Free Refuge by Kirsty Ferry Page B

wish I could take you with me,’ he said.
    ‘You could if you wanted to,’ she replied, watching him get dressed.
    ‘Maybe another time. Let me get this trip out of the way first,’ he said. ‘So, until we meet again,’ he touched her face one last time and dropped a kiss on her cheek, ‘goodbye, Veva.’ He turned away, slipping through the door and disappearing into the gardens. Genevieve remained under the cloak, watching the door shut. She reached around to the back of her head and unclasped a diamond-encrusted comb. She swept her hair back from her face trying to tidy it up and fixed the comb back in. She pulled her gown towards her and, shivering, she eased herself back into it, never taking her eyes off the door. Was that it then? Had he really gone? She felt numb. She hadn’t felt like that last time. Last time, he had told her that he loved her.
    ***
    Genevieve damped down what was left of the fire and the ashes smouldered in the grate. She left the summer house, closing the door behind her. She gathered the cloak around her and wound her way back through the gardens towards the Hall. Her satin slippers were ruined, soaking wet and covered in grey slush. She couldn’t feel her toes. The door to the servants’ quarters was as she had left it and she took off the cloak and threw it back in the room. Someone was bound to find it and hang it up. She retraced her steps around the side of the house and tried to smooth her hair back, then she straightened her shoulders and pushed the French doors open. She squeezed through the gap and stepped back into the ballroom, feeling the colour flood her cheeks with the warmth of the room. Genevieve looked around at the hustle and bustle, so different from the peace and quiet in the summer house. Guests were talking and laughing, pushing through the various knots of people to reach the refreshments table or to sit on a chair at the side of the room. The smell of so many candles mingled with the ladies’ perfume made her feel sick.
    ‘Where have you been?’ asked Joseph, appearing beside her. The man missed nothing. His eyes raked over her, searching, it seemed, for some evidence of a misdemeanour. 
    ‘I needed some air,’ Genevieve said.
    ‘Air?’ said Joseph. ‘Don’t lie to me. Where is he? What were you doing with him? Or need I ask?’
    ‘So many questions,’ replied Genevieve, almost mechanically. She looked around the ballroom and spotted Montgomery, standing alone. He turned to see her watching him and smiled, raising a glass to her. Joseph took a step towards her, his face twisted in disgust. Over his shoulder, Genevieve saw Montgomery place his glass on a table began to walk across to them.
    ‘Excuse me, dear brother,’ Genevieve said. ‘I believe this dance is marked on my card. I would hate to disappoint your friend.’ She moved away from Joseph, and began to walk towards Montgomery. She had understood that look on Joseph’s face all too well.
    ‘Miss de Havilland.’ Sir Montgomery bowed as she approached him. ‘Is it time for our dance? I do hope so.’ He took her hand and lifted it to see the dance card. Too late, she realised she had left the card in the summer house. And too late, he had seen the circlet of darkening bruises around her wrist. He lifted his eyes to meet hers and she tried to snatch her hand away. Montgomery held onto it, his eyes burning into hers. Genevieve stole a glance at her brother who was watching them, his face thunderous.  The corners of her lips twitched into a harsh little smile. So, somebody here had noticed as well. Her half-smile was enough for Montgomery to realise what had happened and he let her hand drop.
    ‘I see,’ he said. ‘It’s very noisy, isn’t it? I could do with a change of scenery and some peace and quiet. Where do you recommend?’
    ‘Anywhere but here,’ replied Genevieve.
    Montgomery bowed slightly and offered his arm. ‘Then shall we leave?’ he asked.
    ***
    Genevieve tolerated