“No. Genevieve—”
Silence.
That silence said it all, and her belly tightened. She’d considered every possible reason for the sudden distance between them, and it seemed the worst was true. “You realized you made a mistake marrying me. You should have married someone of your own station.”
“No.” He slid his hands up her arms and back down again. “No, that’s not it.”
“Someone prettier, then? Or more demure?”
“No.” He cupped her face with his hands. “You’re beautiful, and I don’t like demure.”
“Then what is it? Why don’t you want me anymore?”
“Genevieve.” His voice was full of anguish, and the depth of it surprised her. He leaned forward until his forehead rested against hers. “I do want you. I want you so badly that every time I see you it hurts not to touch you.”
Genevieve’s breath caught and her heart stumbled. “I want you too.” She wrapped her arms about his neck. “Rory—”
But his mouth was on hers, cutting off her words. He yanked her against him, lifting her so she was off the ground. She wrapped her legs around him, and he pressed her against the door. Her back hitting the wood made a thump, and she froze. “If Frances heard that—”
Rory groaned. “If she finds us like this, she’ll have even more questions.” He gave her a quick kiss and set her down. Genevieve understood what he meant now when he said it hurt not to touch. Now she hurt not touching him. “Rory, can we please—”
“Mama Genevieve!” Frances called. “Where are you?”
“Mama Genevieve?” Rory asked.
“We haven’t decided what she’ll call me yet. She’s trying this one.”
“I’d better go before she finds us.” This time he picked her up and moved her away from the door. He was out before Genevieve could say another word. Alone again, she had more questions than she did before.
But she knew one thing for certain: Rory still wanted her.
*
Frances was supposedto play in the nursery. Papa had returned from his trip with a tiny tea set packed in a pretty, velvet-lined case. The set contained two cups, two saucers, a sugar bowl, a creamer, and a teakettle. Mama Genevieve told her the set was made of porcelain and the little pink roses were hand painted. Frances enjoyed arranging the set on her table so she and Harriet could have tea. Marcella had to watch because there were only two cups. Frances was in the midst of once again arranging her tea set on the table when Mrs. Mann—Frances liked to think of her as Mrs.Mean—came into the nursery witha question for Mama Genevieve. Now that Miss Genevieve had married Papa and become Mama Genevieve, Mrs. Mann had questions for her all the time.
Mama Genevieve had told Frances to stay in the nursery and she would be right back. Frances had stayed in the nursery until she heard Mrs. Mean’s clomping footsteps go silent, and then she’d gathered Harriet in her arms and tiptoed downstairs. Ha! And Papa said she always sounded like a galloping horse. Now she sounded like a fluffy bunny.
One of the footmen was standing in the foyer near the door, but Frances put a finger to her lips. He raised his brows but nodded when he saw she was heading for Papa’s library. Outside the door, Frances pushed her spectacles up higher on her nose and shifted Harriet to her left arm. Then she did what she’d seen other people do: she rapped on the door and pushed it open.
Frances entered before she could lose her nerve. She’d only been in the library once or twice before. She wasn’t supposed to hide in there, but that meant if she did hide in there, no one ever found her. Before the fire, the library had a red couch and a white couch on a soft rug. Frances had sat on both couches, and she liked the white one better.
But she didn’t look at the couches now. She glanced at the desk and saw her father watching her with raised brows. He held a quill in his hand, and his hair was a bit messy, as though he’d forgotten to brush it when he woke up this morning. Sometimes Frances forgot to brush her hair, so she understood.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in the nursery?” he asked.
Frances knew there was no right answer to that question, so she ignored it. “I have a question, Papa.”
He set the quill down and motioned for her to come closer. Frances did so. Two chairs were near his desk, and she set Harriet in one and hoisted herself onto the other. When she wassettled, he had a hand over his mouth and his eyes crinkled at the corners. “Go ahead,” he said. “What is your question?”
“Will you take me to see Mama?” she asked.
His hand dropped from his mouth and his eyes un-crinkled. “We talked about this, Frances. I know you’d like to believe she is in another kingdom, but that’s not true.”
Frances nodded. Part of her did still believe that her mother was queen of another kingdom and would send for her. But another part of her wondered why she hadn’t done so yet. What if the day of the accident, Mama had not been pretending to sleep when Frances looked over at her? What if…
“You said Mama was inside the fence at the chapel. Will you take me to see her there?”
Papa glanced at the window, and Frances did too. The day was cloudy, but it wasn’t raining. The last of the lilacs had been swept away by the wind and Mr. Bloom, and everything looked naked outside.
