was on the same continent.
He was asking her to move to America, a place she’d never been.
“I didn’t think you would,” Rory snapped.
“This is a complicated situation.”
“Is it? Ye’d sell yerself to a man ye hardly know for a parcel of land and an old house. Or is it for the position? The Countess of Gosforth. I admit it has a nice ring to it. Much better than the wife of a poor Irishman.”
“It’s not as simple as that.”
“Oh, it’s very simple. Ye were just toying with me, passing the time of day. Ye were even willing to fuck me. What happened? Was it not to yer liking, yer ladyship? Did I fail to please?”
Geneva sprang to her feet, indignation roiling in her breast. “Willing to fuck you?” she hissed.
The ugly word nearly got stuck in her throat, but she wasn’t about to stop now, not when he’d come at her, guns blazing.
“I was never given the choice, was I? You took advantage of my vulnerability, and then you barely even took the time to make sure I was ready or willing. And I was neither.”
Rory looked like she’d slapped him, and she thought he might come at her. His hands were balled into fists, and his mouth twisted into a vicious scowl.
“Ye might have enjoyed it more if ye’d been a real woman, but ye’re still a child. A spoiled, whiny child, who doesn’t know what she wants.”
Geneva grabbed her things and was out the door before he could utter another word.
She was shaking, and not just with the cold.
She had known Rory would be upset, but she hadn’t expected the insults that had come spilling out the moment she had wounded his pride.
Her father and even Honor had been right.
Geneva and Rory came from different worlds, and, even if they had managed to come together and build a life, their happiness would have lasted until the first real fight, and until the first hateful words found their mark.
She had hurt Rory, and he’d wasted no time in hurting her back.
As she hurried down the path, she began to calm down, and by the time she saw the house looming through the trees, she realized just how lucky she was to have dodged a bullet that had been aimed straight at her heart.
She wished she didn’t have to see Rory ever again, but she couldn’t disinvite him from the party after he had been invited by her father.
Geneva hoped he wouldn’t show, but even if he did they’d be surrounded by people, and she didn’t have to speak to him or even look in his direction.
She realized she was shaking with cold and pulled on her coat, and, as she pushed her freezing hands into the deep pockets, her fingers closed around the ring box. She had meant to give it back, but now she’d have to wait until the party. She wasn’t going back.