by Jane Goodger
“I’m not certain how much you know of our time in America, but when I was very small, we lived in Philadelphia. I don’t remember much about that time, just snippets of memories. My mother reading bedtime stories to me or making them up as she went. I always liked the made-up ones best because I imagined she was talking about her own life.”
Genny watched her grandmother carefully to make certain talking about her dead daughter wouldn’t evoke too much emotion, but she might have been talking about the weather for all the reaction she saw. “She was a wonderful mother, and when she died, my father was quite devastated.”
“Was it a boy child?”
It took her a moment to understand what her grandmother meant. The baby who’d died with her mother. “We never knew. It was never born, you see.” Genny paused. “After that, my father and I traveled by train and wagon to California, where my father and I lived in a small house quite far from the nearest town. I have your letters, the ones you wrote to my mother.”
The duchess lifted her chin. “I never wrote.”
Genny furrowed her brow. Now that she thought of it, all the letters had been signed by the duke. “Where is his grace?”
“He dislikes emotional scenes.”
Genny started to laugh, then quickly covered it by coughing. Emotional scene? She’d seen more emotion from a rock.
“And how did Mr. Campbell enter the picture?” her grandmother asked before taking a sip from her teacup. Genny had no doubt the tea they were drinking was excellent, but she longed for a cup of nice, strong coffee. Her teacup was so delicate, she feared it might chip just from the pressure of her lips on the edge. Genny took a tiny sip of tea, then carefully replaced the cup on the saucer, taking extra care not to make a sound.
“When my father died, I was left quite alone. One day I saw a man near our home and thought perhaps I could ask his assistance in getting to a train or a town.”
“Mr. Campbell?”
“Yes. You see, winter had just passed, and I was nearly out of food, so—”
“Out of food?” her grandmother asked, clearly shocked. “I had no idea you were in that type of circumstance.”
“Only after Father died. I knew if I went the wrong direction and a storm came up, I’d die. So I stayed put to wait for spring. It’s much easier to find food when the weather’s fine. And that’s when I met Mitch.”
“Find food?”
“Of course. How else would I eat?” Genny knew she was shocking her grandmother, but for some reason she couldn’t explain, she was enjoying herself immensely. She told the rest quickly, noting with some satisfaction that the horror on her grandmother’s face seemed to grow exponentially with each word.
“That was my life,” she said when she’d finished, and took a rather too large bite of cucumber sandwich.
“You traveled alone with this man?”
Of all the things her grandmother could have been shocked by, such as Genny’s foiling a train robbery, that was what had struck her? Genny was a bit dumbfounded that her traveling with Mitch would be the one thing the duchess commented on.
“We were mostly in the company of other people,” Genny said. “The train was quite crowded. Mitch was very clever and told everyone we were husband and wife, so as not to cause a scandal.” Her grandmother drew in her breath sharply, and Genny had the distinct feeling she was not appeasing the old woman.
“And when we got to New York,” Genny hurried to add, “of course we stayed with Mr. Campbell’s mother.” She knew enough not to disclose Mitch’s mother’s occupations. The duchess’s face had gone quite pale, her lips compressed so tightly, they appeared flesh-toned. “I have a maid,” she added softly.
“This is a story that must not—ever—be told beyond the walls of this house. It would ruin you. It would ruin us.” Her grandmother’s voice shook, and Genny felt awful for causing such distress. Everyone else she had told the story to had been enthralled; she’d never expected this sort of reaction.
Genny looked at Mitch, who was staring at her grandmother as if he wanted to cold-cock her.
The duchess looked from one to another. “This engagement. Is it . . .”—she closed her eyes briefly as if what she was about to say was exceedingly painful—“. . . necessary?”
“I’m not certain I understand the question, Your Grace.”
“Could you be increasing, girl?” she said sharply.
Mitch leaned over and whispered, “She means with child.”
“Oh!” Genny’s face turned scarlet. “No. I’m blee—” She was stopped cold by the look on her grandmother’s face. “That is to say, no.”
Her grandmother appeared only slightly relieved, for Genny realized her answer had told the duchess all she needed to know about her and Mitch’s relationship. An untouched woman would have been appalled by such a question.
“I don’t think you fully understand the consequences of what you’ve done, Genevieve.”
“No, Your Grace.” She didn’t know what else to say.
“We have failed you,” her grandmother said. “We should have done more to find your mother. And you, once we heard of James’s death. We had no idea that you were being raised like a heathen without morals, without an education, without guidance. A girl’s virtue needs to be protected at all cost. All cost. And we failed.” She took a calming breath. “I apologize for my hysteria, but this interview has been exceedingly upsetting.”
How foolish to think pretty dresses would be all Genny needed to fool her grandmother into thinking she was worthy.
“Ma’am,” Mitch said, “Miss Hayes is the finest woman I know.”
“I have no doubt that is true,” the duchess said, and Genny wasn’t certain whether she was being kind or insulting them both.
Mrs. Parsons walked into the room then and announced that Genevieve’s room was prepared and a bath drawn.
“Genevieve, why don’t you follow Mrs. Parsons to your room and get settled in,” her grandmother said, standing gracefully as if the conversation they’d just had had never happened. She sounded calm and pleasant. “Your maid—Tillie was it?—has been shown to your room so she could unpack your things. We’ll talk more later tonight at an informal dinner. Just the three of us.”
“Couldn’t Mitch stay for dinner?”
The duchess gave Genny a smile that edged on warmth. “You must be tired from your trip, after all. Mr. Campbell, you are invited to dine with us tomorrow evening. We dine at eight. Thank you so much for escorting Genevieve to us, sir. I’m certain she is terribly weary after her journey.” Her grandmother nodded to the butler, who had silently entered the room and was apparently waiting for Mitch to depart.
“But . . .”
“Yes?” her grandmother asked, as if questioning her orders was so completely foreign she could hardly guess why Genny would object.
Mitch turned and grasped Genny’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “It’s all right, darlin’. I won’t be far, and I’ll see you tomorrow night.” He winked at her and she smiled, wishing she could throw herself into his arms and kiss him good-bye. Instead, she nodded and swallowed away the sudden tears that threatened. It was ridiculous, of course. She would see him the next day. It was just that everything was so odd and she was very tired.
After Mitch left, the duchess came up beside her. “He seems like a pleasant young man.”
“He is, thank you. I know you perhaps thought I might stay in England and I had planned to until, well, until Mitch proposed.”
“Such is love, my dear. We dine at eight. And, as I’m certain you know, we dress for dinner.”
Genny nodded and smiled and wondered what dressing for dinner meant. Surely it couldn’t mean that they sometimes were undressed for dinner.
She followed Mrs. Parsons to her room, overwhelmed by the size of the house, the endless marble, the cold elegance of everything. But when she reached her room, she gasped. Never in her life had she seen anything prettier, more feminine, more wonderfully luxu
rious. She supposed if she had to stay in the house rather than in a hotel, this was a lovely place to be. The four-poster bed, its sheer curtains tied back to reveal a pristine white quilt, was so high a small set of steps was required to get in it. A large bank of windows opened to a little balcony that overlooked the garden. Even from inside the room, she could smell the roses below.
“This is lovely,” she breathed, going immediately to the balcony to look down at the profusion of flowers below. A gardener was there, trimming a bush with severe precision, and she called down. “You’ve done a wonderful job, sir.”
The man looked up, surprised, then gave a little bow acknowledging the compliment.
Genny spun back around and reentered the room, her feet sinking into the impossibly soft carpet, beaming a smile at Mrs. Parsons. “I think I shall be quite happy whilst I’m here,” she said, and Mrs. Parsons looked inordinately pleased.
“We all do hope so,” the housekeeper said, then looked pointedly at a portrait hanging on the wall. Genny followed her gaze, drawing in her breath.
“Your mother, miss. The resemblance is, well, no less than amazing.”
No wonder her grandmother had let out that small gasp. Looking at the portrait of the regal-looking woman was nearly like gazing in the mirror. Her mother’s hair had been slightly darker, her eyes more hazel than green, but other than those small differences, they could have been twins.
“It’s so good to have a young lady in the house again,” Mrs. Parsons said warmly.
“Thank you. I do wish I could stay longer. Everything is so lovely here.”
Mrs. Parsons’s smile faded slightly. “We all wish you were staying, miss, your grandmother most of all.”
Mitch looked critically at his reflection in the mirror in the hotel room at the Langham, accommodations he would change that night when he returned. Living at the hotel was extremely expensive and he’d be out of cash long before they set sail in two weeks’ time. For a few pence a day, he could stay at a boarding house he’d found in a decidedly less fancy part of town and get a full dinner included. What did he need with running water and a toilet in his room? A wash basin and chamber pot would be just fine.
He wore his best suit, which admittedly wasn’t much, but at least it fit him. He’d had it pressed (for three shillings!) and his shoes, while not new, had been freshly polished. He’d even bought a hat to replace the rather battered and stained one he’d had and thought he looked downright respectable. Hair slicked back, freshly shaven.
He moved his head back and forth, studying his appearance and feeling slightly ridiculous about how nervous he was. He positively felt ill about this evening and resented the fact. Those pompous asses of grandparents grated on his nerves. For Genny’s sake, he’d try to keep his mouth shut, but they’d best stop looking at her as if she were some sort of mistake.
Still, he’d get to see Genny. Even if he couldn’t touch her, which he had no doubt would not be allowed, he could talk to her. If someone had told him just four months ago he’d be so head over heels and idiotic for a woman, he would have punched them. Hard. Men like the one he’d become, well, they were pathetic creatures. Funny thing was, Mitch didn’t give a damn. If loving Genny meant he was pathetic, then he was pathetic. He chuckled aloud and shook his head at the stranger in the mirror, that well-groomed man about to eat dinner at the table of a duke. He wondered if they’d be sipping from golden goblets and eating beneath a chandelier dripping real diamonds.
It was a fine evening and St. James Square wasn’t all that far from the Langham, so as he’d done the previous evening, Mitch walked, heading down Regent Street to Glaston House. He pulled out his watch, grimacing at the time. It had taken a bit longer to walk than he’d thought and it was very nearly eight o’clock. With a quick check to make certain his shoes were still as shiny as when he’d left the hotel, Mitch stepped up the stairs with the happy bounce of a man about to see the woman he loved.
After a brisk knock, his stomach a jumble of nerves, he stepped back and waited for the door to open.
It was Mr. Blackwell, the butler. “Yes?”
Perhaps the man had forgotten what he looked like, and it was getting dark. “Mr. Campbell, here for dinner.”
“I regret to say their graces are not in.”
That was about the last thing he’d expected to hear. “I beg pardon? I was invited. To dinner. This evening. I can’t have been mistaken.”
Mr. Blackwell, his face devoid of any expression but perhaps resolve, repeated, “I regret to say their graces are not in.”
“What of Miss Hayes? Is she in?”
“She is not.”
“When are they returning?” Mitch asked, bewildered and more than a bit annoyed. He craned his neck to look past the stalwart butler, but saw nothing but a bunch of marble and an empty foyer.
“I couldn’t say, sir. I am not privy to their schedule,” he said.
“May I wait?”
“You may not. I do apologize, but I am not authorized to admit visitors when their graces are not in. Good night, sir.” And as he closed the door, Mitch thrust his hand to stop the door’s progress. Mr. Blackwell raised one brow, but otherwise did not react. “Will there be anything more, sir?”
“Could you tell Miss Hayes I was here?”
“I could,” the butler said, in a way that left Mitch feeling completely unsatisfied. “If you have a card, sir.”
“A card?”
“A calling card.”
Mitch felt his cheeks turn ruddy and hated it. Hated being made to feel that he was something less, that he was only the bastard son of a second-rate actress-turned madam. Damn, but he hated the truth of who he was.
“Just tell her I was here,” he said, allowing the butler to successfully close the door, leaving Mitch on the doorstep, angry and disappointed.
Why would they have invited him if they hadn’t planned on being home? Perhaps they’d sent a note to the hotel; he hadn’t checked at the front desk before he left. Suddenly Mitch felt foolish. Of course they’d changed their plans. Perhaps they were dining out and expected him to join them. But now it was nearly eight o’clock and by the time he got back to the hotel, it would be half past. Wherever they were, Mitch was going to be embarrassingly late.
Genny looked at the clock, an ornate gilded piece that had struck the hour of eight five minutes earlier. And Mitch had not yet arrived. They sat at a table that could have comfortably seated twenty people in a room that could have easily fit three more tables. The gaslight was bright, making the fine crystal and silver sparkle, though several large candelabra had been placed in the center of the long table, incidentally blocking her grandparents’ view of one another.
“I’m afraid we can no longer wait for Mr. Campbell, my dear,” her grandmother said, eyes etched with concern. “I’m certain there is a good explanation for his absence. I can see you are worried.”
Genny forced a small smile. Her grandmother had been wonderful all day, exclaiming over her wardrobe, inquiring about her childhood. She supposed that the coldness she’d seen when she’d first arrived perhaps was her grandmother’s nervousness. The duchess did kindly point out small things that Genny should know, such as when she pulled her gloves off, she should always start with her index finger. “It’s a small thing, but it’s these types of things that separate a lady from one who is not.”
Genny didn’t dare tell her that until a few weeks ago, the only gloves she’d worn on her hands were to protect her from the elements.
Her grandmother had even asked about Mitch, putting to rest any concern Genny had that her grandmother was less than pleased with the engagement. When Genny brought out the portrait he had taken of her, her grandmother seemed truly moved and immediately ordered it placed in the gallery where all her ancestors’ portraits were.
“A pity it is not a painting, but perhaps we can have an artist do a rendering from this. You are lovely in it.”
“I saw the portrait of my mother
in my room. We look quite a bit alike, don’t we? Father never mentioned it.”
The duchess pressed her lips together, a movement Genny was beginning to recognize as distress. “It likely pained him to talk about her.”
Her days while she was in England would be full, her grandmother explained, as it was the height of the Season. Dinners, the opera, Covent Garden, art exhibits, a horse race, and a ball—all before she left for America.
“I do wish you could stay a bit longer. You’ve already missed the Henley Regatta. It’s always so entertaining and all of the ton was there, including the queen, you know.” She’d let out a sigh. “I suppose you are eager to begin your new life as a married woman.”
Genny smiled. “I am. New York is an exciting city and not so far away from London.”
“I fear many a young swain will be terribly disappointed to learn you are off the marriage mart. Why, I’ve a stack of letters from several mamas hoping for an introduction.” She’d paused and studied Genny for a long moment. “You are quite sure of your young man? You have only known him a short while, and we know virtually nothing of his family. And he is an American.”
Genny let out a laugh.
“I know this is difficult for you, but do try not to show your teeth whilst laughing. It’s so common.” The words had been said kindly, but Genny blushed beet red.
“I love him, Your Grace.”
The duchess smiled. “Then all is well.”
All day Genny had been on the edge of anticipation, feeling almost desperate to see Mitch. They hadn’t been so far apart for weeks, and she missed him, missed knowing she had only to call to him and he would be there. Even on the ship, she’d felt their separation, and they’d only been separated by a few decks.
Now, after waiting all day, checking each clock as she passed by, it was finally, finally time for him to be here. And he wasn’t.
Had he gotten lost? Injured? Robbed? Surely he would have sent round word if he had been delayed.
