The Unthinkable

by Monica McCarty

  Perhaps London was the answer after all. Anxious to leave after the wedding, Fanny had traveled to London with Lady Hawkesbury. In London, Genie would convince Fanny not to disclose her scandalous secret.

  Also in London, Genie could focus on her plans for the manor in Gloucestershire.

  She reached her chamber and began instructing her lady’s maid on the preparations for their trip. Resigned to leaving the happiness of the country behind her, Genie was determined that in London she would begin to make reparations.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Dampness clung to the darkened streets like a shroud of black pitch. Genie buried her nose in the heavy wool of her hooded cloak, trying to smother the overwhelming stench of bedpans that threatened to spill the contents of her stomach. This was a part of London that Genie was not supposed to know existed: the world of the underclass.

  She jumped, startled by the sound of loud voices arguing across the windows above her. Besides the horrible stench, the noise was the first thing that struck her. Shrill voices raised in every perversion of the King’s English imaginable pierced the night air. People who spent their days fading into the background made up for their silence at night with a raucous clamor. Yet oddly, despite the squalor, Genie found something comforting about all the activity.

  Hugging the shadows, she wound her way through the narrow streets, her hand securely fastened on the gun in her reticule. Her neck prickled with apprehension. It felt as though someone was following her. She spun her head around, but no one was there.

  She shivered and quickened her pace. She knew what she was doing was dangerous, but she’d put off her vow for too long.

  Gravely injured from the vicious beating that she’d received at the hand of her employer, Genie wandered the streets of Boston’s waterfront, finally collapsing at the door of a notorious brothel run by Madame Solange.

  It was the first lucky thing to happen to her in a long time.

  The generous women scorned by polite society took pity on her, taking her in and gently nursing her back to health. With their bawdy humor and stoic acceptance of the brutal card that fate had dealt them, they gave Genie the strength to survive.

  She vowed never to forget their kindness.

  Genie knew that there was very little separating her from the “whores” at Madame Solange’s. There were precious few choices available to a woman cast out, alone, without fortune. With beauty like hers, the choices were even fewer. Were it not for the timely arrival of Edmund, Genie knows she might well have found herself forced into a life of prostitution.

  Luck in the form of Edmund had given her a choice they hadn’t had. Genie wanted to do as much for other girls caught in the same trap. Her plan was simple: She offered employment and education at the manor in Gloucestershire. She didn’t judge them if they refused her offer, her aim was to give them a choice—not make one for them. She’d already hired the small staff that had worked for the previous owner of the manor, but she would find space for as many additional girls as came to her.

  In the week since they’d arrived in London, Genie had only had a few opportunities to escape the watchful eye of her husband. She’d visited a handful of notorious brothels passing out a card with the name and address of her solicitor, speaking to anyone who would listen. There weren’t many. So far, two girls had contacted her solicitor. Not as many as she’d hoped, but it was a start. She squared her shoulders and raised her hand to knock on the door. At least she was doing something, not simply waiting around for scandal to hit. Fanny had avoided her thus far, but she was due to dine at Huntingdon House later that evening. Genie had to convince her to hold her silence.

  Before the knocker fell, a large hand grabbed her arm.

  The little fool. Thank God he’d followed her. She’d disappeared so many times Huntingdon had grown suspicious. Now, to find her in the East End, standing at the door of a notorious brothel…

  She’d better have one hell of an explanation.

  He took her by the arm, intending to startle her—or perhaps shake some sense into her, he was so rattled. She gasped, turning on him as if she meant to fight him. Before recognition hit. Eyes that had been wide with terror only moments before narrowed angrily across her tiny nose.

  “You frightened me,” she accused.

  “Good.” Huntingdon tried to control his own burgeoning anger—his based on fear. “Don’t you know how dangerous it is in this part of town?”

  She jerked her arm away. “Of course I do. I’m not a fool.”

  He made a sharp sound, as if he would argue that point.

  She squared her jaw defiantly. “I’ve taken precautions. I have a gun.”

  He couldn’t believe this. “Aside from the obvious question of where you obtained the weapon, which I assume is in that reticule you were clutching so fiercely, I could point out—if I hadn’t already so aptly demonstrated—that a gun is of limited value if you are grabbed from behind.”

  “Edmund gave me the gun.” Her lips pressed together stubbornly. “And if you’ll recall, I know how to defend myself.”

  Huntingdon didn’t answer, but pulled her away from the door, practically dragging her to his carriage. Wisely, he kept her knee at a safe distance. He headed around the block, where he’d instructed his driver to wait.

  Her eyes shot daggers at him. “I haven’t finished my business,” she argued, trying to shrug him off.

  He lowered his voice and spoke in a tone that did not bode disagreement. “Yes,” he breathed menacingly, “you have.”

  Genie remained stubbornly silent on the ride home, her face carefully hidden in the shadows. When he thought of what could have happened, of the danger she had put herself in… he could throttle her. Or pull her into his arms and hold her so tight she could never put herself in danger again.

  Alone in the most dangerous part of London. Without even a maid or footman. He felt sick. Anything could have happened. What could she have been thinking?

  By the time they’d reached the sanctuary of his library, he’d managed to force his anger under some modicum of control. She refused to sit, so they stood facing each other across his wide desk. He crossed his arms and frowned, obviously forbiddingly because her hands twisted nervously in her skirts.

  “Stop trying to intimidate me.”

  Despite the circumstances, he admired her spirit. “I hope you have some explanation for why I found my wife at the door of a place where no lady should be?”

  Her hands clenched into tight fists. She visibly bristled at the word lady—as if he were personally disparaging her. She lifted her chin, some of the defiance returning. “I have been in such a place before—whether you choose to acknowledge it or not.”

  Although she’d meant it to shock him, her words had a very different effect. They made him think about why she would put herself in danger. There had to be a connection to her past. “Does this have something to do with the place where Hawk found you?”

  Their eyes met. His heart clenched at the pain in her expression, for a moment he forgot his anger. She turned away. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  Perhaps he was beginning to. “Try me.”

  She stared at him for a long time, apparently weighing her words carefully. She took a deep breath. “I want to give those girls a choice.”

  Thrilled that she’d chosen to confide in him, he forced the skepticism from his voice. “What kind of choice?”

  “I’ve offered employment and an education to anyone who applies.”

  He couldn’t hide his horror. She smiled wistfully at his expression. “Don’t worry, at my manor in Gloucestershire.”

  Relief that she wasn’t filling Huntingdon House with doxies gave way to sudden understanding. Whatever had happened to her in America, for whatever reason she’d found herself at a brothel, it had had a profound effect on her. Enough that she wanted to help girls in similar circumstances. He winced, suddenly embarrassed by his reaction in the face of her compassion. Something e
lse occurred to him. “So that is why you wanted a house of your own,” he said almost to himself.

  She shrugged. “Partly, the other reasons are entirely selfish. I’m no saint. The ladies at Madame Solange’s took care of me when I had no one. It might not make sense to you, but I want to repay their kindness.”

  There was something haunted in her expression. In that instant Huntingdon caught a glimpse of the forlorn girl left vulnerable and alone because of him. The image tore at his insides.

  He was the fool.

  How could he blame her for ending up in a brothel? If she was forced to sell herself it was because of his failures. Whatever had happened to her in America, whatever choices she’d had to make, he realized that it no longer mattered.

  Something inside of him broke free. His heart opened and he knew acceptance.

  He loved her, whatever her past. He should have realized what he was feeling when he’d reacted as he did from the thought of a carriage accident. Though he hadn’t recognized it until now, he’d probably never stopped loving her.

  His love had changed, just as he had. The youth had fallen in love at first sight with the sweet, innocent girl; the man loved the woman for her strength. She challenged him. She might not be as sweet or innocent, but the hard edge of the woman she’d become was even more enthralling and exciting. The love he had for her now was deeper, more real. It encompassed all of her virtues and all of her faults.

  He wanted to shout his love from the rooftops. To sweep her into his embrace and cherish her forever.

  He sobered, realizing the problem. He loved her, but could she ever forgive him enough to return his love?

  “I’m sorry,” he offered.

  She shook her head. “I’m not blaming you. It’s just something that I have to do.”

  “How many so far?”

  Her cheeks reddened. “Two.” She straightened her back. “But I’ve only just begun, when word gets around there will be more.” There was true passion on her face when she spoke. In many ways she was still naïve. It would take more than an offer of employment and education to turn a hardened whore from her trade. But maybe she had a chance with some of the younger girls.

  He made a precipitous decision. “If anyone discovers what you are doing you could be ruined. Even for a duchess, taking in whores is beyond mildly eccentric.”

  She gazed at him cautiously. “I know.”

  He nodded. “Very well, then. I’d like to help.”

  Clearly, he’d shocked her. She nearly choked. “Why?”

  He circled the desk to stand before her. Taking her chin in his hand, he looked deep into her eyes.

  “Because I love you, I’ve never stopped loving you. And I know that this is important to you.”

  “You love me?” she echoed. “But what about where Edmund found me—”

  He put his fingers over her mouth to stop her. “It doesn’t matter. Whatever you did, you did because I failed you.”

  Stunned, she gaped at him, as if she could not believe what he was saying. He chuckled, tilting her chin and dropping a soft kiss on her lips. “Whatever happens, I will stand beside you.”

  Her face broke out into a wide, blinding smile. As brilliant as the dawn of a new day.

  He loved her?

  Genie couldn’t believe it. Was it possible?

  He’d been so furious when he found her. She repressed a shiver, recalling his fierce expression. She’d expected him to forbid her from hiring any more women, not help her.

  It was too much to take in, his willingness to help, his declaration of love… She felt stunned. But happy. Amazingly happy.

  “You would do this for me?” she asked hesitantly.

  “I would do anything for you.”

  Her heart swelled. Something wondrous surged inside her. Something that felt remarkably like hope. Hope for the future.

  “I don’t know what to say.” Her voice sounded thick and husky. She stood up on her tiptoes and wrapped her hands around his neck. “Thank you,” she whispered, placing a tentative kiss on his lips.

  It was all the invitation he needed.

  He groaned, enveloping her in his arms and deepening the kiss. His mouth moved over hers hungrily. The chaste kisses of the past few weeks were forgotten. She reveled in the sensations, drowned in the heat. Her heart fluttered excitedly in her chest, blood rushed to her ears, yet her body felt deliciously languid and soft.

  Weaving her fingers through the thickness of his hair, she pulled him closer. But it wasn’t enough. She pressed the softness of her breasts against the rock-hard muscles of his chest and opened her mouth to him, wanting more. His tongue plundered, with long deliberate strokes—both deeply sensual and wickedly carnal. He took his time, rousing her into a state of near frantic need, until her body throbbed and ached for more.

  Suddenly, everything felt possible. With his love, perhaps she could begin to heal. And feel again. Genie surrendered to the magic.

  The door crashed open, breaking the spell. He released her. Dazed, Genie blinked blindly. Her hand went to her mouth, her lips still burning. Genie turned to see the Dowager Duchess of Huntingdon. That’s odd. Huntingdon’s mother in London?

  Huntingdon recovered before she did. “Mother, what are you doing in town?” he asked, equally surprised that the duchess had broken her self-imposed exile.

  “Trying to avert disaster. Obviously, you’ve not heard.”

  “Disaster? Heard what?” Huntingdon looked perplexed, but Genie’s heart had stopped beating.

  The duchess looked right at her, her expression grave.

  And Genie knew. Her foolish dreams of happiness had been extinguished before they’d had a chance to flame. Hope had been a cruel, fleeting illusion. This time, there would be no reprieve from Madame Guillotine.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The dowager duchess turned to her son to explain what Genie already knew. “A rumor is circulating that Mrs. Preston was never married. The speculation is that she invented a husband to hide an illicit liaison.”

  Stunned, Huntingdon asked, “How?”

  Genie clutched her stomach, feeling ill. She knew how. She hadn’t reached Fanny in time. Dear God, what had she done?

  “The particulars of how the rumor came to be are irrelevant,” the dowager duchess said dismissively. “What matters is what we are going to do about it.”

  “What can we do?” Genie said tonelessly.

  The dowager looked at her sharply. “I don’t need to ask whether there is any truth to the rumor.”

  “No,” Huntingdon said stonily. “You don’t.”

  “I suspected as much. Well, we are fortunate in that the rumor has only just begun. Lady Davenport wrote me in the strictest confidence of a ‘most disturbing story’ that she’d overheard at a small supper. I left immediately in the hopes of reaching you before it was too late.”

  “You’re overreacting, Mother. No one will believe it,” Huntingdon said evenly.

  Genie gazed at her husband enviously, wishing she could project such strength. He wore the same arrogant expression on his face as he always did; he stood with the same rock-hard stance. A scandal would be incredibly damaging to him personally, but you would never know it by looking at him. He appeared perfectly calm and collected. Only the slight tick in his jaw betrayed his unease.

  She, on the other hand, felt like her world was shattering all around her, and she was powerless to do anything about it. She had planned her revenge too well.

  The dowager duchess shook her head. “The suspicion of impropriety is enough. Your position alone will not save you from scandal. We must do something.” She tapped her jewel-encrusted walking stick on the floor. “We need proof.”

  “There is no proof,” Genie said dully, despair weighing heavily upon her.

  “There is nothing to do,” Huntingdon said firmly. “Addressing the gossip in any way will make Genie appear guilty. I appreciate your concern, Mother, but we’ll not even dignify the blasphemous
story with a denial.”

  His mother remained unconvinced. “I hope you know what you are doing, son.”

  “I do.” Huntingdon nestled Genie under his arm, as if he could protect her by his physical strength alone. “Don’t worry, sweet. Everything will be fine.”

  Genie remained unconvinced. Not even six feet four inches of solid steel could shield her from the venom of the viper’s tongue.

  Huntingdon’s ready assurance rang in her ears two nights later as they alighted from the ducal carriage and made their way up the grand staircase of Devonshire House. Normally, Genie would be taking in every detail of her surroundings, marveling at the wonder of the lights and decorations. But not tonight. Tonight, there was too much at stake.

  Her heart pounded furiously in her chest.

  Her first ball as a duchess. Reason enough to be nervous, but there was so much more at stake than simply making a good impression. This was their first social engagement since the dowager duchess had arrived with news of the possible scandal. The first test.

  Not surprisingly, soon after the dowager’s arrival, Fanny had sent a note begging off dinner, claiming to be indisposed. If Genie had any doubts as to Fanny’s involvement, her continued absence from her brother’s house confirmed her fears. Not that Genie blamed her. It was Genie’s fault for using Fanny so horribly.

  The last two days had passed in a blur. With her secret exposed, Genie existed in a strange state of limbo, waiting for what she’d set in motion to come to fruition. Would the rumor be squashed or would it intensify, spreading like wildfire through the ton?

  Tonight she would find out.

  Huntingdon placed her hand in the crook of his elbow and leaned down to whisper encouragement in her ear. “Smile, sweetheart. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Remember, whatever happens, I love you.”

  Those three precious words ate like acid at her soul. She couldn’t meet his gaze, the tenderness in his eyes was too painful.