The Unthinkable
Page 22
No, it couldn’t be.
But the truth dropped like a stone in her stomach.
“Is that it?” she asked Edmund hesitantly, pointing to the hazy patch of white nestled amongst the stars, floating above a blanket of shadowed treetops.
Edmund leaned forward to take a perfunctory look out the window and plopped back in his seat across from her. “That’s it. Donnington Park in all of its regal splendor.”
Genie tried to swallow, a knot of alarm closing her throat. “Regal” was right. The place looked to be the size of a small palace. Of a small kingdom for that matter.
And in a matter of days, she would be responsible for the smooth running of that kingdom.
She would be a duchess.
Genie knew a long moment of panic. The great divide between the household of a duke and that of a country parson widened considerably with the first glimpse of her new home. Reality in this case had surely overreached her ambition. How would she ever manage such a place?
Yet wasn’t this exactly what she wanted: wealth, position, security. Why did she suddenly feel so overwhelmed when she’d achieved more than she’d ever dreamed possible? Why did she feel like such a fraud? Like perhaps the duchess had been right all those years ago: She and Huntingdon were from different worlds and entirely unsuitable. Uncertainty twisted her insides. Was she equipped to preside over a duchy?
Fighting sudden queasiness, though unable to look away from the source, Genie kept her eyes glued out the window. Occasionally, she’d lose sight of the house as the carriage wound along the road, but slowly the blurred shape began to take solid form. With each passing minute her trepidation intensified. She’d never imagined anything so grand, so imposing…
So beautiful.
She hadn’t realized just how much she would be forsaking. Or just how much Huntingdon had to lose.
Edmund patted her hand. “You’ll be fine. It’s just a house.”
She made a dainty snorting sound of disbelief. And Versailles was just a small French country manor.
“Edmund’s right,” Lady Hawkesbury interjected. “Managing a household is much the same be it small or large. The duchess will be able to instruct you in all the particulars.”
Genie stiffened at the mention of the duchess and straightened against the plush velvet cushions, which at the beginning of their journey had been comfortable.
The Duchess of Huntingdon no longer intimidated her. She’s survived much worse. Heartbreak, the death of her child, poverty, near starvation, the vicious attack of a vile man.
One cruel, haughty duchess would not stand in her way.
Edmund and Lady Hawkesbury were right. She could do this. For a short time anyway. This was what she’d fought for. With the help of a solicitor she’d already found a property in Gloucestershire just outside of Thornbury. She only needed to get through the ceremony and it would be hers. Nothing and no one would ever be able to take it from her—no matter what happened or what secrets were revealed in the future. Security had been ripped from her fingers before, this time she held a firm grip on her future.
“Oh look, dearest,” Lady Hawkesbury said, pointing out the window. “Your bridegroom rides out to greet us. And at this late hour!”
Genie’s pulse raced. Fighting the urge to look, she pinned her shoulders back against the cushions. Dear God, she was excited to see him. Like some lovesick fool.
Lady Hawkesbury squinted into the darkness. “My, he’s riding fast.” She turned to give Genie a sly wink. “I guess you’re not the only one who is anxious.” Her brow wrinkled. “Hmm. Perhaps we should have sent someone ahead explaining our delay? It took so much longer than we expected. Well, I do hope the dear boy hasn’t been worried.”
Ha! Genie thought contemptuously. The uncaring beast probably hadn’t spared her a thought for weeks.
The dark silhouette of a rider appeared on the opposite side of the carriage, and Genie didn’t need a torch to see that Lady Hawkesbury had identified the horseman correctly. The broad shoulders and muscular physique were unmistakable.
“Ho there.” The familiar voice rang with authority. “Stop your horses, man.”
Genie lurched forward as the carriage clattered to a bumpy stop.
“You there,” he ordered brusquely, “open the door.”
The carriage tipped again as the groomsman jumped to obey the duke’s command and hopped down from his perch. The door was thrown open and Huntingdon came into full view. She tried not to stare, but her eyes seemed to have a will of their own. Astride a huge black horse, cloaked in a dark cape, his hair shimmered like a bright beacon across a moon-drenched sea.
He dismounted and approached the coach, motioning for one of the servants who accompanied him to move closer with a torch. The flames cast jagged shadows across his face as he carefully inspected the occupants of the carriage.
Edmund and Lady Hawkesbury leaned forward to investigate and blocked her view.
“Where is she?” Huntingdon boomed.
Genie pursed her brows, he was behaving quite oddly. Why did he sound so fierce? This was more than a simple welcome. He was upset about something. Was he angry with her?
“Now what’s this all about, Huntingdon?” Edmund asked.
“Where is she?” Huntingdon repeated, ignoring the question. Something else laced his voice. Something that sounded like fear, or desperation. “Where’s Genie,” he croaked.
“I’m right here,” Genie said, wedging her body into view.
Their eyes met. Her breath caught and she nearly gasped aloud. His gaze held hers with such tortured intensity, she could not break away. His eyes raked her face, drinking in every detail until he seemed to almost sag with relief. Clearly, he’d been worried about her. But why?
“You’re well?” He spoke to her directly, as if Edmund and Lady Hawkesbury were not sitting there gawking.
“Quite well,” Genie assured him gently, responding immediately to his distress.
The white flash of a grin broke across his features and Genie felt her heart tumble. He appeared so genuinely happy and relieved that Genie couldn’t help but be moved.
They stared at each other for a long moment, both smiling, the connection between them taut and strong. The walls of distrust, built on disappointment and betrayal, for a short time forgotten. Genie thought that if Lady Hawkesbury and Edmund had not been blocking the way, he might have pulled her into his arms. For an instant, she fought the urge to rush into them.
The coachman cleared his throat, breaking the spell. All at once, Huntingdon recovered himself, he raised his gaze from hers and his expression shuttered.
He turned to Lady Hawkesbury. “Your journey is near an end, my lady. I welcome you to Donnington Park. If you’ll excuse me, I shall receive you properly at the house.” He looked up to the coachman. “Drive on.” Then, with a bow and a rakish flourish he rode off into the night. Genie’s gaze followed him until he slipped out of view.
“Oh, my! Now wasn’t that the strangest thing?” Lady Hawkesbury murmured. “Whatever is the matter with the boy?”
Genie didn’t know. But as Lady Hawkesbury did not seem to expect an answer, she slid back into the shadows and welcomed the obscuring sounds of the coach as it resumed its journey. Whatever had happened, it had been significant enough to put a large crack in his armor of indifference. He’d been worried about her, worried enough not to care who knew it. There was a rawness to the emotion that Genie wanted to hold on to, and never let go.
Huntingdon’s sudden appearance and equally sudden departure had left Genie in a tangle of emotion. Why did her pulse still race and her chest still ache? Why did her heart leap in her chest and the heaviness that had weighed upon her the last few days suddenly lighten? Why was she so unabashedly happy?
These were not questions that Genie was prepared to answer. Not now. Not ever.
Edmund watched Genie’s face and felt disappointment burn in his chest. He recognized the complex emotions that crossed he
r face, even if she did not.
She gazed at Huntingdon as if he could give her the world… and take it away again in the same breath. She might hate the duke for all that he’d done to her, but deep down, beneath the bitterness of past disappointment, she still loved him.
The great tragedy for all of them was that it might not matter.
Love might not be enough to find happiness. Not unless Genie found the ability to forgive Huntingdon and learned to trust again. With what she’d been through, Edmund didn’t know if that was possible.
Her fingertips cradled her face against the blurry pane of glass. Her erratic breathing evidenced by gentle puffs of fog clouding the window. The longing in her eyes as she gazed out at Huntingdon riding back toward Donnington was almost palpable.
Genie had never looked at him like that. Not once.
If she had…
Well, there might be something worth fighting for.
Edmund shook his head and dropped his gaze, feeling like he was intruding on a private moment.
What a mess. A broken engagement, an old friendship destroyed, a forced marriage, the specter of scandal casting a pall across everything.
And he was the odd man out.
Initially, when she’d broken their engagement, Edmund had been furious. Ready to charge out of Hawkesbury House and demand immediate satisfaction from his former friend. But then she’d reminded him of his own part in this tragedy and he’d reconsidered. He’d known the risk he took by not confessing who he was right away and why he was in America. Maybe he got no more than he deserved for deceiving Genie and betraying his friend. Although, he had to admit that a duel at dawn still didn’t seem like such a bad idea if he could knock some sense into Huntingdon’s thick skull.
When his anger had subsided, he was forced to accept her decision. Edmund held a place in Genie’s heart, but it was only a place of friendship. He could see that now. It hurt, but perhaps not as much as it should have. The sharp ache had already begun to dull. He realized that if he’d ever really had her, he’d lost her a long time ago.
His gaze fell once again on Genie and his chest squeezed.
More than anything, Edmund felt profoundly sorry for Genie. His friend—or former friend—was determined to have her, even if he hurt her in the process. Edmund wanted to be there if she needed him. In case she changed her mind and decided that she couldn’t go through with it.
This time as a friend, Edmund would be there to pick up the pieces.
Fresh from his ride, Huntingdon met them in the foyer and led them into the house, past the wall of liveried footmen, through the north hall and into the marble salon. Unsettled by the incident in the carriage, Genie didn’t trust herself to meet his gaze again, so she concentrated on her surroundings. Her marvel at the stunning interiors, however, was interrupted by the elegantly dressed woman who rose to greet them.
“Mrs. Preston, welcome to Donnington Park. It’s been quite some time since last we met.”
Shocked speechless, Genie stared at the woman standing before her. At the woman who had at one time been imposing enough to bully Genie into leaving her home and family. The five years that had passed might well have been twenty, for the Duchess of Huntingdon was a mere shadow of her former self. Still frightfully thin, where before the duchess had exuded wiry strength, now there was unmistakable frailty. The sickly pallor of her skin was accentuated by the heavy black of her mourning. Her hair had grayed and deep lines covered her face. An air of sadness had replaced haughtiness, though Genie could still discern a subtle pride in the tilt of her nose and chin. Genie glanced at Huntingdon. Obviously a family trait.
She finally found her voice. And remembered to curtsey. “It’s been five years, Your Grace,” she challenged, making it clear that Genie remembered—even if the duchess chose not to.
The contempt, and anger that Genie had worked up over the past few years deflated in the face of her adversary’s obvious downturn in health. Genie had suffered, but clearly she was not alone in doing so. For the first time it occurred to her that the duchess had also lost a child. And a husband (a husband who actually existed). Sympathy over a shared loss was not exactly what Genie had anticipated when coming face-to-face with her adversary after so many years. “Yes, I suppose it has,” the duchess agreed. “So much has changed since our last meeting.” Her voice drifted off, Genie suspected she was thinking of her lost husband and son. The duchess cleared her throat and continued. “In any event, the maids are busy lighting the fires and preparing your rooms, I’m afraid there will be nothing hot to eat as you were not expected until the morning.”
“But—” Lady Hawkesbury began, surprised.
Huntingdon interrupted. “Actually, Mother, they were expected some time ago. At the noon hour.”
Perplexed, the duchess started, “But you said—”
Huntingdon shuffled uncomfortably. “I didn’t want you to worry.”
“Oh, I hope we did not cause you undue concern,” Lady Hawkesbury added, suddenly contrite. “We were unexpectedly delayed at the last carriage stop.”
“A loose linchpin,” Edmund interjected.
Obviously very put out by the experience, Lady Hawkesbury continued, “And after waiting a few hours for the linchpin to be fixed we had only traveled a few miles before the thill cracked. One of the footmen had to ride back and bring someone back to replace it.”
The duchess’s gaze never left Huntingdon. “I see. That explains my son’s unusual behavior.”
So Genie had been correct in her estimation. She turned to Huntingdon and lifted a brow in inquiry. “Worried, Your Grace?”
He looked charmingly embarrassed, making her heart do a strange twist in her chest.
He shrugged. “I feared that you might have had some mishap on the road.”
The duchess paled and Genie realized the reason for Huntingdon’s anxiety. Of course, how could they have been so thoughtless? His father and brother had died in a carriage accident.
“I apologize for not sending word, it took much longer to fix than we anticipated,” Edmund explained, coming to the same realization as Genie. “But you can see that there is no reason to be concerned. We are all quite well.”
Huntingdon looked at Genie, his gaze lingering and appreciative. “Very well, it seems.”
She blushed. Awareness tingled down her spine. When he looked at her like that, the attraction was visceral… and gut-wrenching. The unmistakable connection that shadowed him, reining her in, had not weakened as she’d hoped. And by the amusement in this gaze, he was well aware of the effect he had on her—had always had on her.
His mother interrupted. “You all must be very weary after your overlong journey. If you are ready, Mrs. Mactavish, will show you to your rooms. I’ve arranged for a cold refreshment to be served.” She glanced back to Genie. “I hope you will find everything to your liking at Donnington.”
Genie’s attention snapped back to the duchess. With every word she spoke, Genie listened for a double entendre. Every nerve ending in Genie’s body stood at attention, poised for an attack. But if she intended sarcasm behind the pleasantry, Genie couldn’t hear it. Genie searched, but the duchess’s expression remained inscrutable.
Nonetheless, she couldn’t help but feel defensive. Did the duchess expect Genie to be awed like a moonstruck country girl? Overwhelmed by the magnificence of the place?
Probably.
It embarrassed Genie that the duchess was right. But how could she not be? Her eyes swept the room, taking in the details of the salon. From the enormous carved marble fireplaces that flanked both sides of the room, to the ornate plaster work on the walls and ceilings, the exquisite paintings, the rich furnishings and ornamental figures, and the large Sèvres urns. In addition to the candelabras, Genie had counted at least three Argand lamps in this room alone. Genie’s first impression had been correct. Donnington Park was as fine as any royal palace. The entire rectory would have fit in these first two public rooms alone.
Huntingdon, who had been hanging on her reply, beamed. Her approval of his home seemed to matter.
“If there is anything you require, you have but to ask.” Huntingdon turned to his mother. “I’m sure you will do everything to assure Mrs. Preston’s happiness, isn’t that so, Mother?”
The room hushed at the blatant challenge.
The duchess’s expression didn’t move. Her true feelings on the matter remained blissfully hidden. “Of course,” she said blandly. “Once you are married, I will remove to the dowager house—”
“No!” Genie interrupted unthinkingly then blushed. In a far calmer voice she continued, “I’m sure that is not necessary.” Taken aback by her own words, Genie couldn’t believe what she’d just said. But if the duchess left, Genie would be alone with Huntingdon and with the management of Donnington. She wasn’t ready for such intimacy with the duke and she needed the duchess’s help—even if it killed her to admit it.
The duchess’s expression finally shifted, a slight lifting of her brow betraying her surprise. She gave Genie a long look, perhaps wondering at Genie’s motives.
Uncomfortable by the close scrutiny, Genie tried to explain. “I mean, there is no need to make such arrangements right now. This is your home…”
Edmund seemed to understand and in typical fashion rode to her rescue. He put a comforting hand on Genie’s arm and squeezed it for encouragement. “Of course, there will be plenty of time to make such decisions after Mrs. Preston has had a chance to settle in.”
Genie gave him a small, grateful smile.
Never one to let an uncomfortable situation pass without comment, Lady Hawkesbury added matter-of-factly, “It wasn’t so long ago that you were a nervous bride. I remember how imposing this all seemed to you at one time, Georgiana.” The use of the duchess’s Christian name was a none-too-subtle reference to their childhood friendship—and the fact that they were both only daughters of barons.