Behind a Lady's Smile

by Jane Goodger

  Mitch felt slightly overwhelmed by their kindness. “Thank you for your help, it’s greatly appreciated. But I’m leaving with Genny tonight. I thank you for any assistance you can give me and I promise I’ll do whatever I can to make certain the duke and duchess never suspect you helped me.”

  The two looked at each other again, and Mrs. Parsons said, “Lady Mary once thanked us, too. We’ll do whatever we can.”

  Mitch walked back to the hotel, his steps lighter than they had been in days. He tipped his hat to ladies, young and old, earning blushes from all generations. He would see Genny tonight. He was going to hold her in his arms. When he got to the hotel, he went to the front desk to retrieve his key, giving the clerk who’d insisted he stay at the Langham a hearty hello.

  The clerk, who’d been reading a newspaper, placed it on the counter and smiled at Mitch. “A fine day, I take it?”

  “The finest,” Mitch said, unabashedly happy. He looked down at the newspaper, his grin turning into a laugh. “The finest day ever.”

  Chapter 14

  Even her father’s death had not been as devastating as hearing the news that Mitch had departed and sailed back to America.

  Without her.

  It was inconceivable. Gone. Without her. A death, but worse. When her father had died, of course she had been devastated, but despite her deep grief she’d had the knowledge that she would go on, that death, as difficult as it might be, was simply part of life. She’d lost one parent and survived. She knew that pain. She’d known she would survive her father’s death.

  This was far, far, worse. Death was final, and after a while, one could accept it. But this, this pain was laced with disbelief and horrible hope that somehow he’d come back. Realize he loved her.

  He hadn’t even said good-bye.

  Two days ago, her grandmother had given her the news, the older lady’s eyes watering slightly in sympathy. She’d held Genny as she’d sobbed against the duchess’s breast, for the first time acting the part of grandmother. As comforting as the embrace had been, Genny had been aware there was a brittleness to that embrace, as if her grandmother was so unused to affection, she instinctively held back.

  Genny still couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t accept the idea of Mitch packing his things, catching a hack, going to the train station, and leaving. Leaving.

  They were to be married, to live in a little flat in New York as he established his photography business. To have children. Dozens, he’d joked. It simply didn’t make sense.

  Could she have been so blind? How could she not have seen that he didn’t love her as he’d claimed, that his proposal was just a way to get her to . . . oh, God!

  It didn’t help that Tillie, though sympathetic, had that look in her eyes, a look that said I told you so.

  She tortured herself, remembering their time together, from the moment they’d met to the moment he’d said good-bye, promising to see her the next day. No, he hadn’t promised. I won’t be far and I’ll see you tomorrow night. And he’d winked.

  His words, the night they’d made love, mocked her now. I love you and it’ll be a cold day in hell when I get back on a ship to America without you next to me. I’m asking you to marry me. I’m begging you. Why would he say such a thing if he hadn’t meant it? He’d never broken a promise before. All that traveling with her, protecting her, buying her lovely things, all for the chance to bed her? No. It couldn’t be. Something else had happened.

  Had she disappointed him? He’d seemed pleased, but perhaps he had not been. Had she done something that angered him?

  Had he thought, upon seeing her grandparents’ house, that he would play the martyr and let her live the life he thought she deserved? Of all explanations, only that one seemed to ring true. A better man might have let you go, let you live the life you were meant to live. But I’m not that man. I thought I could deliver you to your grandparents’ doorstep and go on my way and let you live your life, but I can’t. I’ll die if I have to.

  She needed an explanation. She needed . . .

  Mitch.

  If he had done that stupid thing, thinking he was saving her, she’d throttle him if she ever saw him again.

  Her grandparents had tried to keep her busy, to keep her mind off her misery, but tears were always close to the surface. They’d returned from visiting the Botanical Gardens, and as soon as she walked through the door, tears began streaming down her face. She could tell from her grandmother’s expression that the old woman was beginning to lose patience with her.

  Genny knew that Mitch’s leaving was a good thing from the duchess’s perspective. Her granddaughter would now be able to marry someone more appropriate, someone more in keeping with her station. Just that morning she’d gone on and on about a young lady they’d met at the gardens who was destined to marry a duke. Lady Rose Dunford was everything she was not; born to a life so far removed from the one Genny had led it didn’t bear thinking about. The girl was pleasant enough and beautiful and apparently the pinnacle of what a young girl should be. Genny knew she’d never be like Lady Rose and never want to marry any of the young men she’d been introduced to. The thought of marrying anyone other than Mitch made her want to vomit. She loved Mitch. She loved him even though he’d left her, betrayed her. Crushed her heart.

  Genny walked to the gallery, entering the long, narrow room to gaze up at her photograph. He loved her. She felt it in her heart. Believing otherwise was unbearable. Nearly as unbearable as believing he’d left because he loved her.

  That night at dinner, Genny picked at her food, letting her grandmother drone on about this or that she had planned for them. Apparently, she’d asked Genny a direct question, which Genny had not heard, because her grandmother said sharply, “Genevieve, I am speaking to you.”

  Genny lifted her head. It felt thick and heavy, as if she were covered in thick molasses. “Yes, Your Grace?”

  “I was discussing the Medford ball tomorrow evening. It will be your debut into society. Lady Rose will be there. I think you should befriend her. She is an excellent example for you to follow. I want you to try very hard to remember all that I’ve taught you these last few days.”

  “No smiling. No laughing. Look sedate and vaguely interested in everything that is said but never offer my own opinion. Do I have it right?”

  The duke let out a laugh, sharp and brief, and was rewarded with a scathing look from the duchess. “Don’t be impertinent, Genevieve.”

  “I prefer Genny.” She knew she sounded sullen, because, frankly, that’s how she felt. If her grandparents weren’t quite so wealthy and highly placed, perhaps Mitch wouldn’t have felt the need to leave. If, indeed, that was why he’d left. It was far easier to place the blame on her new position than to think he’d left because he didn’t love her, because his profession of love was merely a way to get her into his bed.

  “And I prefer that you not have a name that sounds like a guttersnipe, Genevieve,” her grandmother said precisely.

  “I’m sorry, Your Grace. I am quite tired this evening and have a slight headache.” This was true. She hadn’t slept well since arriving at Glaston House and she did have a headache, likely caused by lack of sleep.

  Her grandmother’s expression went from annoyance to concern, as if she’d somehow forgotten that her granddaughter’s heart had been broken just two days before.

  “I’m truly not hungry. May I be excused?”

  As they were only on the second course, it was highly unusual to leave the table, but her grandfather said, “Let her go.” And the duchess nodded in agreement.

  Genny left the dining room, relieved to be away from them, their suffocating interest and concern. She had one foot on the stairs leading to the second floor, when Mr. Blackwell called out to her.

  “Miss Hayes,” he said, looking around, as if to make certain they were alone. “There’s a full moon this evening.”

  Genny furrowed her brows, confused at this pronouncement. “Thank you, Mr. Blackwell.”


  “You can view it in the garden. It’s quite spectacular.”

  Genny gave him a curious look. “I’m certain it is, but I’m not feeling particularly well. I’m afraid I’ll have to forgo the pleasure this night.”

  “By the back gate. The best place to be tonight at nine. To view the moon.” He spoke with strange urgency and it took a moment to realize the older man was speaking in some sort of code. The breath left her.

  “At nine?” she asked.

  He looked immensely relieved. “Yes, miss.”

  Hope bloomed, painful and fierce. Could he be saying what she thought he was saying?

  “Mr. Blackwell. Do I love the moon?” She smiled, tears pressing, throat closing.

  “Very much so,” he said with utter kindness.

  Genny knew that when questioned, the butler could say with complete honesty that he hadn’t told her a thing, that he had mentioned in passing that the full moon would be lovely that evening. Impulsively, Genny grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze. “Thank you, Mr. Blackwell. You’ve no idea how happy you’ve made me.”

  He leveled a meaningful look at her before saying quietly, “You should, perhaps, shroud your joy.”

  His meaning was clear: don’t let their graces know. And it dawned on her that her grandparents had told her Mitch had sailed for America. She felt sick inside that they had practiced such subterfuge. It hurt. And made her spitting mad. For now, she’d go on as she had been, as if her heart was broken.

  Just before nine o’clock, Genny slipped out of the house unnoticed and into the gardens. It was dark as pitch, the promised moon nowhere in sight, and Genny smiled. What a silly excuse Mr. Blackwell had come up with to get her to go outside. Anyone who had overheard the strange exchange and who looked outside would think the butler daft. The garden was dark, lit only by muted light coming from the house, which didn’t penetrate more than ten feet. Over the last two days, Genny had spent enough time in the garden to be able to navigate the brick path that led from the house to a high wall thickly covered with vines.

  The garden was her favorite place. She wasn’t used to being cooped up and longed for a day walking in a forest without seeing another human. She didn’t want to live in a forest necessarily, but walking in one would be fine. The smell of roses was strong, almost cloying, but nothing could really bother Genny this evening. Looking back at the house to be certain she wasn’t being watched, Genny headed directly to the gate and pressed her ear against it just to be certain no one was in the lane before she opened it. She imagined she could feel him on the other side and nearly screamed when, a moment later she heard, “Genny.” A low whisper.

  Without hesitating, Genny threw open the gate and immediately found herself in an embrace that took her breath away.

  “Mitch,” she cried, pressing herself against him, loving his familiar strength as he picked her up and held her against him, his arms wrapped completely around her. “I thought you’d left me. I thought you were gone.”

  He tightened his embrace, spinning slowly, his face buried against her neck, and let out a low, wretched sound. “Never,” he said, his voice raw. “Never, darlin’. Don’t ever think it. I was going insane worrying about you. I thought they’d taken you away.” He let her down and put two large hands on either side of her face. “Are you all right?”

  “I am now,” Genny said, laughing and crying, all her pain and joy combining in a flood of tears. “They told me you’d gone and I didn’t want to believe it, but you didn’t come and there were no notes.”

  “I came every day. Aw, darlin’, don’t cry. It’s almost over.” He kissed her cheek, her lips, her nose and drew her against him again, as if he were afraid to let her go even a few inches away from him.

  “It was awful. Oh, Mitch, I thought I’d lost you. That you had decided to be some sort of hero, that you actually thought I’d be happier without you. I wanted to throttle you.”

  Mitch chuckled. “I’m afraid I’m not much of a martyr, darlin’. I’m not letting you go. Not ever. I’ll never leave you.”

  He drew her to a bench and sat down, pulling her onto his lap and putting his arms around her waist in such a wonderfully possessive gesture, Genny laughed again. She pressed a kiss to his jaw, loving the roughness of his beard.

  “I’m quite angry with my grandparents,” Genny said. “They lied to me over and over. Directly to me, looking me square in the face.” The entire time she spoke, he was nuzzling her neck and she let out a happy sigh. “I still cannot believe you’re here.” And she started crying all over again.

  Mitch held her close, pushing down the anger he felt toward her grandparents for putting both of them through this pain. His own throat was thick, and he swallowed heavily as he wiped the tears from her cheek with his thumb.

  “We’re leaving tonight,” he said fiercely. “Mr. Blackwell had a plan that I should fetch you at some ball, but we’re leaving tonight. Is that all right with you, darlin’?”

  She nodded, still so overwhelmed with emotion, she couldn’t find her voice.

  “We’ll go back inside. Both of us. Tillie can pack and we can say good-bye to your grandparents.”

  She hiccupped, then giggled. “I hate the hiccups,” she said. “But I love you.”

  Mitch grinned, then dipped his head for a long, heady kiss. “God, I missed you.”

  “I can tell,” she said, wriggling a bit on his lap, making him go hard. He let out a moan, thrusting up his hips, and he imagined she blushed.

  “Time for that later.” He pushed her off playfully so that she sat on the bench beside him. “I don’t think my poor body can take you sitting on my lap a minute more.”

  “Are you calling me fat?”

  “No, darlin’, I’m calling you far too tempting.”

  She leaned her head against his shoulder. “Mitch?”

  “Yes, darlin’?”

  “I don’t understand them, my grandparents. To be honest, they don’t really even seem to like me all that much. My grandfather, perhaps, but he rarely says more than two words. My grandmother would have made a much better duke.”

  “You’ve seen your mother’s portrait?”

  Genny nodded. “I have. You have?”

  “Let’s just say I stormed the castle earlier today. Scared the living daylights out of the staff. When I finally realized you actually weren’t home, Mrs. Parsons showed me the portrait. I think your grandparents wanted their daughter back, only this time, they were hoping she would stay.”

  “Perhaps you are correct. I do look an awful lot like her.”

  Mitch kissed her again. He couldn’t stop himself. She was in his arms, finally, soft and warm, her silky hair brushing his jaw. Tonight, he would make love to her, he would kiss every inch of her beautiful body, make her sigh and scream and shout for joy. And tomorrow, they would leave for Liverpool and head home. Never had that word held so much meaning. It didn’t mean his mother’s apartment or his small room in Omaha; it was an intangible thing, a place where he and Genny could be together.

  “Did your father ever mention that your mother had money?”

  Genny pulled back and looked at him. He couldn’t see her features, but he could imagine her puzzled face. “No. Why?”

  “It was something Mrs. Parsons said. She said the reason the duchess was so protective of you was either because she wished for her dead daughter or to protect the money.”

  Genny laughed. “Oh, yes. I’ve pounds and pounds of it hidden in my corset.”

  “May I look?” Mitch said, pretending to search and making Genny laugh. And then she stiffened, so sharply Mitch stopped. “What’s wrong? You remember a buried treasure back at your cabin?”

  She batted him on the chest. “No. But when my father was dying, after he made me promise to go to England, he said, ‘The box.’ At the time, I assumed he meant the box where my grandfather’s letters were kept, so I could find them. But . . .”

  “What?”

  “There�
�s a false bottom. I remember finding it when I was young. It held papers that I didn’t understand, so I put them back and completely forgot about them until now. I wonder if they have something to do with the money my mother had.”

  “Wouldn’t your father have told you about it?”

  She shrugged, then laughed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I shrugged. Do you know how many times I’ve heard in the last four days that ‘Ladies do not shrug, Genevieve,’” she said, doing a fine imitation of the duchess. “My father didn’t like talking about my mother or their time in England. Every once in a while, I’d pull out that box to look at the letters from my grandfather or look at my mother’s jewels, and I could tell it hurt him. So I stopped looking.”

  He pressed a kiss against her temple. “It doesn’t matter. Rich or poor, we’ll still be happy.”

  “But would it not be better to be happy and wealthy rather than happy and poor?” She let out another light laugh.

  “Especially since you seem to like pretty dresses,” Mitch said, winning another light bat on his chest. “Let’s go get Tillie so I can start absconding with the lost heiress, shall we?”

  “They can’t stop me from leaving, can they?”

  Mitch let out a laugh. “They can try, darlin’, but I guarantee you they won’t be successful.”

  Anne Danforth, the Duchess of Glastonbury, had to acknowledge that her high hopes for her granddaughter were diminishing as each day went by. She was beautiful, yes, and charming in her rustic way, but other than her clothing, she was wrong. All wrong. Even her diction had suffered under the influence of her lowborn father. She shrugged. She burped. And when she was trying not to laugh aloud, she let out the oddest noise. It was disconcerting to say the least.

  “She’s hopeless,” she said to her husband, not expecting any sort of reply.