in the last rush to get ready for the wedding, she’d never quite managed it. If she found him at the castle, they’d have a few minutes together. She could apologize for yesterday. And she could try to make him see that running away solved nothing. With a little coaxing, she hoped she could get him to return to school voluntarily.
On foot, at a steady clip, it was a good half hour to the ruins, past Saint Ann’s, through the old cemetery, onto a public footpath that once was a turnpike road. The path cut through the former pleasure grounds of the estate, from back before the construction of Hartmore House, when the DeValerys lived at Hartmore Hall, long since demolished. From the path, she crossed the deer park, and from there she took a heavily wooded trail that wound in upon itself, with the ruined castle at the center.
Before she rounded that last curve in the circular track, she turned to her bodyguard. “I’m hoping Geoffrey is at the castle and I want to speak with him alone. Will you stay out of sight unless I call for you?”
“Of course, ma’am.” The bodyguard stepped off the path and into the trees, vanishing almost instantly from her sight.
She turned again for the castle, emerging a few minutes later into the open space where the crenellated ruin loomed against the sky. The stone hall and courtyard fortress were beautiful in their stark, gray, weather-beaten way. The tower still stood, though the lower wing had been plundered over the centuries to get stone for other buildings. The empty rectangular windows and door arches gaped like dark unseeing eyes.
Genny opened her mouth to call for Geoffrey, and then shut it without a sound. Even on a sunny, almost-June morning, the place had a haunted, otherworldly feel about it. She didn’t want to scare him off.
And surely he wouldn’t go inside. He’d been warned, and sternly, that it wasn’t safe in there. More stones could topple at any time.
The castle was built into the side of a hill. She circled the structure, climbing the steep east slope, crossing around behind it on the tower side, keeping her eye out for Geoffrey along the way.
She found him as she started down the west slope. He was huddled against the outer wall of the castle, his legs drawn up, thin arms wrapped around his knees. He looked unhappy, but unharmed.
Relief, like cool water on a sweltering day, poured through her. “Hello, Geoffrey.”
He had a streak of dirt on his cheek and he glared at her mutinously. “Now you have time for me.”
She went over and dropped to the damp, patchy grass at his side. “Yesterday, it was just one thing after another. I kept meaning to...” She stopped herself. He deserved better than a bunch of lame excuses. “Geoffrey, I messed up. I didn’t make time for you. And I’m so sorry. Sometimes... Well, sometimes even a true friend will mess up.”
He pressed his lips together and looked away. “I’m not going back. I’m running away forever and I’m never going back.”
“I wish you wouldn’t run away. We would all miss you way too much.”
“Oh, no, you won’t. You won’t miss me in the least. You don’t even care about me. Nobody does. My father has new children. He’s forgotten all about me. He lives all the way over there in America and if he never sees me again, it won’t matter in the least to him.”
She wanted to demand in outrage, Who told you that? But she had a very strong feeling that Brooke might have done it. Brooke too often forgot that she was supposed to be a grown-up. “Your father loves you,” she said, for lack of anything better. Geoffrey’s reply was a scoffing sound. She asked, “Do you want to go and live with your father?”
Geoffrey gasped. “No! I want to live here, at Hartmore, with you and Uncle Rafe and Great-Granny Eloise.”
“And you do live at Hartmore. But you go away to school.”
“Because nobody wants me here.”
She braced her arms on her knees and rested her cheek on them. “That’s not true. We want you here and we love you, Geoffrey. I love you. I know I let you down yesterday, but if you think back to all our times together, you’ll remember that I do care about you, that you’re very important to me. And if you left, if you ran away, well, I just couldn’t bear it.”
He looked at her then, narrowing his eyes, as though trying to see inside her head and determine whether she really meant what she said. Finally, with a heavy sigh, he leaned her way, sagging against her.
She dared to hook an arm loosely around him, and he rested his head on her shoulder. He smelled of dirt and clean sweat and she ached to grab him hard and close and never let him go.
“I hate boarding school. I’m only almost nine. Most of the boys my age there are day boys. I have to live in a house where everyone is older and they treat me like a baby. Why can’t I stay at Hartmore with you and Rafe and Great-Granny? Why can’t I go to the village school and have my tutor back until I’m at least thirteen like Uncle Rafe was when he went away? Or even go to St Anselm’s in Bakewell, like the Terrible Twins?” He meant Dennis and Dexter, Fiona Bryce-Pemberton’s ten-year-old sons. “Why can’t I just wait to go away until I’m old enough to attend St Paul’s?”
“Because you are very smart, that’s why. And it’s important for you to get the best education possible.”
“St Anselm’s is one of the top prep schools in the country. It’s not fair. Mum just wants to get rid of me.”
Even Genny, who was no fan of Brooke’s, didn’t believe that. Brooke was self-absorbed and a hopeless drama queen, but she loved her son. She just didn’t know how to deal with him. “No, your mother does not want to get rid of you. Your mother wants the very best for you and your new school is the very best.”
“I hate it.”
“Well, then, you will have to find ways to learn to like it.”
“I will never be able to do that.”
“Yes, you will. Also, I know it must seem that you’ll never get home, but doesn’t the summer term end soon?”
“No. It’s forever. It’s practically a whole month.”
“Well, a month may seem like forever now, but it will pass. You’ll be home for all of July and August, here, with us. I’ll be looking forward to that.”
“All the boys are awful. I don’t have any friends.”
“Well, then, you will find a way to make some.”
“Making friends takes effort,” said a deep voice from the ridge above them. “But you can do it.”
“Uncle Rafe!” Geoffrey jumped up, so happy to see Rafe that he forgot to be angry.
Looking much too big and manly for Genny’s peace of mind, Rafe hobbled his Belgian Black gelding and came down the slope to them. His gaze found hers—and then they both looked away, to Geoffrey, who stared at Rafe with mingled guilt and adoration. Rafe knew what to do. He held out his arms.
With a cry, Geoffrey flung himself forward. Rafe scooped him up, hugged him and then put him down again. They both dropped to the ground, Geoffrey on Genny’s left, Rafe on Geoffrey’s other side.
